Hit Me With Your Best Shot. Cassiel Knight

      From behind a battered wooden crate smelling of moldy bread, Constable Sidra Elvenstri pressed her knuckles into the hard-packed dirt floor and scanned the interior of the warehouse until her gaze fell upon the reason she was there.

      Jupiter’s moons, Section 10 got something right.

      Considering their score was zero for five on useable intel, accuracy on this particular mission kicked ass. The warehouse did contain the expected goods. Goods that no matter how many times she had to see them, never failed to turn her stomach sour. Even now, bile rose to her throat.

      The rusty metal cage hunched in the corner near the main door was packed with boys and girls of various ages, none of them over the age of twelve, on their way to new owners. Not parents. Owners.

      Slavery, which despite having been outlawed for centuries, continued to be too lucrative to cease. The new world governments were quick to take a portion of the wealth. Another reason why the buying and selling of children continued. Who was going to go against the Black Dealers and the government to save children?

      Her shoulders sagged. She did what she could when she could. Still, it was never enough. As she stared at the children, memories of the past tried to drown her in horror and loss. She was all too familiar with the children’s plight. It had been years since she’d escaped their fate, but that didn’t make the flashback any less painful when her mind drifted.

      Shaking off the unwanted memories, she shifted her weight to her toes, wincing when the muscles in her calves tightened and locked. Feck, she didn’t think it had been that long between exercises.

      Back to the mission. With her sonic-emitter constantly humming in her ear and her eyes scanning the warehouse interior, she sought proof she and the children were alone. There. The sonic chirped, indicating the presence of three drones. The robots, sentient at the basic level, were easy, and expendable, muscle. In an average situation and against an average person, they were formidable enough. Against her, a piece of cake. The old Earth saying fit well.

      The sonic, after identifying the drones, went back to humming. So. No Dealers or their soldiers lurked about. Despite the sonic’s relative quiet and the lack of echoing voices, footsteps or other noise, she stayed alert. Silence didn’t mean the building was empty. The Dealers had been known to leave quiescent drones behind, ready to activate at a moment’s notice, and the sonic’s range was limited to active drones.

      At least this warehouse wasn’t full of crates or boxes. This meant there weren’t many places a drone could hide. Unlucky for her, because there weren’t many places she could hide. Which was why she was reluctant to leave the dubious safety of the battered crate and slight comfort of the scent of spoiled yeast.

      While patience wasn’t a virtue she possessed in any sort of quantity, neither was stupidity. It would be phenomenally stupid to venture out without knowing if there were drones in the area. She hadn’t survived over twenty missions by being thick-headed. Or careless.

      Or relying solely on equipment.

      Still. She glanced at the cage. Despite the limited light filtering through the cracks and holes in the ragged ceiling, it was bright enough for her to see the small forms shifting positions within their rusty confines. The low shuffling and murmurs whispering through the quiet warehouse told Sidra the children were alive. Obviously frightened, but at least physically unharmed. Mentally, well, that was something else entirely. Their miniature shadows flickered as they fidgeted within their confines.

      The Dealers hadn’t even attempted to keep the children clean. Or clothed. Underneath shredded shirts and pants, cuts and bruises turned their skin mottled shades of red, blue and green. Some of the children talked quietly. Others stared out into the warehouse depths, their haunted expressions seeing only stars knew what.

      A lump filled Sidra’s throat. No matter how often she saw children like this, torn or purchased from their parents, she couldn’t seem to power off the emotions. But she knew how to bury them deep. She took a deep breath, forced down the pain and focused.

      Her mission parameters were clear. All she had to do was call in the confirmation and get the hell out of the way. The point team would then sweep the area, rescue the children and effectively halt Dealer operations out of this warehouse.

      Oh, and they’d recover the priceless silk in the plasti-crates near the children’s cage. Yes, she’d clearly noted the black market trade she hadn’t been briefed about. And the silk, not the children, was the mission. She was sure about that. It wouldn’t be the first time Triad had sent her on a cover mission while a point team handled the real mission. Not because she couldn’t handle a black market recovery operation. She knew she was one of the best Constables Triad had. However, during her first, and coincidentally last, time she’d been sent on such a mission, the black market silk had somehow been, well, misplaced.

      At the bottom of the Grand Canyon Sea.

      In her defense, that hadn’t been her original intention, until she’d overheard two of the strike team members joking about what they’d do with the money they got from the sale of the recovered silk. When she’d…encouraged them to share what they knew, she had learned the silk would end up right where it would have in the first place: on the bodies of the rich and powerful. So, instead of the credits lining the Dealers’ pockets, it would line Triad’s.

      She felt a smile pull at her lips. It had been a simple matter to dump the silk and claim the Dealers hadn’t wanted anyone else to have the rare material.

      While no one actually spoke against her, she knew Triad leaders had their doubts. If they could have proven she had anything to do with their silk’s disappearance, her career as a Constable, and her life, would join the silk. At the bottom of the deepest body of water they could find.

      Hence the children. Timely, convenient afterthoughts meant to distract her. But, she supposed, working for an organization that walked the line bordering protection

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