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shirt.
    Raylee tilted her head and stared at the crate. There
weren’t any manufacturer logos or return address labels or any other
identifying marks on the shipment except for the tag. “Celia is a different
drop-off point, isn’t it?”
    Ug raised one hairy eyebrow.
    “Not that there’s anything wrong with it,” Raylee hastened
to reassure him. “It’s just…different.” Her explanation trailed off.
    “Do you want a map? Because I can send you a map.” Ug gave
her the clipboard. “You can’t get lost with this shipment, Ray. The Federation
will dock my credits.”
    “It was one time!” She glared at him. “And I didn’t say I
couldn’t find it. It is only that, normally, I go to the same locations, back
and forth, back and forth.” Without looking at the form, she pressed her thumb
to the screen, leaving her print behind, and passed the clipboard back. “I’ve
never heard of a shipment to Celia.”
    “I have, and that is where the client wants it to go.” Ug
waved his clipboard over the sensor. “Since when do you ask so many questions?”
The crate shuttled backward in a blur of motion and Raylee’s mouth dropped
open.
    “Since when do you move shipments so quickly?” She looked up
at her friend and Ug’s gaze immediately flicked to a distant spot over her
right shoulder. “You said top speed made no grrappin’ sense.” Her
stomach twisted. “You said the shipment would be loaded before we even reached
the docking bay, not allowing me to supervise it, and you said the risk of
damage to the—”
    “I know what I said. This is an exception. The client is in
a rush.” He stalked away from her, his big boots ringing on the shiny depot
floor.
    “Everything about this shipment is an exception.” She
followed him, her concerns multiplying exponentially. “You know I don’t
normally ask about—”
    “Then don’t ask this time. It’ll lose you this contract,
Ray. Let it go,” Ug advised.
    She chewed on her bottom lip as the bubbling in her gut
percolated to painful levels, a taste of acid creeping up her throat. “I don’t
transport living creatures. Ship is a closed system and I can’t have anything
onboard I might have to fight with weapons or chemicals.”
    “I asked about that,” Ug reassured her, his gait increasing
in speed. She took twice as many strides to keep up with his long legs. “I
don’t know why…oh, grrap !” He stopped suddenly, his face compressing
with concern.
    Raylee followed his line of sight. A tall, thin man dressed
in black talked with a frightened-looking depot worker. The stranger was
humanoid, but not human, his skin as pale as death and his hair resembling thin
white tentacles. “Who is he?”
    “A Balazoid, a creature you don’t want to mess with.” Ug
straightened his shoulders, his countenance fierce and beastly, as he strode
forward. Raylee trailed him, all of her senses on high alert. She scanned their
surroundings, noting exits and the position of other Federation employees.
    “Whose ship is this?” The Balazoid didn’t bother with social
niceties, waving one gloved hand at her freighter, his voice echoing as though
traveling over time.
    “Mine.” Raylee stepped forward.
    The Balazoid’s blood-red gaze swept her from toe to head
before meeting hers, the impact startling and intense. Exuding from him was a
power so dark it pained her, and she struggled to breathe, opening her mouth,
gulping recirculated air, a coolness gripping her pounding heart, squeezing and
squeezing, until she couldn’t stand it anymore, her knees giving way.
    Then as abruptly as he’d entered her being, he released his
hold, dismissing her entirely to address Ug. “How many crew members does she
have?”
    “I…have…no crew.” Raylee faced the Balazoid, hanging on to a
pillar for support, her chest heaving, the docking bay swirling around her.
“It’s a solo freighter.”
    “The human I seek may be inside.” The Balazoid studied her
with suspicion as