As he continued to poke around, Zamm spotted more Draid-Sunn. The bastards drank, shopped and moved around in little groups with no pattern, so all he could do was stay alert, speak as little as possible, and do his best to remain inconspicuous. The problem was subterfuge of any kind simply wasn’t in his skillset. Whenever he passed near one of their packs he felt awkward, noticeable, and very much out of his element..

He didn’t like the tight quarters, or his slow feet. He was vulnerable, robbed of the edges that made a Ranger such a potent beast. And if he wasn’t looking around too much, then he was looking around too little. It had to be one or the other. At least according to his adrenal system.

Still, no one approached him, or gave him any acknowledgement, save for the odd dispassionate shout from sellers in their stalls. None of them looked like they were selling starship weapon parts in addition to dried meats and cloths.

There wasn’t much in the way of signs. He supposed these tunnels were mostly visited by regulars, and everyone knew where the important spots were, or at least knew someone who did. However, by listening in he did eventually find out where a proper market was to be found. And that he’d been going mostly in the wrong direction. He’d probably been thinking too logically, expecting it to be near the docks, when logic often fell short in the presence of human beings.

The route led through what was either a really wide tunnel or a relatively thin cave. Like every other halfway open space around here, it had buildings. The layout was chaotic, but he stuck to what at least seemed like a continuous street through it all, drawn towards the lights of the market ahead.

There was only one business on the way. A man stood outside of a small, two-storey house, with no windows on the ground floor, just screens showing looping clips of three young women. One of them was actually outside, looking frightened as the beefy man held her by the arm with one hand and waved at passersby with the other.

“Girls, girls, girls!” he shouted. “Fresh and juicy flesh! Disease-free, and that’s a guarantee! Sound-proofed walls, while you drain your… You, man, you!”

Zamm’s path took him past the front, and into the man’s attention.

“Make a quick stop! Have some fun! Good price, I guarantee!”

Seen up close, the woman still looked frightened, her eyes travelling to anything and everything save for any nearby human beings. And he couldn’t think of her as a woman. She had reached adult height, but that face couldn’t possibly have seen two full decades. The other two, in those looping clips, looked the same, even as they twirled or posed with very obvious fear and distaste for the task.

Zamm kept on going, and his mind bombarded him with all the factors in play. The unfinished repairs, vulnerability of the disarmed ship, the presence of the Draid-Sunn, and who knew how many other shady entities. He was on his own, and on foot, at that. Neither Lesi nor the Warden could help him, he was without most of his usual arsenal, and he was effectively surrounded by enemies, kept safe only by anonymity. The clock was working against their efforts; moving the freighter ever closer to its drop-off point, and making it likelier that the Ranger ship would be recognised for what it was.

This was in no way the time to be making waves. The smart thing, in every way, was to keep on moving and get that damned stabiliser.

But no. No, no, damn it, no.

One building away from the man and his ‘merchandise’, Zamm did a slow turn. He took in everyone and everything in his field of vision, then walked to the left. He went around what looked like a simple residential, and found next to no one in the zig-zagging little alley behind it. He walked down the length of it, watching, listening, past the little brothel, past the next neighbouring house, and then turned back onto the ‘main’ street.

He did another thorough check, of people and their potential threat level, and of the visibility of the front door. Sweep completed, he approached the man and the girl. There was another man by the far corner of the house, leaning against the wall but paying attention, in the manner of a guard. Zamm ignored him, and made his strike.

“Sound-proofed, you say?” he said.

“Sure is,” the guy told him with a salesman’s smile, and patted the wall behind him. “You just-hey!”

Zamm didn’t slow down. He just took the girl’s arm out of his grip and opened the door. It opened into murky lighting, and Zamm stepped inside with the girl in tow. The ground floor was one open space, and a slightly laughable effort had been put into making the whole place feel cosy with all the resources available to a low-grade human trafficker on a forgotten asteroid. That meant lots of cushions and drapes in warm colours, enough to mostly hide the low-grade walls and floor. Not the ceiling, though.

The other two girls were up against the far wall, looking hostile and frightened, and as he released her arm the girl with him hurried over to join them. One was short, dark and curly, the one who’d been on display was blond and thin-faced, and the third was rather tall, with short, brownish-red hair. That last one looked the least scared, and Zamm noticed that the other two tucked themselves a little bit behind her. All three wore identical yellow skirts and belly-baring tops.

“Hey, now!” the pimp said as he followed Zamm in. “Didn’t you forget something, fella?”

The other man, the one from the corner, came in as well, silent and dangerous-looking. Zamm gave the door a light kick, closing it.

“I get that you’re eager,” the pimp went on. “But you have to pay.”

Zamm was proud of his uppercuts, and this one landed perfectly on the man’s chin. He flew backwards and down, and Zamm turned to the guard. The man was going for a gun but Zamm closed the distance before the weapon could be aimed. He caught the barrel, and the man’s wrist, and twisted the gun away.

Behind the guard, Zamm could see the red-haired girl spring forth and bring her foot down on the pimp’s head. The guard tried to break the wrestling match with a headbutt, but Zamm saw it coming and it only barely landed. He responded with a rabbit punch that impacted nicely with the back of his skull. It wobbled him enough for an easy trip-up, and the guard landed heavily on the thinly disguised metal floor. Zamm stomped on his head, then snatched up the pistol.

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The other two girls had joined the redhead in giving the pimp a kicking, and he was too out of it to manage any kind of defence. They were neither strong nor skilled, but it all added up, and his already ugly face got steadily worse. Zamm let them get it out of their system, until they stopped on their own and turned their wary attention his way.

“I take it this wasn’t some embarrassing mistake,” he said to them. “You are here against your will, correct?”

They stood still and tense over the battered, bleeding and groaning pimp. It was the redhead who took the lead, again, and nodded.

“We were… taken,” she said, in a harsh accent. “From ports.”

Zamm nodded back, and looked down at the guard.

A Ranger’s primary job was defence, but in wilder, more isolated places, it sometimes also fell to them to administer justice. And so Zamm numbed a certain part of himself and fired two shots. He hit home, and didn’t need a third one. The explosion-driven bullets made a dreadful, ear-hurting noise in the tight quarters. But the building, as promised, was soundproof.

The girls still stood where they were, although the blonde had jumped a little at the shots. Zamm wasn’t the most experienced with this kind of work, but it stood to reason that earning the trust of mistreated people could be a lengthy process. So he just switched his grip on the gun and held it out, butt-first.

“I’ll help you,” he said, as he wiggled the gun a little at the redhead. “I have a ship, and we leave in a few hours. We can drop you off somewhere safe. But take this, so you’re not just reliant on other people.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the tallest of the three did take the weapon.

“Mind the safety, mind where the muzzle is pointing at all time,” he told her. “You have thirteen shots left.”

“Who are you?” she asked, as she gingerly familiarised her hand with the gun.

Sensibleness struck again, reminding him of the Draid-Sunn and all the other people on this rock who’d be happy to see him dead. But he himself was asking for a big show of trust.

“I am an Akkian Ranger, but please keep quiet about it.”

The girl just absorbed this in silence for a few moments. She was broken out of it by the curly-haired one suddenly springing into action.

“What are-”

“Clothes!” the other girl shouted. “I’m not walking this freezing rock in a dancing outfit!”

“Valid point,” Zamm said, and gave the front door a look. “But be quick.”

“And money,” the blond girl said. She knelt down by the ugly body of the pimp, and her jittery nerves actually seemed to help her in overcoming the sight for the sake of going into his pockets.

The curly girl came down with a bundle of hastily bundled clothes and threw it on the floor, while the blond came away with two wallets and a jewelled bracelet.

He turned his back as they dressed, then turned to face them. They still looked afraid, but now in a very different way. This was the fear of hope, of uncertainty.

“Do you know the way to the nearest dock?” he asked.

The redhead nodded sharply.

“Go there, without any stops. My ship is being repaired, and guarded by a fierce-eyed woman with a sword. They’ll let you on, because I’ll tell them to.”

And THEN I’ll go get that damned stabiliser.

# # #

“They’re already on their way,” Zamm said into Saketa’s earpiece. “I’m heading into the market now, I’ll probably lose comm with this much rock between us. I can’t predict how long this will take.”

“Understood,” Saketa said. “The repairs are progressing well.”

“And how are… other things?” the man asked.

“Stable,” Saketa said. “For now.”

“Understood. Out.”

The call ended.

Things were stable, certainly. But they were building. Just like how the overall tension in Zintu Rock.

People weren’t being too obvious about it, but the traffic outside, in the tunnel, had changed. It had slowed, due to people gathering. It was all too far away for Saketa to hear murmurs of conversation, but they gave themselves away in other ways. Quick peeks, or overly innocent-looking strolls in, followed by a broad look about, before walking back and out of her sight. And it was always different people. Each one getting their own look, and their own confirmation.

A momentum was gathering. All that angry energy was looking for an outlet, and like water in an incline, it was going to find it.

The repairs were coming along, and Lesi wasn’t throwing orders out quite as fast as before. If the crew had noticed what they were working on, then they were too occupied with earning their pay to care. Besides, the more delicate work was on hold, for now, in favour of basic fittings. Lesi took the chance to sidle up beside Saketa.

In the hint of privacy granted by Saketa’s distance to anyone else, the general-like demeanour washed away, and the woman looked at her with worried sincerity. She was enough of a seasoned hand not to be outright shaken. But worried, certainly.

“Be honest with me here, Wa… Saketa,” she said.

“I am always honest.”

“Yes, well… what do you think? About all this?”

She took quick peeks at the entrances, and at the other spacers and workers going to and fro in this dock.

“We really can’t afford to not make it out of here,” Lesi went on. “I don’t know how much this place has in the way of authority, but it does have thousands of people, sealed entrances, and a pile of armed ships. If all of those factors turn on us…”

“I will keep you safe, Lesi,” Saketa told her. As usual, she didn’t really know how to make her voice anything other than cool and firm, and was consistently told that her gaze was sharp under almost any circumstances. But she did put her free hand on the woman’s shoulder. The other one stayed on the sword. “I will.”

Lesi allowed more vulnerability to show, in her long, slightly shaky exhale, which Saketa took as a mark of success on her own part.

“I… I wasn’t there to see you in action in that village, like Zamm,” the woman said. “I don’t get you, or your people, though I’ve heard plenty. But, uh…”

She lightly gripped Saketa’s forearm and squeezed it a bit, as if checking for something.

“You are flesh and blood, just like me. You must have limits.”

“I most certainly have limits,” Saketa told her. “But I do not think I will encounter them today, in this place. We are not facing fanatics. They will not be eager to throw themselves against my blade and my power once they see what those can do.”

Saketa took another look of her own, at the entrances.

“My personal concern is whether we can get going again in time to make a difference. And now we have an additional responsibility coming our way.”

“Yeah,” Lesi said. “And… my idiot brother, going deeper into this wilderness.”

“Yes,” Saketa said.

She tightened her grip on Lesi’s shoulder.

“Something is going to happen soon. Be ready. For anything.”