Skip Trace

by Jenn Burke

  Zed shook his head slowly. “This isn’t home. Nice place to visit, but this isn’t where we belong.” He kissed Felix’s fingers. “I miss the smell of engineering. Our bunk. Your ship.”

  “Ours.” He and Elias might hold the deed, Nessa and Qek might have seniority in the crew, but Zed had kicked in more than his share. “It belongs to all of us. She’s home to all her crew.”

  “That she is.” Zed’s hips rolled again. “Ready?”

  Felix groaned. “You’re going to kill me.”

  Zed’s lips covered his with a word. “Never.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Three days later, Zed reflected that standing up in front of a crowd of reporters was a little easier the second time around. He knew what to expect, how he’d be treated by the media. But more than that, he also knew where he stood, with his family, with the AEF, with the Guardians. With Flick.

  The truth will set you free.

  He managed to keep that statement out of his speech. Barely.

  Behind him stood his whole family—the ones related to him by blood and the ones he’d adopted at various points in his life. His parents, his brothers and their wives. The crew of the Chaos, with their newest additions—Marnie standing proudly at her husband’s side, Ryan’s skin dotted with minute scars instead of electronics. Off to the side, a representative from the Central Alliance of Planets and Stations and her aides stood without fidgeting or looking at Zed much.

  And directly behind him, a few steps back, was Flick. Guarding his six, as always.

  “I’ll take questions now.” He’d told them everything, the truth, and he expected a barrage of queries. Silence greeted him instead.

  Tanis Nejem—the reporter from a tiny, unimportant network who’d actually treated him like a human being at the last media scrum—was the first person to raise a hand. He nodded at her. “So...you’re an ambassador for the Guardians?”

  He shook his head. “Emissary,” he corrected. “There’s a subtle difference, and it’s closest to their meaning.”

  “They communicate with you telepathically?” Tanis seemed to be warming up. More questions spilled from her lips. “How? Have you seen them? Do you know why they’re here?”

  “I don’t think I could explain the telepathy with any justice,” Zed hedged. He’d described it to the crew of the Chaos as a warm brush of his nana’s hand, but he was reluctant to say so before all these strangers. “I’ve never seen any of the Guardians. But they have assured me that our name for them is accurate. They are interested in helping us, protecting us, but also in letting us make our own choices. More than that...I just don’t know.” If he’d stayed with them after they’d fixed him, instead of returning to the Chaos, he would’ve learned more—but that hadn’t really interested him. Not when the price was Flick.

  Especially not now, when things were finally falling into place. He shot a glance over his shoulder at his lover, offering him a small smile. Flick didn’t seem quite as stiff as he had in the days leading up to his sudden departure, but it was clear standing in front of a crowd would never be on his list of favorite things.

  “How do we know you’re telling the truth?” another reporter demanded. “So far, all we’ve got is your word, no proof. That cuff could be anything.”

  The amplification field caught the Central rep’s words as she spoke. “I am Amelia O’Day, Zander’s appointed liaison to the Central Alliance of Planets and Stations. I can confirm that Zander Anatolius is the emissary of the Guardians. His status is recognized by the Central Alliance of Planets and Stations and he will be accorded the same privileges and respect as emissaries and ambassadors from other species.”

  “Is he still considered human?” The question carried more than a small amount of sneering.

  Amelia’s gaze met Zed’s briefly and her perfect stance faded into a small fidget. “The Central Alliance of Planets and Stations recognizes that Zander Anatolius is both human and not human,” she said, her voice a bit softer. Apologetic? Zed didn’t really know her yet, though he suspected they would get a chance to become better acquainted over the next few months. He focused on that rather than the cold that spiked through him at her words.

  Not human.

  It was one thing to have suspected that would be how he was viewed, another entirely to hear it spoken as his official status. It took all his concentration to keep his face impassive, unresponsive. No one needed to know how deeply that proclamation sliced.

  “What about the other Project Dreamweaver participants?” Tanis called out.

  “We’ve tracked down the remaining survivors. I’m not going to give their names, and I’m not going to tell you where they are, other than to say they’re safe and being well cared for.”

  “Anatolius Industries has committed funds and resources to their ongoing care, for as long as they need it,” his father said.

  Zed’s worst fear—Anatolius Industries going head to head with the AEF—hadn’t materialized. Not because his family hadn’t wanted to collectively bodyslam the military. He’d heard Dad and Brennan talking plots and strategy one afternoon, ones that sounded as though they’d been discussed at length. In the end, they’d decided that helping the remaining survivors of the project was a better use of the company’s resources.

  And publicizing their attempts to mitigate the effect of the experimentation was more annoying to the AEF—more damaging too.

  A reporter in the back lifted her hand. “Will the Guardians step in to save them, too?”

  “No. I asked if they would, and they told me they had no need for an army. In addition...” He trailed off, staring at the podium for a moment before raising his gaze again. “My teammates are not doing well. I don’t think even the Guardians’ assistance would make a difference now.”

  Not doing well—what an understatement. Kinley had deteriorated to the point that she was no longer breathing on her own. Brain scans showed no activity, and not even scrambling to apply what they’d learned on Ashushk Prime had made a difference. Zed knew the time to make a decision was coming up quick—and it would be up to him, because Kinley had no family to make it for her. Dieter, on the other hand, went blank more often but the rate of his deterioration remained slow. Zed hoped that he could hold on long enough to help them find a solution—but he had a niggling fear that no matter how much brain power they devoted to the task, or how many resources his father threw at it, they weren’t going to be able to work their very own miracle for his remaining teammates.

  “I heard reports that Juston Dell is under investigation by the AEF in relation to the lift-tube incident you and your crew were caught in, and that he’s fled Central space. Is that true?”

  Zed kept his smile to himself, but it was a near thing. With Marnie as their secret weapon, it hadn’t taken much to get that rumor rolling. He particularly liked the part where Special Forces were hunting Dell down. It wasn’t true—but it could be. “You’ll have to ask the AEF about that.”

  “Another question—”

  “Zanderanatolius.”

  The soft, warm voice in his head never demanded attention—it requested it, and Zed saw no reason to deny it. He closed his eyes. Not a conscious decision, but he couldn’t very well hear the Guardians speak when there was so much else happening around him. The questions and murmurs of the crowd diminished as though someone had wrapped him in a blanket. He was vaguely aware of the reporters trying to get his attention, and the murmurs that arose from his crew and family. Then in the distance, he thought he heard Marnie calling his name, and something that sounded like “new gate,” which couldn’t be right—but soon, he couldn’t hear anything.

  “I’m here.”

  As soon as he acknowledged the presence in his mind, his cuff tingled and images flooded his thoughts. Pictures, concepts, ideas. Nothing concrete, nothing that
made sense. Above it all, one emotion trembled. He felt it in his gut, in his head, in his chest.

  Anticipation.

  With a final stroke of warmth, the Guardians retreated. Zed opened his eyes to see the crowd of reporters in front of him, still, watching. Turning to catch Marnie’s gaze—had he imagined her words?—he noted the holo hovering over her bracelet wallet. In seconds, the wallets of everyone else in the crowd pinged. All of the reporters scrambled to pull out their devices and watch a report coming in from the Hub.

  “For those of you just tuning in, a previously inert gate at the Hub was activated at sixteen-hundred hours Standard time. AEF ships are standing by with ashushk and stin counterparts to greet any new species that exit the gate, but there has been no activity as yet. This will be the first new species introduced to the galactic community since humanity came through the gate and built Hemera Station over a century ago. An AEF spokesperson stated that no further information was available at this time, but a press conference is scheduled for—”

  Zed tuned out the report and instead eyed his crew. “Looks like we’ve got new neighbors.”

  A smile flickered across Marnie’s lips. “Looks like.”

  Some of the pictures and images put into Zed’s mind by the Guardians started to make sense. But however the new species might appear, he had no idea. The images were too jumbled.

  “They told you. Before the holo came up.” Flick moved forward, apparently having forgotten the crowd of reporters milling before them—though the majority were on their wallets, trying to determine next steps from their individual media outlets.

  “Yeah.”

  Flick slipped his good hand into Zed’s, the touch as vocal as words of support would be. He was here. He wasn’t going anywhere. Whatever Zed needed to meet head-on, Flick would be there too. “So, what else did they say?”

  One corner of Zed’s lips twitched, a concession to the weirdness of the conversation. Then he drew in a deep breath. “They said to be ready.”

  * * * * *

  Read on for an excerpt from CHAOS STATION, book one, where Felix and Zed’s story began:

  Chapter One

  Dardanos Station, 2269

  From his shaded booth, Zed scanned the bar’s patrons for his contact. The dark, anonymous interior could’ve belonged to any bar on any station or colony in human space. It suited this sort of establishment, making sure it didn’t stand out in anyone’s memories—perfect for Dardanos Station and its rough complement of miners and support staff.

  Fifteen men and women, all worn thin by the physical demands of mining the asteroid belt, sat at the bar or the tables. Some were twitchy, their eyes in constant motion as they scanned their surroundings—junkies searching for their next hit of whatever drug they could afford, maybe, or ex-soldiers who’d never quite figured out how to hit the off button. Two in particular had a haunted look about them, quiet, subdued, as if the galaxy had kicked them in the balls so many times that they expected nothing more. Zed knew that look; he saw it every morning in the fucking mirror.

  War would do that to you.

  Unless Elias Idowu was the sort to wear a shitload of tech—not bloody likely, since jump-space messed with cybernetics and implants, rendering them useless—the captain of the Chaos had not yet arrived.

  Zed turned his attention to the wall of garish holo ads and tried to ignore the floating freeform versions that approached his table to entice his creds to leave his hands. Some days he wanted to shake the people around him and demand whether they remembered that six short months ago, humanity had been at war. Everything was just so bloody normal at times, it made his teeth ache. No, he didn’t want to sample the “Station’s Own!” beer. He was good with the generic piss sitting in front of him, seeing as he’d hardly touched it. Unlike the fifteen men and women surrounding him, he hadn’t come here to drink. The bottle was a shield, a reason for him to sit and watch the news program on the holoscreen without the notice of anyone but the ads. The sound was off, the anchor’s lips moving out of sync with the music pumping through the bar. Didn’t matter, he’d seen the report often enough to repeat the reporter’s words even without reading her lips. The image that flashed across the screen still caught him off guard, though.

  So familiar and yet so freaking different. He always remembered Emma with a smile, triumph flushing her olive skin after a successful mission. Her green eyes glowed and her smile was wide enough to encourage creases in her cheeks. He’d appreciated her beauty like one might appreciate a work of art in one of Earth’s museums, with a twist in his chest and a spurt of thankfulness that he’d been allowed to witness it.

  The woman staring out of the holo had dead eyes. The creases that had enchanted Zed had been etched into her skin, around her mouth, at the corners of her eyes, beneath them. Emma looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks—a state Zed knew too well.

  He gritted his teeth, staring at her image until the news switched to the video that had captured Emma’s fall from grace. The security footage of a hydroponic square on Chloris Station was grainy and too distant to get the details he wanted, but he’d know Emma even if she was little more than a collection of blurry pixels. He recognized her movements. The speed of them, the accuracy, the deadly intent. She took out a squad of station security in a matter of minutes, her body her only weapon.

  Zed had studied the footage, trying to find some clue to explain why Emma had attacked and killed so many. There had to be a reason. He refused to believe the assertion that Emma had acted without provocation. She wouldn’t. That wasn’t their training.

  Unless...

  Fuck. No. He wasn’t going there. There was no point speculating until he saw her and found out for himself what had happened.

  Movement at the door caught his eye. A man of just above average height stood there, dark-skinned, with brown eyes and brown hair, scanning the bar’s interior. He might be looking for a seat, but something in his demeanor suggested he sought more than an empty stool. His clothes marked him as someone who didn’t work on this particular station—for one, he had no wearable tech and, two, he was too damned clean. Like on other mining stations, the folks who called Dardanos home worked hard, long hours—though the company that managed this station made sure its workers were rewarded and cared for, miner culture was what it was. Rude, crude, rough and harsh. Most of the people sitting around the bar sported jumpsuits with rock dust ground into them so deeply that it would never be washed out. In contrast, the newcomer wore cargo pants and a vest over a plain long-sleeved SFT. Good, practical gear for a ship captain, though the smart fiber of his shirt looked worn in places.

  Zed raised his hand. The newcomer spotted it immediately and started in his direction, then paused on the opposite side of the table.

  “Loop?” The corner of the man’s mouth twitched, as though the name amused him.

  Zed inclined his head, acknowledging the alias he’d been going by. “Elias Idowu. Have a seat.”

  Elias slid into the chair Zed gestured to. A holo floated by and he ordered himself a beer, the same variety sitting in front of Zed.

  “It’s piss,” Zed warned.

  “Wets the throat.” Elias leaned back into his seat, the image of ease and comfort, but Zed noticed one hand stayed beneath the table. Near a weapon, probably. “So, Mr. Loop. How can the crew of the Chaos help you?”

  Zed supposed the name of the ship suited a crew that made their living by less-than-legal means, not that it mattered. He wasn’t in a position to judge the people who offered the type of help he needed. Besides, hadn’t they all done what they’d needed to do to survive the past eight years of war?

  “I need passage to Chloris Station and help tracking someone down once we’re there.”

  Elias offered the server a smile as she set down his beer, and waited until she wandered off once more befor
e speaking. “Passage and a bounty?”

  “Essentially.”

  “The Chaos isn’t a passenger ship.”

  “I figure for the right amount of creds it’ll be anything I need it to be.” Zed arched a brow. “Am I wrong?”

  Elias sipped his beer, then his long, dark fingers played with the bottle’s neck. A casual gesture, one that masked furious thinking. “Who are you looking for?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get there.”

  “Oh, hell no. I don’t play games like that. I have a crew to watch out for, and I need to know, up front, what sort of shit I’ll be getting them into. You tell me who you’re looking for or I walk. Simple.”

  Damn. It’d been worth a try. Zed jerked his chin at the news program playing above Elias, which had cycled around to the portrait he knew so well, and yet didn’t.

  “Her name’s Emma Katze.”

  “Huh.” Elias watched the holo for a few more seconds. “You’re chasing down an AEF bounty?”

  Zed grimaced. No, this had nothing to do with the price the Allied Earth Forces had put on Emma’s head. Or, rather, everything to do with it. Anyone else going after her might end up in a body bag and send her deeper into the shadows as a result.

  “She’s a friend.”

  “You keep interesting company, man.”

  You don’t know the half of it. “She’s in trouble.”

  “And you’re, what? Her white knight?” Elias gifted him with a crooked grin.

  “No. Just a friend.” Zed stared at the label on his beer bottle for a minute. The curlicues of the lettering seemed to shift, writhing across the logo. He blinked. “I’m not going to get into the history. You don’t need to know it.”