And then we landed with a thud that drove the air from my lungs.
Right in the middle of the smugglers’ super secret meeting.
7
As I lay there trying to convince my battered lungs to take in air again, the lynix crouched above me. He threw his hood off with a sharp shake of his head, skinned his lips back from impressive fangs, and hissed at those gathered around us. I didn’t have to look to know they were there. Paige was already displaying over my vision a micro-frequency radar scan of their numbers and positions, as well as an overlay highlighting any weapons they had.
There were eight men in the room, all human except for the troll. On one side stood the scaly brute and two humans who, if the long crate next to them was any indication, were with my smuggling ring. The troll carried a heavy metal pry bar; the other two were drawing stun batons from under their jackets.
They would be less of a threat than the other five, who were better armed and better dressed. I assumed they were employees of the buyer. Four of them were wearing clothes made of the same armorized material as my shirt—expensive stuff—and the fifth had on an impeccable suit and a greasy toupee that Paige highlighted in a different color than the weapons. I’d have laughed out loud if all five hadn’t been carrying pulse pistols. Pulse pistols fired a powerful burst of concentrated sonic energy that traveled through the air and hit you like a solid slug. They were safe for shipboard use since they caused very little damage to inanimate objects, but the shockwave they sent through a person’s water-laden body and organs could range from disorienting to fatally disruptive after a few shots.