Last Stand (Stag Privateers Book 1)

surprised look. “And my work parsing the Fleetfoot's logs?”
“This takes priority. Although I assume you can do both at the same time?”
The companion looked amused. “Of course. I'll let you know when I've awakened her from stasis.”
Nodding, Aiden left her to her work moving the pod and began inspecting the other cargo in the bay. Soon the gunner arrived, and Aiden put him to work moving everything worth taking.
Stripping a ship of useful systems and components was a lengthy process, but they'd done it often enough to have it down to practically an art. Or at least efficient science. Working together, and conscripting the Deek crew to help out with the few things they could be trusted with, they had it all done within a few hours.
The Last Stand's cargo bay was loaded, some of the loot spilling over to maintenance storage. They had the codes to all useful accounts and were ready to drain them into anonymous private accounts, just before making their rift jump out of this system. The only thing left was to head back to the captured ship's galley and say a final cheery goodbye to the Fleetfoot's crew.
Barix intercepted him on the way there. “Sooo,” the Ishivi said, falling into step beside him. “Word is, part of our haul from this prize is a sex slave.”
Aiden felt the onset of his usual scowl when dealing with Barix; the slight man seemed to have a knack for pissing him off. “Three things wrong with that sentence: first, there are no slaves aboard my ship. She's free. Second, she's not part of any prize, she's our guest until she figures out her situation. Third-”
He whirled suddenly, making the slight man jump in surprise, and loomed over him. “You even think about trying to seduce a Blank Slate, at least before she knows enough about the universe to look after herself, and I'll make sure your precious superior genetic line ends with you. Got it?”
Barix backed away a step, raising his hands. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Unreclaimed sewage, you don't have to bite my head off over some poorly chosen wording.”
Right, because the scheming, manipulative little purebred made a habit of being careless with his words. Aiden turned away in disgust. “Just stay away from her.”
He heard the Ishivi muttering behind him. “First you take the prototype adult companion that's worth her weight in exotic particles for yourself and don't even share her, now you won't even let me talk to any other woman that comes on the ship?”
“That's not true . . . you can talk to Belix all you want.”
Barix snorted derisively as he hurried to catch up again. “Right, because my sister's such delightful company that you just can't seem to keep away.”
Aiden ignored the jibe; his reasons for avoiding the man's twin had nothing to do with her personality. Or, well, less to do with it.
The Ishivi led the way when they entered the galley. “I think that about does it for this rust bucket,” he said cheerfully, sauntering over to Jorosh and slapping him amiably on the back of the head. He ignored the thickset man's outraged glare as he blithely continued. “Guess the only question now is, what do we do with all this unreclaimed sewage?”
“Good question,” Aiden admitted. “After all, as the good Captain here accurately surmised, I don't kill prisoners.” He feigned thoughtfulness as he inspected Jorosh, who glared back with a mixture of terror and defiance. “Although you know, they were carrying a Blank Slate to sell to a brothel. Maybe facing the same fate themselves would be poetic justice.”
“No!” the Deek captain burst out, eyes widening with horror. Behind him, several of his crew also cried out.
Barix burst out laughing. “I don't know, Captain. I can't see any customer wanting to sex up these genetic dead ends.”
Jorosh struggled forward against his bonds, expression desperate. “You can't do that! Wiping our minds would be as good as murder!”
Aiden looked down at the man with disgust, fighting the urge to slam his boot into his face. “You didn't seem to have a problem with kidnapping an innocent young woman from a colony and doing it to her.”
The Deek opened his mouth, then closed it helplessly, knowing he had no response to that. “Please,” he whispered. Tears were actually forming in his eyes.
Well, Aiden couldn't blame him; turning someone into a Blank Slate was a despicable thing to do. He had a particular disgust for it, considering the fate of so many of his friends after the war.
So he dropped to one knee in front of Jorosh, bringing his face in close. “You know, Captain, back before the war ended Stags had a common response to hearing about each new atrocity carried out by the Deconstructionists. We'd tell each other “I wouldn't do that to my worst enemy.”
Straightening abruptly enough to make the man flinch, Aiden nudged him with his foot to knock him over onto his side, staring down at him with contempt. “So no, I'm not going to wipe your minds and sell you into slavery. You deserve it, no argument, but I'd start to hate myself if I ever found myself becoming like you.”
He turned and strode away.
After a moment Barix hurried to catch up to him. “I take it we'll do the usual?” he asked in a low voice once they were out of earshot.
Aiden nodded curtly. Arguably, leaving the Deeks adrift on a ship with most of its systems torn out was potentially a death sentence. But the Fleetfoot's crew still had all the tools they needed to get out of their situation, if they were creative and hardworking. Often it was as easy as fixing or rigging up long-range communications so they could call for help, and there were all sorts of ways they could do that.
Barix sighed. “Wiping them and selling them to a brothel would've been funner. And more lucrative.”
He didn't dignify the comment with a response.
Less than fifteen minutes later, the