Hunting Wolfe

The Marketplace

Caydon leads us, his steps unhurried, through a complex weaving of narrow corridors where shadows bend and twist, mimicking the meandering rivers etched on an ancient explorer's chart. Each turn reveals another stretch of dimly lit passage, enveloping us in secrecy until we step out into a sudden vastness. The openness here looms large, a stark contrast to the cramped shuttle that ferried us—a cavernous hall echoing with life.

The air vibrates with the hum of countless voices, a cacophony of life that rivals the bustling throngs of the Lunar space station during its busiest hours. People, a mosaic of intent and distraction, fill the expanse, moving between shadows and bursts of light. Their conversations rise and fall, merging into an unending roar that sets the sprawling room adrift, turning the far walls into a mere suggestion.

Amidst the chaos, soldiers stride in crisp formations, groups of five, their boots thumping a synchronized rhythm on the cold, hard floor. Each one carries their gun like a treasured relic, held high over their shoulders, their faces set in grim determination. Nearby, families cluster around vibrant market stalls, which bloom in the concrete wilderness like wildflowers. Here, the air smells of opportunity and commerce, as vendors hawk items ranging from shiny kitchen gadgets to brightly colored toys that promise joy.

"Where are we?" I ask in awe. "I mean, I know we are on the International Space Station, but where exactly?"

"We are on the second floor; this is where most of your basic shopping and trading is done." Caydon explains.

"That makes sense." I say. A family of four Martians, identifiable only by the fact that their skin is a subtle shade of rose, pauses at a toy booth. Amid the rows of colorful playthings, a child's arm extends with hope toward a light blue ball as large as a watermelon. Briefly, their mother exchanges a glance, lips moving silently, firm yet gentle. Dejection washes over the child's features, shoulders slumping, as the family moves on without the toy. My heart goes out to the little one, and it takes all I have, not to buy the toy and give it to him.

"Come on, Rayanna," Aceon says, gently tugging on my elbow. "We have to go find this Darlona and see if we can't access your brother's records."

"I'm com- ..." I stop midsentence and whip my head to the right. My heart stops, and breathing becomes almost impossible. I'm not sure, the view was quick, but I thought I saw more of those hooded men. My eyes scan the crowd, left, right, quickly taking in everyone and ignoring those deemed unimportant. Where did they go?

A firm but gentle hand touches my shoulder, and my heart restarts in my chest, pounding away like a jackhammer on a concrete sidewalk. "Rayanna? Is everything okay?" Aceon questions.

"No, I... I mean yes. I thought I saw... but now... nothing." I stand up on my tiptoes, trying desperately to see over the heads of some of the taller beings, but still no hooded men. "I guess I imagined those hooded men, again." I say, standing flat footed, again.

"Where? Where did you see them?" Caydon questions, urgency flooding his voice.

"Over there somewhere." I say pointing. "Near that market stall selling paintings."

Caydon's head whips in that direction, his eyes scan the crowd. He turns back to us, his features hard to read. "If you think you saw some of those men, you probably did. Never keep those kind of sightings to yourself, okay? Never doubt yourself when it comes to them."

"Okay."

"I don't like it here, Aceon. We need to leave now, there's too many people. It would be too easy to kill her here, too easy to disappear back into the crowd."