Page 44 of Alien's Love Child

CHAPTER 16

TYREN

The Boss' office reeks of cheap cigars and expensive cologne. I stand at attention, my military training kicking in despite the gaps in my memory.

"Tyren, you're my best man for this job." The Boss leans back in his leather chair, smoke curling around his face. "That smuggler I told you about, Jesse, she's got something we need. Data. Bioweapon schematics."

"Why now?" My head throbs. Every time I try to remember anything before three years ago, it's like hitting a wall.

"Because money's getting tight. Our usual shakedowns aren't turning profits. And when they suffer, we suffer, which makes them suffer more. That bioweapon was our ticket to the highlife. But Xander's dead, blown to bits in that explosion. The one you did everything to prevent. This is our last shot at getting those plans." He taps ash into a crystal tray. "Word is she's holed up on a remote station, playing house."

"And you're sure she has the data?"

"Has to be. Xander uploaded everything to her ship's computer before we grabbed him. Probably thought he was being clever, having a backup." The Boss slides a data chipacross his desk. "Here's her last known location, credentials, everything you need."

I pocket the chip. Something doesn't sit right, but I can't place what. "Simple grab and bag?"

"Get creative if you have to, but I want her alive. She's the only one who might know where those files are hidden."

"Consider it done." I turn to leave, but he calls after me.

"Oh, and Tyren? Don't let that pretty face fool you. She's craftier than she looks. Real mind games, that one. And not afraid to use her pretty face either."

The corridor outside his office stretches long and empty. My boots echo against metal flooring as I head for the docking bay. A ship waits, sleek and dark, ready for immediate departure. The guard nods as I board, no questions asked. That's how things work in the Lightyear gang - do your job, keep your mouth shut.

As I break atmosphere, I study Jesse's file. Red hair, green eyes, known associates. But something about her image makes my chest tighten. Must be the headache again. They've gotten worse lately, along with these strange flashes of... something. Memories that don't feel like mine.

I punch the coordinates into the autopilot, before going back to Jesse's picture. This should be a straightforward job. So why does it feel like I'm missing something crucial?

I trace the scar tissue across my chest. The Boss saved my life that day. At least, that's what they tell me.

"You were a mess when we found you," The Doc had said while changing my bandages those first few weeks. "Third-degree burns, skull fracture. The explosion nearly killed you."

My fingers find the ridge where synthetic skin meets real flesh. "Lucky you boys were there."

"Lucky the Boss believes in loyalty." Doc's words echo in my memory. "Most would've left you for dead."

The gang spent a fortune on my recovery - reconstructive surgery, physical therapy, cognitive rehabilitation. A lifetime of memories, gone in an instant. But they gave me purpose, an identity. Tyren, their most effective enforcer.

"Your name's Tyren," the Boss had told me when I first woke up. "You're family."

The headaches spike whenever I try to remember anything before that day. Doc says it's normal, that traumatic brain injuries take time to heal. But sometimes...

I pull up Jesse's file again, studying her face. Something tugs at the edges of my consciousness, like a word stuck on the tip of my tongue.

"You're one of us now," the Boss reminded me during our weekly check-ins. "We take care of our own."

And they have. They gave me a home when I had nothing, not even memories. The least I can do is bring them what they need. This woman, this smuggler - she's just another job.

The headache intensifies. I close the file and press my palms against my eyes until stars burst behind my eyelids.

The throbbing in my skull becomes unbearable. I fumble through my pack for pain meds, dry-swallowing two tablets. The tiny cabin feels like it's spinning, so I stretch out on the narrow bunk.

Space debris pelts against the viewport, creating a rhythmic pattern that lulls me under. My consciousness drifts, and suddenly I'm in a dark alley. Water streams down my face, but I'm not cold. Heat radiates between two bodies pressed together.

Red hair slides through my fingers like silk. Green eyes, bright even in the darkness, stare up at me. Her breath catches as I push her against the wet brick wall. The scent of her skin fills my nose - sweet with a hint of engine grease.

She whispers against my mouth. Her fingers trace patterns on my chest, setting my nerves on fire.

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