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Even after transferring halfthe Seriville spoils to Vela’s account, the Wanderling could have afforded an entire fleet of spacecrafts. Why, then, had they allowed a simple shuttle crash to strand them?

Vela could imagine only two possible answers: her target was unable to use the funds without alerting authorities, or they were saving them for a particular purpose. She needed to determine the details if she hoped to thwart her suspect’s scheme.

Tag wasn’t about following a trail, after all, but predicting where it would end.

She blinked to the entrance of Rager’s Rocket Emporium, the only reputable spacecraft dealer in Waldorf’s Cradle. There were plenty ofdisreputableoptions, granted, but she suspected the Wanderling was clever enough to avoid them. Honor was a rare commodity among thieves, and the common crooks who ran such enterprises would gain more from betraying their white-collar counterparts than working with them.

Vela steeled herself before stepping through the sliding doors and drinking in the dehumidified air. The sting, though intense, lasted mere seconds before her lungs remembered the atmosphere and adjusted accordingly. With more practice, she would hardly feel the change occurring, though she hoped to see her mission through long before that could happen.

She shook her braids, sprinkling the welcome mat with algae flakes before stepping onto the checked linoleum. Several customers wandered the salesfloor, eying sporty crafts they’d be paying off long after the engines died, but it took a while to find a staff member. The Marisian’s smarmy grin was nearly a welcome sight. Though equally self-important, the Wanderling’s smile had been bright and playful—genuine, even. This one was so slimy it threatened to drip right off the man’s face. His nametag identified him as Rager, the owner.

“I’m interested in one of your window displays.” Vela gestured in the craft’s general direction. “Does the Magellanic Model 6 come in red, by chance?”

It absolutely did…for half-again the list price. Rager eagerly recited every customization the emporium offered as they marched toward the model in question. It was easy enough to steer the conversation toward payment plans, assessing each for how easy it would be to pay with stolen funds.

“The credit-lease option sounds fair, but I’ve been burned before.” Vela tapped her cheekbone in mock contemplation. “I’d be more comfortable knowing it was a common choice. I don’t suppose you’ve made any similar arrangements recently…”

Vela could practically hear a sales register chime inside Rager’s skull. Unfortunately, when he opened his mouth to answer, it was another voice that found her ears.

“Still going with the ‘hapless customer’ routine, are we?”

Vela’s jaw clenched tighter than her fists, but she managed a measured, “It’s been a while, Kalis.”

“Not long enough for you to come up with a new bit, apparently.” Kalis stepped into her periphery, followed by his three loyal lackeys—Pryn, Zyl, and Tarah. “I swear, it’s ploys like these that give bounty hounds a bad reputation.”

“Pretty sure that’s owed to the bribes and intimidation.” Vela glared his way, nose wrinkling. He probably qualified as classically handsome, with sleek black hair, a razor-sharp jawline, and a marble-smooth maroon complexion, but the sight of him brought bile to her throat. “Granted, cheap tricks likely play their part. Or did you somehow find this place without scanning for gravitational waves?”

“If you didn’t create them, I’d have nothing to track,” Kalis replied with a haughty chuckle. “You lean into your advantages, and I’ll make the most of mine. It’s hardly my fault the two are linked.” He turned liquid-amber eyes to the salesman. “I regret to say this ‘customer’ is only fishing for information, and you’ll gain absolutely nothing from biting. Let mepeek at your sales logs, however, and you’ll find yourself fifty zenna richer. I sincerely hope that bait is enticing,” he tipped his head toward Pryn, who rolled his sleeves up in a less-than-subtle threat, “because there’s more than one way to skin a trout.”

How Rager crammed so much greed and fear onto his face at once, Vela could only guess. She watched, fuming, as the Marisian ushered Kalis off to continue the conversation. The crew followed like the sycophants they were, though Tarah paused to stick a forked tongue out at Vela. A paragon of maturity, that one.

“Well, he’s a massive prick, isn’t he?”

The quip tugged Vela’s attention to a Marisian mechanic peeking out from behind the hatch of a pre-owned shuttle. His plum eyes and spotted gills were unfamiliar, but there was no mistaking that syrupy voice and playful, lopsided smile.

Vela raced forward as the Wanderling ducked behind the spacecraft. By the time she rounded the shuttle, her target was gone.

chapterfour

There are certain traditions which,much like the game of tag, are practiced by nearly every known population: annual rites like solstices, seasonal harvests, and—perhaps most unanimously—birthdays. Vela liked to think herself the exception to a good many rules, but she was not exempt from this one.

Every year, for as long as she was willing to remember, she’d celebrated alone with a slice of cake and a present. The dessert selection of Waldorf’s Cradle left something to be desired, with words like “dulse” topping the ingredient lists, but the famed indoor swap market proved a trove of unique trinkets, any of which would mark the occasion well.

More importantly, the bustling crowd helped to distract Vela from the fact that Kalis had, once again, tried to use her as a springboard for vaulting ahead on a case. His new methods of exploitation were less invasive than hacking into her field logs while she slept, but only just.

Disgusted that she’d ever mistaken that prick’s flattery for affection, Vela forced her focus to the vendor tables. They boasted everything from candles to coral sculptures, but nothing caught her eye until she wandered past a book seller near the middle of the marketplace. Every text ever translated to Galactic could be downloaded at the press of a button, but Vela had a soft spot for archaic prints, both leatherbound and paperback.

Xathar’s Xenozoological Index Vol.3 (Planets Delthar-Geryon) serenaded her from atop a tower of precariously stacked tomes. She’d started amassing the volumes in her early teens, but at thirty-two, she’d secured only six of the thirteen. The vendor watched with palpable greed as she browsed the book, relishing the brittle texture and woodsy musk of each page. The first entry focused on the canopy lemurs of the Deltharian subtropics—a deceptively cute species with plush fur, massive eyes, and an alarming hunger for living flesh.

“Do they really glow during Delthar’s rainy season?” someone asked.

The interruption would have startled Vela’s heart from her chest, had she not, on some level, been expecting it. She glanced back to see the Wanderling hovering behind her, having donned the brawny body of a Lacertian man. That they’d snuck up on her was impressive. That scaly skin ought to have rasped like sandpaper.

“Seems counter-evolutionary,” the target continued, slitted eyes roving the page with interest. Even on reptilian lips, their smile held its haughty tilt.

Vela turned to face them, forcing a genial grin. Either the Wanderling had overestimated their acting prowess, or they’d underestimated her powers of perception. Either way, playing along with the charade was her best shot at gaining the upper hand.

“Some adaptations are coincidental,” she explained. “At the time this article was written, researchers believed the glow was a biological feature meant to attract mates. Dr. Xathar was the first to analyze the lemurs’ diet. Turns out, the jungle’s glow-worms hatch weeks before the rains begin, so?—”