The Jack's Story (BRIGAND Book 2) by Natalie French, Scot Bayless

bellies. Little multi-legged machines seemed to scurry on every surface. Their zeal was obvious, their purpose utterly incomprehensible.
    In the center of the workshop was a particle furnace where scrap materials were ripped down to their component atoms to be reassembled into whatever was required. The business end of the thing was carefully shielded, to avoid vaporizing everything in a hundred meters, but it still generated waste-heat like crazy. Even with its radiator fins coupled to thermal conduits that drew energy back into storage banks, the thing threw off IR like a flamer. Why the hell did Trand want the door closed ?
    It must have been well over 35, hotter near the furnace. Our self-regulating parkas did their best, but they were made for keeping heat in. Trig and I both stripped off our coats and I could feel sweat forming under my arms.
    Belters are mostly small in stature, with big heads and spindly limbs. Their dependence on hardware for survival has made them more accepting of body modification than most. It’s not unusual for a Belter to be half machine. The figure in front of us was no exception. He was crouched atop a tall stool, at one of the workbenches near the furnace, sticking a couple of gleaming pieces of hardware together into what might be an appendage. He looked up for a second and stared right at me, but it took several seconds before he seemed to register my presence, as if he wasn’t so much looking at me as near me. Then his attention shifted to Trig and his eyes widened slightly before he abruptly dropped his head and turned back to whatever it was he was tinkering with. He wasn’t looking at us, but he was definitely watching.
    After a moment, he reached down under the workbench and my reflexes took hold, guiding my hand automatically to the concealed sidearm I wasn’t supposed to be carrying in the small of my back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trig stepping smoothly to her right, putting the hulk of some decommissioned workbot between her and the Belter. A palm-sized flechette pistol appeared, as if by magic, in her hand. Where the hell had she been hiding that in her skin tight outfit? The Belter glanced at us, clipped the microadjuster he’d retrieved into one of his extensibles, and went back to work.
    "This looks like where bots come to die." I muttered as Trig put her weapon away.
    A loud voice boomed out from the corner. "Not to die. Reborn!" Trand stepped over a stack of pitted exo panels and strode forward to greet us. He was a caricature. His left eye, an implant that he didn’t bother to camouflage, flicked over us, first me then Trig. He scanned the length of her with predatory interest. At first, I thought it was just creepy Belter lechery. But there was something more calculating in his appraisal. Something that put me on edge. Suddenly, I wanted us out of there as soon as possible.
    "Trand!" I reached out and we clasped each other’s forearms, which caused our wrist ports to touch. The handshake of Confed Marines. " Mortem, Jack ," I intoned. "Been a while."
    " Fear me, bitch. " he grinned out the ritual response. "Fuckin’-A. Been way too long."
    Trand clasped my shoulder with his left hand while we shook. It was the gesture of a comrade, but I felt the subtle tingle of a neutralizer and instantly registered that my body had just been scanned for weapons. Newts used a short-range quantum effect that could shut down anything more sophisticated than a pointy stick. We'd just been disarmed.
    Uh oh...
    "Who’s the pretty slitty?"
    Shit. He wanted Trig.
    I tried to sound dismissive. "Just some entertainment I picked up in the Inner." I winked at Trand as I snaked my right arm around Trig’s waist. I could feel her body tense and hoped she’d get the gambit and follow my lead. If Trand was up to something he might know what she was. He might be prepared. Maybe even with an energy thief on tap.
    Energy thieves were something relatively new. The technique was based on