Thad returned his attention to the kit bag he’d packed before they departed Invictus. Ell was already performing a gear check, and Jonathan had gone to fetch Joule’s crate from Mirage’s cargo bay.
Thad had just resealed his duffel and slung it over his shoulder when Valenti called his name.
She launched into introductions with her usual peremptory manner. Pointing to each in turn, she identified them. “This is Naval Reserve Captain Bev Knorr. SRU Captain Thad Severance. NCIC Agent Elodie Cyr. Shadow Recon Captain Jonathan Case, and,” she gestured to the crate, “their working cat, Joule.”
The reserve captain nodded. “I understand you’re my cargo for this next Eridu run.”
Thad nodded. “Yes, ma’am. That we are.”
Valenti motioned to the airlock, and Thad led the way, pausing beside Joule’s crate to switch it on.
The unit rose on one side, causing the big cat to scramble for footing.
“Sorry,” the Marine muttered, swinging the back of the crate around until it lined up better with one of the maglev coil stripes indicated on Mirage’s deck. “Still getting used to the new ship.”
{Don’t see why I can’t just walk. Got four perfectly good paws.}
Jonathan coughed quietly into his hand, earning him a stern look from the colonel.
“Gotta keep you hidden on the other end until we reach the savannah. That’s why.”
The only response to Thad’s explanation was a loud, feline chuff.
Why do I get the feeling I owe her a steak for that?
At the airlock, Valenti held up a hand. Giving Jonathan a look rife with meaning, she said, “Your special contact will be waiting to hear from you. He’ll let us know you’ve arrived safely.”
Thad and Jonathan exchanged a glance at her oblique reference to Micah.
The pilot gave the colonel a brief nod. “Understood, ma’am.”
Valenti stepped back. “We’ll be on standby. If you need us, send word, and we’ll jump in.”
This time, it was Thad who nodded. “Copy.”
Valenti cycled the hatch, and they filed onto the merchant ship, the team following Captain Knorr as she led the way aft through an almost eerily silent ship, stopping only when they arrived at its cargo bay.
Ell voiced Thad’s thoughts. “Quiet around here.”
The Navy captain nodded. “That’s by design. We’re in third watch, and the bridge crew has been informed that I have Navy business to attend to. Beyond that, the only other person involved is my supply officer.”
Thad ground to a halt at her words, but Knorr shook her head, smiling, apparently having anticipated his reaction.
“Also naval reserve, also vetted by Valenti.”
Thad resumed walking.
After another few minutes had passed, Knorr slid him a glance. “I see the colonel hasn’t changed in the years since I served under her. Still as no-nonsense as ever.”
Thad felt his lips twitch.
Too bad I can’t tell you about Takeko. She and that damn SI really are a perfect match.
Aloud, he merely nodded. “You called it, ma’am.”
A soft laugh rippled from Knorr at that, and she motioned them down a side passage.
They drew to a stop in front of a large, boxcar-like shipping container. She coded in a command, and the container’s doors swung open.
Placing her hand on the open frame, Knorr stared inside the dark recess.
“Stasis shipping container. Once switched on, all molecular activity inside this box stops.” She made a slashing motion with her hand to emphasize her point.
“The entire unit is essentially one enormous tau-neu chamber, only without the niceties of a stasis pod. You sure you want to do this?” She shot them a doubtful look.
Thad leaned closer to peer inside. The container was filled with pallets of boxes, stacked from floor to ceiling. Crates were everywhere, some bearing tamper-lock seals, others with holographic stickers marked ‘fragile, handle with care.’ One sported the logo of a Cobalt distillery.
The place had very few spots where a trio of humans might maglock themselves to the container’s walls and settle in for a long stasis trip between the stars.
Thad hooked a hand around the back of his neck and squeezed. “Not particularly, no,” he admitted. “But I know the agent on the other end, and I trust him.”
The woman eyed him knowingly. “Yes, but it’s the between-here-and-there part that’s a little goosey for you, isn’t it?”
Thad kicked his head over in a quick tic, silently acknowledging the truth of the woman’s words. “Didn’t sign up for easy, though.”
Brows lifted, the former Navy fleet officer refrained from commenting. Instead, she motioned her ship’s supply officer forward. The man had been waiting quietly beside the unit, a weapons-filled maglev cart beside him.
“Everything the colonel asked for, plus a few other things we thought might be of service along the way,” the man informed them by way of greeting.
Ell stepped forward, peering down curiously at the assortment. She cocked an eyebrow. “You do know that we’ll be in stasis the entire way? From our point of view, between one blink and the next, we’ll be there.”
Knorr pursed her lips. “I know, but we’ll be transferring you over to an Akkadian merchant ship—a civvy ship in foreign territory. What if someone gets curious and decides to see for himself what’s inside this tin can?”
She rapped the side of the container. “You folks are used to this spy shit. I was only the bus driver, ferrying Unit teams in and out, and that was long before your time. So humor me, please.”
Understanding creased Ell’s face, and she sent the woman and her supply officer a small smile. “Please extend our thanks to your company, if it’s appropriate, for their cooperation.”
Knorr stepped back with a small grin. “Comes with the territory. They hired me knowing I was in the reserves and could be called back at any time. That explained the detour. The rest, well….” She patted the container and turned to her companion. “I never saw anything else. Did you?”
The supply officer met her gaze, a bland expression on his face. “No idea what you’re talking about, skipper.”
Thad suppressed a smile, opting to reach out a hand instead. “Thanks.”
The woman clasped his in her own and gave it a perfunctory shake.
Slapping her palms against her ship coveralls, she stepped back. “Welp, I guess this is it. The orders we have are to go ahead and initiate stasis. You want to get settled, and then we’ll close the door and seal you in?”
Thad saw that Jonathan had already wedged himself into a corner in the back, between a stack of crates and pallet that declared it was full of something perishable called raspberry oranges. Behind him was Joule’s crate.
The pilot had wisely chosen the rear of the container, leaving the more combat experienced to cover the door.
Thad gave him a silent nod, and then moved to find his own hidden position. He chose a cubby closer to the front and settled onto the floor, his back pressed against the metal wall. Ordering his suit to maglock him to the container’s surface, he curled one hand around the CUSP directed-energy pistol holstered at his ankle.
Ell took the space across from him.
When they were settled, Thad called out to the captain, “Ready.”
“Good hunting,” the woman replied.
The door swung shut, enveloping them in blackness. He heard a low hum… and then there was nothing.
* * *
Thad came to abruptly, blinking away disorientation as light speared the darkness. As the sliver widened, he realized someone had cracked open the container’s seal, releasing them from stasis.
He tensed, his hand tightening around the weapon strapped to his ankle.
Did we make it to Eridu, or was the captain right, and we’re dealing with a nosy customs inspector… or worse?
Thad gripped the direct energy pistol in his hand as he heard caut
ious footsteps approach.
THE DINNER
Driscoll Opera Haus
St. Clair Township
Ceriba
The Founder’s Cup dinner was set up in the Driscoll Opera Haus’s ballroom, an ancient and opulent structure that dated back to early colonization days. Many a state function had been staged here, but this was the first opportunity Micah had ever had to see it from the inside.
He was dressed in his Navy black, the blue of the special forces a thin stripe edging the side of the suit and running down each leg. Rather than holopips, this suit had kept with ancient tradition, with physical, magnetized pins that displayed his ribbons and service medals. They were clipped to the flap of his suit pocket and affixed to his suit’s black pauldron. His rank insignia stripes were displayed on the shoulder opposite the pauldron, as well as at the cuffs of each sleeve.
He shifted uncomfortably, the awards he was allowed to show still comprising a healthy-sized salad of glitter that many outside the military seemed often over-impressed by.
It brought to mind the times he and his fellow shadow recon flight teams had been on leave during the first two tours. The commander of his flight crew at the time, Rafe Zander, had introduced him to—and warned him about—the ‘Navy bunnies’ that frequented the bars at Port Humbolt.
“They see you in that ship suit, and you’re going to be propositioned more than once tonight,” his commander had predicted.
Zander’d been right, and though Micah might have initially enjoyed the ego boost, it had grown old quickly. He preferred someone who wasn’t an easy conquest. Someone… like Sam.
He looked over at the woman whose hand rested on his arm. Her gown swept the floor in a graceful cascade, and she’d done something with her hair so it sparkled under the chandeliers.
Feeling his eyes on her, she turned, green eyes alight with interest in everything she saw. It was a stark contrast to the expression those eyes had held when he’d first met her.
Of course, back then, I was pissed as hell at the thought of having to play babysitter to some scientist on some sort of secret mission for her uncle.
Sam pursed her lips. “Penny for your thoughts.”
Micah’s mouth creased in a grin. “I was just thinking about first impressions.”
One blonde brow arched elegantly. “Are you referring to the one you made on me? Or are you thinking about the one we’re making here?”
He laughed. “I didn’t exactly win you over that first day, did I?”
Her tone was colored with wry amusement. “You were a cocky naval aviator who saw me as some sort of punishment assignment. I believe your first words to me were, ‘I don’t babysit.’”
His grin widened. “Hate to say it, but you’re wrong. Those words were directed toward your uncle, not you.”
“Same difference, but okay, we’ll go with it.”
She squinted as she studied him, head cocked slightly to one side. “If that’s the case, then it’s hard to know exactly what your first words might have been. You froze me out for some time, Captain.” He felt a fingernail dig gently into his side as she poked him in the ribs. “You were a tough nut to crack.”
He caught her hand, rescuing his ribs from further abuse by interlacing his fingers through hers.
“How does that saying go? ‘The tougher they are, the harder they fall’?”
Sam laughed. “Not exactly, but it’ll do.”
She inclined her head toward the entrance that armed naval soldiers stood guarding, and several black-suit-clad, expressionless security agents milled about. {You think there are any ringers inside that detail?}
{I can pretty much guarantee it. We also have no idea how many visitors on the list are Akkadian. Aside from our own people and your uncle, trust no one.}
At his own words, concern flooded him, and he squeezed her hand, willing her to look him in the eye. {I’m not kidding, Sam. They’d kill to get their hands on you again. I’m not about to let that happen.}
She returned the squeeze. {That goes for you, too, you know.}
Something caught her attention, and she lifted a hand with a wave.
“There’s my uncle.”
* * *
Duncan Cutter looked up as his niece and Micah Case stopped in front of him. Favoring Sam with a smile, he nodded a greeting to the man at her side. “You two ready?”
Sam reached out a hand to clasp his, turning it slightly so they could both see the lacing of gold filigree that etched her palm. It gleamed under the opera house’s chandelier lighting, tracing its way past her wrist and disappearing under her sleeve.
It was unlike any bracer Micah had ever seen; the ones he was used to her wearing were thick with hardware.
He lifted a brow as he met her eyes.
“All set,” she murmured. “Just the essentials this time.”
She dropped her hand as chimes sounded, announcing that dinner was served. They followed the crowd as the dining room doors opened, and the guests migrated into the ballroom.
They had purposely skipped the cocktail hour, not wanting to give the Akkadians another opportunity to make a grab for Sam—or him.
Micah remained watchful as they followed Duncan to one of the front tables. Two people were already present: the prime minister’s newest assistant, Ed, and one of his security agents.
Cutter nodded pleasantly to the man and woman, and pulled out a seat for Sam beside the one earmarked for Garza.
“I’m sorry,” the woman interposed smoothly. “That seat is taken.”
Micah saw Sam glance questioningly over at her uncle, and the man nodded, signifying silently she was to cooperate.
He pulled out the next available chair, and Sam sank into it. Cutter motioned for Micah to take the seat beside Sam, grabbing the next one over for himself.
Once seated, Sam leaned in and pointed to the decanter of red wine resting at the center of the table. “Would either of you like a glass?” She casually touched the back of Micah’s hand, sending him a reassuring, {Don’t worry. I’ve got this.}
The trio enjoyed their drinks and idle chat as the chairs around them became occupied.
When the ballroom was filled and everyone seated, a stir at a side entrance caught Micah’s attention, and he saw a phalanx of guards appear, all dressed in black, their watchful eyes scanning the crowd. Behind them, he could see Jiu Liam, the dynastic president of An-Yang, standing beside Prime Minister Garza.
At a nod from one of the security agents, the two men stepped into the ballroom, their detail spreading out to surround them.
The leaders parted when Jiu Liam stopped at the An-Yang table, where Alliance trade representatives chatted with their An-Yang counterparts. Garza continued on, smiling a greeting as he approached.
Micah and the director stood, but Garza waved them back down.
Micah could swear he saw relief and maybe a flare of hope flash across the prime minister’s face when he and Cutter exchanged hellos. With a full two meters of round table separating Garza from the NSA director, Micah didn’t see how the man could ask for help, if he was indeed hoping for the opportunity.
Garza sat, leaning over to hear something his assistant said to him. Micah didn’t miss the subtle flare of anger, quickly banked.
Micah’s gaze shot to Cutter to see if the man had caught it, and he received a subtle nod in return.
As the meal progressed, Sam made a few valiant attempts to reach Garza, but they were all summarily blocked by the female agent seated between them.
“How’s your wife?” he heard Cutter ask, and Garza’s fork froze momentarily on its way down to his plate.
“She’s doing well, all things considered.”
To Micah’s ear, it sounded as if the prime minister had chosen his words with care. His attention sharpened when the man’s assistant chimed in.
“She’s very lucky to be alive, though I understand she’s not out of the woods just yet.”
The patently false expres
sion of sympathy plastered on the man’s face hit Micah with the same impact waving a red flag at a bull would have.
He fisted his hand around his steak knife, wanting nothing more than to shove it through the aide’s eye socket, but a kick under the table from Cutter had him relaxing back in his seat.
He couldn’t miss the slight stiffening of Garza’s pose, nor the way the man’s knuckles whitened around his water glass as he lifted it to take a sip.
Sam was refilling her own water glass from the carafe at the center of the table. Before she set it down, she looked over at Garza, and with a smile, offered, “May I top you off, Mister Prime Minister?”
He smiled and extended his glass. “Thank you, that would be appreciated.”
The agent between him and Sam went to intercept the carafe, but Sam fumbled it, spilling its contents onto the table, the pool of water rushing straight toward Garza’s lap.
“I’m so sorry!” Sam gasped, reaching her napkin across, and in the process, tipping over the agent’s red wine.
It crested over the cuff of Garza’s right hand just before the man scooted away from the dripping tablecloth.
Apologizing profusely, Sam reached across once more to try to dab at Garza’s wet sleeve, but the agent’s hand snapped out and grabbed Sam’s arm in a bruising grip.
Micah was immediately on the agent, his hand over hers. “Let her go,” he said pleasantly, but the look he shot the woman was anything but. “She was just trying to help.”
The agent knocked his hand away as she let go of Sam. She looked like she was one breath away from going for a weapon, when one of the nearby catering staff intervened.
The woman removed the towel that had been slung over her shoulder and bent over Garza, murmuring an apology.
The agent’s head whipped around, her attention now firmly on the ballroom waitress. “Hand me that towel,” she demanded.
She scrutinized the fabric closely—an action Micah assumed meant she was probing it for foreign substances—then handed it back to the woman and, with a wordless gesture, ordered her to proceed.
Chiral Justice: A Hard Science Fiction Technothriller (The Biogenesis War Book 3) Page 20