Gut Instincts

By Hailey Huntington

The tracking device sizzles and melts as my cybernetic eye’s laser bores into it. After a moment, it’s nothing more than fried wires and chalk-like powder. Destroying it is probably too little too late in deterring whoever must be following us, but I certainly won’t make their job easier.

The tracker is the second I’ve found in as many days. I told Ali not to mess with the caches that he stumbled upon last month while we were docked in N’epo Emases. He didn’t listen, of course, citing the old saying, “Finders keepers.” I suppose a hundred thousand crynos is hard to resist.

But after finding the trackers, I’m sure that we’ve got someone on our trail.

“Morgiana!” Ali’s voice echoes off the metal beam running overhead. He pops around a grate, his wispy white beard swaying. “We got a message in the bridge. A nearby mini transit ship is having mechanical difficulties and needs a ship to temporarily anchor to while making repairs.”

I nod and start forward. “I’ll respond.”

“Oh, I already did.” Ali grins, and I stumble to a halt. He adds, “Told the captain they can dock here! Maybe you can even help fix the issue.”

My jaw tics. I should have gotten a mental alert when the message came in. This is what I get for not doing my routine implant updates—Ali letting anyone waltz aboard.

The entire ship shakes as a metallic grinding noise reverberates through the air.

“Ah! That’d be the ship attaching. Come, let’s go meet the captain.” Ali waves for me to follow as he disappears from the bay.

I hurry after him toward the docking door. The airlock seals with a loud hiss as we reach the chamber. A moment later, the thick door slides open. A wiry man dressed in black steps through. His clothes reek of something unpleasant.

He certainly doesn’t look like any transport captain that I’ve seen before.

“Welcome aboard, sir!” Ali steps forward, heartily shaking the man’s hand. “I’m Ali Baba, but my friends call me Big Baba.”

They don’t. I purse my lips.

“This is Morgiana. She keeps the place running. Let us know if we can help you at all.”

The captain glances at me with narrowed eyes, his gaze lingering a tad too long on the sleek metal of my enhancements. I regard him with equal coolness. The only reason someone should feel uncomfortable around a cyborg is if they have something that they’re trying to hide. I start a system scan on him.

“Right this way. Come, come!” Ali ushers the man out of the chamber toward the lounge and dining room.

The scan finishes as they vanish from sight. The captain doesn’t have any weapons on him. The only thing of any importance is a remote in his pocket. I note its signal frequency and continue after the men. While my enhancements say there’s no reason for worry, my gut tells me the opposite, and I trust it more than any science or programming.

The captain has been aboard for three hours now, talking and drinking tea with Ali. Oddly, even though he requested to move his cargo crates into our bay so that it’d be out of his crew’s way, not once has he checked in with them about their repair status.

I grit my teeth while I fiddle with the circuit panel in the kitchen, one room over from the lounge. It’s been on the fritz for a while and fixing it should provide a good distraction from my unease.

It doesn’t.

Ali’s laugh booms through the air at something the captain said. I jerk at the sound, snapping off a connector.

“Blast!”

Ali isn’t planning to dock planetside for another two weeks. That’s a long two weeks without a properly working kitchen.

Letting out a sigh, I study the broken part, and relief sweeps over me when I note the part model. The captain told Ali that he’s transporting Delta A-5 connectors—the exact part I need. One measly connector is hardly sufficient thanks for the hospitality Ali is providing. The captain probably won’t even notice it’s gone.

I hurry down to the cargo bay. The captain’s crates are larger than I’d expected for connectors. Just how many is he transporting? Stopping in front of a crate, I flex the fingers on my cybernetic arm before prying the box open. I reach in and brush aside a layer of packaging filler.

Metal glints up at me. I freeze. With a hard blink, I activate my x-ray vision. My breath catches.

The crate contains a black-ops assassin droid. A quick scan of the cargo bay reveals the same is true for all but one of the captain’s crates, which actually holds A-5 connectors. Pulse thudding, I perform a scan for the droid activation frequency.

It matches the captain’s remote.

Oh, stars. Gears and thoughts spin. The captain must be a smuggler. The singular crate of connectors is what he shows at customs stations.

My gaze catches a faint symbol burned into the crates, and my throat goes dry. The same symbol is etched on the caches Ali found. Everything clicks together.

Ali must have taken the smuggler’s caches. Now that smuggler’s here to take them back, presumably by any means necessary.

Unfortunately for him, Ali’s got me.

I replace the crate lid and exit the cargo bay, sealing the door behind me. Rolling my shoulders back, I access the ship controls through my data chip.

Release cargo bay.

It doesn’t make a sound due to the vacuum of space, but I know that the bottom floor of the cargo bay falls out, dropping the assassin droids into the void.

Detach from ship.

I’m already darting back toward the lounge when the metallic grinding sound resounds through the ship. If the smuggler had any accomplices on his ship, they’re cut off.

My eye laser sparks as I curl my fists. Now to take care of “the captain.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hailey Huntington is a speculative fiction author, penning tales of wonder, hope, and heroes, with a dash of wit. Her stories can be found online and in various print anthologies. When not writing or reading, Hailey can be found listening to her favorite film scores, making homemade ice cream, or spending time with her family.

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