Ghost In The Machine: Corwint Central Agent Files, #1

By C.E. Kilgore

Ghost In The Machine is a mature, space opera romance with strong language, some violence, a good heaping of romance, some steamy bits, a few crazy aliens, one very confused android, an empathic girl with emotional issues who tends to trip herself up, and a crew of space agents who seem to enjoy making their Central Director yank out her hair. 

Love is like a wormhole. You stumble on to it blindly, it sucks you in and takes you somewhere completely unexpected. You can't fight it, because that would tear your ship apart. You can't control it, either. All you can do is set your thrusters on glide and let it take you where it's going to take you." 

Going against the rules of her Vesparian Sisterhood, which seeks to keep its entire existence a secret, Orynn is thrown into the open by a request for help that she could not refuse. Seeking to reconcile past mistakes and gain a forgiveness she feels she does not deserve, the fragile control over her empathic abilities is put to the test. The darkness that lives within her spirit has grown impatient and threatens to once again destroy any piece of happiness that she allows herself to find. 

As a Mechatronic Automaton, Ethan navigates his world through a set of logically defined values and understandings. Encountering Orynn throws his system off balance as he tries to decide if he should trust the feelings he is developing, or if he should follow the logic telling him that she is trying to control him for some unknown purpose. As his understanding of her develops, he begins to question all of his preconceived notions about both himself and the universe around him. 

In his attempts to capture the Vesparian prey he has been hunting after for two decades, the First Commander of the Xen'dari fleet will stop at nothing and track Orynn to the ends of the universe. On a path of vengeance for a past he can't let go of, he will do everything in his power to burn her world down around her feet until nothing is left but ash and the bitter taste of regret.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tracing The Stars
• Release date: Feb 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507027653

C.E. Kilgore

C.E. Kilgore (1981 - ) is an author without genre, who likes to dabble in several genres from romance to science fiction. She also enjoys pushing the boundaries of those genres, trying new things, venturing outside formulas and turning tropes on their heads. Admittedly a control freak, she is currently a self-published author under the name Tracing The Stars, and hasn't quite found the publisher who fits all her quirks. Be sure to check out her website, cekilgore.com

Book preview

Prologue

Beyond the Glass

The harsh Berian winter wind blew crystallized snowflakes against a large picture window that made up the modest hotel room's back wall. Orynn sat on the heated bench-seat with her forehead pressed against the cold glass. The reflection of her liquid mercury colored irises stared out at the city street several stories below with a disconnected longing.

She watched as people walked by in their thick winter attire, clinging to one another against the bitter frost, as they entered and exited the warmth of the various shops and restaurants lining the street. A group of children threw mounds of snow at one another as they darted between light posts and arm-linked couples. It brought a smile to her lips as she watched their playing, and before she could stop herself, she let out a quiet laugh.

Orynn? An irritated female voice called her name, interrupting her thoughts. Did you hear a single word I said?

Orynn turned to her mother's stern gaze and began to give a dishonest nod, but the look in her mother’s eyes made her rethink the decision. With a sigh, Orynn tucked a strand of white hair behind her ear and shook her head. No, my mother. I am sorry for my disrespect.

Refocusing on the reflection of her mother in the window glass, Orynn saw more concern than frustration in her mother’s expression. They resembled one another closely in appearance, height and even age. To most, they would be seen as sisters and possibly even twins. Despite the appearance, Orynn was much younger. Perhaps still too young in her mother’s eyes.

As if plucking the thought from Orynn’s mind, Tersai closed her eyes and looked away. Perhaps it would be best if I did not take you on this mission.

Orynn looked up at her mother pleadingly, forever sorry for being such a disappointment. "No, please. I am sorry, A’kai."

This will be a much longer mission than our previous ones, Tersai warned. It will require us to be around many others on a large ship for a prolonged period of time. Tersai glanced back out into the street below. You still want to be part of their lives, and that is starting to concern me. How can I be sure you will be able to cut the connections when it becomes necessary?

Orynn frowned. So we are having this conversation again, she thought and said her usual response. You have taught me well. I will be ready and I will do as I have been taught.

Will you? Tersai stared down into her daughter’s eyes.

Orynn resisted the pull to look away. It was almost like looking at a mirror image, but where her mother’s eyes had grown cold from the experiences of nearly five hundred years, Orynn’s eyes still held that dangerous flicker of hope that things for them could be different. Orynn had been warned, time and time again: hope of that kind was something a Vesparian could not afford.

Tersai shook her head again. No. You are still too young for this. I will contact your sister and she will continue your training while I am away.

No! Orynn let her anger show through as she stood away from the bench, hands fisted.

The last thing she wanted was to be passed over to her sister. Asha would be just as annoyed with having to stop what she was doing to come and look after her failure of a younger sibling. Orynn didn’t feel like putting up with Asha telling her what a poor Vesparian she was turning out to be.

That, right there, is what concerns me. Tersai took a small step back, obviously feeling the strong empathic wave of anger emanating from her daughter. You have not learned to fully control your emotional aura.

Orynn lowered her eyes, taking in a breath to steady her anger. Once again, her mother was right. With a thought, her aura calmed then dissipated. "My apologies, but A’kai, please. I know I still have much to learn, but I am one hundred and eighty years old. I am no longer a child who needs to be kept by her sister. I am ready for this."

At almost two hundred years of age, Orynn was still considered young by her people’s standards, and so her lapse in emotional control from time to time had to be expected. It wasn't the real reason Tersai was having second thoughts about taking her on the mission, and Orynn knew it. The largest concern, or rather the largest disappointment, continued to be Orynn’s desire to exist. Despite her attempts to change and appease her mother, Orynn couldn’t help being like her father.

Look at them, Orynn. Tersai nodded towards the window and they both stepped closer to look down at the street. They live such fleeting lives. They try so desperately to fill those short lives with meaning. It gives them a powerful energy, and I understand how those energies can be tempting for you. You want to feel it with them and be a part of it. You want to be surrounded by the strength of their joy and understand the depths of their sadness. You want to know them, and you want to be known. You want to exist.

Rule two, Orynn whispered at her own reflection. We do not exist, but allow existence to move around us.

Tersai wrapped an arm around Orynn’s shoulders, squeezing her gently. I know it is hard, my daughter. I too have stood where you stand, with my own mother reminding me of our place in this universe. We must stand apart, but remember that what we do is important. What we do helps those people to continue living their lives freely. In a small way, we exist with each of them, even if they must never know it.

Orynn thought over her mother’s words as the glass frosted over with the setting sun, the image of people moving about their lives becoming obscured and distorted. Part of what her mother said rang true. They were doing important work that helped to keep planets like Berian Two free from the Xen’dari Empire's growing influence.

Still, she could not deny the part of her heart that forever longed to do their work out in the open instead of hidden behind false identities and shallow relationships. Her mother said it was her father’s heart that gave her the longing to make connections with others and be part of existence. He had been a man of Corwint whose lifespan had been just as fleeting as those on the street, and there were times when she wished she had been more like her father in that respect.

But, she was Vesparian. Perhaps it was time she began acting more like one.

I understand, my mother, she nodded with a soft smile. I understand, and I am ready to allow existence to move around me if it will let us help these people.

Tersai smiled, kissing Orynn’s forehead. I am so proud of you, my daughter.

Orynn let the soft warmth of her mother’s aura surround her, but she could not stop her eyes from turning back to the street below. She may have said the words her mother wanted to hear, but her father’s heart could not be silenced so easily.

The way Vesparians lived their lives within a set of rules governing how they were to move through the universe without existing in it had been in place for a very long time. The longevity of their race made them slow to change, but she felt things had to change, or one day her people would cease to exist entirely, even from one another. It was a secret fear that she kept for herself, tucked away in her heart along with her secret longing that one day she would be able to walk down the street on a cold winter day and have people smile at her because they knew who she was.

It was a secret hope that one day she would know real friendship, despite rule three warning against it.

It was a secret dream that one day she would know the real emotion of love and that it would be her own, even though rule five forbid it.

That dream and that hope kept her father’s memory beating strongly within her heart, and despite her desire to make her mother proud, she refused to let him go.

1

Dreams

Thirty-five years later.

Even when he slept, he remained awake.

The mind of a Mechatronic Automaton, comprising a network of constantly firing electrical synaptic pulses which connected the multiple processors required to operate a being as complex as him, wasn’t prone to going offline. At least, not completely.

Ethan often wondered if the mental activities that occurred while in sleep-mode were akin to the dreaming minds of Organics. He, however, never dreamed of walks on the beach, monsters lurking from the shadows, or giving speeches in the nude. Unlike Organic dreams, his thought processes were, what he liked to boast, much more logical. He could spend an entire recharge session working on a calculation for improving the intake ratio of their ship’s engine, or mapping the best route to their current destination down to the smallest speck of space junk floating in the vast void of empty darkness.

It seemed, to him at least, to be a much better use of time than thinking about some imagined scenario that would, probability speaking, never happen.

Despite the differences he liked to focus on between Organic dreams and his, one similarity seemed to be undeniable. Being woken up and pulled out of your current thoughts by a communicator's insistent beeping was one of the biggest annoyances in the universe.

With a fumbling hand searching for the connect button, the communicator was pushed off the nightstand and onto a pile of clothes below. A muffled voice emanated from inside the pant leg where the communicator had landed.

Ethan? Are you there? The male voice on the other end of the communicator was more than a little perturbed. Ethan? C’mon you big hunk o’scrap, pick up the damn line.

Ethan moved his head over to the edge of the bed, trying to focus his ocular sensors on the communicator in his pant leg. He smirked and wondered if he should tell his captain to kiss his ass while he was in there. Thinking better of it, he reached in and fished out the communicator.

Leaning up on one elbow, he looked into the view-screen with a few long calibration blinks of his sapphire-blue acrylicite eyes. A bit early in the morning to be tossing insults, isn’t it Hank?

Never, Hankarron replied through a half yawn, appearing as tired as Ethan felt.

The young captain looked as if he'd had a bit of a wild night, which wasn't unusual after being out in space for a few months on assignment. Hank was also a bit of a playboy on the surface, even if Ethan knew it was all a cover. The fact that Hank looked the part, with his light brown wavy hair, puppy-dog brown eyes and a well-practiced impish smile that made the girls blush, made the guise all the harder to question. Most port guards didn’t think to look twice at a flamboyant spice trader with a well-endowed giggling girl on each arm.

Sometimes drawing attention to yourself is the most effective way to stay hidden.

Hank rubbed the stubble on his chin, his lopsided smirk bringing back memories from their first encounter. Hank grew up as a space-brat; his Uncle Jhonis's ship serving as home and playground. Ethan had been a member of Jhonis's crew.

Twenty-four years ago, Hank bumped head first into Ethan’s leg, and Ethan had picked him up by the seat of his overalls, lifting him over six and a half feet in the air to his eye-level and smirked at him. Since that day, they'd gotten into and out of more trouble together than either could count. After Jhonis died, Hank took over the family business and Ethan had stayed by his side.

Hank didn't ‘give a geffarion-shit if Ethan was a machine dressed in a synthetic skin to look like a man’, an opinion he’d made clear on numerous occasions. According to Hank, Ethan was a better man than most. From Ethan’s own experience with Organics, he had a hard time arguing the idea.

Hank gave him a long, examining look. You look like shit. Did you not plug in last night?

You’re one to talk. Ethan rolled into a seating position at the edge of the bed and set the communicator back onto the nightstand, propping it up against a lamp. He planted both feet flat on the hard, white tile floor and wiggled his toes. Scratching the back of his neck where his black rooted, dark blue hair started, he looked around and tried to regain his bearings.

Sleeping in a console seat on a spaceship ninety-nine percent of the time made waking up in a soft bed on a natural gravitational planet a disorienting experience. Flashes of the night before erupted from his memory bank and the smirk re-appeared on his gray-blue lips. And define ‘plug in’.

Hank shook his head and gave a gruff laugh. Uh-huh, I figured as much. The blonde you left with from the bar?

Redhead from the hotel lobby.

Red... Damn, Ethan, you’re worse than I am, you know that?

I should hope so. I’ve been doing this for about fifty years longer. Ethan stretched his arms out, then up, careful not to knock over the lamp. His inner graphene-wrapped, titanium composite core skeletal structure felt stiff, and he found that the muscular bands responsible for his motor functions were operating at less than optimal response times.

Damn. Perhaps plugging into a charge station would've been a brighter idea than plugging into the redhead.

Glancing over his shoulder to the other side of the bed, he wasn’t surprised to find it not-recently vacated. The infrared heat sensors in his eyes told him it hadn’t been slept on for at least four hours. The faint outline of where the redhead’s curvaceous body had been remained visible, but the owner of the outline was long gone. Her curiosity had been satisfied and the embarrassment, or perhaps the revulsion, had set in and she'd fled before she had to look the machine next to her in the eyes.

Well, Hank said from the com-unit. Get your blue ass dressed and meet me at the station. Our meeting with Central is in an hour, and traffic this time of day on the express is a bitch.

Aye, aye, Captain. Ethan gave the com-unit a mock salute as Hank’s face faded into the black glossy screen.

Without a second glance to the empty spot beside him on the bed, he stood, stepped into the legs of his casual black pants and pulled them up. He slipped his communicator into his pocket and refocused his eyes on the rest of the small hotel room. It took him a few moments longer to locate his shirt, a white tight fitting long sleeved pullover made from the same breathable, flexible poly-blend nanotech fiber as his pants. He found his black jacket still hanging from the corner of a high back chair. All were Central issued garments; a casual comfort blended with protection against tracking, body scanning and the occasional small-class firearms.

After zipping up the sides of his thick-soled boots and tugging the cuffs of his pant legs down, he strode over to the chair to retrieve his jacket. He checked all the pockets for their designated contents before slipping it on. His important identification credentials were all logged with an ocular scan, but his civilian identification was the commonly used One Pass everyone carried.

One Pass - Recognized in fourteen systems and growing!

He cursed under his breath. Now that jingle would be stuck in his SSB-drive queue for hours.

The One Pass was in his left inside jacket pocket and his sunglasses were in his right. One hundred and twenty-three partners as of last night, and not a single one had ever robbed him of anything except seeing their face in the morning. One hundred and twenty-three, and each one had been gone when he woke up, not that he cared. They had used him to satisfy a curiosity most of the women he encountered seemed to have.

Were Mecha any different, or any better than an Organic?

He liked to think so.

He wasn’t exactly innocent in scratching a curious itch. He didn’t take girls into his bed to satiate the primal needs Organics seemed utterly incapable of ignoring. For him, it was all part of his ongoing study in the ways of Organics.

He did the expected motions; caressed their skin, kissed their lips and performed, what he believed, was probably the best sex they would ever have. All the right moves rewarded him with their moans and sighs. Still, he knew from the looks in their half-closed eyes that something was missing. There continued to be something he wasn’t able to provide. He doubted he would ever understand what that something was, no matter how many girls he bedded.

He glanced back at the empty bed one last time, admitting to himself it might be nice to wake up one day to someone willingly lying beside him, no matter how unlikely the probability of that happening was. He guessed it was as close to a real dream as he would ever get. 

Ethan put on his sunglasses, which he wore simply because he liked them, and stepped out into the morning light filtering through the glass-enclosed hallway.

One Pass - For when your credentials need knowing!

Fuck's sake.

2

Central

You know, just once I’d like for us to be on time, Hank grumbled and pushed through the front entrance of an unassuming office building in the heart of downtown Easton.

Easton was one of six mega cities that together incorporated sixty-three percent of the planet Corwint’s main landmass. Its vast metropolis of increasingly tall skyscrapers spread out as far as you could see before thinning into less dense older suburbs and the newly built housing districts. As Corwint’s capital city, it acted as the center of all commerce for the planet and a binding point for Corwint’s ever more diversified population.

Still untouched by the Xen’dari Empire, it had become a haven for all planetary races seeking refuge, or simply a place for one to live outside the ongoing conflict. It also held its place in history as one of the leading centers for technological innovation, being the birthplace of Hydrofusion Theory, Mechatronic Engineering and graphene synthesis. At its core, an unassuming building of white concrete and clear acrylicite secretly served as a beacon for interplanetary cooperation and technological advances – Central Headquarters.

Ethan caught the double-doors as they swung back his way then followed Hank into the large open lobby. His six-foot, ten-inch height required him to duck slightly as he passed under the door frame. Why break our record now? If we keep it up, maybe they'll start sending an escort.

An escort to the detention cells in the basement, I bet. Hank rushed his steps to the automated lift doors to beat out a woman heading the same direction.

No, I was thinking more of a personal transport. Ethan stepped onto the lift next to Hank, pushing the button to close and seal the doors.

The woman reached the doors just in time to give the pair an angry glare as Hank flashed her his boyish grin and waved. Once the doors were sealed, Ethan leaned down to let the panel scan his right eye as he requested access to the one hundredth and forty-fourth floor. The scan completed, followed by an audible beep of acceptance.

You know, Ethan completed his previous thought. The kind where the driver sits in front and you sit in back having a provided cocktail from the built in mini-fridge.

Maybe you should ask the Director for that in our meeting, Hank laughed lightly before his stomach jumped with the lift's jerky movement.

I might. Ethan tried not to laugh, knowing how much Hank hated the damn things. Hank swore the anti-grav lifts always felt like they were going to keep going and ‘shoot your ass out the top of the building’. The gravitational shift didn’t faze Ethan, whose internal gravitational stabilizers adjusted to keep his footing solid against the lift's floor. I’ll be sure to mention your request for a pay raise, too, while I’m at it.

Thanks. Hank exhaled a slow breath as the lift came to a jarring stop and the doors slid open. At least the cells down there are solitary confinement.

Oh, I’m sure they'd make an exception for the two of us.

They stepped out into a long, empty, glossy white hallway and waited. The lift doors closed and sealed, leaving behind a seamless, glossy white wall. A decompression hiss broke the silence and the pseudo-solid wall in front of them opened. From the new doorway stepped a very short and small-boned older woman in a confining, pinstriped business suit. 

I assure you boys, the woman’s Hedarion accent of buzzing s’s and drawn out monotone vowels was thick and only added to her stiff appearance. "We have a very special place reserved down there for the both of you."

Hank dropped the smile and cleared his throat, no doubt kicking himself for forgetting the lifts were monitored. Good morning, Director Szina.

Morning? Jehdra Szina slowly raised one eyebrow high over the rim of her red-framed glasses. Even looking up at them from her four-foot three-inch height, she managed to look down on them with a whip-cracking glare of her completely black Hedarion eyes. I believe, Captain Eros, that it is sometime after noon, Corwint time.

Yes, ma’am. Hank replied respectfully. There was a wreck on the express line and-

"Yes, yes, I know. She turned on a pivot, the flip of her bright-red, shoulder length hair adding to the disinterested tone of her voice. Be late again, boys, and next time I will send a transport. And, I can assure you that it will not include a mini-fridge."

Yes, ma’am, Hank and Ethan responded at the same time while following her through the doorway, which sealed automatically behind them.

Ethan had to force away the smile on his lips. He'd known Jehdra long enough to learn, under her coarse all-business facade, there was a warmhearted woman with a fiery temper who once drank Hank’s uncle under the table after saving their asses in the Kilari Embargo Wars of 1423ot. Hank didn’t know that, however, and Ethan wasn’t in a rush to tell him. It was fun watching her squeeze Hank’s balls and seeing his eyes water. Hank was a good guy, and being kept in check was one of the things keeping the kid from turning out like his father.

Beyond the doorway, a normal looking reception area greeted them, complete with waiting room, a large receptionist desk and an attractive receptionist. The receptionist nodded at the director and moved her hand away from a side console on her desk which controlled the sterilization system in the hallway. Uninvited guests were not welcome at Central, and they maintained a strict 'vaporize first, try to DNA match later' policy.

As the group passed the desk, the receptionist smiled at Hank, but she avoided looking towards Ethan. Number one hundred and eighteen, Ethan recalled. A bit too close to home, he knew, but she had a most symmetrically pleasing face.

Jehdra led them past several closed, unmarked office doors before turning into a large conference room. She gestured toward the clear acrylic chairs near the head of a long conference table as she continued to the front of the room. Have a seat, but don’t make yourselves comfortable. This won’t take long.

Hank and Ethan exchanged apprehensive glances as they took the two seats across from each other at the end. Normally, the only thing at Central that didn’t take long was a termination of service. They watched silently as she turned on the large view-screen that hung against the wall. The bright LED lights in the room automatically shut off and were replaced by the warm glow of several small desk lamps attached to the table. The view-screen displayed a space port just outside of the Meris system. Its main hangar bay and communications tower were in several floating pieces orbiting the station.

Now then, Jehdra turned back to the table and set her palms flat against its cold white quartz surface. The lamplight cast a dark, foreboding shadow across her face. Any question about her power within Central vanished within the look in her black, white-lacking eyes, and she was clearly displeased. "Which of you would like to explain this mess to me?"

Hank grumbled slightly, fidgeting nervously in the seat. They were holding us with bogus charges of smuggling Kilarian ale. They were going to tear my ship apart for the next two weeks, which would have caused us to miss the ransom deadline set by the T’jaros!

Ethan watched as the blackness in Jehdra’s eyes darkened to a hue that wasn't part of the Organic visible spectrum. Hank’s fiery nature made him a force to be reckoned with, but it also got them into a lot of trouble. This wasn't the first station Hank’s brash decisions had left in pieces. Discretion was certainly not his strength, and Ethan wondered if Central had found Hank to be more of a liability than an asset.

While the damage to the port is regrettable, Director... Ethan paused as Jehdra slowly moved her glare over to him. I must agree with Captain Eros that it was unavoidable. The key point of our mission was dependent on reaching the T’jaros blockade before the deadline in order to retrieve the girl and remove her from the equation for the negotiations between the Kilari and the Merae, which we accomplished.

I'm not questioning the success of the mission, Ethan, she took in a sharp hissing breath, "I'm questioning the burning trail of disemboweled space stations, collapsed buildings, wrecked vessels and ruined, highly expensive equipment Captain Eros and his crew always leaves in their wake!" 

Next to Ethan, Hank fumed as his fidgeting increased. Hank hated being called out on his mistakes. Ethan couldn’t argue against Jehdra’s ire over Hank’s impetuous nature, but Hank was a damn good agent with the lowest crew casualty rate in Central. Yet, they were being chewed out because some bureaucrat had gotten his shit-stained undies in a twist over a rundown rusted piece of space junk passing as a port suffering a few taser cannon burns.

And they lost their communications tower, he remembered. And their internal gravitational assembly. And those transport pods full of Keszite ore... Ethan couldn’t deny it had been a colossal screw-up.

Hank sighed, fingers tapping the table. Collateral damage has to be expected when shit hits the fan, Director.

Oh, trust me, Captain, Jehdra refocused her glare on him. Ethan was certain that, beyond all logic, she was about to spew flames from her mouth and burn Hank’s head off his shoulders. "Shit has indeed hit the fan. I’m your Director. Who do you think has to keep explaining these fuck-ups to the Central Command Council? Who do you think has kept you in active service this long?"

Hank gulped. Ma’am, I'm-

"Sorry, she finished with a small huff. Yes, yes, I know. I’m sorry, too, that your uncle, whose performance record for Central remains the standard by which we evaluate all others, seems to have trained you how to shoot a gun when necessary, but not how to set the gun down when other avenues exist."

But-

Ignoring Hank’s attempt at rebuttal, she turned her viperous tongue on Ethan. And you! I expect so much more from you, Ethan. You should be leading by example through tactful negotiations and evasive maneuvers. Instead, you act like you were compiled yesterday and run in after Hank with guns blazing like you’re in some damn action movie!

Ethan had lost all his earlier humor, his expression stoic as his neuro network worked to devise the best way to get himself and Hank out of the office with jobs intact. The look in Jehdra’s eyes told him, with great certainty, that everything depended on the next few words to come out of his mouth.

He swallowed hard out of a reflex produced from his Organic-relative subroutines - a small set of commands that ran instinctively in order to help him appear more Organic. It was something he both thanked and cursed his designer for. It was the reason his chest lifted and fell naturally to support his cooling system, why his eyes blinked in an undetectable pattern, and the reason, at that very moment, his leg gave a nervous twitch.

I agree, Director, he spoke in an even tone, hoping to appease her. We need to make great improvements to our tactics. We should attempt to be more diplomatic, even in situations where it seems there is no recourse but to shoot our way out, such as with this station. Your ability for such tactics is unmatched, and we are open to any suggestions you may have on how we could improve our methods.

Jehdra let silence hang in the air as Ethan finished his response, her cunning black eyes examining them both before speaking. I don’t have a suggestion for you, Ethan. Jehdra turned back to the view-screen control panel and pulled up a file from Central’s mainframe. "I have an order. You're going to be taking on a new crew member, and you're going to be under her direction when it comes to anything even remotely resembling the need for discussion, mediation, diplomacy, or even just asking for clearance to dock."

Jehdra turned back to Hank, ensuring her point was understood. She's your new Tactical Relations officer, and she reports directly to me. Is that clear?

What? Hank’s mouth flapped open, clearly unhappy with the arrangement.

Director? Ethan cocked his head to the right as his eyes surveyed the mostly blank data sheet.

A typical personnel file would have every small detail about the agent, from their allergies to their psych evaluation. This file didn’t even have a picture. It just had a first name, listed as Orynn, and a Central agent id number, leading Ethan to believe she was an uncover operative. It also had an exceptionally long list of previous mission dates with code-names which continued to a second, unseen page. Below that, and the only other thing on the sheet, was her origin-race. It was that last part which gave him second thoughts about accepting Jehdra's orders. Does that file say Vesparian?

The fuck?! Hank’s eyes shot back up to the data file. 

Yes, it does. Jehdra crossed her arms. And you’ll watch your fucking language in my conference room, Captain.

Ethan’s eyebrow raised. Are you telling us that Vesparians actually exist?

Yes. This is classified information. You are to tell no one but your crew, is that clear?

Come on, Director! Hank planted both feet on the ground and started to get up, but paused as Ethan gave him a stern look. Slumping back down, he took in a deep breath. I’m sorry, Director, but even if half the rumors about them are true, you can’t honestly expect me to let one on my ship!

I do. Jehdra leaned back down and stared Hank in the eyes. And by my last count, that ship belongs to Central a hundred times over after all the messes we’ve had to clean up in the past five years with you as its captain. You'll be expected to treat her with respect and take her tactical suggestions seriously.

She stood up straight again, facing the picture-lacking file. Ethan, you said I was unmatched in my negotiation abilities. This one, Orynn, makes me look like a damn amateur. I need you to trust me on this, for old times’ sake.

Hank started to protest again, but Ethan stopped him and stood from the table. The tone in her voice told him more than he knew Hank could discern. She'd put her neck on the line for them this time. If they crashed and burned again, so would she. This was a last ditch desperate move to save all their asses.

Where do we pick her up?

3

Zera

The Zera was a beautiful ship despite its age; a class-three long-range cargo vessel melded with a streamlined, short-range fighter. Its sleek, dark-blue graphene shell included stealth reflector panels and framed a carbon-titanium hull that gave twice the strength at a quarter the weight. The technology was, officially, still in development. Central had been using it on their ships for decades.

It was a ship engineered and built from the ground up for a single purpose. It needed to