A job was a job. He kept telling himself that constantly. It helped him keep his focus, helped keep his center aligned. And any job that kept him beneath the radar of all the Great Houses was a much appreciated. And although Caine didn't really like Stinger sticking his neck out for him--his former commander, now back in the Aegis, tossed many bones Caine's way these days--he knew the old man was going to keep tabs on him, regardless. Still, the lycantant supposed it was good to have at least one friend in the universe.

This new job was supposed to be a cakewalk. A little bout of escort duty: ensure the client made it to the destination in one piece, no questions asked. Stinger had assured him that everything was legit and aboveboard--just a lost Tersie wanting to planet-hop around the star system. But not to Earth; Caine had made that adamantly clear. There was no way in all the hells he was going to go within ten parsecs of any planet on the Abrasax payroll. He'd had more than enough of Balem and Titus Abrasax to last him a thousand lifetimes.

Caine turned the corner, heading for the scheduled meeting location, eyes, ears and nose automatically cataloging everything. It was more than taught, it was instinct, the natural inclination for a wolf-Spliced being. Ah, there. He spied his contact across the street, not looking that out of place, really. If not for the white streak in her hair, Caine wouldn't have given her a second look. He turned up the collar of his long coat against the drizzling rain, crossed the street a few yards down, and made his way unobtrusively towards the package.

He paused behind her, close enough to be heard but far away enough to allow passersby between, looking not at her but at everything else around them, one hand resting on the holstered gun beneath his coat.

"I'm your transport. Are you ready?"