Page 15 of My Alien Sunshine

“I don’t want another child,” I say as calmly as I can manage, which isn’t much. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let Drayth sell my daughter to some fucking pedophile,” I spit out as I storm out of Mu’s room.

I still have nightmares about the day Ellen was born. How Drayth’s goons wrenched her out of my arms and carried her away. How I screamed and crawled after them, pain searing through my abdomen, blood coating my thighs. How they just kept walking away.

The only thing that saved me was that my little girl didn’t want to live without me, either. Her vitals plummeted and within hours, she was on the brink of death. That was when Drayth reluctantly admitted that taking a minute old newborn from her mother wasn’t the best idea and allowed me to keep Ellen with me. How gracious of that fucker, right? God, I hate him so much.

He forbade Ellen from ever leaving his residence, hence keeping me here on an invisible leash. Alone, I could escape the station if I tried really hard, but leaving my daughter behind? The bastard knows I’d never do that.

As Ellen grew, he watched her with greedy eyes. I knew he never gave up on the idea of selling her, but I hoped I’d have more time to plan my escape.

Any lingering guilt for stealing from Faelin has definitely disappeared only to be replaced by gratitude. I’m glad I met him and beyond grateful he was carrying all of that money. Without it, I’d have no hope in hell of getting Ellen out of here.

Faelin might be a nice guy. Hell, he’s more than nice. He’s amazing. Even the mere memory of him makes me smile. But Ellen comes first. Always. I’d steal from Faelin a thousand times over if it meant that Ellen won’t be bought by some sick, perverted fucking alien.

It’s time I put this money to use and get the hell out of here. I think I can pay for passage off the station for both of us, but the main problem is getting Ellen out of Drayth’s residence. Both entrances are heavily guarded and while the guards know to let me through, they have strict orders to keep Ellen inside at all costs.

I’ll figure something out. I have to. I refuse to consider the alternative.

Chapter 9

Faelin

Mouthwatering smells assault my senses as I enter the small bakery where Pakri agreed to meet with me. I don’t particularly like sweets, but even I have to admit that whoever runs this place knows their business well. I choose a piece of Karetelan pie from the menu and take it to the table in the farthest corner where hopefully we’ll have some privacy.

I notice they also have warpberry fritters and make a mental note to bring some back to the ship. Both Tareq and Omni have a serious sweet tooth and these fritters are their favorites. Maybe giving them sweets will make them less angry when they discover I lost the money.

It doesn’t take long for Pakri to show up. His tail twitching is the only indication he’s noticed me. That’s clearly the end of his clandestine skills as he makes an obvious show of selecting his pastry, practically shouting at the store clerk how he’s meeting a friend he hasn’t seen in a long time. To make matters worse, his scales darken, betraying his anxiety, as if his babbling wasn’t enough of a tell.

By the time he finally approaches the table, his scales have darkened from their usual light gray to almost obsidian black. “Should I sit here?” he whispers. “Or in the next booth? I don’t know how these things work!”

I suppress an eye roll. “This is not an undercover operation, Pakri. Just sit down and relax.”

“Relax, right.” He chuckles nervously. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been to a secret rendezvous with an infamous outlaw before. I’m just a low level security officer.”

Infamous outlaw? I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted, but I decide to take it as a misguided compliment. “Nobody’s paying attention to us.” No thanks to Pakri’s amazing lack of subtlety. Not that I can really blame him for it. He doesn’t have the training I do.

“Right, right.” Pakri fidgets in his seat, but his scales lighten to a shade closer to burnt charcoal. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being weird, but this is all so exciting yet frightening at the same time! It’s like being in one of those action vids!”

Against my better judgment, I find myself smiling at the earnest excitement of my lunch companion. I remember feeling the same way when I first started Voidstalker training. “Hopefully, this will be a rather boring episode,” I joke, pulling out the drive D’Aakh gave me. “I just need you to look at this intel.”

Pakri pouts. “Hmm, that doesn’t sound exciting at all. But perhaps that’s a good thing. What’s on it?”

“Data we recovered from a slaver ship’s database. It’s not complete, though.”

Pakri pulls out his datapad and rests it on the table, right next to his plate. He takes a bite of his pastry before licking his fingers clean then activating the device. “I’m guessing you can’t access the UGC database anymore, so you can’t match your data to what we already have,” he surmises. “But intel like this nets a lot of money on the black market. Are you sure you want to hand it to the UGC for free?”

“Yes,” I reply without a second’s hesitation. “If it lands even one slaver in prison, it will be worth it. Do you know how to use this data? Because I don’t.” My tech skills are less than abysmal. I’m the type to bruise my body breaking a door down before I even think about picking a lock. When it comes to computer systems, data, and other whatnots, my brain just shuts down.

Grinning, Pakri grabs the drive in his clawed hand. “I do. I might not be a suave undercover agent, but data analysis is actually something I’ve been trained in. I’ll just hook it in and update the database. It will take some time to cross-reference the new entries with the old, but it should give us results within half an hour.”

“The only thing I understood was half an hour,” I admit. “I’ll leave the tech stuff in your capable hands. So, while we wait…” I take a bite of my pie, a delighted moan escaping me. “Wow, this is good. Anyway, you’ve been at this station for a while, right? Do you know a human called Nala? She’s a—”

“A working girl,” Pakri replies, frowning. “We know of her, yes.”

“We? The UGC?”

Pakri’s forked tongue darts out of his mouth, picking the last crumbs from his plate. “Yes. She’s a person of interest. An associate of the male who we assume is the head of the local skin trade. Of course, we have no evidence against him, not to mention that this is a neutral station, so we couldn’t arrest him even if we did. The UGC doesn’t have any authority here. We have an embassy but the rest of the station is not under our jurisdiction.”

I’m barely listening, my mind stuck on Pakri calling Nala a criminal’s associate. It doesn’t feel right.

---