That sneaky temptress thought she could lose him? Ha. She had no idea that Iskar had a finely honed sense of smell.

Her sweet fragrance guided him like a deep space beacon, cutting through the miasma of unwashed bodies and exotic aromas—food, fuel, chemicals, spices. As he raced through narrow, winding alleys, he would catch the occasional glimpse of her shock of blue hair as she rounded a corner or disappeared into a crowd of people.

He lengthened his stride, easing into a comfortable rhythm. People moved out of his way as he ran, perhaps sensing that Iskar wasn’t in the mood to deal with trivial interruptions.

As he followed her unmistakable fragrance, heading away from the Glory Strip, the scenery began to change.

Glitz and glamor gave way to decay. Here, the streets were narrower, and the smooth road surface was marred with potholes and debris. Warm light glowed from deep within tiny shops and eating places, spilling out onto the street through grimy windows.

The humans he passed were furtive and silent, mostly ignoring or avoiding him as he passed. They averted their eyes and kept to themselves, moving in small groups.

To Iskar’s relief, the headache-inducing beat of the Glory Strip had become a distant memory, replaced with an uneasy silence.

“Caught your prey yet, Commander?” Torin’s laconic voice came loud and clear across the comm.

“I am in pursuit,” Iskar whispered, increasing his pace. Now that the path was relatively clear, he could stretch out and run at full speed.

A Kordolian running at full speed could outpace any human. Of that he had no doubt.

He would catch her soon.

“I’ve attracted too much attention to myself after that little one-sided brawl,” Torin said, although he didn’t sound the least bit concerned. “I’m going to disappear to the rooftops for a while. Sometimes, the view is better from above. Meet you at the bike stacks in twenty chalens or so? If you get held up, let me know. I’ll wait.”

“Is this what you had in mind when you talked me into this, Mardak?” It had been a long time since Iskar had scoured the city-streets of any planet. He’d spent most of his life in space, and when he had to go landside, he usually traveled in a military convoy.

On the other hand, Torin-the-weirdo seemed to do this sort of thing all the time, just because he found it interesting. In another life, the lethal First Division warrior had probably been a fucking scholar.

“You’re getting a close-up tour of the infamous Darkside, are you not? What better way to understand the structure of human society than to witness it first-hand?”

“I could have stayed on base and taken another intel briefing.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re nuts, soldier?”

“Frequently.”

Iskar rolled his eyes. “After I have concluded my business here, I will meet you at the stacks.”

“Sure you don’t need backup?” Torin’s voice was full of irony. “I hear the streets of Darkside can be dangerous at night.”

“Hmph,” Iskar snorted, not bothering to reply. He might not have the freakish nano-regeneration ability of a First Division warrior, but both of them knew that a Rathurian blademaster like Iskar was deadly in his own right. He’d left his Callidum swords behind, but there was plenty of hardware concealed on his person.

Three daggers, two plasma guns, and a small EMP emitter, to be precise. Iskar might hold the rank of High Commander, but he hadn’t gone soft. He trained in the simulator every fucking day of his life against opponents both imagined and real.

A flash of long, golden legs captured his attention as he turned down yet another winding alley. This street wasn’t even paved. There was just dirt underfoot, decorated with small piles of junk and refuse.

Poverty. That was the word that came to Iskar’s mind as he ran past a mangy creature with brown fur and a waving tail. Dogs. That’s what the humans called these animals. This one’s ribs showed through its matted fur. It barked weakly before running off into the shadows.

The tall buildings of the Glory Strip were long gone, having devolved into low-set dwellings constructed from scrap metal and polymer. The smell of old cooking wafted into the air, mingling with the dust and smoke. The light here was even dimmer, blessing him with the comfort of shadows.

She had disappeared from sight, but it didn’t matter. Iskar inhaled deeply through the thin gauzy material of his scarf and followed her scent. He ran and ran, chasing her down every little fucking winding backstreet and alley and circuit—sometimes going in circles—until she stopped.

She was no longer running, he was sure of it. Maybe she’d gotten tired. In contrast, he had plenty of stamina left. He could run for kuliks.

You’ve got nowhere left to run, human.

An exasperated laugh escaped his lips as he followed his nose, loping toward the ramshackle dwelling where he was certain she was hiding.

His suspicions were confirmed when he heard her talking Human-speak to someone in a low, desperate hiss. She seemed to be pleading.

There you are.

This female had truly vexed him, managing to anger and arouse and mystify him all at once.

Kaiin’s hells, he hadn’t been tricked like this in a very long time. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to exist without the mighty war-apparatus of the Kordolian fleet.

And now he was here, in some backwater slum on a backwater planet, chasing a woman who had taken something very important from him.

It occurred to him that she had no idea who she’d messed with, so he would give her a little taste of fear, just enough to discourage her from stealing again. When he’d been appointed by the General, Iskar had vowed to maintain order in the Ninth Sector, and this seemed like a damn good place to start.