Free Trapped by Alex Wheeler

rusted siding, broken generator. Its windows were boarded up, Rebel graffiti scrawled across them in fading reds and blues. It was abandoned; that was clear.
    X-7 closed his eyes, trying to force a memory. But the flashbacks always came when he least expected and least desired them. When he was trying to remember, his mind stayed blank.
    â€œYou don’t belong around here.”
    X-7 whirled around, furious with himself that he hadn’t heard the Arconan approaching. By instinct, his hand flashed toward his blaster—but he stopped himself. The Arconan’s anvil-shaped head was shriveled with age, his marble-like eyes milky and unfocused. Despite his hostile glare, there was no chance he’d be a threat. Let it play out, X-7 thought. I can always kill him later.
    He adopted a mild, harmless expression. Project Omega might have stripped him of the ability to experience human emotion, but he was remarkably good at imitating it. “I’m looking for the family that used to live here,” he said. “They’re old friends of mine, and since I’m passing through town, I thought I’d catch up.”
    The Arconan looked around at the crumbling buildings and cratered street. “No one just passes through this part of town.”
    Patience, X-7 cautioned himself, itching for his blaster. He’d make this being talk, one way or another. But it would be smartest to do so without attracting unwanted attention. The street might be empty, but he could see plenty of windows with a perfect view. Anyone could be lurking behind the transparisteel.
    â€œI’m in Belazura on business, and—”
    â€œImperial business?” the Arconan said, now even more suspicious. “Haven’t you people done enough? What now? You want to torture their ghosts?”
    â€œDoes that mean you knew them?” X-7 asked eagerly. “The Flumes?”
    â€œWhat’s it to you?”
    â€œI told you, I’m an old friend.”
    The Arconan sneered. “Right. An old friend who came by to say hello after all these years. Except I tell you they’re dead and you don’t even blink. So how about you tell me what you really want?”
    â€œMoney,” X-7 said without hesitation. “What else does anyone want?”
    â€œThey owe you?” the Arconan asked.
    â€œBig-time.”
    The Arconan made a strange sound, like a dianoga choking on a lump of sewage. X-7 suddenly realized he was laughing. “Good luck getting them to pay you back now!” he chortled. But quickly, he sobered up. “You want some help tracking down what’s left of Flume’s people? It’s going to cost you.”
    Again, X-7 swallowed his irritation. This Arconan didn’t know how close he was to death. “How much?”
    â€œFifty.”
    â€œTwenty,” X-7 countered.
    â€œFifty.”
    â€œThirty,” X-7 offered.
    â€œFifty.”
    He was too impatient to negotiate. Money was nothing to him. He threw a handful of it at the alien. “That’s half. Give me the address, and I’ll hand over the other half.”
    The Arconan complied, giving him an address on the fringes of town.
    â€œIf this information is inaccurate, I’ll be back for you,” X-7 said coolly. Now he finally withdrew the blaster from its holster.
    â€œOh, it’s accurate,” the alien said, laughing again. “You’ll find what’s left of them, for all the good it will do you.”
    X-7 wasn’t looking to do himself good. He was looking for answers. After that, who knew? Maybe he would reclaim his old identity and learn to be human again, weak and pathetic.
    Or maybe he would track down every last Flume, kill them all, and be done with this mess forever.

    The rest of them, X-7 thought sourly. Perfect.
    The Arconan hadn’t lied. Not technically, at least. Presumably whatever was left of Trever Flume’s family was here—underground. Beneath the