“You mean someone beyond the Sark System?” Philip interjected.
“Exactly.”
“Well who?” he asked, his face gaunt and pale now. “The Federation?”
“Perhaps.”
“But the Federation would kick our asses,” Hans remarked seriously.
Carol spoke faster as she started to put it all together. “Not if there were allies waiting in the wings. Lance was onto this. He gave us the tips. He must know something, and whatever he planned he’ll have the Federation’s wellbeing at heart.”
Hans’s eyes lit up with the realization. “So you think that by thwarting whatever is going on here he’s actually protecting the Federation.”
“Exactly. Else why bother?”
The Admiral, Spire, Estaria
The rest of the evening went by without incident, and eventually Hans showed up. By that time most of the end-of-day workforce had drunk their fill and left, on account of them having lives and homes to go to.
Alisha stood up from the booth they’d acquired as the crowd had thinned. “Hans Duo! You’re looking way too sober!” she insisted. “Let me get you a drink.”
Hans joined her at the bar and they ordered some more drinks. “Allow me,” he told her, paying for the drinks. They took their full glasses to the next booth along from the others and sat down.
“So, I heard you shot a bad guy,” Hans started.
Alisha watched him as she took a sip of her wine. “I could say the same,” she said coyly.
Hans allowed himself a half smile. “Well, I guess we don’t have any secrets then.”
Alisha didn’t comment. She realized there was no point in pushing it. To ask him questions about it would only weaken her standing in the interaction.
Instead, she did what any effective operative would do in a standoff: she changed the subject. “So, what was your meeting about to keep you from our company for so long?”
“Codeword-Classified.”
She glared at him playfully. “I hope this isn’t how all our conversations are going to go tonight, else things are going to be pretty dull.”
“You know there are things I can’t tell you, just as there are things you can’t tell me.”
She sighed, placing her drink down deliberately on the table. “So what can you tell me?”
“Well,” he smiled, looking past her. “I can tell you that Cleavon has a crush on you, though he doesn’t know it yet.”
“What do you mean he doesn’t know it yet?”
“He hasn’t registered it consciously, but he keeps looking over at you. Even when we were at the bar.”
Alisha sighed. “Okay, tell me something interesting. Not about boys.”
He paused. “The Director has her eye on you for promotion.”
“Promotion? We just got here.”
Hans smiled sagely over his glass. “The grooming has already begun, though. You’re dedicated. You take your job seriously, and it’s clearly being noticed.”
“What on Estaria makes you think that?”
“I told you, I pay attention.”
Alisha noticed that Hans had drunk about half of his beer by this point. Not enough to spill state secrets, but maybe enough to loosen him up a touch. “And what about your career? You’re always off doing things separate from the rest of us, with your secret meetings with the Director after the main meetings. What are you up to?”
He shrugged. “Just doing my job.”
“Which is?”
He glanced off into the crowd. She had him. “The same as you,” he responded.
“Not the same as me,” she told him firmly.
“Pretty much the same as you.”
“You’re very good at not giving anything away.”
He shrugged again. “We were all taught the same techniques.”
“Yet we all ended up with different skills, doing different missions.”
“I guess. So tell me, what does Alisha Montella do on her days off?”
“Changing the subject,” she remarked. “I see how this is.”
“I can’t tell you all my secrets on a first date.” He was trying to distract her, she noted.
“This is a date?”
“Do you want it to be?”
“Again with the answering questions with questions.”
“That’s what you get when you date a spy.”
Alisha nodded, quietly absorbing the checkmate she was advancing toward.
He kept talking to her. “You know that look?”
“What look?”
“The look you have right now. I’ll bet that’s the same look you put a lot of guys through when you talk your way around them.”
“I don’t—”
“You do,” he insisted firmly. “You have a way of keeping people at arm’s length while letting them think that you’re being friendly.”
Alisha said nothing.
“Nothing? Well, I never thought I’d see the day the great Alisha Montella had nothing to say. I should take this down as a noteworthy date in my calendar. You need another drink.” He got up and headed to the bar again.
Joshua and Rhodez showed up at their booth. “Everything okay?” Joshua asked.
Alisha exhaled, frustrated, and pushed back in her seat. “Yeah. All fine.”
Joshua leaned in. “You working on the, um...”
She nodded.
“Okay. Well, look, Cleavon has had too much to drink, so we’re going to get him back to one of our places. You sure you’re going to be okay with Hans?”
She sat up to whisper to him. “I’m still working him. He’s only one drink in.”
Joshua grinned as if it were all just a game. “Okay. Good luck.” He hesitated a moment. “Be careful he doesn’t end up working you.”
Alisha grinned. “I will,” she said with a tone of determination. “He’s getting nothing out of me.”
She waved at Rhodez propping up Cleavon just behind Joshua. He grinned and waved back. “See you at work tomorrow,” he called over.
She leaned past him to address their newest team member. “Yeah. Plenty of water before you sleep, Cleavon!”
He gave her a thumbs-up and then, propped up between Rhodez and Joshua, he was escorted out.
A moment later Hans arrived back from the bar carrying a glass of wine and glass of beer. “They’re leaving?”
“Yeah. Cleavon’s had enough and they want to make sure he’s safe.”
Hans smiled. “So they’re leaving you to continue grilling me about my secret off-book missions?”
Alisha tried not to show too much enthusiasm. “Ah, so you’re ready to talk then?”
He silently handed her the new glass of wine without answering her question, and they clinked glasses.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Base Conference Room, Gaitune-67
Molly sat in the conference room, finishing up some work.
The lights in the corridor beyond had gone off long ago, and it was just Molly’s body temperature that was telling the conference room that there was someone still in there because her movements on her holo barely registered with the motion sensors at all.
It’s getting late to call your Mom, Oz reminded her.
Shit. Okay. Patch me through.
A new holoscreen opened from the center of the table and folded out as a three-dimensional cube ahead of her. The setting was still on for it to display in the center of the table rather than the wall.
The call connected and the life-like, life-sized image of Carol Bates appeared in front of her. She felt a weird resistance in her stomach to have her so real in front of her after so many years of not communicating with her at all.
“Hi, Mom,” she started.
Carol was clearly still at work, if the plain walls of her windowless office behind her were anything to go by.
Carol tried to smile. It didn’t suit her. “Ah, you’re back.”
“What do you mean, ‘back?’”
“Yo
u’ve been out of the system.”
“You talked to Paige?”
“I didn’t need to. My agents were trying to run advanced analysis and kept reporting that the boosted component was down.”
Molly bobbed her head, understanding now. “So you knew that Oz wasn’t within range.”
“They didn’t make me a spy for no reason.” She smiled again.
“I see that.”
“So, what was the mission?” Carol asked, trying to sound more Mom-like and less director-of-the-spy-agency. Molly noticed it was hard for her. Rigid, almost. She wondered briefly how she managed when she had been out in the field. How could she have persuaded assets and put them enough at ease to turn them? How could this woman have infiltrated anywhere?
Her people skills reminded her of…well, of her own.
“Mom, you know I can’t tell you.”
“It was a Reynolds special, wasn’t it?”
“Mom!”
“Ah ha! It was. Well, I hope for your sake it went well.”
Some people had their Moms grilling them about where they’d been and who they’d been out with. My Mom grills me about classified missions. Some dynamics just can’t be skipped.
Indeed. Maybe she’s just showing an interest.
No. She just wants to know. She’s still obsessed with her little vendetta against the General.
At least they’re on the same team now.
Small mercies.
“Mom, he only has the good of the Federation at heart,” Molly insisted out loud.
“I know, that’s what worries me. I care about my daughter.”
Molly raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Which is why you remained in active service while I grew up.”
Carol’s face darkened. “You were perfectly safe,” she insisted firmly.
“Knowing what I know now, I think that term is relative.”
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing.”
“Clearly something. Come on. Are you saying I was a bad mother?”
“No. I’m saying that if I really was as important as you’re making out in comparison to Lance Reynolds’ priorities, maybe you wouldn’t have let me feel so guilty all this time for what happened when you and Dad were taken.”
Carol seemed a little less in control all of a sudden. “I told you it wasn’t your fault.”
“Did you? Did you really?” Molly could feel the anger rising in her chest. She fought it to stay calm. The last thing she wanted was to get all upset now. There were more important things to discuss.
Carol’s voice broke a little as she spoke. “Of course I did. I sat you down and I said that they were bad men that took us.”
“But it was my fault the bad men showed up. I didn’t have any context.”
“So is that why you called me? To tell me what a shit mother I’ve been to you?”
“No. Actually. I called you to say thank you for doing a great job in saving the University.”
There was an awkward silence on the line. Carol shifted in her seat. “Oh. You’re welcome. Like I said, I wanted to do right by you and I knew how important that place is to you.”
“And I appreciate it,” Molly said, the emotion gone from her voice now.
Carol hesitated before broaching the next subject. “There’s something else you should be aware of though, Molly.”
I always get nervous when she uses my name.
I can see why…
“What’s that?”
Carol leaned forward on her desk, her arms folded in front of her. “For the last couple of weeks, your grad students have been running down leads where people have been removed from specific positions of power.”
“Yeah, I’ve been getting the reports.”
“What I’m about to tell you isn’t in a report. We only figured it out an hour ago. Something’s coming. Lance knew it. That’s why he brought me into the fold.”
“What is it?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
Aboard The Penitent Granddaughter, Agresh Quadrant
Nickie paced up and down the grated walkway of the bridge. Grim watched her, his head feeling dizzy going back and forth again and again. He started to say something, but then thought better of it.
“Anything?” Nickie demanded.
No one responded.
“Meredith!” she called, lifting her voice to the intercom as if Meredith didn’t already hear her every thought.
“Hang on. I may have something,” Meredith told her calmly.
Nickie continued to pace.
Grim couldn’t contain his comment. “You know, you’re going to wear that walkway out,” he said, immediately regretting it.
“Well, as soon as Meredith locates our lost Skaine ship we’ll be on our way and I won’t have to wait so attentively.”
Grim sighed, relaxing back in the chair he’d perched on. “At least they let us take the weapons, so we can track down the Skaines.”
“True,” she conceded, stopping in her tracks, her hands now on her hips. “But what are the odds? Middle of fucking nowhere and I run into these people.” She shook her head, genuinely flummoxed. “I just can’t believe it was an accident.”
“No, the likelihood does seem pretty remote,” Grim confessed.
“Unless the Federation is onto me.”
Meredith interrupted. “Unlikely,” she said. “They made the agreement. You had seven years.”
“Yeah, but you’re all activated and everything. Are you telling me you haven't transmitted my location?”
Meredith’s voice remained steady. “I think we need to focus on what’s happening right now.”
Nickie’s eyes narrowed, and Grim could see the frustration in her eyes. “Meredith, that’s not answering the question.”
“Well, yes,” Meredith confirmed. “Technically you are traceable. But only intermittently, and they’d need to want to find you and be paying attention to get a lock on you. But with the way you left things, they have no reason to be looking for you.”
Nickie huffed and sat down in the pilot’s seat. “But those Federation-bunnies knew so much.”
Grim notice her anger deflate into something else. “They made you miss home?”
Nickie’s face relaxed some more, as if she was surrendering to what she was really feeling. “Made me miss Aunt Tabitha,” she confessed.
Grim shuffled in his chair, his back legs uncomfortably hanging down the side of the seat. “Well given the remote chances of this happening, and the way it happened, some civilizations might call what you experienced fate.”
She frowned, distracted. “What d’you mean?”
He shrugged, his eyes soft with empathy. “Well, maybe there was a reason you ended up reconnecting with some part of the old family. That’s all.”
There was a moment of silence. Grim tried to formulate something else to say to her. Something that might help her face her anger. Something that could help ease the pain she still clung to like a candle she kept burning for loved ones long gone but not forgotten.
“Okay. I need a drink,” she declared, her tone hardening. She stood up, her boots clunking on the metal floor. “Meredith, lemme know when you have something we can work on.” She strode across the bridge and headed out into the ship.
Grim shuffled awkwardly off the chair, stretching his body that had started to stiffen up. As soon as he could he followed her out, hitting the open door button just as the door had started to close behind her.
“I will,” Meredith said to the empty room. “I will.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Game Server, Base, Gaitune-67
Bourne and Oz lurked in the server they’d partitioned off for the purposes of the latest craze that had hit the Gaitune gamers: Massively Multiplayered Role Playing Game, specifically Space Orcs vs Solari.
“You know,” Bourne mused, “there’s nothing wrong with a little bit of scene-setting while we wait. So we’ll be ready when they all lo
g on.”
“I suppose that’s not entirely unreasonable,” Oz agreed carefully, already generating Non-Player Characters, NPCs, and the space station around them. It was a multi-leveled behemoth of a station, every inch of it made of gleaming chrome and neon lights.
“I mean, it beats looking through the archives for another six hours,” Bourne carried on, half of the NPCs taking the shape of the Solari faction. The Solaris displayed as thinly-disguised space elves with silver skin and armor that was intricate to the point of being impractical. “And we could try out some new tactics!” he added enthusiastically.
“I already agreed,” Oz pointed out as the other half of the NPCs took the shape of the Um’Mal faction; quintessential space orcs. They looked like the aftermath of a pair of comets meeting at high speed before tumbling into mismatched armor.
The faction leaders took form on the central platform as their armies sprang into existence throughout the space station. Terminals started sparking, windows and walls cracked, and laser fire began to fly through the air as the last details of set dressing appeared.
The Um’Mal leader let out a ferocious war cry like a meteor breaking a planet’s atmosphere and lunged. A bubble shield burst into life around the Solari leader and sent the orc flying aside.
Below their platform, the rest of the station erupted into chaos; the chaos of two AIs battling it out in terrain that their friends the humans would never even see.
Base Workshop, Gaitune-67
“So, that was a clusterf—“
“We handled it.” Crash cut Pieter’s complaint off before he could finish. “We can handle the debriefing later and—…and no one is listening to me,” he added to himself as Brock and Sean stampeded past him to the workshop.
Pieter gave him a consolatory pat on the back before loping after them with Joel at his side, leaving Crash to take up the rear at a more sedate pace.
By the time he arrived in the workshop, there was a trail of discarded gear across the floor and the space was humming with life. Sean and Brock were already moving the couch into place. It was an old, battered relic, originally a grimy beige and red tartan, though it had been patched in about fourteen other types of fabric as life gradually wore it to pieces. It probably should have been replaced half a lifetime ago, but the last time anyone had suggested such a thing Pieter and Brock had both acted as if someone were threatening to drown a puppy. Paige had put the new sofas elsewhere in the workshop, but she realized they were probably never going to be used.
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