Chapter 15: FIRST CREW
The refinery above us groaned with age.
I'd spent twenty minutes mapping the tunnel network while Vex'ila gathered her equipment—three datapads, a portable slicer rig, and a hard case she handled like it contained her firstborn.
"The syndicate's financial records," she explained when she caught me looking. "Every transaction for the past two years. Shell companies, bribes, asset locations. Enough to bring down Draven and everyone above him."
"Above him?"
"He's not the top. He runs Nevarro operations for a cartel that spans three systems. This data touches all of it."
More valuable than I thought.
"Why steal it?"
Vex'ila's expression hardened.
"They killed my brother. Made it look like an accident. I was going to make them pay."
"By exposing them?"
"By taking everything they have." She sealed the case. "Are we doing this or not?"
I checked my weapons. Blaster, holdout blaster, vibroblade. The gloves I'd purchased were starting to show wear—I'd need replacements soon.
"Maintenance tunnel exits near the city boundary. Open ground between there and my ship. Half a kilometer, maybe more."
"And the search parties?"
"We time it between sweeps. Move fast. Stay low."
"And if they spot us?"
"Then we improvise."
Vex'ila stared at me.
"That's not a plan."
"Welcome to my operation."
The tunnel exit was a service hatch concealed beneath a collapsed retaining wall.
I went first, easing the hatch open and scanning the terrain. Volcanic rock stretched toward the horizon, broken by sulfur vents and equipment debris. The settlement lights glowed behind us. Ahead, darkness—and somewhere in that darkness, the Requital.
"Clear. Move."
Vex'ila followed me out. She moved well—quiet, balanced, keeping low. Whatever her background, it included some field experience.
We covered the first hundred meters without incident. The second hundred brought searchlights—sweeping beams from patrol vehicles circling the city's edge.
"Down."
We flattened against the rock. The beam passed overhead, close enough that I could feel its warmth.
They're tightening the search. Must know she's trying to run.
"Ship's beacon is two hundred meters northwest," I whispered. "We—"
Engine sound. Close.
I grabbed Vex'ila and pulled her behind a boulder as six speeder bikes crested a ridge ahead. Their riders wore Draven's colors—dark armor with red accents. They'd seen us.
"Run."
I pushed her toward the ship beacon and turned to face the speeders.
Six of them. Combat Prediction—calculate.
The world slowed. I read their approach vectors, their weapon placements, the way they handled their bikes. Four were predictable—standard pursuit patterns, weapons hot. Two were erratic—weaving unpredictably, hard to anticipate.
Focus on the four. Improvise for the two.
The first speeder reached me. I dove sideways, grabbed the rider's arm, yanked. He came off the bike hard, hitting rock at forty kilometers per hour. He didn't get up.
The second rider tried to run me down. I twisted, caught the bike's frame, swung myself aboard behind him. My forearm found his throat. The bike spun out of control as he struggled, and I bailed before it hit the ground.
Rolling. Rocks grinding into my ribs. Stand. Keep moving.
Two more closing in. Blaster fire scorched the air near my head. I predicted the third shot—wrong angle—and dodged into it instead of away. The bolt passed behind me as I moved forward, into the shooter's space.
Disarm. Strike. Down.
The fourth rider I didn't see until his kick connected with my skull.
Stars exploded. I hit the ground. The world went sideways, then upright again as rough hands grabbed my collar.
Contact.
Through my torn gloves—when had they torn?—skin touched skin.
The jolt. The transfer.
A credit chip appeared in my left hand. The rider's credit chip.
He didn't notice. He was too busy trying to pin me down. Another grabbed my arm, wrenching it backward.
Another jolt.
A vibroblade appeared in my right hand. Someone's vibroblade—one of the fallen riders, maybe.
The man holding me saw it materialize.
"What the—"
I drove the blade into his thigh.
He screamed. His grip loosened. I rolled free, came up in a crouch, and took stock.
Three down. One wounded. Two still circling—the erratic ones, the ones I couldn't predict.
They'd seen the blade appear. They'd seen something impossible.
I didn't give them time to process it.
The next forty seconds were the longest of my life.
I moved on pure instinct—training from Earth, prediction from whatever this new ability was, and desperate improvisation filling the gaps. The erratic riders were chaos incarnate, their patterns impossible to read.
One of them got behind me. A blaster bolt grazed my shoulder—burning pain, shallow wound. I spun, threw the vibroblade, missed. The rider circled for another pass.
Touch. I need to touch him.
The thought was desperate, dangerous. Active selection required focus, and I had none. But passive theft didn't care about focus—it just needed contact.
The rider swooped in. I didn't dodge. I jumped.
My hands caught his arm. Skin on skin through the torn gloves.
Three items appeared simultaneously: a comlink, a restraint cuff, and a thermal detonator.
Thermal detonator.
I hit the ground with the rider on top of me. The bike crashed somewhere nearby. The detonator was in my hand—live, primed by the fall, timer blinking.
Two seconds.
I threw.
The explosion lifted us both off the ground. Heat washed over my back. The rider—thrown clear by the blast—didn't move when he landed.
Silence.
I lay in the volcanic dust, breathing in gasps, counting bodies. Four dead. Two fled. The sounds of speeder engines fading into distance.
Survived. Again.
"Cole."
Vex'ila's voice. Close.
I turned my head. She was crouched beside me, the Requital visible on the ridge behind her. She'd reached the ship. She'd come back.
"You're hurt."
"I'm alive."
"You're both."
She helped me up. The world swayed, then steadied. My ribs screamed. My shoulder burned. My head felt like someone had used it for target practice.
But I was standing.
"I saw what happened."
Her voice was careful. Measured.
"The blade. The other things. They appeared in your hands."
I met her eyes.
"Yes."
"How?"
"I don't know how. I just know it happens when someone touches me."
"So the gloves—"
"Block the effect. Usually. The gloves tore."
She looked at my hands. The quality gloves I'd bought two weeks ago were in shreds, leather hanging in strips, my skin visible beneath.
"We need to go," I said. "The runners will bring reinforcements."
Vex'ila didn't move.
"You saved my life. You killed four people doing it. And you have some kind of ability that lets you steal things through touch."
"That about covers it."
"Why tell me?"
"Because you saw it anyway. And because you're either going to trust me or you're not. Lying about it doesn't change the calculation."
The silence stretched. Somewhere behind us, speeder engines hummed—distant, searching.
"We need to go," I said again.
Vex'ila nodded slowly.
"We need to go."
The Requital broke atmosphere twelve minutes later.
I sat in the pilot's seat, running through post-combat checks while ignoring the pain in my ribs and shoulder. The autopilot engaged once we cleared the gravity well, and I finally let myself sag back against the chair.
Vex'ila watched me from the co-pilot's seat. Her expression was unreadable.
"Those items," she said finally. "Your hands. What are you?"
I stared at the stars through the viewport. The same wrong stars I'd seen on my first day in this galaxy, when I'd crashed on Nevarro with nothing but a dead man's debts and a curse I didn't understand.
What am I?
The question had haunted me since that first stolen blade. Since the cantina disaster. Since every accidental theft that reminded me I'd never be normal again.
"I'm someone who can't touch people without consequences," I said. "Someone who takes things without meaning to. Someone who's building something despite that curse, because the alternative is giving up."
I turned to face her.
"I saved your life anyway. I killed four people to do it. I showed you what I am instead of hiding it. The rest—my history, my origins, how any of this works—that can wait until you decide if what you've seen is enough."
Vex'ila was quiet for a long time.
"I stole financial records from a criminal cartel because they murdered my brother. I've been running for twelve days, eating scraps, sleeping in tunnels. An hour ago, a stranger with impossible abilities killed four people to get me off that planet."
She leaned back in her seat.
"I've worked with stranger people for worse reasons. At least you're honest about being dangerous."
"Is that a yes?"
"That's a 'let's see how the first job goes.'"
Fair enough.
I checked the navigation console. We had options—multiple systems within reach, none of them home.
"Where to?" Vex'ila asked.
"Somewhere we can sell Draven's data without him tracking us. Somewhere with decent docking facilities and loose regulations. Somewhere to plan our next move."
I pulled up star charts and started calculating routes.
Behind us, Nevarro shrank to a rust-colored point of light. Ahead, the galaxy waited.
First crew member. First partnership. First step toward something bigger.
The Requital hummed around us, carrying two people with secrets and scars toward an uncertain future.
It felt like progress.
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