Page 5 of Alien's Love Child

I circle around, maintaining my tourist facade while the dock grows quieter. Shift change - right on schedule. The gap in security coverage lasts exactly four minutes.

The tracking beacon sits heavy in my pocket. Military grade, undetectable by standard scanners. The kind of tech that costs more than most people make in a year.

Three minutes left.

I drop my tourist datapad, bending to retrieve it near the smuggler's ship. The beacon slides from my sleeve to my palm.

Two minutes.

A quick press against the hull, right where the shield generators create a sensor blind spot. The beacon chirps once in my ear, confirming activation.

One minute.

I'm already walking away, just another tourist who got lost among the ships. Behind me, the beacon begins its work, invisible and patient.

Just like me.

The maintenance alcove provides perfect cover as I watch the ship's airlock cycle open. My tracker wasn't wrong - this is definitely our smuggler's vessel.

A flash of red hair catches the station's artificial light. The woman moves with the practiced ease of someone who knowsevery bolt and weld of her ship. The captain, of course. And what a beauty she is.

The Vakutan following her draws my attention - barely old enough to be out of school, his red scales still carrying that juvenile sheen. Amateur hour.

"You sure about this place, Jesse?" The Vakutan's voice carries across the dock, higher pitched than I'd expect.

"Taluk, when have I steered you wrong?" Jesse adjusts her jacket. "Best drinks on the station, and the owner doesn't ask questions."

"That's what worries me."

They pass within meters of my position, close enough that I catch the scent of engine grease and ozone from their clothes. No weapons visible, but Jesse's jacket hangs oddly on the right side. Concealed holster, probably.

Twenty minutes pass. I occupy myself by cataloging the dock's security weaknesses. Three blind spots in the camera coverage, two overworked guards more interested in their PerComms than their surroundings, and maintenance access that hasn't been properly secured in what looks like years.

Movement catches my eye. Three figures emerge from the pub's entrance. Jesse and Taluk flank a third person wrapped in a dust-colored cloak that screams 'trying too hard to be inconspicuous.' The hood can't quite hide the glint of wire-rimmed glasses.

My lips curl into a smile. The good doctor needs to work on his disguise game. Even a rookie could spot him.

"Almost home free," Jesse's voice drifts over. "Just act natural."

The trio makes their way back to the ship, Xander's measured stride a sharp contrast to Taluk's nervous energy.

Got you.

The vibrations of Jesse's ship lifting off ripple through the dock. I count to thirty before making my way back to my vessel, maintaining the leisurely pace of a tourist finishing their visit. My boots click against the polished floor, each step measured and unhurried.

My ship's systems come online with a familiar hum. The tracking beacon pulses steady on my display, a red dot moving exactly where I expect - straight down the Alliance-approved lanes, before dipping into uncharted territory.

"Predictable." I plot a course through Alliance approved travel lanes, almost perpendicular to her own, keeping a healthy distance between us at all times. The lane's busy enough that one more vessel following standard protocol won't raise any flags.

My PerComm chimes with clearance codes as I pass each checkpoint. The border patrol barely glances at my credentials - another advantage of maintaining a spotless record. Amazing how many doors open when you play by the rules.

But even I have to hand it to her: she must have a damn good navigator on board. They're practically gliding through space debris fields without missing a beat. The kind of maneuvers I'd like to try my hand at, if I wasn't so keen on keeping my record shiny enough to get me in the places that mattered.

The red dot veers slightly. I adjust my course, maintaining distance while I check the new trajectory.

"Erebus?" I tap the navigation display. "Interesting choice."

The smuggler's ship descends toward a tiny hideaway port on the Non-Aligned League planet's surface. Smart move - Erebus is a common refueling stop on this route. Nothing suspicious about a quick pit stop.

---