Wherever the hell this is—
—as fast as possible, but her mouth watered at the smell of real food sizzling on homemade grills.
“You gonna just stand there and drool, or you gonna buy something, sweetie?” one of the vendors asked, harsh and impatient, as Rex stared at the meat and vegetable skewers grilling on his cart.
Rex’s stomach growled. It would take the last of her cash, but she had to eat. But as she reached under her cloak and into her left jacket pocket, her fingers grazed something fuzzy.
“Oh no chakking way,” she cursed. The kitcoon stirred, then curled into a tighter ball of sleep. It weighed next to nothing, and when she removed her hand, she could barely tell it was inside her pocket.
She recalled the old woman rifling through her jacket before tying the belt around her. She must have stowed the kitcoon in my pocket—
Then, a terrible realization: And lost my cash! She checked her other pocket, pulling out lint—
I’m gonna starve—
—and her last crumpled Starways dollar.
The vendor, a skinny gentleman chewing on toothpick, lifted a brow as she offered the wadded cash to him. “That would buy you the skewer. Just the skewer.”
“Please, mister…”
“You gonna give me trouble?” he asked, holding up his dirty butcher knife.
Rex sighed. Back to old tricks. Things that her old sponsor, Chezzie, a seasoned hustler, taught her when she first hit the streets. Things she didn’t want to do anymore; one of the many reasons she ran away from him and her old life—
Invading memories, tricking minds.
Her stomach growled, reminding her it had been days.
“Look kid,” Chezzie once said, pointing at a similarly crowded street on a different world. “Each of these assinos wants something. You just need to figure out what, give ’em some version of it, and then you can take anything you need.”
How about a meal? She thought, eyeing the butcher knife.
With a gurgle, her stomach agreed.
Just this once more, she promised herself.
Rex relaxed her gaze, looking over the vendor’s toadish face and the yellow, sweat-soaked bandana tied around his head. He wore an apron over a long-sleeve shirt that he rolled up past the elbow, revealing the back-alley tattoos inking his arms and fingers.
Chezzie’s voice surfaced: “Come on, kid, it’ll be easy…”
“Fine, a skewer then,” she said, offering her last dollar.
Shocked, the vendor took the cash. In the exchange, she let her hand rest on his for a split second, long enough for her to sense his thudding heartbeat and overtaxed lungs. He’d been in the city too long, oblivious to the noise, the stench; the congestion of stimulus that drowned out his afflictions.
He’s been miserable his whole life, she thought, sensing the deeper pain that carved into his soul. A life of inescapable poverty, with relief that came in cheap habits at the expense of his health. She’d encountered his type before.
“A scoundrel like that scares easy. Just get rid of him,” Chezzie would have advised. “Not like you can escape this life, right?”
Rex focused on his respirations, how he struggled for each breath, in and out. She could squeeze down on his airways just a little bit, and the stress would make him panic, drop the knife, making him vulnerable and—
The kitcoon popped his head out of the side of her jacket and meowed.
“W-what is that?” the vendor exclaimed, his face brightening. His spit out the toothpick and set down the knife on the counter. “Did’ja get him at the exotic market?”
Jarred, she pulled back her telepathic reach and stared at the kitcoon sniffing the grill. “Um, he’s a kitcoon.”
Heartening emotions radiated from the man like sunshine.
Rex quickly added, “He’s hungry too.”
But the man didn’t budge, cooing back at the kitcoon, making silly faces.
Her stomach grumbled.
(Frighten him, take the food,) experience bid.
The old woman’s voice echoed in the back of her mind, countering: “Find another way.”
The kitcoon, wiggling out of her pocket, broke her from her thoughts. Rex grabbed him before he jumped out.
“Aw, can I pet him?”
“S-sure,” she said, keeping the feline in a secured, two-handed hold.
“What a funny little fellow,” the vendor said.
When his hand touched the top of the kitcoon’s head, Rex grazed his fingers, injecting the hunger gnawing at her belly into his. The vendor’s eyebrows peaked. “He’s so hungry.”
The kitcoon meowed and purred.
A pang of guilt pulled at her heart as the vendor hurriedly picked up the knife and scraped leftover pieces of veggies and meat into a bag. “Don’t worry, miss. He’ll be okay.”
I’m taking… Again.
The kitcoon rubbed his head against her hand, then licked her, his tiny tongue rough against her fingers. Delight coursed through her body. She’d never felt anything so sweetly affectionate.
“Thanks,” Rex whispered, sliding the kitcoon back in her pocket before taking the food bag from vendor with two hands, one resting on his wrist. The fresh memory of the kitcoon lingered at the forefront of his mind, the same tender delight soothing his anxieties.
What is this? Something unencountered, different. Unthreatening.
The kitcoon purred in her pocket as she gave in to curiosity. Shifting her psychic gaze, she focused on his body’s release of bonding hormones. He was already disarmed, but what if—
I made him feel…good?
She keyed into his hormones, magnifying the positive effect. Branching out, she guided the relaxation of his muscles, releasing the tension in his neck and shoulders, lessening the pain signals radiating in his arthritic hip. For a moment, she let him feel nothing but the love for the kitcoon, and the kindness of his act.
When she let go, tears spilled from his eyes, but he was quick to wipe them and sport a grimace.
“Get on, now,” he said, voice cracking. Then, more gruffly, “Next customer!”
She hustled away, pulling the cloak’s hood over her face to hide her beaming smile.
A dual-passenger hover copter turned down the street, just up ahead, sweeping its lights back and forth, creeping toward her position. Three Dominion soldiers walked underneath the copter, scanning the crowds with the facial recognition cams mounted on their helmets. An automated voice announced in Common first, then in the local dialect: “Show your faces and remain calm.”
That language is Voltryken, Rex realized, swallowing the last bite of the vendor’s scraps. Which meant they were on planet Kreylis, a Dominion-occupied waypoint for interstellar travelers. The Dominion hijacked the FTL booster highway near this planet, she thought, inferring the cause of their doomed flight. Her stomach dropped to her knees. They’re stopping all traffic to Neeis.
To pick up stray leeches like her.
Anger heated her cheeks and chest, but when she spun around to go the opposite way, she was met with another copter and squad closing in from the other direction. She considered the darkened alleyways, but she wouldn’t get far, not with the life-sensors on the copters that could detect a flea mite under a dumpster.