Page 9 of Rebel Fates

From the baritone nature of their voices, I expect it to be males approaching. I dart toward the boxes in the storage room and duck behind them for cover.

Steps and laughter follow.

I make out three distinct and deep voices that sound almost human. For fear of being spotted, I don’t dare peek over the large box to see if one of them looks in my direction.

They drop a few containers in the storage room. I press myself as low to the ground as I can. Fortunately, they don’t come too close.

“Do you smell something?” one male asks.

“Just you,” another says and laughs.

I hold my breath, and I wonder if they can hear my thumping heartbeat.

“I don’t know. Something feels strange.” A third male steps closer. I look around for something to use as a weapon. Damn, I should have grabbed something from the other room. Or hid in there.

“We would have been notified if we had an intruder,” the second male says.

That makes me blink.

Whydidn’tthe ship alert them?

4

MARKET

SERRAT

EARLIER…

In my private chamber, I gear up in my light armor to visit the merchant space station. I hate this frexing place, but it’s the only one around within a few days of travel for the direction we are going.

We urgently need to load up on supplies and find an empty section of space. Life is about to get intense for my crew.

Meeting the other two crew members in our ship’s corridor, I ask, “Ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Rok says.

“I’m always ready for you.” Zeek smirks.

I grumble. Zeek loves to provoke, but he will get a taste of me soon enough.

“Let’s hurry and get out of this shit pit.”

We step out onto the ramp, and I roll my eyes when I see the vile Tirbilians parked next to us. It makes me want to move our ship to protect her from its disease. Most of the Tirbs work hand in hand with the Syndicate—an underground organization that takes advantage of the galaxy’s weakest inhabitants.

“Fucking Tirbs,” Rok says, noting my irritation.

“Try not to choke one to death while we are here,” Zeek says in a tone that suggests he wants me to do otherwise.

“No promises,” I say, moving toward the market.

We almost make it in and out of the market uninterrupted and unscathed. Then I hear the grating voice of one of the Tirbilians, “Interested in a slave for your travels?”

“No,” I growl. “And you better step away from me.”

“I have one for a good rate,” he continues, ignoring my threat. This one really is stupid.

“You will like this fe—”

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