Page 69 of Rebel Fates

I hand him a generous amount to loosen his already loose code and spill confidential information.

“It was someone in a masking-cloak. As big as you three.”

“Masking-cloak?” I raise my eyebrows. A masking-cloak is used so other species can’t see or scent the wearer. Why would they need that?

“A name?” Zeek asks, with a bit of warning in his tone.

“I’ve heard some calling him Crax. He doesn’t mingle much. Comes in, gets supplies, leaves. He checks in for omegas regularly.”

Frex. Why does he want an omega? Or several? This is unsettling news.

“What kind of ship?” I ask.

“I hear he flies a black Mobia.”

I’m impressed, the male has money. But that doesn’t help my situation at the moment. Maybe later, after we tear him into bits for touching Gemma, then we can take his possessions.

“Anything else you can tell us?” Zeek asks.

“No. But from the smell of her, the female was going into heat.” He shrugs.

“Thanks.” I toss him a few extra kints. “We were never here.”

“Understood.” He nods and goes back to his tasks.

He might rat us out, but it isn’t likely anyone would ask about us.

We check around, asking the vendors if they know more about this ‘Crax’. But other than being aware of his existence, they don’t have any other information, or perhaps aren’twillingto share anything they might know.

Back inside Leva, we shut the hatch and stare at each other. We’re all hoping the other has a brilliant plan. But I can tell by the looks on their faces that they don’t.

Instead, I think about what we have. A bit of information. “A masking-cloak?”

“And Black Mobia,” Zeek adds.

“He must be another mercenary or assassin,” Rok says with doubt. “Sounds too rich to be a Freedom Raider.”

If Gemma was with one of them, then I could relax a little. They free slaves all over the galaxy.

He isn’t a merc, since we run in those circles, and none of us have heard of him.

“Most mercenaries don’t make the kind of money needed to buy a Mobia,” I mutter.

“Well,wedon’t,” Zeek scoffs. “But what if he had some big paying jobs?”

“I’m thinking he must be some sort of Consortium official. Royalty?” Rok guesses.

“Why not a Syndicate?” Zeek asks.

“Obviously, the Tirbs and Syndicate are working together now.” I explain, “He wouldn’t buy her from them at an open auction. They would have contacted him directly.”

They nod in agreement.

“How does any of this help us?” Zeek looks defeated.

“Mobias have a unique energy signature.” Rok scratches his chin. “I’ll scan for a radiation trail.”

Rok runs off to the control room. Zeek and I stand there, trying to find the wherewithal to move.

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