Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
I doubt I ever will.
Even so, thinking about the female makes me head to the front of my shop. It's quiet right now. I'm waiting on a shipment of prosthetics that have been stolen from a military base, and my contact is taking a little longer to show up. Until he brings me the goods, I can't contact my clients and let them know that I'm ready to work on them. My shop looks like it's a run-down repair hub, but in reality, I let my partner handle the front end. My business is far more specialized…and dangerous.
Tikosa gives me a curious look as I head to the front. I lean in the doorway, pretending to be bored and scanning the crowd on Three Nebulas. The station is crowded—the station is always crowded—but today it seems to lack life. There's a listless energy to things, and even the people that walk past move lethargically, gazing at the clustered rows of shops and booths set up in every spare bit of flooring available. I glance over at the cantina again, but the lights are out, the window empty of a sad-eyed human female. With a grunt, I pace back into the shop.
"You all right?" Tikosa asks. His nimble fingers—all of them prosthetic—re-wire the back of a fancy data pad that he probably got for cheap.
"Why wouldn't I be?" I grumble.
"You're pacing." He's young, Tikosa, but astute. That's why I hired him. The boy finishes his work on the data pad and then snaps the backing into place. He wipes the screen down carefully, and then places it into a box before moving onto the next broken data pad. He glances over at me as he works. "Something bothering you?"
I run my hand over my metal skull-cap. It feels cool and smooth against my skin, a reminder at how unnatural I look to those around me. I should have a full, thick head of black mesakkah hair, proud, arching horns capped and decorated with the finest of metals. Instead, I'm as cratered and barren as the nearest moon. I rub my hand over the dome of my metal skull again, moving behind the counter. "Just…restless. I don't know. Something's off in the station today."
Beside me, Tikosa snorts, not looking up from his work. "It's because everyone's sober. They're not used to it." He gets out a small blade and pries the back off of the new data pad, intent on his work. "You heard about the cantina, right?"
I hate that my pulse spikes. That I think of the nubile human female and her expressive eyes. How I swear she looks at me when she dances, sometimes. "What about the cantina?"
Tikosa's mouth curves in a half smile as he shrugs. "Abuar's finally getting what's coming to him. You know he hasn't paid the syndicate in months? It's only because he's the only cantina with whores that he's able to get away with so much. All that's changing, though."
I watch him through narrowed eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Heard a rumor that the syndicate told him not-so-nicely that he has two days to get out of here. He's closed up shop and sold the place to Nhaoan on the cheap."
I grunt. I'm not entirely surprised that Abuar ran afoul of the real power on this station. He had a business partner that handled a lot of the financial work for him while he fooled around with his slaves and pretended to be a big deal. That partner died last year, though, and ever since, it's been a matter of time, in my opinion. Still, I hope the new master is kind to the slave with the pretty eyes. She's up in that window all day long and by the end of the day, she looks exhausted and worn. "Who's Nhaoan?"
"Some equally cheap bastard. Ssithri."
"Ugh." Not my favorite. Too many have tried to ease out of paying me, thinking they can rip me off. It's a cultural thing for the ssithri to rip off non-ssithri. Brings them honor or some such. Something tells me he's not going to last long as a cantina owner, though. Poor human's gonna have to change hands again, I imagine. "The slaves are probably ready for a new owner."
"Mmm. Those that stay."
For a moment, my gut goes cold. "Stay?"
He nods, frowning at a particularly tricky bit of wire. Hasn't looked at me once this entire conversation, Tikosa. He's utterly focused his task, and yet he'd be able to recite every word we've said here. He's clever, and in a few years, I aim to make him my apprentice. Right now, though, I'm not pleased with his work. I want to knock the keffing data pad out of his hands and get him to spit out what he's learned. "Yeah. You know Abuar. He's gonna leave the ugly ones with the cantina and sell the pretty slaves before the new owner shows up. Heard he's already been trying to set something up with the flesh peddlers for tonight."