Athena, I think. What is she doing here?

After connecting the last wire, I lean back in my chair and examine the tracker. It will do for something thrown together. If I had more time I’d make it more elegant and add some bonus features, but this will serve its purpose.

I hook it up to the battery fluid and set it to fill. Adjusting the number, I set it for one year’s worth of power. It won’t need to last that long, but I might want to track my target again later. No reason to waste the chance.

Athena. A legend, almost a myth in the Service. The majority of those in the Service wouldn’t believe she was real. The most outrageous of hits were attributed to her and not a one of them were ever solved.

I pull up the footage from storage and play it over again. The thugs closing on her, Athena dropping to her knees, the one holding the tech in his hand who’s obviously doing something to her. She’s in pain, holding her head, fighting through it.

Why did I get involved?

It hit me wrong. They were using tech to bring her down. If nothing else, she deserves to go down in a fair fight. They weren’t using my tech to do it, but I don’t like it.

There. I activate my tech and reverse their tech, turning it back on them. They drop like meteors hitting the ground. A testament to how much she was fighting, that they’re out and she isn’t.

As she rises to her feet and looks at me on the replay I pause it. Her beautiful eyes stare, blank. Her eyes are blank.

There’s no recognition in them. Nothing.

How? Why?

She should know me. I fought her once. Almost had her, but she escaped. There’s no way she wouldn’t remember me. Unless…

Inara rustles her wings and squawks.

I shut off the replay, grab the stunner on my desk, and turn to face the door.

“Holden?” Strek calls from the door.

“Come on in,” I call, setting the stunner back down.

I scratch Inara behind the head as a thank you for the warning. She preens, moving his head up into my hand.

Strek walks into my workspace, wide-eyed as always, with the same comical grin he always has. His mouth is filled with fangs and he has sharp incisors that almost form tusks. It’s funny because he’s a Junor, and they’ve been herbivores for thousands of years, but they never evolved past the meat-eating teeth. One of many oddities in the universe.

“Working on a new invention?” Strek asks, smiling broadly, which does nothing to lessen the effect of those tusks and razor-sharp teeth.

There is awe in his voice as he stares around wide-eyed. It’s obvious he’s looking for any way to get involved. He listens to my stories with a rapture in his eyes, when I’m in the mood to tell them. Which I’m not. At least he’s a distraction from thinking about Athena.

“Not right now,” I say. “Busy on a mission.”

“Oh!” he brightens, his blue-grey skin almost glowing with delight. “I can help! Anything, what do you need me to do?”

He’s so eager that he’s all but slobbering.

“Strek,” I say. “You know the rules. I don’t take you on missions. What would your mother say?”

“She wouldn’t mind,” he says. “I can help. I’ve been practicing my jump, too.”

Strek blinks out of existence before I can say a word. A tap on my shoulder causes my systems to arm faster than I can stop them. I whirl around. Strek is behind me. Smiling.

“Hi,” he waves. “See? I’m getting so much better. I can help! I know I can. Please! Please let me help.”

Shaking my head, I give it some thought. He could be a good distraction when I inject Dorvat-Wroth with the tracker. He’s the next rung on the ladder as I track down who has my tech. He’ll have bodyguards and be on the alert. He’s paranoid in the best of times, and I have no doubt that word has spread I’m out to take back my tech.

Strek could have his uses. This shouldn’t be dangerous, and besides, Strek is legally of age. The fact he lives at home with his mother doesn’t change that. He’s not stupid by any means. He’s a dreamer and wants something more than this world has been ready to offer him. He wants my world, but that’s only because he doesn’t understand the reality of it. On the outside, from his view, I’m sure it seems glamorous. It’s anything but. Or maybe it is, and I’m too cold to see it anymore. Being more machine than man has certainly dampened the enjoyment I see others taking in life.

Athena drifts through my thoughts. She’s a beautiful woman, driven and very, very good at what she does. Too good.

Strek is bouncing from foot to foot, quivering with excitement. It forces me to focus, pulling my thoughts away from Athena.

“All right,” I say. “I’ve got a plan. You can help.”

“Yes!” he exclaims, throwing an arm up in the air and jumping as he does. He blinks out of existence and reappears by the door. “I’ll be back in five microns, I’ve got to get my bag!”

He’s gone as fast as he says it. If his mother finds out, she’ll kill me. Well, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

Sitting back at the monitor I pull up my files on Dorvat. He’s a thug-for-hire who works, mostly, for the Rega outfit. Known to freelance as well if the price is right, but he’s the one who will lead me to Jeeves. All I have to do is get this tracker on him, and then watch and wait.

Inara squawks, and a moment later Strek bounces through the door.

“I’m ready!” he says, trembling.

This is a bad idea. I don’t have a better one, so I’ll roll with it. Running through the scenarios in my head once again, I consider every possibility. It’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.

“Good,” I say. “Let’s go.”

“Right,” Strek says, struggling to contain himself.

He has a green-tan pack slung over his left shoulder. My system gives it a quick scan, but nothing in it triggers any alarms, so I decide to not comment.

When I walk past Strek, he falls in beside me, and we make our way to the promenade. I know the general area that Dorvat frequents. It’s a less-than-savory area, but what can you expect from his type? He’s smarter than the average thug, but a thug nonetheless.

The promenade is more crowded than usual as tourists flock to Zerix for the final light show before the nebula goes dark. That will also work to my advantage.

“So, what do I have to do?” Strek asks.

“Be quiet,” I answer.

“Right, quiet,” he says.

We walk fifty meters in silence.

“How long?” he asks.

“How long, what?” I ask, clenching my jaw and trying to push down my frustration.

“How long do we have to be quiet?” he asks, curiosity in his voice.

Why did I think this was a good idea? Glancing down at Strek, frowning, he looks at me with wide, earnest eyes. Eager, ready to help.

“Until it’s time to not be quiet,” I say.

“Oh, yeah, that’s good, Holden,” he says, nodding, his expression serious.

He shuts up and we walk through the crowd. My systems scan the area, assessing threats, weapons, running facial and gait recognition. We go down three levels before the edge of my vision flashes and I stop. Strek goes a few steps further before he turns, looking back.

“Holden?” he asks.

Turning my head until I lock onto what tripped the alarm, I spot Dorvat. He’s a hundred meters ahead standing close to a fountain of a galaxy whale spraying sparkling pink water into the air. There is a good-sized crowd around the base of the fountain, which looks like it’s at least a meter deep.

Dorvat is talking to two others, one green alien with tall antenna and a male human. An idea comes to me on how to get this tracker on him without him noticing.

“Come here,” I say. Strek moves close. “See that fountain?”

“Yeah,” he says, following my nod.

“That man, the one in the garish red suit, that’s our target,” I say.

“Oooh,” Strek says.

“Yeah, don’t do that,” I tell him. “Draws attention. Quit looking over there too, we don’t want them to notice us.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” he says, nodding.

“I want you to jump and land in the fountain. Can you do it where you make a big splash of the water, soaking the crowd and him?”

“What?!” he exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. “Can I? Oh yeah, this will be great? What do I do afterwards? Do I need a gun? Can I shoot him?”

Frowning, I shake my head.

“No, Strek,” I say. “This isn’t the vids, this is real life. We don’t shoot people. I’m going to put a tracker in him, so I can follow him later. Once you create the distraction, you jump out of there. You understand? Don’t hang around, don’t play a hero, don’t do anything but make the splash, then get out of there.”

“Oh,” he says, looking disappointed. “Right.”

“Strek,” I say, gripping his shoulder tightly. “This is important. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but this is very dangerous. Can I trust you? A good agent has to follow orders, no matter what. Are you a good agent?”

His face brightens until he’s practically glowing. He nods so hard I’m worried he’ll damage his neck.

“Yes sir,” he says, straightening. “I’m on it.”

“Okay,” I say. “Go.”

I pull out the small pistol from my pocket as Strek jumps away. The splash of the water is impressive and immediately followed by the shouts and screams of the crowd.

Everyone has their attention on the fountain and the crazy Junor who got them all wet. Locking on my target and covering my right hand with my left to obscure what I’m doing, I pull the trigger. Dorvat slaps his neck where the tracker hit. He looks around, growling.

“Let’s get out of here,” I hear, the system locked onto his voice and pulling it out of the crowd for me. “Damn bugs are coming out.”

Perfect.