BETA READER TITLE 01, PART I

Yes. It's so secret that I don't even let people know the title.

Chapter One

I don't know what's worse—the smell of recycled air in my ship's cabin or the artificial atmosphere they pump into Little Earth's docking bay. Both remind me that humanity's got no real home anymore, just hand-me-down planets and second-rate space stations.

But hey, at least the noodles at Tanaka's are still worth crossing three systems for.

“Docking procedure initiated,” my ship's AI announces in that condescending tone all AIs seem programmed with these days. “Please refrain from any sudden movements, Captain Thorne.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave dismissively at the console. “Just don't scratch the paint this time.”

“The previous incident was due to your manual override.”

“The previous incident was due to your lousy depth perception.” I grab the controls, earning an electronic sigh from the AI. “Watch and learn.”

I guide my freighter, the Iron Horse, through Little Earth's massive underground docking facility. The place is a maze of steel and concrete, carved deep into Euphoria's crust back when humanity still had some pull with the local aliens. Now it's mostly empty—a monument to better days.

My landing isn't exactly textbook, but it's a hell of a lot smoother than letting the computer do it. As I power down the engines, I catch my reflection in the darkened viewscreen. Same rugged good looks, same five o'clock shadow that shows up around noon. Not bad, Dalton. Not bad at all.

The cargo hold's empty, except for whatever mystery shipment I'm supposed to pick up, and my account's running low enough that I can't afford to be picky about jobs.

“Just a simple pickup,” I mutter to myself as I grab my jacket. “What could possibly go wrong?”

The AI speaks up: “Based on your previous seventeen deliveries, that question has a statistical—”

“Shut it down,” I order, heading for the exit. “And don't let anyone board without my authorization code.”

“Even with your authorization code, the likelihood of complications is—”

I hit the power switch on my way out. Sometimes silence is golden.

The walk to Tanaka's takes me through the winding streets of Little Earth's underground city. It's a weird mix of old Earth architecture—mostly American, Japanese, and Chinese—lit by eternal fluorescent daylight. The kind of place that makes you nostalgic for a world you never actually knew.

The restaurant's exactly like I remember: steam rising from huge pots behind the counter, sake bottles lined up like soldiers, and the best damn soba noodles this side of the galactic core.

But someone’s changed the name from Tanaka’s to Clean and Soba. Cute.

I'm halfway through ordering when a familiar voice calls out.

“Dalton Thorne. You know it would break my mother’s heart to hear that you’re eating here of all places.”

I turn to find Kota grinning at me, looking exactly like he did three years ago—which is to say, like trouble wearing a nice wristwatch.

“Kota,” I say, already feeling a headache coming on. “Don't tell me you're my contact for this job.”

His grin widens. “Funny how the universe works, isn't it?”

I look down at my steaming bowl of noodles, then back at my old friend. “What kind of mess are you trying to drag me into?”

“Me? I'm hurt.” He slides onto the stool next to mine. “Can't a guy just catch up with an old buddy?”

“A guy? Sure. You? Not a chance.”

He laughs, but there's something forced about it. His eyes keep darting to the door.

I've known Kota long enough to recognize when he's in over his head. The smart play would be to walk away right now, forget the job, and find easier money elsewhere.

But nobody ever accused me of being smart.

I slurp up another mouthful of noodles and say, “Tell your mom I was hungry and this place is closer. But first tell me what's really going on here.”

Before I can get any real answers out of him, his communicator starts buzzing. The way he jerks when he sees the display, you'd think it was going to bite him.

“I have to take this,” he says, already standing. “Come with me.”

“My noodles aren't finished.”

“I'll buy you a whole case of noodles later. Just come on.”

I look longingly at my bowl. “This better be worth it.”

“Half your payment up front,” he says quickly. “Just follow me and keep your mouth shut.”

“When have I ever kept my mouth shut?” But I follow him anyway, because that's the kind of friend I am. The kind that makes poor life choices.

We weave through the crowded streets, past neon signs advertising everything from authentic Earth cuisine to black-market cybernetics. Kota moves fast, checking over his shoulder every few seconds like he thinks we’re being followed. Knowing Kota, we probably are.

“You know,” I say, ducking under a low-hanging sign. “When a friend starts acting suspicious and won't tell you what's going on, that friend usually isn't being a friend.”

“Less talking, more walking.”

“See, that right there. That's suspicious behavior.”

He leads me to a residential block, all pre-fab units stacked on top of each other like children's blocks. The elevator's broken—naturally—so we climb six flights of stairs. By the fourth floor, I'm seriously reconsidering our friendship.

“This better not be like that time on New Teego,” I warn him, slightly winded. “I still have the scars from that job.”

“That was different. Those card sharks had it coming.”

“They were actual sharks, Kota.”

“Technically true,” he corrects. “But only because of the cybernetics.” He pauses. “They were Krex, if you wanna be picky, Dalton.”

“I wanna be clear of any trouble is what I want. How much farther.”

“Down the hall.”

We reach a door marked 6D. Kota pulls out an old-fashioned key—nobody uses those anymore except people with something to hide—and pushes the door open.

The smell hits us first. That metallic, copper tang that anyone who's spent time in Little Earth knows too well. Then we see the body.

“Well,” I say, looking at the corpse sprawled across what used to be a nice coffee table. “I guess this explains why you were in such a hurry to leave the restaurant.”

The apartment's been tossed. Furniture overturned, walls dented, blood spattered in artistic patterns across the ceiling. Someone was looking for something, and they weren't particular about how they found it.

“Since this happened,” Kota says quietly. “I need your help.”

“Let me guess… this isn't what it looks like?”

“Actually, it's exactly what it looks like. There’s someone I need to meet. This guy was supposed to be it, but that’s not an option anymore.” Kota starts typing something on his datapad. “Hang on a sec, Dalt.”

“Sure. I’ll just make myself comfortable in this crime scene. And I hope you’re messaging the police. But knowing you…”

The sound of boots on the stairs cuts him off. Heavy boots. Lots of them.

“Friends of yours?” I ask.

“Not this quick.”

I move to the window, then peer out at the six-story drop. “You know what I hate most about being your friend, Kota?”

“What's that?”

“The cardio.”

The boots are getting closer. I can hear voices now, rough ones speaking a mix of Earth languages and alien dialects. None of them sound friendly.

“Please tell me you have a plan,” I say.

Kota gives that same grin from the restaurant. “When have I ever had a plan?”

“I was afraid you'd say that.”

The first boot hits the landing outside the door, and I realize my quiet delivery job just got a lot more complicated.

---

Chapter Two

The thing about falling six stories is that it gives you plenty of time to question your life choices. Like why I keep trusting Kota, or why I didn't just stay with my noodles.

“The dumpster,” Kota yelled just before we took the plunge. “Aim for the dumpster!”

“I hate you.” I jumped right after him.

We hit the dumpster in a cascade of garbage and regret. At least it's softer than concrete.

Something squishes underneath me. I decide not to investigate what.

Gunfire erupts from the window above, peppering the alley with a mix of projectile rounds and plasma bolts. These guys aren't messing around.

“Friends of yours seem upset,” I groan, rolling out of the dumpster. “What did you do this time?”

“Would you believe nothing?”

“No.”

“Smart.” Kota pulls me behind a storage unit as more shots rain down. “We need to get back to your ship.”

“We need to get you to a psychiatrist.” A plasma bolt melts the corner off our cover. “But your idea sounds good too.”