My target’s image blinks on the monitor as the data is uploaded to my internal systems. It’s taken most of the day, but I’ve tracked down the one responsible for letting my tech fall into the wrong hands.

According to the files that Drek gave me, Jeeves Regalor is the one who has my tech. Jeeves and his outfit are known for reverse engineering tech and turning it into monstrous weaponry which he and his criminal empire then sell to the highest bidder.

Jeeves is smart, rich and powerful. Getting to him directly won’t be easy. I’ll have to start lower on the food chain to find him, which led me to Vincent.

I’m going to make them all pay. I won’t have my tech used for criminal ends. I may have left the service, but I haven’t forgotten my oaths. I’ve got a very particular set of skills, and once I catch this bastard, I’m going to bring them all to bear.

Rising to my feet, I stretch and roll my shoulders. I’ve been hunched over the interface for hours, so I’m stiff and sore. I throw off my clothes and turn on the shower. I’ve paid extra to have real water. I turn it all the way hot until the bathroom is filled with steam and step in. I let it beat down on me, washing away the tension.

It’s not like I wasn’t prepared for something like this. I’m not stupid. It figures that eventually someone would get their hands on my tech and use it for some ends that I don’t want. It pisses me off that Drek was the one to bring it to my attention. That son of a bitch avoided justice for entirely too many years. He’s my one unresolved case from my time in the service.

I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, of a laundry list of illegal activities he was involved in. It doesn’t matter because I can never prove it in the Galactic Courts. He’d always find some way to weasel his way out of any charges against him.

Almost, there’s a grudging respect between us. The kind of respect you develop for the man who becomes, through chance or fate, your arch-nemesis. It’s why he brought this to me. He knows damn well how I’ll handle it, and I know that in some way I haven’t figured out yet, he’ll benefit. Odds are that Rega is in his way in some underhanded business, or he’s trying to take control of the market. Somehow, he’ll benefit, and he’s using me to do it.

I know it, but once again, I can’t prove it. It doesn’t matter. My tech is mine, and those I sell it to have to follow the rules. I can’t let it fall into the wrong hands, ever.

Inara squawks loudly, her metal wings whirring, pulling me from my thoughts. The water has run long enough to turn cold, and I didn’t notice. I shut off the shower, step out, and towel dry. Wiping the steam off the mirror clears enough space for me to stare at my reflection.

My wings rise over my shoulders, metal feathers, each sharpened with a razor’s edge. The implants in my eyes make them a sharper blue than my natural eye color. One of the subtle signs of enhancements. If not for the wings, it wouldn’t be obvious what I am. More machine than man, now. Over my years in the service, more and more parts of me were replaced by machines.

Internally, I’m sixty to seventy percent machine. This body has taken a lot of hard hits. That’s not a problem for the service. When you come in shot up and broken, they don’t just heal you, they take the opportunity to enhance. I’ve got tech installed that’s so highly classified, the Galactic Senate doesn’t know it exists.

I dry off, dress quickly, and then go to my workstation. I pull out small drawers with varied parts. One is a small scandisc. When I insert it into the port next to my wings on my side, numbers flash across my vision as the system kicks in, reading, uploading and installing. The new defense routines I’ve been refining should serve me well in the coming days. If nothing else, it’s the perfect opportunity to test them out.

Grabbing my long coat and settling it over my wings so it best obscures them, I walk out the door and take the shuttle down to the City streets below. It makes me appear to be someone’s hired muscle more than what I am, drawing less attention.

When I step out onto the promenade, the burnished metal tiles of the walkways have a faint sheen as dusk lays claim. Canopies shade the food cubes and purveyors of alien ware that crowd each other along the walk. The markets are busy but there’s a quiet calm across the area. The tourists seem less noisy than usual and the vendors are in good spirts. They must be doing well today. Days they’re not, the competition gets fierce. They’ll shout over each other and yell at the tourists buying from one vendor about how bad that is, and how they should buy from their stall instead.

Several tourists are gathered around one of the ai-koi synth ponds deliberately spaced down the promenade. Decorative metal fences surround each of them along with twisted metal benches making a perfect place for a snap to remember their trip to Zerix.

On any other day I’d find a spot and sit to watch the crowd. People watching is one of the few things I find relaxing. It also keeps me sharp, but today I don’t have time for relaxation. I have to find Vincent and extract the information from him.

When I get to the lift, I slide in with a rowdy crowd of mostly men. They joke with each other about what they’re going to do and how they’re going to do it. Pushing each other to new heights of depravity without concern that I’m listening to them.

Everything is for sale on Zerix, any experience you can imagine from the tame to the grotesque. If you know where to go and who to ask, you can have anything you can dream of. Legal or not isn’t a question on Zerix if you go to the right contacts.

“You don’t have the stones,” one of them says.

They’re teasing one of their group the hardest, pushing him to do something he doesn’t want to.

“I do,” he says, his eyes on the floor and his face flushing pink.

“Nah, you’ll get in there and back up. You won’t be able to get it up to do it,” another of them says.

“No!” the one being teased exclaims, looking up.

He’s steeling his resolve. There’s no telling what they’re planning, but if they’re pushing this hard, it’s something bad. Gritting my teeth, I do my best to ignore them.

“You got to go in there and fuck that bitch up,” one says to him.

Something snaps inside of me, and my hand is moving faster than thought. I have the speaker by the neck and up against the wall of the lift. His face is turning purple, eyes wide. The others scream and scramble away.

“You need a new plan,” I growl.

“Put him down, leave us alone, we didn’t do nothing!”

I don’t separate their voices, it sounds as one. The only thing that matters is where they are, and what their heart rates and breathing are telling me. None of them are going to attack. Their autonomic systems are flooded with fear. They’re in full flight mode, not a one of them with the stones to fight.

The one I’m holding nods, tears streaming down his face, his mouth moves, but no sound emerges. I loosen my grip enough so that he can speak.

“Right,” he gasps.

“Hurting girls isn’t okay,” I say, turning to face the group. “Understand?”

I let the one I’m holding go, and he drops to the floor in a heap.

“Right, sorry,” several of them say.

The one they were teasing looks at me with awe on his face and gratefulness in his eyes. The lift door slides open, and I step out, leaving them behind. Numbers flash along my internal monitor as my systems return to normal. I shouldn’t have gotten involved. This is Zerix.

It doesn’t matter. I did and that’s it.

Synthetic green scenery breaks up the rows of VIP Lounges that dominate this level. Each lounge is themed, offering its own delights inside. I pass them with only cursory glances, going to where I found Vincent spends most of his time, especially when he’s flush with credits, which he will be if he’s the one I want.

I step into a flashing neon-lit lounge and stride past the reception AI without a word. Tracking kicks in as I scan the doors I pass. Through a set of double doors, then down a long hall. I’ll find my target if he’s here. Sounds drift through the doors, men and women taking their pleasures. I ignore them after a quick scan. I’ve got his signature recorded.

Up a lift and onto a second story, this one less populated. Reserved for the wealthy. Two guards step up as I exit the lift, eyeing me. One of them reaches for a weapon. My enhancements kick in, and I drop both of them silently before either can react further.

Continuing down the hall, I scan each room I pass until at last I stop before one. I place my hand over the keypad and interface with it. Another program kicks in, and the lock beeps, and then the door slides open.

“You’ve been naughty,” a female voice says, followed by the hissing sound of a whip passing through the air and the crack of flesh being struck.

The sounds come from behind a shimmering curtain. I’m in a sitting room that is overly luxurious. Handcrafted furniture, a fully stocked wet bar with what looks like genuine alcohol. A quick scan shows it is the real stuff, not the synth most places serve. Nice.

I walk through the curtain and see that Vincent is bent over a table, while a barely dressed party girl wields a whip across his back and ass. Great, here’s an image I don’t need.

Moving fast, I grab Vincent by the throat and press him to the wall.

“Hit the planks,” I growl at the party girl.

She doesn’t have to be told twice. She grabs a bag and runs out the door, which slides shut behind her. Smiling, I turn my attention to Vincent.

“We need to talk,” I say.

Sweat pours down his face, and he squeaks, a weak, painful sound. He grabs at my hand, trying to pry my fingers loose, to no avail. He moves his mouth, so I ease my hold enough that he can get in air. He gasps, then shakes his head.

“I didn’t know,” he says.

“Right. My tech ended up in Rega hands. Tell me what you gave them, and who you gave it to,” I say.

“I can’t,” he says, somehow turning even paler than he was. “They’ll kill me.”

That’s not worthy of a response. Glaring, I wait.

“Blast,” he cries, struggling harder. He looks towards the door, obviously hoping help is coming, but he doesn’t know the help he is waiting for is already out cold in the hall.

I let him go, and he drops to the floor, crumbling in a heap. He stays there shuddering and gasping for air.

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to have to info-extract you,” I say.

He cranes his neck around looking up at me with one wide eye. Info-extraction can be painless if the subject is willing to talk but if they resist… well, the pain can be legendary. The threat should be enough to get him talking.

Suddenly he leaps to his feet and runs for the door. Damn it, I didn’t think he had it in him. Whoever he sold it to must represent a bigger threat to him than he feels I am. I’d be willing to bet they’d decapitate him and use his head for the black-market experimental sciences that have been springing up on Zerix.

He struggles with the door handle, fighting to get out. I raise a hand, and a nanobit shoots out of the palm of my hand and sticks into the back of his neck. He convulses and falls to the floor. The nanobit will extract the data I need from him.

Maybe I should retire, permanently. Freelance tech sales isn’t as appealing as it used to be. Handling shit like this is getting old.