Chapter 2

  Found

  The moon was reaching its crest when clumsy footsteps disrupted the night calm.

  It was dark as they moved through the trees. Most of them lacked night vision. Only six in total, their job was simple: find the ship and keep it grounded. Why it mattered, none of them knew. Still—the job paid, and that was enough.

  Then came a click. A flash of light. Men screaming. The group was blasted to the ground.

  Annalynn was sitting in the mess, drinking something hot, when Roger rushed in.

  “One of my mines just went off.”

  “How far out?” Annalynn asked.

  “About five hundred yards. They must be really unlucky—I didn’t put many out that far.”

  “Take Zev and go check it out,” she ordered.

  “I would, but he and Sarsha are busy.”

  Annalynn’s hair snapped to a deep blue—embarrassment flushing despite her flat tone. “Of course. Let’s go.”

  Annalynn hated trying to keep up with Roger in daylight; in the dark, he was a ghost. She knew he wouldn’t leave her behind, so she focused on staying quiet. Her low?light goggles let her see, but it wasn’t the same as flying. Still, they needed to know what was out here.

  A small spark in the night drew her attention. Taking cover behind a tree, she dropped to one knee and brought up her rifle. Through the scope she saw bodies. Pulling back on the zoom, she began to sweep the area.

  Roger crept up to the blast site. Two were dead outright, three more unconscious and unlikely to last the night. He focused on the one who still had his eyes open.

  Crouching low, he said evenly, “You have a decision to make. You can tell me what I want to know and I’ll help you. Or you can tell me what I want to know, and it will hurt. Which one will it be?”

  The man coughed, blood on his lips. A quick sweep with the med scanner showed a concussion, broken ribs, and a fractured femur. He wouldn’t make it without help.

  “We’re… based on the other moon,” he rasped. Blood bubbled at his lips. “No name. Just a job.”

  He coughed again, chest shuddering. “Keep you grounded. Some government type… paid good money for your location.”

  Roger leaned closer. “How many of you are there?”

  The man’s eyes flicked, panic rising. “My ship’s close. Auto?doc can save me. Just… get me there.”

  Roger was a man who honored his word, but this man was too far gone to save.

  Roger gripped the man’s head. One quick jerk—and the body went limp.

  From her cover, Annalynn watched. The blast had driven off anything living, leaving the woods unnervingly quiet. She brought her scope back to Roger just in time to see him grip the man’s head. One quick jerk—and the body went limp.

  Roger looked up, caught her eye, and motioned her forward. Annalynn approached Roger’s position. Seeing the carnage of the mine up close tested her constitution. She looked down at the man Roger had been speaking with.

  “Was that necessary? He didn’t look like a threat.”

  Roger studied her for a moment, trying to catch her hair color in the dark.

  “He was going to die. I just ended his suffering. He said their ship was back that way. I’m going to check it out. It might be best if you return to the Wrath—see if passive sensors have caught anything.”

  Roger didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and headed in the direction the man had pointed. In the dark, he had a much better chance of spotting traps or obstacles, and he could move faster.

  It was understood between them: in space and with anything concerning the ship, Annalynn held command. On the ground, Roger called the shots. Annalynn had ultimate authority, but she relied on Roger’s expertise.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  It didn’t take long for Roger to find the ship. Whoever the pilot was, he wasn’t as good as Annalynn. The ship had bounced off a tree and crushed another. Deep gouges scored the ground where the ship had drifted. He wasn’t surprised to see such sloppy piloting. These were low?grade amateurs at best.

  Pausing next to a large tree, he crouched down. With the trunk as cover, he swept his eyes over the area. Thanks to his enhancements, he could see more of the EM spectrum. There were no hidden weapons or sensors he could see. Still, he took his time. Overconfidence was a trap he couldn’t afford. He had seen the end of many overconfident men.

  Roger waited fifteen minutes; he didn’t see anything. It looked like they had left the ship unguarded. It was an old short?haul transport, not designed to leave the solar system. Looking at it, he was surprised it had made it down in one piece. He wasn’t as good at identifying ships as Annalynn, but he thought this type had a hatch on the top and bottom.

  Most ships have small maintenance ports; it was just a matter of finding them. He could call for Annalynn, or wait for Zara to wake up. Both were better at breaking into ships or electronics. He had his training, but they made it an art form.

  Not wanting to waste time, Roger broke cover and moved to the front of the ship. The cockpit was dark, the blast shields were down. The front?mounted sensor domes were scratched and pitted. No wonder the ship drifted; he doubted they gave clean data.

  Men like this always made mistakes. They most likely locked the boarding ramp and the underside hatch. The top hatch—there was no way anyone could get up there. If they could, why would they want to steal this ship? He could almost hear the argument.

  Repeating his trick from before, Roger jumped up. This time he didn’t care about damaging the ship. He grabbed onto the nose, leaving indents. Using his handholds, he flung himself to the top. Landing, he rolled to soften the impact, and quietly made his way to the middle of the hull.

  Roger noticed the plating was scratched and pitted—clear evidence of poor shield maintenance. Sloppy. It was a wonder they had lasted long enough to get a job. He gave the pilot some respect—crazy or brave, flying with sensors that useless. Keeping low, he looked for a maintenance hatch. His enhanced eyes soon found what he was looking for. When he got to the hatch, the access panel was dark. Surprise flickered across his face for a moment. Turning off the panel took forethought—not something he expected from this crew.

  Roger didn’t waste time; he drove his fist into the panel. The faceplate deformed enough for him to get his fingers under and rip it away. Falling back on his training, he searched for the emergency handle. Once he found it, Roger traced the power lines. His enhanced eyesight let him see into the EM spectrum. When he found a spot that overlapped with a live wire, he pulled out his knife. Cutting both wires, he twisted them together. The locks on the handle popped open. He grabbed and twisted, using strength far beyond what a normal human could muster. His arms and legs started to shake with the strain when the handle turned and the hatch seal broke, stale air rushing out.

  Now was the time for action. Most ships have alarms for outside hatches. Dropping down the small shaft, he landed inside the airlock. Roger’s training didn’t give him a lot of options. Shaped explosives were great for opening doors, but he didn’t have any. He would have to kill the power to the mag?locks keeping the doors closed.

  Flicking through the spectrum, he found a strong power source. Pulling his sidearm, he lined up the sights and fired. A brilliant flash, and the doors opened a fraction. He shoved his fingers in the gap and pulled the doors just wide enough to slip through.

  Footsteps soft, pistol tight to his chest, he moved—slicing corners, dashing through blind doorways. The ship was quiet. He found the bridge quickly. Power was down across the ship—except for one area.

  Looking at the console, he couldn’t figure out what the space was used for, just that power was still active. Marking the location, he moved like a specter. It wasn’t long before he was in front of a locked door.

  He had to crack this fast. If he tried to force it, he would be exposed. He didn’t have the skill to hack the door—Zara could have, not him. He looked at the control panel, hoping to find a pattern worn into it. He caught a faint trace of heat still on the buttons. He hated relying on luck, but time was not on his side. He punched in the code and hoped.

  The door slid open. He was through it in a flash—violence of action meant to overwhelm whoever was inside. The room was dimly lit, small, with lockers and a bed. A figure crouched beneath it.

  Moving faster than the eye could follow, he reached under the bed and dragged the figure out. Long brown hair hid her face. Her clothes were a size too big, torn and stained. She clutched at his wrist as he held her, terror shining in her eyes.

  “Please, mister—I’ll do whatever you want,” she squeaked. The struggle was weak, half?hearted at best.

  Roger set her down, pistol still trained on her. He didn’t say anything at first, quickly patting her down for weapons. His hands were quick and firm. Finding none, he holstered the sidearm.

  “I don’t want to hurt you. But make no mistake—I will if you force me.” His voice stayed low and flat.

  Her pulse was quick, her breathing shallow, but there was no fight left in her. She swayed where she stood, exhaustion etched into every movement.

  “Sit.” Roger pointed at the bed.

  She lowered herself onto it without protest, slumping back against the wall as if her body had finally given up holding her upright.

  Roger scanned the room again. It was small, barely enough space for the two of them to stand. The walls were dirty but not smeared—no sign of neglect—and there weren’t any obvious restraints. If this was her room, it lacked any personal touch.

  “What’s your name?” Roger asked, his vision shifted to infrared.

  “M—M—Mosley. Please don’t hurt me. They said you were dangerous criminals.” She clenched her hands together in front of her, eyes darting around the room. Her face was flushed; heat radiated from her skin. If she was lying, she was damn good—most people had a tell.

  “What are you doing here?” His voice was low but hard. He shifted so he could watch the doorway and her at the same time.

  “I work for them. I clean the ship and cook. They said they’d take me to a planet where I could find a real job.” Her small frame shook once, her hands rough and cracked from hard use.

  “We’re going to return to the Wrath. If you don’t come willingly, I’ll knock you out and carry you.” His voice was cold, without a trace of compassion.