Who is he?

I can’t get him off my mind. There’s something about him, primal, instinctual. Awakening parts of me that I don’t have time for, not now, maybe not ever.

I’ve got bigger problems. They found me, again. How? That’s what I have to figure out. I covered my tracks, and I know I’m damn good at it, if not how or why I have that ability. Still they caught up to me. There’s something that I’m missing.

As I move through the crowded promenade, my every nerve is on fire. Paranoia is a creeping sensation that doesn’t make me more alert. It makes my hyper-aware. Every motion could be an incoming attack. Every person who glances at me is an enemy, a threat. It takes all my concentration not to attack innocent people walking past.

I have to get off planet. There’s no time to waste.

The stranger is right. My place isn’t going to be safe. I need sleep, and I have to find someplace to do that. When I reach the block my latest rental is on, I walk right past it, then step into an alley.

Athena.

The sound of the name on his lips echoes through my thoughts. His voice deep and rich. The way he looked at me. He knows me. Knew me, before. Knows who I was, which is more than I know. The black void is an empty ache in my head. I don’t want to know what’s in there. What was I that made him act like he did. Reserved, wary, a hint of fear or respect?

People pass by on the street as I lean against the alley wall, watching, letting my thoughts circle. It’s quiet out there, normal. Nothing stands out. I watch for twenty microns before stepping out of the alley and going to the rental building.

Pausing at the door, hand on the panel, I wait, hyper-aware of everything. Sounds, presences, the pressure of the air itself. All of it registers as I scan for any threat before I go into this smaller space.

Nothing happens.

Satisfied, I open the door and make my way to the flat I rented under yet another false ID. Inside I grab my bag and stuff what few things I have here into it.

Zipping it closed, I stare at the bed longingly. Lying down would be so good…

Shaking off the tiredness and forcing myself to move, I crack the door open and watch the hallway. Once I’m satisfied it’s empty, I walk out, leaving behind another temporary home. I have to get to Clessis sector soon. The biggest spaceport is located there, so it will be easier to get off world without being noticed.

Travel isn’t easy on Zerix when you can’t use the transit systems. The transits are all monitored with high tech. I don’t know who’s after me, but it’s clear that they’ve access. It’s the only way I can figure out they’ve been able to find me.

Threading my way through the crowds, I make my way to a lift. A group of tourists are gathered waiting, all of them drunk. They reek of alcohol and excess. They have five party-girls with them, laughing and tittering at their inane jokes. My hackles rise, watching them. Mindless, wasteful, they’re automatons playing into the cogs of universal decadence that’s sold to them by the Corps.

The black void throws out more random images. Secret meetings in dark rooms where I can’t see the speakers. Images on screens, directions, control mechanisms that I will put in. Control the influencers and the masses will follow. If such and such famous person is seen doing X, then the masses will conclude that it is the thing to do.

Of course this product will solve their problems, their favorite star uses it.

Who controls the stars though?

Me. It was me. Cold chills spread from my core causing goosepimples on my arms. What was I?

More than ever, I don’t want to know. My past needs to stay buried. The lift doors open. I enter along with the crowd of party-girls and tourists, using them for cover. A young, green-tinted alien man turns towards me, smiling broadly while weaving back and forth and sloshing his drink.

“Hey,” he says, slurring the word. “You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I say, staring past him.

Cameras are mounted around the top edge of the lift, watching, always watching. Instinctively I slip into an act. Stepping closer to the man I place a hand on his cheek and lean in close.

“Play along,” I whisper in his ear.

“What?” he asks, pulling back, still grinning.

Hooking my arm behind his neck, I pull him close and hold him so that the camera views of me are obscured. He tries to feel me up, but I catch his arm and stop that. The lift doors open, and I push him into the crowd forcing our way out.

Outside I let go and walk away, moving fast. It’s not my intention to be a tease, but I can’t stand out. Anything that the security tech flags as unusual will be brought to someone’s attention. Attention I can’t tolerate.

I shift my bag to the other shoulder, and I also change my gait, keeping my hood pulled over my face, head down, doing my best to avoid standing out. Planetary security AI monitors everything, recording and comparing. There is no doubt that every detail of me has been put into a search algorithm. This is the society in which we live.

Luckily, somehow, I’m an expert at avoiding detection.

Or I was. I think.

Although I haven’t been so successful at that the last couple of days. I’m missing something but what it is, I don’t know.

Scanning the crowds, feeling on edge and hyperalert, until at last I slip onto a set of steps down to a closed transit station. When I reach the landing at the bottom I step to one side and rest against the wall, listening and waiting for anyone who might be following.

Minutes pass and nothing happens. Satisfied, I walk across the platform and jump down into the trench the rails are set in. A few meters down the tunnel, there’s a maintenance door. After forcing it open, I climb inside the cramped storage space and close the door behind me. I sit on the dirty floor, lean against the wall, and I let my eyes drift closed. Sleep, at last.

I jerk awake. Something set off internal alarms.

Footsteps crunch on the gravel along the transit rails. Listening closely, the only other sounds are my own breath and heartbeat. They’re coming closer. As they come to a stop outside the door, I rise to my feet, setting my bag down on the ground.

“Athena?” a voice comes through the door.

My heart skips a beat.

Him.

What in the unholy void is he doing here? How did he find me?

A thousand thoughts race past as my heart resumes its normal pace. As it does warmth forms in my core and there’s something more behind it that I can’t believe is there.

Desire.

No, I don’t know him. He seems to know me but what does that amount to? It doesn’t seem like we were friends or lovers before. From what memories have returned, it’s more likely we were enemies. Why would I trust him anyway?

Yet part of me does. Some deep, crazy part.

“Athena, I’m here to help,” he says. “I have information you need to know.”

Debate rages on, rational thought, desire, and the empty ache of lost memories vie for dominance. Do I trust him? Do I take him out? Do I run? Do I grab him and kiss him?

Unholy void, this is ridiculous.

When I turn the lock on the door, it swings open silently. He’s standing two meters away, hands in front of himself, palms up.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“It seems we might have something in common,” he says.

“And?”

“The enemy of my enemy,” he shrugs. I tense as he does, ready for anything. My reaction isn’t lost on him. He stops the motion halfway through and holds perfectly still. “Sorry. No harm intended.”

Watching closely, my thoughts race. He could be anyone or anything. It’s obvious he’s been enhanced, no human is as big as he is under that trench coat. That means Galactic Service, former or current. No one else gets access to that tech.

Service means he’s the enemy.

How I know this isn’t clear, but it’s true to the depth of my bones. What is he offering? A truce? An alliance?

There’s something about his sharp green eyes that resonates with me. They’ve seen pain. He’s been hurt, and he’s caused it too. There’s two day’s growth of beard that enhances the strength of his jaw. A faded scar on his left cheek, small scars at the eyes only visible if you know what to look for there. Remnants of eye enhancement surgery. The tightness in my core has a lot less to do with the tension of the situation and a whole lot more to do with other thoughts that have no place in this situation.

“What are you offering?” I ask.

He glances at the pack behind me. “Going somewhere?”

“I’m jumping off,”

“Off?” he asks, concern on his face.

“Yeah,” I say. “Off the edge of the galaxy. Out where the pioneers roam, deep into the black.”

“Away from prying eyes,” he fills in. “Where they’re not wired into the Galactic Network.”

I nod agreement and he frowns deeply. “You’re running from Rega,”

“Come again?” I ask, confused.

I search what memories I have but the name doesn’t ring any bells.

“Clearly you don’t know that,” he says.

That’s not worthy of a response so I stare instead, waiting. There’s no denying my interest is piqued, in more than one way, but I’m not interested in playing games with him. I’m still deciding if I can trust him.

“We should chat,” he says. “We’ve got trouble with the same outfit. Makes sense to work together.”

He steps around me reaching for my bag. Grabbing his arm, I stop him. We lock eyes, only a few centimeters apart. His breath, warm with a hint of ginger brushes my skin. Heat flares, my lips quiver with an urge to taste his.

Neither of us says a word. The moment stretches out. Do I trust him? Do I have a choice? Something about him, in his eyes maybe, or perhaps a trace memory from before pushes. It feels like he’s honest.

I let go of his hand, and he reaches over and grabs my pack. It’s strange to feel I can trust him. Lately I’m not sure I can trust myself.

He heads deeper into the tunnel, and I follow, quiet and contemplative. He knows the tunnels, better than I do. He leads us through them without hesitation, finding maintenance hatches and doors that lead us up and keep us away from the crowds on the promenades.

We travel in silence, but it’s strangely comfortable.

He’s capable. Very much so. A true match for the skills I know I have, even though I don’t remember them directly. He’s highly trained, yes, but it’s more than training. You can train a monkey to type, but he won’t write a galactic bestseller.

Galactic Service has millions of recruits, only a handful of them, at best, are worthy of consideration. He’s definitely among those few.

Yet, he’s my enemy. There’s a deep certainty of that. I’m walking, side-by-side, with a man who’s only selling point is he hasn’t tried to activate, shoot, or capture me. Yet. Hey, let’s not underestimate that.

We climb a ladder and then step out into a narrow, carpeted hallway. Closed doors stretch in both directions. He goes right, and I follow behind him, because the hallway isn’t wide enough for us to walk side by side.

He reaches a door, puts his hand on the scanner pad, then taps a rhythm. That’s strange. I watch him carefully. It looks like a normal print scanner, sampling DNA like any other. Why the strange ritual to go with it?

The door slides aside, and he walks in, still silent. It’s a small flat with three rooms off the entrance hall that leads to an open sitting area. There’s a kitchenette, a bedroom to one side, and another room that is filled with shelves overloaded with boxes that have wires and parts sticking out of them. That room is dominated by a worktable covered with works in progress.

Turning to face me for the first time since we left the tunnels, he looks around then shrugs.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” he says.

Something squawks. Instinctively I drop into a defensive position and whirl to the sound. A mechanical AI bird soars through the air to land on his shoulder. He scratches behind its head.

“It’s fine,” I say, straightening up.

There’s a sense of relief that he didn’t comment on my reaction. It’s also a sign of his training. Normals would comment on me being jumpy or some other snide remark. Since he didn’t, he expects no less.

“You can take the bed,” he says gesturing to it. “I’ll sit watch. You should rest before we get into the main event.”

Exhaustion hits me like a sledgehammer. Staring at him, an internal debate rages. Do I trust him?

“Yeah,” I say, buying time by filling the void with a noncommittal.

“There’s a lock on the door,” he says as if he’s reading my thoughts.

Nodding, I accept that assurance and go into the bedroom. I close the door and activate the lock. Glancing around the small room, I choose the dresser, grab it, and wedge it against the door too. I’ve made it this far, there’s no point in going stupid now.

Satisfied at last, I lie down on the hard bed, and I’m out before my head hits the pillow.