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"Doesn't ring a bell with me. Local outfit?"

More clicking of keys then a vicious shaking of Ylzic's head. "Not good."

"'Not good' what?"

"Nemex belongs to a certain Sistain Nemex. Ring any bells?"

"No."

"It should. He's been seen with that 'regular' of yours, Neira. And according to the VRNet chatter, Nemex only recently moved his company headquarter to 'Station 36."

"Fuck. You're implying-"

"Black Scorpion. And not any old outpost. The Waystation seems to be his personal residence now."

"What's his deal, besides running a high-profit Psycarium op?"

Ylzics laughed, the most unpleasant mix of piping and rasping you could ever imagine. My toenails threatened to curl inwards. "That, my friend, is just a front to launder some money. I'm sure most of the mining gear and the transports and the prospector bots have been bought with his real income."

"Which would be?"

"Meat. In fact, now I know where I've heard his name before. An associate of his has kindly provided a shuttle full of Zuthrian strays for my harem. Many of them still work for me."

"Spare me the details, please."

"Well, if I were you, I'd pick another Waystation. 38 and 40 should be reasonably close."

"Neira already is furious I'll be gone for six months."

"Be realistic. She won't do anything serious to you. That woman loves owning your Terran ass and she'd probably bite off one of her own nipples before seriously damaging one of her prime money-makers."

"When did you take an advanced Psych course?"

"Please. Before I set up my own shop, I did around seventy years as Assistant Psychology Advisor in Gravon space. I can read those red bastards like a book. And I promise you, the longer you're away, the wetter she gets. And when you're back, she will fuck the living daylights out of you. For a recording of which I'd be willing to pay five figures."

"Forget it. I neither have the time nor the money to invest into a full-body recorder. Or a lengthy hospital stay after she's done with me."

"Audio/Video would be okay with me. Buy, borrow or steal a drone cam and have it do slow laps around whichever surface she'll flatten you on. Maybe program it for a few close-ups when penetration should occur. I love that stuff!" His hands did a complicated, kneading gesture.

"No. How much for the Nemex file?"

"Three grand plus transfer fees."

"Ouch."

"Or do you have never-before seen footage of sexy aliens? I'll happily trade."

I probably had. But I was not enough of a dick to send Jenala's dildo test run for a discount.

"Sorry. I've only got the most recent Purring Palace movies. And more Trials of the Marked Dynast."

"Nothing to cause my protrusions to even twitch. Felinoid porn is so boring. There's only enthusiasm, happiness and that god-awful meow, meow all the time. Can't they shut up and deliver a decent deepthroat? Ugh. And don't get me started on the fictionalized exploits of the Marked Dynast Zeloria. Everyone knows she didn't even survive her coronation, not with all the tribal leaders conspiring behind her back. She might have fucked them before uniting the tribes but anything after is just fan service. As much as I like to see Marked Ones break innocent assholes or drive unprepared females crazy, that's totally immersion-breaking. Scientific accuracy has to be preserved!"

"Well, then you'll have to settle for cold, boring cash." I sent him the requested amount. "Don't forget to send the file, all right?"

"You know how this works. Unless the deal is completed, I shall not rest. And since every moment we're flapping our gums is taking away from watching my freshly-installed Silicians get the fucking of their lifetime, I'll make this quick. Goodbye." He hung up. Thirty-seven seconds later my comms announced the arrival of a sizable data package which I downloaded on my wrist comms.

The autopilot still held firm without any obvious signs of drift so I decided to take my reading elsewhere. Also, my coffee mug was empty. So I retreated to the kitchen. Besides getting me closer to my coffee refill, the move back to the kitchen would also put more distance between me and the controls of the surveillance system. I fished the holo projector from storage and sent the data package over.

Armed with a fresh mug of coffee, I opened the file Ylzics had sent me and began to browse. Sistain Nemex was a rather average Nor. Tall, slender, spiky blue hair and orange eyes. The only thing unusual was his choice of clothing. Instead of the form-fitting Nor garb with their asymmetrical seams and button borders, he opted to wear what looked like a jacket made from Sand Dragon leather, the large, hexagonal scale pattern a dead giveaway. To add some extra flair, the right shoulder was cupped by some kind of lizard skull-shaped pauldron with large gems set into the bony eye sockets. His promo picture also showed a tinted wrap-around visor resting on his forehead for some extra style points. His age was hard to guess from looks, as was the case with most Nor.

I consulted the accompanying file. Sistain was thirty-two standard years old and his public credentials said he had majored in Fine Arts, with music as his primary. Thankfully, Ylzics had attached his criminal record as well which put the carefully fabricated persona into perspective. His touring days across the wild, contested area of space known as "Pirate Haven" between Nor and Zuthrian space got him into contact with all kinds of small-time operations. Drugs, smuggling, arms dealing and slavery. Of course.

Being a planet-hopping rock star allowed a certain degree of deniability when groupies disappeared. Eventually he caught the attention of a certain Asteria Q'leera, a high-ranking Scorp boss running things in the Zuthrian corner of the galaxy. She took him under her wing until he was seasoned properly then shuttled him back to Nor space where he had quietly built a sizable Meat operation. Slaves, both for sex or hard labor, special bodysculpts for assassination jobs or even outfitting entire merc companies -- he had his fingers in every orifice, so to speak. And as with every crime lord, there came a time to launder the money. Nemex Interplanetar would make him even more money, especially if they indeed had found Psycarium in Xanuth. Not to mention all the money coming in through the usually pricey Waystation services.

On the other hand -- how bad could it be? I didn't plan on asking for an audience or a business opportunity. All we needed to do on Waystation 36 was dock, refill, shop for a few luxury items and then we could be off before anyone would be the wiser. Changing course and heading for Waystation 38 or 40 would add even more travel time. I wasn't so sure if I trusted Ylzics' assessment of my relationship with Neira enough to gamble on that.

* * * *

Over the next two days, we settled into a comfortable rhythm, with each of us claiming eight hours of rest and around sixteen hours of being awake. Jenala spent most of her time absorbed in the books and magazines I had given her access to, interspersed by training sessions in the cargo hold where she practiced both unarmed and armed combat routines only wearing that painted-on battle shell of hers. It was evident, even to someone like me, that she was a highly capable combatant, each slash, kick or punch precise, yet powerful.

During my time in the UNSF, I had been subjected to combat drills as well but those were more centered around the use of the new Nor weapons which had become standard issue for us. I was a decent shot with lasers, concussion weapons and plasma rifles but my close-combat skills hadn't advanced beyond basic self-defense and brawling. I was expected to do most of my killing from behind the controls of a Scarab space superiority fighter, not down in the mud. Watching Jenala dissect an imaginary opponent with a flurry of almost weightless-seeming slashes of her blade was highly impressive and helped to emphasize how different we were. She was the consummate explorer, both armed with a keen intellect and the combat skills to ward off all but the most dire of threats, while I was a glorified cargo hauler with a few extra skills on the side. A part of me was kinda glad she hadn't decided to simply hijack my ship and space me at the first opportunity.

One ritual which quickly formed was eating together. She used the time to launch an unending barrage of questions my way. This particular dinner, shortly before she would claim the cabin for her eight hours of sleep, seemed to revolve once again around relationships.

"How old did you say you were?" she asked around a spoonful of synthesized red bean stew.

"Thirty-one."

"You should be married by now. Why aren't you?"

I managed not to snort out my previous bite. "So many reasons. It's not mandatory, for a start. Second, as you might have seen, my job precludes long-lasting relationships. Third, I'm kinda happy flying alone. And finally, I haven't found the right one to settle down with. Haven't been looking, to be honest."

"Hm. Strange."

"What is?"

"When I think back on the evening we left your home world... That Zeeris person seemed to be very enthusiastic about you. I'm no expert on Zuthrian mating rituals but her whole bearing screamed 'I want you.' Her erection was kinda obvious too." She squirmed on the bench.

"Another soul lost to the power of the Marked Ones?" I asked her, pointing with the blunt end of my fork.

"I have to admit I find the combination of both male and female traits in the Marked Ones to be highly arousing. Especially after witnessing the 'Trials of the Marked Dynast.' Which leaves me to wonder -- have you ever...?"

"Not yet." I used the excuse of taking another large spoonful of stew to sort my own thoughts. "As for Zeeris: I find her antics highly flattering but she's related to one of my business contacts, which makes it difficult to engage with her, no matter how much I like her. Beginning a serious relationship might make things very complicated between Ventras and me."

"I find it highly dubious you haven't found a lasting partner yet. It's obvious you radiate a certain magnetism. I don't have to look much farther than myself. Or those two Felinoids I caught you with when we first met. They were literally all over you."

"Because it's their job."

That got her to look at me funny. "Excuse me?"

"The Felinoids you saw me with were prostitutes. Paid escorts. Mind you, I didn't hire them. Seemed to me like Misty, the club's owner, wanted to cheer me up some."

Jenala dropped her spoon. "I- paid?" Her facial expression was torn between utter disbelief and almost zealous rage.

Now it was my turn to look at her funny. "Don't tell me your species doesn't know the concept of the sex trade."

"That's unthinkable. Physical stimulation and mutual release are to be given freely when asked for! Withholding affection is a crime!" Her hand actually went for the hilt of her sword -- which thankfully was in the cargo hold, mounted to an improvised weapons rack.

I raised my hands in a warding gesture. "No need to pop a vein over this."

"No... need? I'm horrified!"

"I'm intrigued." I handed Jenala a few tissues to deal with the mini-mess she had made.

"What?"

"You just said: 'Withholding affection is a crime.' And 'mutual release' is to be given when asked. So... if I were member of your 'fleet,' would I be able to sidle up to you and say 'hey, let's do it?'"

Jenala swabbed at the stew spatters then she took a deep breath. Her expression softened somewhat. "Within reason of course. You can't strut onto the bridge of a ship and lay one of the pilots on duty, for example. But should you meet someone who has no urgent tasks to take care of, then yes."

"Fascinating. What about long-term relationships?"

Jenala took another spoonful of stew and chewed slowly. "I think it won't hurt. We have long-term relationships. In fact, many sisters on duty form close-knit bonds, which only eases the giving of mutual pleasure. Since we are mostly confined to our ships, it is rare for strangers to stir up things. Rare but not unheard of." She smiled wistfully. "The usual monogamous relationships favored on Earth are alien though. If you have to compare our love life to someone else's, the Zuthrians are probably the closest match, with their polyamorous relationships."

"Well, thanks to the fallout of their Ancient War, the distribution of males and females is rather nonstandard. There are about two females per male."

"And how many Marked Ones?" Jenala's eyes twinkled.

"Maybe ten percent of the whole population but the number seems to fluctuate between tribes and planets. Ventras once said 'there's always one when you need them.'"

"Hm."

"What about 'withholding affection is a crime?'"

"Tight quarters and little chance to be truly alone can cause incredible strain on some. The easiest way to soothe the troubled is a bit of tenderness and care. Willfully withholding affection or a hug or a kiss can be seen as willfully harming those troubled souls. Everyone has to look out for each other. But let's go back to that 'sex trade' thing of yours." Her eyes flared up. "Sex should never be a commodity to be sold!"

I offered her a weak grin. "Well, in this corner of the galaxy, it is. Among one of the most lucrative too."

Jenala growled in the back of her throat. "Why?"

I shrugged helplessly. "Where to start? Some poor souls can't find a partner willing to share their idea of a fun time between the sheets. Sometimes, someone in a relationship wants to try another species/gender or someone who is of a different age than their regular partner."

"I still fail to see why I should pay for that," Jenala grumbled.

"You don't have to if you manage to find another willing party. But most people find it easier to solicit paid company than having to work the bar circuit or try their luck with finding someone the old-fashioned way. And the moment you're diving into morally ambiguous practices, you are practically forced to pay to sate your immoral desires."

Another stern gaze alongside another spoonful of stew. She didn't like this particular topic at all.

"And your society is okay with that?" Jenala asked eventually.

I shook my head. "Hell no. In many jurisdictions, prostitution is illegal and looked down upon. It took the Nor arriving to legalize it, at least in the trade posts."

"And why would someone legalize prostitution?"

"To drag the whole affair into the light, enforce health and safety regulations. You have to remember -- when something is outlawed, it doesn't mean it simply disappears. Often, illegal operations spring into being around something which is forbidden. The concept of 'crime' does exist in your fleet too, doesn't it?"

Jenala pressed her lips into a tight line. Eventually, she slowly nodded. "Yes. We have a black market. And other... operations which aren't exactly above board."

"What the Nor did was to make sure those working the sex trade are properly trained, have access to decent health care and most of all, legal protection. Not that it eliminated the shadier sides of the trade." The thought brought me back to Sistain Nemex, the blue-haired Nor crime lord and his Meat empire. There will always be depraved hedonists seeking thrills which aren't covered by the legal sex trade. Children. Highly mind-controlled bodysculpts. Snuff. And there would always be people like Nemex who provided said thrills -- for the right price.

I decided not to poke that particular hornet's nest any further. Jenala for her part seemed to have had enough of the topic as well. She wolfed down the rest of the stew in silence then got up and went straight back into the cargo hold, no doubt itching to vent her frustration.

* * * *

"Next stop -- Xanuth system," I announced over the comms three days later. "Please tuck in all important appendages, stop molesting your flight attendants and prepare for realspace re-entry."

"Very funny," Jenala said, bracing herself on the back rest of my pilot's seat. On the main screen ahead, a complicated tangle of guide lines and computer-generated imagery helped me navigate.

"Thirty seconds to go," I said. "You might want to sit down. Exiting the 'Net can get a little bumpy."

"I'll be fine," she said. "Let me watch."

"Don't say I didn't warn you. Ten." I made some minute adjustments to ensure Consuela's rear end wouldn't impact the ring on exit then I hit the disengage button when my timer hit zero. Ahead, what looked like a tiny black spot appeared on screen. Within two heartbeats, it had grown to a massive size and a moment later, Consuela shook once, hard. Then we were through.

I'm always amazed how quiet everything feels once you've left the TransNet. The power core wound down, there were no more rattling discharges against the structural integrity field -- it seemed as if your ears had blown out.

The peaceful feeling didn't last long. I had barely exhaled when my contact scanner lit up. A moment later, my comms rang.

"My, that was quick. Are we expected?" Jenala asked.

I checked the scanner. A quartet of ships was on an intercept course, a squadron of Lucanos interceptors. Long, daggerlike fuselages with rounded winglets mounted around a massive propulsion unit. Lightly armed but fast enough to run down practically anything within a system. Their transponders blared the Nemex Interplanetar IFF code into space.

"Looks like a friendly shakedown contingent," I said with a sigh. I pulled the headset from its cradle and opened a channel.

"Phase Wolf squadron, this is the TSS Consuela. Is there a problem?"

"Wolf One to Consuela. Xanuth is a Psycarium mining site, security code amber. Stand by for mandatory security inspection."

"At least they're trying," I muttered under my breath. Louder, I said. "Fine by me. Let me increase distance to the portal until I've hit the fifty clicks mark. I don't want to scratch my tub's paint."

Wolf One snarled into his mic. "Look here boys, we have a comic. No sudden maneuvers."

With enough distance to the portal, I powered down my engines and lowered the shields. "Ready to be scanned, Wolf One."

On my sensors, one of the interceptors broke formation and made a beeline for my ship. The slender dagger came close enough to see it with the naked eye and made two passes along my ship.

"What are they doing?" Jenala asked me.

I flashed a mirthless smile. "Looking for anything to squeeze me for. Luckily, we're running almost empty."

"Wolf One to Consuela. Nothing suspicious found. You are free to proceed to the Waystation, bay thirteen. Be advised that diverging from the flight corridor marked by guide beam alpha will be seen as an espionage attempt and punished accordingly."

"I'm just here to top off my reserves," I said, trying my most reasonable voice. "Sheesh. If you don't want any visitors, you shouldn't broadcast the location of a damn Waystation. Consuela, out."

"What was that all about?" Jenala asked while I kicked Consuela back into gear. The Waystation was half an hour away and I made doubly sure to fly along the indicated path. No need to make the locals even more stir-crazy.

"They don't want anyone snooping around in the system. Kinda odd for a mining operation, even if they're digging for psycho rocks." I quickly debated if I should inform my client about the true nature of Nemex Interplanetar but I decided against it. We were just here to top off the ship and buy some essentials. I had no intention to get involved, even if there were probably some other facilities in the system which had nothing to do with Psycarium mining -- such as brothels, holding facilities, maybe an illegal bodysculpting and mind-breaking clinic. I shook my head. Not my problem.