Page 27 of Alien Assassin's Heir

I push my drink aside, untouched.

Get up.

Slide through the crowd like smoke.

I bump into the fat executive as he turns to flag down another drink. My shoulder knocks his, hard enough to jostle his balance.

“Watch it!” he snaps.

I offer a toothy grin. “Apologies. Didn’t mean to interrupt such riveting conversation.”

He squints up at me, blinking. “You—coalface, right? From one of the old sectors?”

I nod slowly. “Something like that.”

“Didn’t think your kind drank here.”

“Didn’t think your kindtalkedhere,” I murmur, real quiet.

His brow furrows.

I lean in slightly. “What’d you say about a fabrication algorithm?”

He straightens, puffing out his chest. “Nothing sensitive, I assure you. Just… Helios innovation. The usual.”

“Mm.” I flick my tongue against a pointed canine. “Sure sounded like Alliance tech.”

He laughs, suddenly nervous. “Well, you know how it is. Acquisition’s acquisition.”

“Of course.”

I clap him on the back so hard his drink spills.

“Tell me more,” I say, dragging him toward the back.

The sonic recyclersits behind the cantina, its rusted door propped open with a cracked crate. Steam hisses from the side vents—standard waste compression. Smells like burnt citrus and melted oil.

The Helios exec stumbles, wheezing, shirt collar askew.

“I didn’t mean anything by it—just talk—drunken talk?—”

“You got handsy with the waitress,” I growl.

“What? No! I—I?—”

I slam him into the wall, claws braced beside his head. He goes pale fast.

“You think that’s how you get attention? Bragging like a fool, putting people at risk, pawing at women like they’re part of the furniture?”

“I didn’t mean?—”

“Idon’t care.”

He sobs something that might be “please.”

I throw him into the recycler.

The machine jolts, cycles a warning chime, then begins its pressure cleanse. I yank him out halfway through, dripping in sterilized mist, trembling.