I trudged past several brothels promising erotic delights, their flashing neon signs displaying triple-breasted silhouettes, dual-pronged cocks, and a plethora of tentacles. I would caution to never search out why whorehouses advertised sinuous appendages. The trauma will stay with you a long while.

Along with the pleasure parlors, there were plenty of tattoo shops that looked as if they’d give you an infection along with the art, taverns and more taverns, and a few casinos, too. The street, while not busy, did have some foot traffic, mostly male, on their way to satisfy one of their vices. Not a great planet for someone of the female sex, but at least, unlike most, I could defend myself. I kept one hand on my blaster at all times and had a drone floating above me to warn of possible trouble.

Why did clients, seeking to hire certain services, always want to meet in the seediest of locations? Did they think the dingy bars and alleys they chose to hammer out their deals made their nefarious demands less noticeable? Perhaps they did it out of an unspoken expectation that illegal requests should match their locale. I had news for them: some of the deadliest and most corrupt machinations took place in the richest and most glamourous locations, usually a penthouse office where the furniture cost more than I earned in a year.

Then again, in defense of this particular client I was on my way to meet, Viafinis didn’t offer luxury. Even if it did, I rarely got to choose the meeting spots and I couldn’t complain, since I needed the work. Badly.

My last employer—may he be infected by a rizzah worm and made to scream when he peed— unceremoniously ditched my ass on Viafinis when he fired me. Utterly undeserved. That fucker, Nialls, had been cheating at cards and deserved the broken nose. While I’d been aware no one ever called Nialls out on his sly tricks because he was fucking the captain, he’d been too blatant and smug about it. I’d won those credits, fair and square. Did anyone care? Nope. Standing up for myself got me released from service—again—and deposited on the closest planet with essentially just the clothes on my back. Whatever this new client had to offer, I’d take it. I had to keep earning if I wanted to save enough to get off this depressing rock.

As I neared the meeting place, I paused and sent a mental command to my drone. Time to hide. The device, which I’d nickname Whirly, dove down and nestled in my satchel.

With cocky confidence—a very much needed attitude for rough locales—I strode into the bar, aptly titled, Drink at Your Own Risk, and cast a glance around to assess the space. Not much to see in the gloomy tavern. Only a fraction of the overhead bulbs worked, and they strained to provide any light through the smog created from the many vices being smoked—from tobacco cigarettes to the type containing herbs that would send your mind flying high. Not me, though. I smelled nothing because I wore an Airnula, which, for the uninformed, was a breathing apparatus consisting of tubes inserted into both my nostrils and attached to a device that filtered garbage from the air while providing a blend of oxygen and other gases so I didn’t asphyxiate—or gag. A necessary accoutrement on Viafinis, since the equipment that generated the planet’s atmosphere had fallen into disrepair after the Xemplar military abandoned their outpost here in favor of a shiny new space station. Those that chose to keep using Viafinis as a way station—mostly the dregs of galactic society or those avoiding law and order—could have repaired the machinery that kept people breathing, but that would involve investing, and most didn’t care enough to bother; they simply used the planet to conduct their less-than-legal business without interference—or arrest.

A few tables with chairs, some of them broken enough they could now be called stools, held patrons hunched over tankards, their slouch bearing the familiar look of despair. Seeing them fueled my desire to get out fast. Hopelessness could be contagious.

Head high, hand close to the holster on my hip, I strode for the bar, a grand name for the recycled thruster that had been modified to have a flat surface with a hollowed back custom fitted to hold bottles. Behind the bar, a robot with six mechanical arms acted as bartender. The multi-jointed limbs moved constantly as it poured, shook, and served drinks.

I slid into an empty spot in the middle and simply said, “One shot of ishkee.” Whilst not acknowledging my presence, the robot bartender, which didn’t possess a face of any kind, must have been listening because it served me. In mere seconds, a small glass of the smoking amber liquid slid in my direction.

I snagged the shot and tilted the contents into my mouth. The ishkee burned on the way down, in a good way that loosened muscles but didn’t affect my mind. A place like this required me to remain alert, lest someone think me an easy mark and I wake spread eagle on a bed, the newest victim of the sex trade that, despite the many attempts by the government to stamp out, continued to flourish.

Right on cue, one of the drunks staggered to my side and slurred his irresistible invitation. “Hey, whore. How much for you to suck my dick?”

Without turning my head, I shot out my hand, squeezed said small appendage and yanked it upward, drawing a high-pitched, “Ouch! That hurts.”

“Surprising, given its teeny, tiny size.”

“Hey, you can’t insult my dick like that. I’m a grower,” he sputtered.

“You won’t be if I remove it,” I snarled. “Now scram.”

“You could have just said no,” huffed the drunk as he scurried off, clutching his junk.

Saying no led to them cajoling or berating. My way proved more efficient.

A hulking figure plopped into the empty spot beside me, their cloak covering them head to toe in voluminous fabric—because of course that didn’t look suspicious at all.

“You are Divine?” the figure asked in a monotone voice, the synthesizer they used masking their true vocals.

“Yep. Who’s asking?” Because I never assumed anything.

“Someone looking to hire a person with a specific skillset.”

No surprise they avoided giving a name. Again, those looking for less-than-legal services did their best to mask their identity. Not that I cared. Let them stay anonymous. I’d only come to this meeting because, of all the jobs recently posted on the electronic bulletin board I’d been perusing daily, it was the first that didn’t require me to be giant-sized for bouncing unruly clients or promise poor pay for heavy lifting. On the contrary, the ad simply said, Looking for a merc with experience in retrieval and elimination. AKA someone who knew how to steal and kill.

“What’s the job?” I asked.

“Here’s the details.” The being that could have been male or female slid over a data chip that simply required placement of my palm upon it to upload the contents to my neural network. The implant had been costly, however, after having lost several portable versions—destroyed in the course of previous missions—it proved more cost-efficient to have something permanent installed even as I’d balked at having someone tamper with my brain. Never mind the technology had been around centuries, mishaps still occurred.

The details of the request took less than a second to process once uploaded.

Eliminate a history professor by the name of Dex Hagan and retrieve a metallic disk in his possession. To receive the bounty, I was to return to this bar in six hours with one of the man’s eyes and the item as proof of the job being completed. The sum being paid actually excited, because it wouldn’t just buy me passage off this decrepit rock but would also keep me afloat long enough to find a new job. Although, maybe instead of joining a mercenary crew—which seemed to always end up with me punching someone—I’d freelance.

“Any questions?” the client asked.

“You’re sure this professor is located on Viafinis?” It seemed an odd place for an academic.

“He stopped to refuel and have some repairs done to his ship. My sources indicate he will be departing shortly, so you won’t want to delay.”

In other words, get to it or I’d miss out on an easy score. After all, how hard could it be to kill a professor? “Consider it done.”

The cloaked entity snagged the chip, but before it left, I couldn’t help but ask, “What’s so important about a disk of metal?”

“It was stolen, and the owner wants it returned.”

The professor was a thief. Not that him being a criminal mattered. If I wanted to get paid, the man had to die.

With the meeting done, my client went to leave only to have their cloak snag on the rough edge of a table, giving me a quick flash of dark red trousers. Xemplar uniform colors. Odd because I’d not heard of any soldiers being stationed here. Not really any point, given Viafinis didn’t provide anything the Xemplar could use.

Given my short time frame for getting the job done, I left the tavern and headed for the spaceport. I’d visited it a few times since my arrival and talked to a few captains about joining their crew. Even got hired by one and was all ready to leave when the captain told me that, along with my regular duties, I’d also be spreading my legs on demand for him and his crew. Predictably, I laughed and told him no fucking way. He made a stupid decision to try to slap me. So stupid. He’d still been curled on the floor, sobbing about his crushed balls, as I marched off the ship with my meager collection of belongings.

Why did men have to be like that? It would have been nice to have a steady gig and a room to call my own. Everywhere in the universe, though, males remained the same. Especially the unsavory sort I tended to be around. They saw my petite and shapely frame and thought weak, not recognizing the muscle, the enhancements I’d paid dearly for to make me as strong as them. They thought because I didn’t buzz my hair short like other female mercs that I wanted their sexual advances. Wrong. Could I have made myself less attractive? Probably. But why should I? Fuck ‘em. I’d dress how I pleased, screw who I wanted on my terms, and teach those who took umbrage when a woman said no, that they should listen. I’d sent more than a few slow learners to reconstructive units to repair the damage I did to them.

The spaceport didn’t have any kind of security preventing entry, meaning I could easily wander amongst the parked ships, keeping an eye out for trouble, doing my best to not trip, the cracked pavement not a high priority to those running the spaceport. The cluster of vessels didn’t have much remarkable about them. Old and, in most cases, modified, a common feature for stolen ships.

According to the data dump, I sought a custom-built vessel, the body a bulky rectangular shape sitting atop two wings that extended from its base in a vee. Its distinctiveness should be easy to spot. However, with my client’s warning of the professor’s imminent departure, I chose to not waste time trying to hunt the ship down on foot and instead reached into my satchel to pull Whirly out.

“I’ve got a new task for you.” I held out my palm and the drone rose from it and hovered. “We’re looking for a ship. I just sent you the image. Ping me the location when you find it.”

Off zoomed Whirly, a drone I’d discovered in a dump and, with the aid of my sister, repaired. She’d been my mechanical companion ever since. Yes, she. The moment Whirly powered on, she’d declared her preference—once she got over being offended by my initial use of ‘it’.

It didn’t take Whirly long with her aerial view to locate my target and provide coordinates.

Within minutes I stood in view of the vessel and pursed my lips as I debated how to get inside. The sealed door meant I couldn’t just pop onto the ship and do the deed. I’d need a reason for the professor to open it.

My lips pursed as I went through my options. Pretend I had a delivery? If he didn’t expect one, he’d likely see right through that ruse. Forcing my way in would likely fail too, as I noticed the blinking light of a camera watching. And were those surface rail guns bolted under the wings? They looked newer than the rest of the ship. The professor might have been less than wise landing on Viafinis, but at least he had some defenses. It also indicated he might not be as meek and mild as expected.

The image that came with the data dump, showed a man in his prime, but provided a view of his face only. No indication of the fitness of his body. It led to me frowning as I wondered what else the file lacked. I would have preferred more time to investigate my target, but a tight deadline precluded that option.

Speaking of which, I needed on that ship. What would a professor open his door for?

I glanced down at my outfit. Long sleeved shirt, form fitting pants, an ankle length coat—with so many pockets!—and dusty boots. Not exactly conducive for seduction. However, I did have something tucked in my satchel that might work.

Assuming the professor liked two breasted, non-tentacled women.

Chapter 2

Dex

The ding indicating someone neared the ship had me whirling from the screen where I’d been studying some enlarged images. I glanced at the security monitor and raised my brows as I noticed the woman weaving her way towards my vessel. Petite, shapely, her body surely cold given she wore an outfit that left little to the imagination. A local sex worker, either coming from an encounter or heading to one, slightly inebriated, an understandable state given what they had to endure. Her tipsiness likely explained how she ended up peering at my ship, hollering, “Yoo hoo. I’m here, handsome, and I cannot wait to please you.”

I held back a snort. Did her clients truly believe what she said? I didn’t bother replying, but she proved insistent, pounding on the hull, while yelling into my camera.

“It’s rude to keep a lady waiting.”

A comment that rolled my eyes and despite myself, I responded via intercom, “Where’s the lady?”

“Is that how you’re going to talk to the woman who’s about to make your cock spurt?”

Bold and cringeworthy. I had no problem saying, “No thanks.” I might be up to date on my shots, but I had no interest in sticking my dick where hundreds had gone before.

“You can’t just order my services and then tell me to go away,” she huffed, cocking a hip.

Despite the less-than-stellar quality of the camera outside, she appeared surprisingly pretty. Long dark hair pulled into a tail. Her fact not yet ravaged by her lifestyle and wearing almost no makeup, which seemed odd. Most sex workers on the lower end of the scale tended to be caked in product, unable to afford the luxury treatments of the elite.

A loud bang had her quickly turning her head, and in that same moment, her hand reached behind into the satchel she’d kept tucked at her back and emerged with a weapon. Obviously, someone with some survival sense who’d learned to act quickly to survive. A woman suddenly not looking so drunk. Not a prostitute after all, but a thief looking to bluff her way onto my ship.

“Nice gun,” I stated.

She glanced at the camera and smiled. “I’m really good with long and hard things that shoot if I stroke them just right. Why don’t you let me inside so I can show you?”

The terrible innuendo almost made me laugh. “No thanks, but I’m sure you won’t have a problem finding someone who’ll take you up on the offer.”

“How about a discount, seeing as how you sound nice?” She projected a fake smile that never reached her eyes.

I’d tried being polite. Time to shift gears. “I said no, and that’s final. Go find someone else to con.”

My refusal pinched her lips. “Your loss,” she grumbled.

And she might be right because she turned around and displayed partially bare cheeks that truly were a sight to behold. Perhaps—

No. I might not have been with a woman in a while, but that didn’t mean I’d become desperate enough to pay someone to drain my cock. Besides, I’d be leaving soon as I got clearance from the control tower, hopefully any minute now.

Just as I was about to pivot back to continue my work, I noticed the woman glancing to the sky and muttering a barely audible, “Fuck.”

Had her pimp noticed her rejection and sent a message? Or was it something else that suddenly had her darting around the far side of my ship?

Before I could check my other cameras, the proximity warning system went off with an ominous message.

Incoming projectiles.

“Miles,” the name I’d given my AI onboard system and my ship. “Shields up.”

A vibration went through the ship, and a low almost imperceptible hum arose, noticeable when docked but not in space. The protective barrier activated just in time. The impact of two missiles caused the vessel to tremble.

“Damage report,” I barked.

“None. The shields held, captain,” an androgynous voice replied.

They’d damned well better, given how much I’d spent having the system installed. “What’s going on out there, Miles?”

“Despite the laws declaring spaceports neutral zones, you are under attack.” As if this planet obeyed any laws.

“You don’t say,” I drawled. “By who?”

“The missiles were launched by an unmanned flyer that is readying to fire again. It appears to be a distraction for the seven approaching humanoids.”

Seems I’d been located. Expected but still annoying.

“Options, Miles?”

“That depends, Captain, on whether or not you want to be able to dock here in the future. We could strafe the incoming attack force, but it will cause damage to the space port and other craft in the vicinity.”

Not to mention, probably catch some innocents in the crossfire.

“What if we lift off?”

“The control tower has not yet given us clearance.”

“Fuck their clearance,” I growled. Most likely the staff had been bribed to delay me so the bribers might coordinate this attack. “Prepare for liftoff.”

“At once, Captain. However, what of the female crouched by the aft thruster?”

“What? Fuck.” The woman had hidden herself from the approaching trouble but now was caught inside the force field which I couldn’t lower lest I get slammed by a missile. “How do we get her out of there?”

“There is an access hatch I can open near her location.”

“Bring her on board? Surely there’s another option.”

“We lift off and she dies, most likely quickly, given the intense heat from the thruster.”

Who cared about the death of a stranger? Me, apparently. I sighed and rubbed my face. “Fine. The hatch it is.” I’d keep her contained on board and dump her at the next waystation.

“Done.” Milo paused before adding, “Captain, the tower is ordering us to power down.”

“Put them on the line.”

“…you are not cleared for departure. You will cease your attempt to lift off, or we will be forced to immobilize you.”

“Listen here, you crooked fuckers. I don’t care who paid you and how much, I am not sitting here waiting for those goons outside to break into my ship. So, either I leave right now with us on amicable terms and you wish me a good trip, or I leave extremely annoyed and bust up your space port on the way out. Your choice.”

“The galactic treaty states space ports are neutral zones—”

“Neutral, exactly, and yet you’re obviously working in conjunction with the goons currently firing on my ship.” Which did nothing but cause my shield to waver, but it wouldn’t be long before they came at it more aggressively.

“We are not,” was the indignantly huffed retort.

“Then I invoke the right of emergency departure due to unlawful attacks on my person.”

“What attack? We see nothing.”

A blatant lie that rolled my eyes. “Come on, even you can’t be so stupid as to maintain this charade.”

Miles muted the idiot I spoke to so he could give warning. “Captain, the tower is firing up their cannons.”

Well damn.

My lips pursed. “Will the shields hold?”

“For a few blasts, yes.”

And then bye bye Dex.

“Open the channel,” I ordered before snapping, “Going to blast me, are you? That’s also against the rules set out by the galactic treaty.”

“Only if anyone finds out,” they hissed their reply on the comms.

Exactly, and with the evidence I’d just recorded, if anyone thought to come after me for the damages I was about to cause, I’d be in the clear. “Miles, take out their cannons.”