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CHAPTER TWELVE

T hraxar hesitated outside the provisions market. This area of the station was considerably more crowded and they were more likely to draw attention. But something in Kara and Rory’s hopeful faces made his usual caution waver. Still, there were precautions he could take…

“I am concerned about your visibility,” he said, studying her. Females were still uncommon in the market and her distinctive features would draw attention. “Wait here.”

He moved to a nearby vendor selling various garments and selected a hooded cloak in a nondescript gray. The merchant, a four-armed Quillian, accepted his payment without comment.

“Wear this,” he told her, returning and holding out the cloak. “Keep the hood up. It will reduce unwanted attention.”

She took it, their fingers brushing briefly. “Thoughtful of you.”

“Practical,” he corrected, ignoring the pleasant sensation her touch had caused. “Shall we proceed?”

The station’s market sprawled through three interconnected domes, each housing vendors from different sectors of space. The air hummed with dozens of languages and dialects, filled with the scents of exotic foods and the sounds of haggling.

He found himself watching Kara’s reactions more than monitoring their surroundings. Her eyes widened at each new sight, her hand occasionally rising to her mouth in surprise or delight. Even with the hood shadowing her face, her wonder was evident.

“I haven’t seen anything like this since—” She stopped herself. “Well, in a very long time.”

Rory moved between them, one hand firmly in his mother’s grasp, the other occasionally reaching towards particularly colorful displays before pulling back. His disciplined restraint spoke volumes about what he must have endured.

“You may touch things if you wish,” he told the boy, dropping his voice to a gentler register. “I will compensate any merchant for damages.”

She shot him a grateful look. “That’s very generous, but he knows to be careful.”

They stopped at a produce vendor where he selected fruits that would store well on the ship, then noticed her eyeing a display of small red berries.

“Would you like some?” he asked.

“Oh, I was just looking. They remind me of strawberries from Earth.”

“Add a container of these,” he told the vendor, who quickly packaged them.

“You don’t have to?—”

“It’s nothing,” he said, uncomfortable with her gratitude. “Merely provisioning the ship.”

They continued through the market, gathering supplies.

Thraxar found himself purchasing items he’d never considered before—sweeter foods, softer fabrics, a small puzzle cube that caught Rory’s attention.

Each time Kara protested, he dismissed her concerns with practical justifications that sounded hollow even to his own ears.

As they ventured deeper into the market, he noticed Rory becoming increasingly agitated. The boy’s hands fluttered more frequently, and he began making a soft humming sound.

“Is something wrong?” he asked Kara.

She knelt beside her son, murmuring softly. “It’s getting to be too much for him—too many people, too many sounds and smells.”

He immediately understood. “Sensory overload. We should return to the ship.”

“I don’t want to cut your errands short,” she said, though she looked relieved at his suggestion.

Thraxar considered their location. They were closer to Wren Dox’s shop than to the docking bay. The Plumevian was not the most trustworthy merchant, but his establishment would be quieter than the market thoroughfare.

“There’s a trader nearby where I can complete my business,” he decided. “It will be less overwhelming, and then we can return directly to the ship.”

He led them down a side corridor, away from the main market flow. Rory’s humming gradually subsided as the noise and crowd thinned. He found himself slowing his pace to match the boy’s, something he couldn’t recall ever doing for another being.

Wren Dox’s shop occupied a dimly lit corner space, its entrance marked by a faded sign advertising “Rare Goods & Curiosities.” The Plumevian preferred operating in shadows, both literal and metaphorical.

“Wait here a moment,” he told Kara. “The proprietor can be… skittish with strangers.”

He entered first, scanning the cluttered space. Shelves overflowed with objects from across the galaxy—some valuable, many worthless, all with inflated prices. The air smelled of dust and something sickly sweet that he had never identified.

“Captain!” Wren Dox emerged from behind a display case, his six limbs moving in that unsettling, too-fluid way. “What an unexpected pleasure!”

“Wren,” he acknowledged coolly. “I require information about Vedeckian trafficking routes.”

The Plumevian’s compound eyes glittered. “A dangerous topic, Captain. May I ask why?—”

He broke off as Kara and Rory entered the shop. Thraxar suppressed a sigh—he’d intended to negotiate alone first.

“Guests?” Wren’s voice rose in pitch. “You never bring guests!”

“They are under my protection,” he said, the same words he’d used at the parts shop, but with more steel behind them. “The information, Wren. I know you have it.”

The Plumevian’s gaze darted between them. “Perhaps. For the right price.”

“Name it.”

As they began negotiating, he kept Kara and Rory in his peripheral vision. The boy seemed calmer in the quiet shop, moving slowly along the shelves, examining the eclectic collection of items without touching them.

“The Vedeckians have become more cautious since the Patrol increased inspections in the Cygnus sector,” Wren was saying. “They’ve established new routes through?—”

A soft tinkling sound interrupted him. Thraxar turned to see Rory had discovered a beaded curtain separating the main shop from a back room. The boy was running his fingers down the strands, creating delicate musical notes as the beads clicked together.

“That area is private,” Wren said sharply.

“He’s not causing any harm,” Kara snapped, but she was already moving towards her son.

Before she could reach him, Rory suddenly darted through the curtain, disappearing into the back room.

“Rory!” She rushed after her son. He swore under his breath and immediately followed them. “Stay here, Wren.”

“No! You can’t go back there!” The Plumevian scrambled after them, all six limbs flailing in agitation. “Captain, please! It’s nothing to concern yourself with!”

Ignoring the agitated merchant, he pushed through the beaded curtain, his senses instantly alert. The back room was dimmer than the shop, illuminated only by a single overhead light. Shelves lined the walls, holding objects that appeared more valuable than those in the main shop.

Kara stood frozen in the center of the room. Rory was crouched before something in the corner—something he couldn’t immediately see from his angle.

“What is it?” he asked, moving forward.

“Captain, this is a misunderstanding,” Wren babbled behind him. “Just inventory I’m holding for another trader. Nothing illegal, I assure you!”

He reached Kara’s side and finally saw what had captured Rory’s attention.

A cage.

And inside it, a small figure huddled against the back bars—a child, female, with pale blue skin and large, frightened eyes. She couldn’t have been more than five or six years old.

The temperature in his body plummeted, then surged as rage flooded his system. He turned slowly to face Wren, who had backed up against the beaded curtain.

“Explain,” he said, his voice deadly quiet.

“As I said, just holding her for another trader,” Wren’s words tumbled out. “Not my usual business at all. A debt repayment, nothing more. I was going to contact the proper authorities, of course?—”

“Liar.” He took a step towards the Plumevian, and Wren shrank back. “You’re trafficking children now?”

“No! Well, not regularly. This was a special circumstance. All I know about her is that her name is Talia. I was merely facilitating?—”

“You’re selling her,” Kara said, her voice shaking with fury. “A child.”

Rory had seated himself cross-legged before the cage and was humming quietly. The girl watched him with wary curiosity.

“I want her out of that cage,” he told Wren. “Now.”

“Captain, be reasonable. She’s worth a considerable sum?—”

Moving with the speed that had kept him alive through countless battles, his hand closed around Wren’s throat, lifting the Plumevian until his feet dangled above the floor.

“The key,” he growled.

Wren scrabbled at his belt with two of his limbs, producing a small electronic fob. He snatched it and tossed it to Kara without releasing his grip.

“Open it.”

She quickly unlocked the cage, but the child remained pressed against the back, clearly terrified.

“It’s all right,” Kara said softly. “We won’t hurt you.”

Rory made a gentle humming sound and extended his hand, palm up, toward the cage opening. The girl stared at him, then at Kara, then at Thraxar still holding Wren against the wall.

“She doesn’t understand your language,” Wren gasped.

He tightened his grip slightly. “Then how have you been communicating with her?”

“Translation device,” Wren wheezed, pointing to a shelf with his lower right limb.

Kara retrieved a small silver disc. “How does it work?”

“Press the center,” Wren managed. “Speak, and it translates.”

Kara activated the device and held it toward the cage. “We’re here to help you. You’re safe now.”

The disc emitted a series of musical tones. The girl’s eyes widened, and she responded with similar sounds.

“She asks if we’re taking her to her new owners,” the device translated.

Kara’s face hardened. “No. We’re taking you home.”

More musical tones, then: “I can’t go home. The blue man said my family sold me.”

Thraxar slammed Wren harder against the wall. “Is that true?”

“Not exactly,” the Plumevian admitted. “She was taken from a refugee transport. Her family is probably dead.”

Kara knelt before the cage. “We’ll help you find your people. But first, will you come out of there? No one is going to hurt you anymore.”

After the translation, the girl hesitantly crawled forward. Rory remained perfectly still, hand extended. When she reached the cage opening, she cautiously placed her small blue hand in his.

The simple trust of the gesture made something in Thraxar’s chest constrict painfully.

“What now, Captain?” Wren asked, his voice strained. “Surely we can come to some arrangement? I could offer you a substantial discount?—”

“Silence,” he growled. “You have two choices. I can deliver you to the Patrol for child trafficking, or?—”

“No! Please, not the Patrol! They’ll execute me!”

“Or,” he continued, “you can provide me with complete information on the Vedeckian trafficking network, free of charge, and never engage in sentient trafficking again.”

“The information! Gladly! And I swear on my ancestors, never again!”

He released him, and the Plumevian collapsed to the floor. “If I discover you’ve broken that oath, there will be nowhere in this galaxy you can hide from me.”

Wren nodded frantically. “Understood, Captain. Completely understood.”

He turned to Kara, who was watching the interaction between Rory and the alien child. They were sitting together now, Rory showing her how to arrange some small objects he’d pulled from his pocket.

“We need to return to the ship immediately,” he said quietly. “With both children.”

She nodded, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of anger, determination, and something else—something that made his pulse quicken despite the grim circumstances.

“I’ll get what we need from Wren,” he told her. “Then we’ll go.”

As he turned back to the cowering Plumevian, he realized that his carefully constructed solitary existence had just become infinitely more complicated. And strangely, he found he didn’t mind at all.