Page 22 of Jarran

Durik stopped walking. He stood in the center of the agricultural bay, between rows of toramdo plants, and surveyed the space with a calm that made Evie’s skin crawl.

“Clear the perimeter.” His voice carried as he spoke in Universal. It was deep, flat, and accented with a Virilian cadence that sounded wrong to her ear. Colder than Taron’s. Harsher than Jarran’s. “I want every section swept. He’s here. The Baylan tracker implant confirmed it.”

One of the raiders approached him. Shorter, leaner, a species Evie didn’t recognize. “The docking ports are secured. Their bridge crew is contained. We’ve locked out their internal communications and taken control of navigation.”

“You better have,” Durik snapped. “We planned long enough for this operation. How long until the Coalition detects the breach?”

“Eight tiks, maximum. We cut their primary distress signal before it could transmit, but they use a continuous feedback pulse as a backup. Cutting distress signals also cuts the pulse, so the Baylan fleet will be alerted.”

Durik nodded. “We have enough time. Sweep this bay. Pella Rin is in this section. The manifest lists him as Patient Nine, agricultural labor detail.”

Evie’s heart hammered. She didn’t blink as she stared through the crack, barely breathing.

“Sir.” Another raider approached. “The research staff on deck four are secured. The lead researcher is not cooperating.”

Silca. Evie’s stomach dropped.

“She’ll cooperate once she understands the situation,” Durik said. “I want the implant data. All of it. Frequency settings, neural mapping, override codes. If Pella Rin’s implant needs to come out, I need to understand what it’s doing to him first.”

“You want it removed?”

“Depends on what we are working with.” Durik turned slowly, scanning the rows. “Pella Rin built the Sifters into the most feared force in the outer quadrants. Since his capture, we’ve scattered, driven into holes. But the name still carries weight. Every criminal faction from here to the Kernian border knows Pella Rin. If I can bring him back, the Sifters will reform overnight.” He paused. “But I need him somewhat operational. Not a drooling lug on a Baylan leash.”

The rise and fall of Jarran’s breathing changed against her back. He’d heard every word.

“Search the bay,” Durik ordered. “Every storage unit, every utility closet. He’s here and he’s got a doctor with him. A human female. Bring them both. Gently. Pella Rin is not our enemy. He’s our future.”

The raiders spread out. Pairs moving down the rows, pulling open equipment panels. Getting closer.

Evie turned her head up to Jarran. “He’s here to take you back,” she whispered. “He wants to restore Pella Rin and rebuild the Sifters around your name.”

Jarran’s eyes narrowed. “I am not Pella Rin.”

“I know.” She squeezed his forearm and swallowed hard. “But they’re going to find us.”

He said nothing, but she felt him reach to the side for the tools. Evie glanced over to see his hand close around a long-handled cultivation tool, like a hoe, but with some shallow teeth on it. He gingerly lifted it, trying not to make any sound.

The footsteps grew louder and so did Evie’s pounding heart. Two raiders worked their way down the row closest to the storage shed. She could hear them pulling open panels, kicking over containers.

It was inevitable when the shed door wrenched open and red light flooded in. A raider filled the doorway, weapon raised, mouth opening to shout.

Jarran moved. He shoved Evie behind him with one arm and struck with the other. The tool swung so fast, she couldn’t track the movement. The hooked blade caught the raider’s weapon hand and ripped the blaster free. Jarran’s left hand snapped forward, palm-heel striking the male’s throat. The raider dropped, choking, and Jarran caught the falling blaster before it hit the ground.

The whole sequence took less than two seconds.

Evie pressed herself against the back wall of the shed, her hand over her mouth, staring. The raider was on the ground, gasping, clutching his throat. Jarran stood over him with the blaster in one hand and the harvest tool in the other. His stance had changed. Shoulders squared, weight centered, feet positioned for maximum stability and range of motion. His head was tilted slightly, his gaze tracking the bay for the next threat.

She recognized what she was looking at: muscle memory and combat training so deeply embedded in his procedural memory that they overtook his conscious thought. This was Pella Rin’s reaction. Pella Rin’s reflexes. The movements were fluid, devastating, and lethal.

He glanced back at her and for a fraction of a second, she saw the flatness she’d glimpsed earlier. It was that same calculating emptiness that had flashed across his face after the kiss. The ghost of the criminal who commanded raiders and built an empire on suffering.

As quickly as it appeared, it vanished. Jarran looked down at the blaster in his hand. His fingers loosened, as if to drop the blaster, but stopped short, as if remembering that their situation was dire. He looked at the groaning male on the ground in confusion and horror.

“I didn’t…” He swallowed. “My body just⁠—”

“Jarran.” Evie stepped out of the shed. “More are coming.”

He looked up. The second raider was already rounding the end of the row, weapon up, shouting. Jarran raised the blaster and fired. The shot caught the male in the shoulder and spun him around. He went down.