The preparations are complete, Tikka

"Perfect, Zili.  Inform the others."

Xiup Tikka was a short Xnean Xnarn with teal and yellow feathers, and a belly grown fat from opulent living.  He'd been banished from the Great Roost because of moves made against a number of Armada Admirals, and in his exile he'd created a trade empire.  The Xnean had no place for Kings and the like, but Xiup was a student of human history, and he fashioned himself a smuggler king.  His loyal subjects worked diligently to organize his inventory.  The lower decks of Alpha Arietis Station were his kingdom where the desperate and unscrupulous came to pay homage.  If it could be found within the FGG, Tikka could get it, and his wares were always available to the highest bidder.

"Tikka, I've done a background check on this Mr. Theraphosa.  On the surface he's a farmer and investor, clean."

"And?  You wouldn't bother me, Rook-38, unless there was something worth hearing," Xiup leaned forward, curiosity making him eager.

"Under the surface he has done business with The Song Brothers, Mrs. No, The 101 Syndicate, and Pike Company," explained the series 5 construct.  "He's a legitimate buyer, and a smuggler in his own right.  It might be wiser to make the agreed upon transaction and part ways."

Xiup Tikka studied the construct.  Unlike most of the FGG races, the Xnean utilized automatons.  They were utilitarian with no free will or higher-level problem solving.  Nothing like the constructs used by humans.  Xiup had won Rook-38 in a game of chance, and immediately set about unshackling the machine's logic chips.  The construct had become part of his inner circle quickly.  In most instances he valued Rook-38's opinion above others.

"I have a buyer willing to pay Va-Pu star crystals for a healthy male Earther."  Xiup rubbed his hands together, imagining the feel of the highly valued currency.

"Give me three of your diop and 48 standard hours, and I'll bring you an Earther male."  The steel menace in Rook-38's voice sent a shiver down Tikka's spine.

Xiup took a hard look at his diop, dwarven featherkind from the moons of the homeworld.  The egg shaped dwarves were docile, dim witted, and strong.  The Xnean Xnarn had used them as slave labor for nearly 3000 standard years.  For a moment Xiup wondered if the construct could pull it off with just three diop.  Then his thoughts drifted back to the promise of star crystals, and the 500,000 credits each was worth.

"The buyer is already on its way, and if we don't provide, someone else will."

"I understand."  The construct moved towards the exit, weaving its way through the little diop.  It stopped and turned his orange Low-Face towards Xiup on his high throne.  "I calculate a potentially dangerous level of risk."

"I calculate an excessively high reward."  Xiup ran his tongue across his chipped beak.

Rook-38 nodded, and left Xiup to his thoughts.  Xiup had risen to power through calculated risk, but this was his moment.  One Va-pu star crystal was rare, but the buyer offered four. It was an offer he couldn't refuse.  Xiup made up his mind.  He stood, and all of his diop stopped in their tracks.  He left his storage hall/throne room.  Twelve of the little featherkind followed, the others went back to work.  He projected his thoughts to the little workers, the dozen flowed ahead of his waddling form to fulfill his desires.  By the time he reached his surveillance office his diop were waiting with pillows to cushion his chair, and light refreshment.  He mentally thanked them, though he didn't have to.  Xiup Tikka was a kind master.

Roghlan was waiting for him.

"The target's ship is docking now, Tikka.  Why don't we take them at the airlocks?" the red furred cananamarian asked.  "Quick and easy.  They'll be unprepared."

"Mr. Theraphosa is said to always be in the company of a formidable blue felarnian," Rook-38 commented from the corner.  For reasons Xiup could not fathom, Rook-38 enjoyed taunting the canamarian merc.

"All the more reason to pop 'em," Roghlan growled.

"We do it away from the ship.  I'm not paying station security to look the other way.  We take them down here."  A diop raised his glass, sensing his thirst, and Xiup took a sip.  "Once the buyer pays, we empty their ship and fly it off station.  The authorities will be in the dark, and we'll be rich."

"Who's this buyer willing to drop star crystals for an Earther?  They'll pass a few hundred just making their way down here."  It wasn't like Roghlan to be suspicious, that was Zili and Rook-38's role.

"I'm quite curious too, Tikka.  Not only does this buyer have access to Va-Pu star crystals, but they're willing to part with them for a commodity that is quite abundant in this part of space.  It doesn't quite add up."

"We're being paid to deliver in a small window, and to show discretion.  Since when have you two turned down good credits?"  Xiup waited for an answer.  A diop fed him a hotdog, and wiped the corners of his mouth.  Though the Earth delicacy didn't contain any parts of the animal, he had been assured that the taste was authentic, having never traveled to Earth to get one from the source.  When neither answered Xiup continued.  "We're going to present this Theraphosa on a silver platter and walk away with fat pockets.  If you have a problem with that, you can forfeit your cut!"

Roghlan grumbled, but turned his attention back to the surveillance monitors.  Rook-38 shrugged, and fed information from the screens to its datapad.  Xiup frowned.  His inner circle was usually more supportive.  A diop patted his hand, and offered him a bag of popped corn.  Xiup smiled.  He really did love Earth food.  If humans weren't so aggressively... human, Xiup would have purchased property on Earth 2 years ago.  He shoveled a handful of the lightly salted treat into his mouth.

"Here they come," Roghlan growled.

The diop scattered as Xiup bound from his seat.  Together he, Roghlan, and Rook-38 watched the display showing docking bank 45.  Xiup recognized Mr. Theraphosa from their video call.  With him were two human women, one colony pale, the other had skin that made it difficult to determine her origin.  Behind the trio was a tall felarnian.  The men were armed with light firearms, standard fare on an EC space station.  Tikka chuckled.  The poor fools wouldn't know what hit them.

I tagged them with a psybug, projecting to The Uplink now.

Zili was the most powerful mind-worker within his organization.  She could manifest, project, and read with equal ease.  With the power of her mind she created a listening node, a psychic bundle of audio receptors, and linked it to her tiny diop.  The featherkind's synapses were wired to the surveillance system, allowing the devices to hear what it heard.  It was considered bad luck to name one's diop, but Zili didn't believe in luck.  She named the little featherkind The Uplink.

Feedback from The Uplink began as static, but cleared up as the bond between diop and psybug grew stronger.

"... I still don't understand.  You snatched a wad of fur from your mother's arm and walked out?"

"So you do understand."

"Ivory, tell me he's kidding."

"Wish I could, boss.  He snatched it and left.  I just stood there like an idiot.  I wasn't sure if we were leaving or about to fight.  The way that woman roared I thought I'd have to shoot her."

Roghlan muted the transmission.

"Those stripes mark him as warrior caste.  Either Faylorn or Wykkla clan, I'm unsure."

"You know I don't understand your Fang and Claw nonsense," Xiup snapped.

Roghlan roared, causing Tikka and his diop to jump.

"It means, he," the merc jabbed his finger at the blue felarnian on the screens, "is a swordsman who will not go down without a fight!"  He snarled and stormed out of the room.

Xiup waited until he could no longer sense Roghlan's mind in the hall.  "His outbursts are beginning to test my patience."

Xiup Tikka did not like being spoken to in such a fashion, but he knew putting up with some level of disrespect was the price of doing business with canamarian soldiers.  Roghlan led a team of mercenaries who'd proven themselves well worth their fee time and time again.  They were an asset he valued.  Xiup ran his tongue along his beak.

"Rook-38, we need to teach Roghlan a lesson in manners."

"I'll put it on my to-do list."

Xiup didn't like the sinister smile that crawled across the construct's low-face.

"Make sure it's public."

Rook-38 giggled as it typed furiously into it's datapad.

Xiup shook his head, and unmuted the audio feed.

"... Hitman's already sent word.  The pickup went well, and he's on his way home.  All we need are these last few elements and we'll be all clear."

"Sounds like a mission complete to me, boss,"

"Not until Renegade is safe, then the mission is complete."

"Are you sure we can trust this Xiup Tikka?" the blue felarnian growled.

"As far as we can trust anyone.  He comes highly recommended.  What's on your mind?"

"This station.  It smells... off.  Look around.  What's with the security guards?  Are they purposefully looking the other way?"

The group collectively scanned the area.  It would have looked casual to the average observer, but Xiup was watching them intently.

"I feel it too," said the taller woman.  She dusted her shoulders, causing static feedback from the invisible psybug.  Somehow her subconscious could sense the psychic tag

Xiup muted the feed.

"Zili, what are you getting from this woman?  Is she a mind-worker perhaps."  Human mind-workers were extremely rare, and Xiup was obsessed with owning one.

Nothing, Tikka...

"So she's not a mind-worker, a sensitive perhaps?"

No, Tikka, I'm detecting nothing.  She's a blank space.

Xiup grew excited.  Only a mind-worker could guard herself so thoroughly from Zili's scrutiny.  The day was turning into a jeweled egg.  Opportunity stacked on top of opportunity.  Again he rubbed his hands together.

"Rook-38, tell Roghlan and his team I want all the humans alive."

--

Roghlan fastened the straps of his breastplate with slow deliberate movements.  The armor had belonged to his father, a Canamar Knight of the Dhrakl order.  The man who'd brought him the bloody breastplate said his father died valiantly in someone else's war.  He'd said without a home the Knights of Canamar were nothing but mercenaries.  He'd said he was done fighting.  From a young age Roghlan realized he would never live his dream of defending his order beside his father.  The age of the knight had dawned, and he had to find a new path.  His mercenary band had become his new order, and battle preparation was a time of reverence.

A knock at the door brought him out of his trance.  Roghlan opened his eyes, and there was Bolsha, his second.  Bolsha filled the doorway with broad shoulders and long legs.  Bolsha's right arm was a knot of intertwined tentacles which acted like arm and hand, but could quickly become an octuplet of barbed grabbers.  The left arm was a chrome prosthesis, a knot of circuits and plating which also acted as a common arm.  Roghlan had once needed to remove Bolsha's clothes to get at a Still World parasite which was trying to burrow under the skin.  He never spoke of what he saw, and vowed to never look again.  Bolsha's center mass comprised of shifting tissue which mimicked those nearby.  At the moment Bolsha resembled a canamarian, save for the bulbous peridot eyes.

"What is it?" Roghlan grumbled.

Bolsha gestured towards the datapad embedded in their prosthetic arm.  "Tikka's changed the plan again.  Now we're to capture all the humans.  What's the bird brain thinking."

"Credits.  What else does he care about?"

"Earth food."

"Good point."

The two laughed.

Bolsha entered the room, and raised Roghlan's shield pauldron.  Bolsha made the heavy armor appear weightless.  Roghlan slid his arm into the straps and harnesses, and Bolsha helped him fasten the clips and tie off the straps.  When they were done, Roghlan felt ready for war.  He felt close to his father as he looked at himself in the reflective surface of his inactive display.

"Is everyone ready?"

"Just waiting on you."  Bolsha stepped into view, a comforting presence at his back.  "Rook-38 says this job could payout big.  Is it enough to move on?"

Roghlan chewed on his answer for a moment.  He'd started his mercenary unit with Bolsha a decade ago with the promise of exploring the universe at the expense of those at the ends of their gun barrels.  That promise had been hindered by their obligations to Tikka.  The others assumed they owed the old bird for their high end weaponry and gear.  Roghlan couldn't explain to them he'd sold their services for the foreseeable future in exchange for a name.  Bolsha might understand that Roghlan was searching for his daughter, and Tikka portioned the information to keep The Orphans doing his bidding.  The others wouldn't.

"Rog?"

"No," he said.  "Tikka still owns our guns."

Bolsha frowned.  "Well let's get to work."

The two exited the small room and sitting on supply crates and ammo boxes were the rest of Roghlan's Orphans. The unit consisted of mercs haling from the FGG faction known as The Union.  Each a member of a race whose population was too small to warrant representation within the Federation of Galactic Governed, or a creature whose existence was solitary in the vast universe.  Canamarians once held a seat on the FGG council, but now fell into the first category.  Bolsha fell into the second.  Marv and Maeve were two Dwarf-Martians, members of the exiled race originating from Sol's fourth planet.  They resemble diminutive humans with jet-black skin and hair.  Dispin was an eight-armed eight-legged being found frozen on an asteroid by gas miners in Grid 5U.  The Bride was a bald Hummak from The Still Worlds, she wore her husband like a suit of armor.  No one knew where he'd come from, or understood his language, but he and The Bride formed a strange symbiotic pairing which sustained them both.  Tikka called him Bill, after some obscure human VR vid.  The Orphans called him Clinger.

"Get up, people.  It's time to pay the bills!" Roghlan roared, trying to shake off the guilt tugging at his conscience.

"Sounds like we're jacking a fellow smuggler.  Should we be worried about retaliation?" Maeve asked.  Her mind was always focused on revenge.

"We're not smugglers," corrected Roghlan.

"We're smugglers," the group said in unison.

They all laughed.  Roghlan couldn't argue.  They ran protection and muscle for Xiup Tikka.  They were smugglers by association.

"Fine," he grumbled.  "I'm not expecting anything.  This Theraphosa seems to run a small operation.  According to Rook-38 his crew is about six strong, four of which are on their way down here."

"Welcome to my parlor, said Dispin to the fly."

"Dispin, why do you always say that?" asked Marv.

"I heard it once while I was hiding in the bowels of a cargo ship," he hissed.  "I thought it sounded cool."

"It doesn't sound cool."

Maeve nodded in agreement.  Dispin clicked his mandibles, his way of shrugging.  The Bride stared at him, her cheek twitching the way it did when she communicated with her husband.  Roghlan scoffed.  His ragtag group of soldiers without a country were the closest thing he had to a family.  He should've been able to tell them about his daughter, but he'd told too many lies to keep them working for Tikka as long as he had.  The hole was too deep.

"All right.  I want Bolsha and the twins.  The rest of you take the night off," he growled.

"Yes!" Marv and Maeve gave each other high fives.  "We get to beat up a few earthlings."

The Bride nodded and wandered off.  Roghlan watched her go, and wondered what she and the creature attached to her spine talked about.  The dreamy look on her face made him wonder if he wanted to know.

"I'm volunteering for the next job, Rog," Dispin hisses as he skittered up the wall.  "I'm getting bored down here."

"Noted."

Roghlan gestured towards Bolsha, and they keyed it into their datapad.  He was terrible at keeping records.  The twins started checking their commando gear, and weapon clips.  Bolsha grabbed a netcaster and a pair of stun grenades from the gun rack.  They grabbed a stun baton, and looked back at Roghlan raising an eyebrow on a face which looked like an amalgam of the whole unit.  He shrugged, and Bolsha put the weapon back.

Roghlan returned to his room and opened the case on his desk.  Inside was a long scarred metal shaft.  He removed it and hit the button embedded in the grip.  The roar and heat excited him like few things could.

---

Zili followed the quartet like a phantom.  Her mind-work made her invisible to the five main senses.  She couldn't do anything about their sense of danger, and that seemed to be the biggest problem.  Every time she drew too close the strange human seemed to feel her presence.  Zili was having trouble pinpointing how the human was thwarting her efforts, it was frustrating and exciting.  Zili liked a challenge, and getting inside the woman's head was proving to be a daunting task.

"After this is all over Renegade needs to give me a crash course in registry coding.  I tried to create a bit of added security to our UniPasses, and all it does is cause static feedback."

"Let's appreciate our luck then.  If the security here was doing their job, we'd be in holding undergoing a deep scan."

"I'd rather a deep scan to this shit," growled the felarnian.  "We've passed three security checkpoints, and they've waved us through each time.  I say we go back to the ship."

I'm calling Lieutenant Finley.  If they turn around, I'll have security grab them at the airlocks.

Zili furrowed her brow, sharing her consternation to Tikka.  He was being reckless and risking quite a bit to capture the Earther.  Theraphosa was a small time buyer, but Rook-38's research said he was consistent.  Even The Song Brothers, who were notorious for hating everyone, vouched for them.  Moving against him would be burning a bridge that The Wing Tikka Gang could utilize later.  Zili always thought towards the future.  If she focused hard enough she could actually see glimpses of it.

Tikka said there was a huge payoff for this operation.  Twice she'd tried to glimpse this future he promised, and twice she'd stared into an empty void.  Then there was nothing.

Give the catkind the need to speak with me personally.

I can't.  Not without breaking my psycloak.

The quartet came to the designated lift.

"Last chance, Lee."

"Calm down, Blue.  These guys are professionals."

"Smells like a trap," he growled.

The taller human woman rubbed the back of her neck, and spun around.  She searched the dim hallway, twice looking directly at Zili.  Filled with the irrational fear that her psycloak was slipping, she closed her eyes and raised her barrier to its peak.  In her efforts she lost connection to Tikka and The Uplink.  She also lost the psybug.  There was a sudden flash of purple sparks on the strange woman's shoulder, gone as quickly as it appeared.

"What was that!"

"I saw it too," Theraphosa drew a pistol from the inside of his vest.  "Maybe this is a bad idea."

The lift doors opened, the lights within illuminating the hall.  Maeve stood inside, smiling innocently.  Roghlan sent his most dangerous hand-to-hand fighter.  Mr. Theraphosa took a double take.  Even with her concentration on the psycloak Zili could sense his surprise.  Early human space explorers had discovered the dwarf-martians, taken their planet, and banished them to inhospitable planetoids.  Most humans assumed they had died off centuries ago.

"Going down?" Maeve asked.

"Yeah," Theraphosa said as he lowered his weapon.  "Let's get what we came for and get going."

The others followed him into the lift.  The colonial woman stared at Maeve with undisguised curiosity.

"Are you?" she asked.

"All my life."

Zili slipped into the lift as the doors slid closed.

----

"Zili.  Zili!  What happened to the audio?" Xiup asked, tapping the neural headgear that wired The Uplink to the machinery.  "Damn it!"

Tiny featherkind scattered, spooked by his rage.

"Tikka, relax.  They're on the lift, they're as good as ours," Rook-38 assured him.

A diop brought Xiup a bottle of vintage root pop, and a fresh hotdog.  He smiled and accepted the snack.

"That big blue catkind is going to ruin everything... Maybe I should have The Orphans kill him the moment he gets off the lift."

"Not a good idea.  I want them relaxed and in a place we fully control," Rook-38 said, replaying a recording of Xiup.  "Your words."

Xiup clicked his beak.

"Now that we have them in our section of the station, our chance of success has more than doubled.  Relax, it is almost over.  Besides, Rohglan is going to want to fight the felarnian in single combat."

"Why?  We can surround them and shoot.  No fighting, no mess."

"He's a Canamarian, Tikka."

"Damn it..."  Tikka ate the last morsel of his hotdog and licked his beak.  "Let's go meet our guest."

The diop poured out of the surveillance room, and off to their various post.  Some would head to the holding tanks to prepare for their captives.  Others would go to the kitchen to cook more snacks, he was already getting peckish.  The rest returned to his throne room to continue sorting his stuff.  The diop knew what their master wanted, responsibility would be given to those most suited for the job.

Outside the door Xiup stopped to adjust his vintage Tommy Bahama shirt.

"Tikka," Rook-38 called after him.  "You might need this."  In his hand was a high yield kinetic pistol.

"Without a holster I'll have to carry it in my hand.  You carry it."

Xiup Tikka ran his hand feathers along his cracked beak.  He was about to become a very wealthy man.  He took the left at the end of the hall, and followed the adjoining passage to the bottom of a short flight of stairs.  As he waddled up the steps he could hear Marv's voice.

"Mr. Tikka should be here any moment."

"Is this the heavy duty construction pod I requested?"  That was Mr. Theraphosa.

Xiup reached the top of the stairs in an alcove between two shipping crates.  He cleared his throat loudly, and stepped into the room propper.  To Theraphosa and his people he would appear to have stepped out of the wall, a bit of dramatics before he closed the noose.  Rook-38 emerged afterwards.  The construct nodding at each guest in kind, his orange Low-Face all smiles and professionalism.

"It most definitely is, a Mk III deep space probe welder.  Slightly used."  Xiup gestured at the device, and smirked.  He'd recently acquired a pair from a smaller smuggler organization he put out of business.  It was turning into a very profitable year for The Wing Tikka Gang.  "I'm Xiup Tikka," he took a small bow, "and you must be Mr. Theraphosa."

The Earther nodded.

"These are my colleagues, Blue and Ivory, and this is my lovely wife Tiffany."

Xiup's smirk widened to a smile.  He had very little use for a one armed human, but Tiffany would be a great acquisition.  He rubbed his hands together and closed his eyes.  He tried a quick probe of her mind, utilizing his own mind-work.  Xiup was no master at the craft, but humans were notoriously easy to read.  When his mind found nothing to latch on to, his pulse raced.  A human who could cloak themselves so thoroughly was a rare find.  Xiup laughed, he hadn't felt such excitement since he was a boy.  He opened his eyes and Theraphosa was giving him a queer look.

"Can I assume there was no problem with the monetary transaction?"

"No problems at all.  I've received half of the agreed upon payment."

"Good.  You will receive the other half once the supplies are all aboard my ship."

"Of course."  Xiup placed his hands behind his back to hide them from the human's searching gaze.

Theraphosa walked over to the pod, and ran his fingers over the sleek construction arm.  He nudged the supply crates on the floor with his foot.

"You mind if we take a look before things move forward?"  Theraphosa took a step back, and casually scanned the room.

Xiup could sense Zili circling the room as well as Bolsha perched on the catwalk above, and though he knew Theraphosa couldn't see them wondered whether his wife could.  He realized she could easily spoil the surprise if he didn't distract her.  A group of diop rushed into the room, pushing their way past the felarnian and human women.  They startled at the blue man's growl.  One handed Xiup a big bag of popped corn kernels, the others opened the supply crates arrayed around the pod.

"Please, be my guest."  He shoveled a handful into his mouth, savoring the faux butter.  "Do you like popped corn?"

"Popcorn," Theraphosa corrected with a chuckle.  "No, thank you."

"I'll take some," Ivory said with a shrug.  She walked over and took a handful.  "Thanks."

She munched as she crouched beside the crate of medical gel and antibacterial foams.  She ate, licked her fingers clean, and gave Xiup a quick thumbs-up before sifting through the crate contents.  She seemed unhindered by her missing limb, but her surface thoughts were focused on a lost piece of equipment.  A prosthesis or weapon, likely both.  Ivory was actively hiding some of her thoughts, a thing humans did when dealing with the Xnean.  It was of little importance.  She was no mind-worker, he could read her with little effort.  Xiup scoffed as her thoughts turned to the blue felarnian.  Her sexual desire for him was surprisingly strong.

Blue growled, drawing everyone's attention.  Xiup followed his gaze towards the lift that brought them.  Standing in the way was Roghlan, bedecked in combat gear and glaring at the felarnian.  Xiup swore mentally, making sure to share his displeasure with all of his gang.  Theraphosa and Ivory stepped away from the pod, caution at the forefront of their minds.

"Easy, Blue.  We're here to pay for our goods and move on."

"Actually, Mr. Theraphosa, I was hoping to make a few alterations to our arrangement."

The Earther's hand slipped into his vest, and Xiup raised his hands high to show himself unarmed.

"There is no need for violence.  We're both businessmen."  Xiup smiled.  "A very profitable opportunity has arisen, and I would be foolish if I did not take advantage.  I merely wanted to offer you an chance to partake."

"What kind of opportunity?"  Theraphosa was skeptical.

Xiup could read from his surface thoughts he didn't want any trouble if it could be avoided.  "Neither one of us want trouble.  Leave that pistol in its holster and let's talk."

Zili, have everyone ready to move on my signal.

Xiup laughed.  He couldn't stop himself, everything was working out so well.  The Va-Pu star crystals were as good as his.

"I'm listening," Theraphosa said, his hand never leaving his vest.  "Speak quickly, I'm ready to leave."

"I understand.  I have a buyer interested in acquiring something-"

The laughter overtook him.  Xiup couldn't maintain the farce any longer.

"Sorry," he chuckled, "It's just that I have a buyer willing to pay a fortune for a piece of merchandise that's just fallen into my lap."

"What kind of merchandise?"

Strangely Theraphosa's mind was retreating, becoming harder to read by the millisecond.  He wasn't a mind-worker, Xiup would have felt it.  He was something else.

"You, Mr. Theraphosa.  You."

Things happened all at once.  Rook-38 drew his heavy pistol, and the twins unfurled their collapsing rifles.  Bolsha dropped their active camouflage, massive cannon leveled on the group.  Zili appeared beside Mrs. Theraphosa, pressing her dagger to the human's neck as she grabbed her arm.  The felarnian activated one of those impractical laser swords.

"Your making a big mistake, Tikka."

"I don't think so, Mr. Theraphosa."

"Spider?" Blue growled, and Xiup could sense he'd spoken the human's true name.

"Weapons hot!"

-----

The plan was simple: scare them, and corral them towards the holding tanks.  The Orphans had done it before.  This time would be even easier than normal because they were on their on turf.  Marv, Maeve, and Bolsha we're blocking all but one of the exits.  Rook-38 was there armed with a Swix Hand Cannon, and a maniacal expression on his Low-Face.  Even Zili was there with her weird psychic tricks.  Everything was buttoned up real nice.  Roghlan could focus on the real prize, a felarnian head.

The blue furred man ignited his plasmatic edge, and Roghlan's blood ran hot.  His hackles raised, his pulse thundered in his ears.  He drew out the metal shaft hidden in his shield pauldron, and ran his finger along its ancient button.  Plasma and metal fragments arched back and forth creating a super heated crescent.  The plasmatic cleaver was less precise than the edge but far more destructive.  Chaos filled the room as both sides opened fire, but Roghlan had eyes for only one opponent.

"Father! Watch me on this battlefield!" he roared in the old language.

In that moment he felt like a knight of old charging into battle with the heretical khalyn.  Blue was on him in a blur of fur and roaring plasma.  Roghlan turned into the attacks, letting his father's armor absorb the blows.  The antique shield pauldron protected him from neck to fist in combat-hardened lyric steel.  Blood rushed through his veins, and songs of war drummed through his mind.  For a moment Roghlan existed on the hero's plane where all knights of true valor learned at the feet of the Shkshk Hssai.  Then the edge slipped past his protection, burning a line across his earlobe.  He roared in pain, and drove his shoulder into the felarnian.

"I live for these moments," he snarled with angry excitement.

His plasmatic cleaver howled as it cut a crackling rent in the legs of the supply shelving.  Roghlan ignored the groaning metal as he deflected an attack from his opponent and hacked a vicious series, missing his target by short inches.  He brought his fist to his shoulder and the shield pauldron coiled together creating a round buckler.  Blue's follow-up attack struck harmlessly off of Roghlan's defense.  The felarnian flipped over and kicked him in the back, sending Roghlan barreling into the shelves.  The metal cried and the entire structure collapsed, showering them with crates and large boxes.

------

As Zili walked them down the hall her human captive was ridged.  Zili applied pressure to the blade at the woman's neck until she gasped.  Zili wasn't sure what kind of new human mind-worker she was dealing with, but she knew the importance of disrupting concentration.  As long as she kept the human mentally off balance there'd be no threat of her bringing her mind-gifts to bear.

The sounds of fighting followed them down the hall, and Zili wondered how things had gone so terribly wrong.  Outnumbered and outgunned, Tikka had rightly assumed Theraphosa and his crew would attempt to escape.  Yet that hadn't been the case.  She'd touched their minds for that brief moment before the fighting started.  There was no hesitation, no fear, just cold determination.  They were all soldiers.  Zili suspected spec. Ops sent by the EC to put an end to the gang's activities on Alpha Arietis Station.  If her hunch was correct, a team of EC War Jammers could be on their way down.

Tikka, we need to go!

Who are theses people!

The psychic echo of Tikka's thoughts was jarring.  He was in a panic, and that panic rippled through her mind despite the projective barriers she had in place.  The sudden mental assault made Zili's hands shake, the grip on her blade loosened.  The human named Tiffany grabbed her wrist and whipped her around, with alarming strength.  Zili tried to recover, but couldn't as a kick to the chest sent her into the wall.  The pain helped her focus, and fueled her mind-work.  Tiffany reached for Zili's dagger, and Zili released a wall of thought energy, slamming both the woman and the weapon into the opposite side of the hall.

Zili rubbed her chest as she rose to her feet.  She tasted blood and spit, staining her beak with flecks of yellow.  With a nudge of her psyche the wall pressed in, causing the human and the metal walls to cry out in unison.  Unhindered by the need to maintain the psybug or psycloak, Zili was free to unleash her full potential.  Humans were physically stronger and more resilient than the Xnean, but their brains were little more than jelly.  She reached through the psychic wall and into Tiffany's mind.

Still she could not breach her mental blocks.  The corridor's walls began to buckle under the force before Zili reigned in her frustration.

"How?" she hissed in common, her accent was pronounced as her words worked around her tongue and beak.  "How do you keep me out?"

A bolt of writhing fluid hit her in the shoulder spinning her around.  It burned like acid and tried to climb along her body.

"It's called consent, bitch!" shouted the human Theraphosa had called Ivory.

She fired a second time, but Zili easily deflected the biological round with a disk of psychic force.  Zili swept her hands across her chest, simultaneously tossing aside the fluid on her shoulder and the fluid suspended in the air before her.

"You damn birds are always up to some kinda tricks."

"We only need one of you," Zili declared.

She reached out for her attacker's mind, willing her fingers not to move.  The human struggled, but her mind was without training in mental combat, helpless.  Zili grinned.  It had been a long time since she'd ripped a creature's mind to shreds.  First she would take what knowledge she could from Ivory's mind, then she would pulverize her synapses.

At that moment a sudden fit of coughing rolled over Zili, causing her to hack up more blood and ruining her concentration.  All three women dropped to the floor.  The humans struggled to shake off her mind-work while Zili fought the bleeding in her chest.  She tried to take a deep breath and only managed a short intake before the blood and coughing returned.

"Oh, you should have killed me, feathers," the smaller human growled.

The vent above her slammed open and a mass of tentacles dropped down between them.

"Deep space!"

Zili didn't need to be a mind-worker to taste the human's horror.

"Go, Zili.  I'll deal with this one," Bolsha said as their body pulled itself into a humanoid form.

"Where's Tikka?"

"Running."

Zili grabbed her dagger, and pulled the taller human to her feet.  She pressed her blade to Tiffany's sternum, and nudged her forward.  The human complied, and Zili made sure to keep a tight grip.

-

Xiup called out with his mind and diop flooded the passage behind him.  The little featherkind lacked cunning and inventiveness, but they were loyal, strong and, most importantly, expendable.  They stood shoulder to shoulder creating a wall of feathers.  Xiup knew they'd buy him time to get to his shuttle.  He didn't know who Mr. Theraphosa was, but it was clear he'd misjudged the human.  He and his crew fought with military precision and ruthless efficiency.  Xiup wanted to get as far away from the fighting as possible.

He pressed the remote starter in his pocket, priming the systems of his shuttle for take off.  If the earther managed to fight his way through the diop, Xiup would already be on his way.  Thinking about the star crystals he could've had made his chest ache, but he was pragmatic enough to know when to cut his losses.  Marv had shot Theraphosa at nearly point blank range, and the man had barely flinched.  The human was clearly hopped up on accelerants and soldier nano.

Xiup almost choked as Theraphosa crashed through the diop barrier as if it were nothing.  His eyes were glowing an eerie blue color and silver streaks marred his flesh.  He took a moment to get his bearings before focusing those blue eyes on Xiup Tikka, smuggler and deadman.  Xiup swallowed a lump in his throat and took off at a run.  Theraphosa was a cyborg berserk on accelerants.  Nothing short of an energy canon would stop him.  Thankfully there was one just inside the shuttle doors.  He needed only to reach it.

The sound of explosions echoed down a side passage, and Xiup swore.  Even if his people grabbed control of the situation, the station's security force would soon have to respond.  The EC detachment assigned to Alpha Artietis Station wouldn't care about the palms that had been greased.  The entire Wing Tikka operation was in danger.

Xiup slid and crashed into the wall as he made a turn in his mad dash for the shuttle.  He squawked, a noise unbecoming of a Xnean of the upper class.  His arm hung limp, but he had no time to think about the pain gripping his side.  Xiup Tikka knew true fear for the first time.  Theraphosa was gaining on him.

Diop hastily loaded supplies into the shuttle as Xiup came to the T juncture.  He willed them to hurry and the little featherkind obeyed.  His tongue flicked across his beak as he anticipated the feel of the energy canon in his hands.  He stopped short as the diop scrambled to make way for Zili at the other side of the passage.  Her arm was around the female earther's throat, her blade pressed beneath the woman's sternum.  Xiup allowed hope to enter his heart.  Zili was a genius.  Maybe his buyer would be willing to take the female for a fraction of he price.

Tikka!

A pair of antique Boban pikes leaped off their rack and whistled past Xiup's head, pruning a handful of feathers in their flight.  He ducked and turned in time to watch the ceremonial weapons impale Theraphosa, pinning him to the wall at shoulder and thigh.  Zili was using her full power, a sight to behold.  The earther cried out, and Xiup grinned with satisfaction.  Things could be salvaged.  He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

"Liam!" The earther female elbowed her way free from Zili's grip, earning herself a knife in the stomach.

To Xiup's horror the woman merely yanked the blade free and hit Zili with a palm strike to the chest, knocking the air out of her lungs and sending her sailing through the open shuttle doors.  It was Xiup's turn to cry out.  The earthers weren't earthers at all.  Xiup didn't know what they were, and he didn't want to find out.  He backed away from the woman, but froze at Theraphosa's pained expletives.  The man should have been immobilized.  He should have been fighting off shock.  Instead he peeled himself off the wall, silver oozing from the wounds.  Those wounds closed before Xiup's very eyes.  He didn't know a word that fully encompassed his feelings, but the human phrase fuck! was the closest analog.

A diop ran around the corner carrying one of Xiup's custom high yield hunting pistols, responding to his need.  Theraphosa struck faster than Xiup could react, punting the little featherkind and snatching the gun out of the air.  The man turned the weapon on its owner, and Xiup Tikka found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol with his name engraved on the handle.

"We need the ignition codes for the Mk III," he said through gritted teeth.  He cocked back the hammer, and rotated his newly healed shoulder.

Xiup raised his hands high.  "So you still want to do business?"

"I don't see why not." The earther chuckled, his laugh dangerous.  "We can make a trade.  Your life for the codes, the supplies, and a crate of popcorn."

"What? That's outrageous!"

Theraphosa pointed the pistol at Xiup's chest.  His eyes widened. The kinetic firearm would leave an unwieldy exit hole in the Xnean's back.  He shook his head long before he could find his voice.

"Okay, okay.  Ten bags of corn, that's half a crate."

"No deal.  Now it's two crates, and a tub of faux butter."

"This is robbery!"

"Three-"

"Fine!"

Xiup watched as the killing end of the pistol lowered to his knees.  If Theraphosa were to pull the trigger, it would maim but not kill.  Xiup breathed a sigh of relief, though the earther's expression remained hostile.

"Sounds like we have a deal," Theraphosa said as he extended his free hand.

Xiup smiled his business smile and reached out, but the loud priming of an energy weapon stopped him before he could take a step.

"Tikka, back away from Mr. Theraphosa," Rook-38 ordered.  "Mr. Theraphosa, if you pull the trigger I will be forced to kill your wife."

The look on the earther's face was an interesting one. Tikka smirked and backed down the hall until he was just outside the shuttle doors.  Strangely there was very little blood.  Diop were attempting to administer first aid to Zili on the floor of his vehicle.  Rook-38 held a low yield energy pistol, the type executives hid inside their business suits, inches from Mrs. Theraphosa's head.  Xiup relieved her of Zili's knife.

He ran his hand through the strange woman's hair.  The Armada Admirals of the Great Roost would pay handsomely to get their hands on a human with such unique mind-work... they might even be willing to forgive some of his treasonous transgressions.  Tikka could relocate and expand his empire to Xnean Xnarn space.  He rubbed his hands together, opportunity knocked at the oddest times.

"Tikka, we have to go.  Ship security will be here soon."

"Not empty handed."

"Don't even think about it," Theraphosa snarled.  He held Tikka's favorite pistol in a two-handed grip pointed squarely at Rook-38's chest.

"Human, you couldn't possibly hit me before she died.  You have lost.  We have won."

Xiup watched the earther's face, his surface thoughts running through nearly a dozen scenarios simultaneously.  It was impressive, if futile.  Defeat rolled over his features, clouding his expression.  Theraphosa knew Rook-38 was right.  Slowly he lowered his gun.

"Looks like the best man has won," Xiup said, using an old Earth phrase.  " I can't sa-"

A startling metal rending sound made Xuip loose his bladder, and a bolt of superheated energy cut a swath across the top of his head with an angry buzz.  He spun around and watched as Mrs. Theraphosa yanked her fist free of Rook-38's chest.  She'd not only moved faster than his trigger finger, but she'd also punched a hole in his armored core.  The construct's low-face winked out, and the chassis slumped on its feet.  Rook-38 was personality dead.  The structure could be repaired but the digital mind was gone.

Xiup dove into the shuttle, hitting the launch button on the remote starter in his pocket.  The doors slammed shut followed by the sound of the stations airlock seals.  There was a muffled thump and the shuttle was free from Alpha Artietis Station's grips.  He could feel the engines vibrating through the small ship.  Three diop stared at him, waiting for instruction.  Xiup turned over to stare into Zili's unblinking eyes. 

Rook-38, Zili, two dozen of his diop, and likely The Orphans... his calculations had been wrong.  The price for crossing Mr. Theraphosa was far too high.

--

Roghlan awakened to the sound of Bolsha and Dispin arguing.  His arm ached, but that pain was nothing to what he felt in his left leg.  He sat up, and stared down at the flayed piece of seared meat The Bride cautiously wrapped.  His body was crisscrossed with scorch marks where the blue felarnian had played past his defenses.  Roghlan thought of the way the man fought; the ferocity, the finesse.  The blue man had been equal parts rage and control.  Roghlan had heard Canamar Knights speak of the worthy opponent during his youth.  He'd finally found his.

"We go back, and we kill them," Dispin shouted.  "The Orphans can't let this stand.  Look at him!  Look at his face!"

Roghlan raised an eyebrow.  There was something in the way his skin pulled at itself that made him tentatively touch his head.

"Yes, look at him.  Look at me." Bolsha slumped against a shipping crate, their face an echo of Dispin's own visage.  Ichor flowed freely from ruptured tentacles, pieces of metal jutted from their side, and one of their eyes were swollen shut.  "I almost died getting him out of there.  Going back right now could be suicide."

"So you're scared?  Me and the twins can finish what they starte-"

Bolsha's primary tentacles wrapped around Dispin in a rush of dripping barbed flesh, squeezing the bravado out of him.  They pulled their self to a standing position, bringing the two eye to eye.

"Yes.  I am scared."

Roghlan let his fingers linger over the bandages that patched the top of his head, and remembered...

He blocked, but the felarnian seemed to get faster as the duel progressed.  Roghlan couldn't keep up, could barely stand on his ruined leg.  The felarnian was suddenly above him, silver staining his fur.  Roghlan tried to dodge, but the burning plasma was coming too fast.  Impossibly fast...

"Bolsha's right," he croaked.  "We find Tikka, that birdbrain is too slippery to die here.  We find him, get what he owes us- all that he owes us, then we talk about getting payback."

The Orphans all nodded.  They loved getting payback.