Page 18 of New World

Tiv’s mandibles twitched with mischievous humor.

“Take it to an ejection tube, add a directional thruster, and program it to crash on Turbinta.”

Mei’s stomach tightened. Here was her chance to learn why the crew spoke of Turbinta in hushed tones, as if it were a curse. Even the brutish Grak had stiffened at its mention.

“Turbinta? What is that? I’ve heard the other crew members say the name. It sounded like they were afraid.”

Tiv nodded.

“No one, not even the Legion, would be stupid enough to search for the pod there.” She let out a laugh. “If they were smart. Which, let’s be honest… they aren’t.”

Mei’s stomach twisted.

“What is Turbinta?” she asked again.

Tiv paused, considering. She scratched at her mandible with her lower arm, then finally lifted her hands and waved them as she spoke.

“Turbinta is a planet filled with assassins. They kill for profit. And for fun. They are made up of species from all over the galaxy, but they have one thing in common—they will not stop until their target is dead.”

Mei stiffened. A strange chill crept through her. She thought of her father. Of her training. Of the way she had been forged into something lethal, unyielding, unstoppable.

If she had been born in this part of the universe… there was absolutely no doubt in her mind:

I would have been one of them.

4

Cryon II

* * *

The feeling of being watched had lingered for some time as Dorane LeGaugh traversed the interior levels of the spaceport that was still under construction and probably would be long after he had turned to dust. He’d ignored the sensation at first. He was accustomed to drawing attention. Wealth, power, and influence made people watch you for different reasons. But this was different. The eyes tracking him now weren’t the calculating stares of rival entrepreneurs or the greedy glances of those who wanted a piece of his empire.

This was the gaze of a predator.

And he didn’t like being hunted.

A soothing blue glowed from the metal structures lining the streets. The lighting on the artificial moon replicated the full spectrum of light found on most inhabited planets within the galaxy, including blue light to regulate circadian rhythms and red light that supported mitochondrial function and cellular health. The artificial moon was a vast sprawl of steel and neon, a refuge for criminals, exiles, and people who were both ambitious and didn’t mind getting their hands dirty.

Cryon II had its own gravity and atmosphere thanks to the translucent shield surrounding it. The shield was a marvel of technology by itself. Every corridor, every alley, every docking bay held stories of betrayal, deals gone wrong, and the unspoken rule of survival—kill or be killed—but they also told stories of success, which drew those hoping for a better life.

Dorane had thrived in this environment. If anyone knew the harsher realities of life amongst those considered outcasts, it was him. Hunger and the desire to not be one of the dead had been a driving force of his success—along with a huge amount of luck and preparation.

Which was why the fool tailing him had no idea just how badly he had miscalculated his target.

With a slow, unhurried stride, Dorane veered left, stepping away from the main thoroughfare. The streets here were narrower, the overhead lights dimmer, casting deep shadows across the rusted metal walls. Steam hissed from the grates lining the alley. The scent of purified air tinged with exotic food and spices from the nearby restaurants hung thick in the air.

He didn’t break his pace. The footsteps behind him hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing. It was the sound of indecision.

Too obvious. And too greedy for whatever bounty they hope to get, he mused.

Dorane smirked, adjusting the cuffs of his coat as he passed a row of old cargo containers. This part of the station was quieter, used primarily for storage and docking overflow. Fewer witnesses and less chance of an innocent pedestrian wandering into the fray.

His gaze swept the area, his mind categorizing every scenario of the fight that would invariably occur. He slowed his steps when he came to the spot where he would have the best advantage. A light overhead, beaming a warm white, would shine on his opponent while he remained in the shadows.

Perfect.

He turned sharply to the left and stood in the shadows beside a stack of metal crates, slowing his breathing, waiting.

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