Unaltered: Cortii series, #4.5

By J C Steel

The Cortii are mercenaries, for hire to anyone who can afford their services. From their beginnings in humanoid pre-history, they have grown and colonised to span every galaxy. Every government uses them; no single government can destroy them.

One Cortiian in particular is the only person Irin Seviki trusts with his neck, if not his dignity, in the political quagmire of Central Worlds - especially with his influential father dangling the lure of a business deal that could shape the future of a planet to get him there.

The Cortii are mercenaries, for hire to anyone who can afford their services. From their beginnings in humanoid pre-history, they have grown and colonised to span every galaxy. Every government uses them; no single government can destroy them.

One Cortiian in particular is the only person Irin Seviki trusts with his neck, if not his dignity, in the political quagmire of Central Worlds - especially with his influential father dangling the lure of a business deal that could shape the future of a planet to get him there.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J C Steel
• Release date: Mar 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781999504670

Book preview

Unaltered

by

J C Steel

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2019 J C Steel. All rights reserved.

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc.

ISBN-13: 978-1-9995046-7-0

For more information on the book or to meet the author, visit jcsteelauthor.com.

Confession from a ‘pantser’-type author: this was a story I had no intention of writing. However, Irin, as well as being a very competent businessman, has clearly also learnt much from his association with the Cortii, and I found myself, mid-edits to something totally different, with a piece of a story in my head that would not go away. I tried denial. Didn’t work. I tried figuring out a full-length book for it. There just wasn’t quite enough. So here it is, a novella in the Cortii series dedicated to Irin and his doings.

Contents

Risky business

Central Worlds

Cover and camouflage

Family matters

The decoy’s in the details

Vocabulary

Books by J C Steel

About the author

Risky business

PLACING AN INTERSTELLAR call to the nearest outpost of the galaxy’s most elite mercenary force wasn’t something Irin Seviki had ever considered doing.

It seemed like a ridiculously banal way of going about things. His communicator software accepted the code exactly the way it did when he called his nearest neighbour to come and pick up her strayed stock from his land.

The code took a long time to clear, and when it did, it wasn’t to the person he was trying to contact, but a black screen.

Confirm contact name or ID code, a voice said in Interspec, and his heart tripped and sped at the Cortiian accent on the words.

His voice stuck in his throat, and it took him a second to respond. Khyria Ilan. He realised belatedly that he had no idea under the sun what Khyria’s ID code might be.

Cortiora Derian Khyria Ilan han Wildcat, the voice confirmed, and the accent, so noticeable in Interspec, suddenly sounded utterly natural.

The screen stayed black, and Irin realised his mouth was dry. He hadn’t actually expected the code to work, and the length of time the call was taking to go through made him wonder if his system was being scanned. Generally, he would have assumed that his house security would take care of it. With the Cortii in the mix, he found himself suddenly far less certain.

Just as he was wondering if something had gone wrong, the screen pulled up a familiar head and shoulders, black hair almost indistinguishable from the black background.

Khyria? He sounded ridiculously uncertain, he realised, and the void-damned black backdrop was still there, as if he were talking to a software program. You’ve got nothing behind you.

One eyebrow arched in a gesture that was Khyria to the life. She looked tired, he realised, the details presenting themselves as he grew used to that jarring, stark black behind her. She looked down at something out of his field of view, and her image flickered.

You’re secured. You have approximately five minutes before someone comes through my door, so make it interesting—I’m going to spend the rest of my night answering questions about whatever you have to say.

That stopped him in his tracks. How much trouble are you going to be in? he asked. It wasn’t a facetious question. He’d first met Khyria when she’d arrived on his planet badly injured after a run-in with her commanders. She’d been using the injuries as cover, but the damage had been real enough.

Probably nothing quite as dramatic as that, she said dryly. Khyria had always had a disconcerting ability to read what he was thinking as if his thoughts were going out on a clear datastream. Say whatever it was you had to say. Base can’t hear you.

He had his mouth open to ask more, and shut it, trying to organise his thoughts. Five minutes wasn’t a lot. It had been several years since he’d seen her, punctuated by sporadic communication; a message here and there, a mention of her name in a news stream.

I want to hire you, he said bluntly.

You didn’t need my personal code for that, Khyria said when he stopped. The Councils are very much in favour of making it easy for people to give them credit.

I want to hire Wildcat, Irin said.

That got him exaggerated, sardonic surprise. All of Wildcat? What are you planning to do, take over the planet?

He blinked, and slowly realised she might not be joking, or not entirely. He’d seen first-hand how much damage one Cortiian could do. The thought sent cold trickles down his spine, waking instincts that had lain almost entirely dormant since he’d last spoken to her. It was unexpectedly welcome, off-setting some of the mix of frustration and resistance he’d been dealing with the past two days.

I’ve been summoned to Central Worlds, he said. I need a bodyguard, and I need someone who can navigate the society nonsense that goes on there. I want you to do it—if you’re willing.

Again, you don’t need my personal code for that, she told him. You can request any Cortia unit you want, including one much more experienced in Central Worlds politics than mine, provided you have the credit.

I want Wildcat, he repeated. I wasn’t going to request you without making sure you were interested.

For the first time, she laughed, and some of the tension in him evaporated at the sound. We’re a mercenary unit, Irin, she said. If you have credit, we’re interested. We’re going to be interrupted very soon, so listen. You don’t need the whole Cortia for bodyguard duty. One Canta will be more than enough, unless you want to take down the government or expect to stand siege. Put the request in through the usual channels once we get cut off. Before you do, consider this: showing up with a Cortiian bodyguard on Central Worlds will make a very memorable statement. Make sure it’s one you want to make before you place that request.

They can get lost in a black hole... The image of Khyria vanished as he spoke, between one heartbeat and the next, and he reached over to cut the communication from his end, apprehension prickling through him. He hoped, sickness rising in his throat, that she was right, and whatever questioning she might be facing wasn’t going to have repercussions like the ones she’d been recovering from the first time he’d seen her. The image of the myriad fine lines scarring her back flashed before his eyes, and he exhaled deliberately, pulling up the screen he’d been staring at before he’d placed that call to her.

Authorise credit check, he said clearly.

THE SMOOTH, SILVERY alloy of the miniature Wildcat badge Khyria had given him slipped between Irin’s fingers, warm from his pocket. Carrying it had become a habit, one he hadn’t troubled to break. One of the moons slipped out from behind a cloud, and the metal picked up the low light, acquiring a halo to his dark-accustomed eyes.

The house behind him was long since dark, but he hadn’t found the slightest inclination to sleep. There was a container of good alcohol on the porch table, but having brought it out here, he’d found he wasn’t inclined to get drunk either. He’d been alternately pacing and propping up one the of the roof supports for most of the last hour.

Citizen, an accented voice said politely from the darkness beyond his porch, and he spun towards it with his heart pounding in his throat, too startled to even voice the instinctive yelp.

Ilan? He sounded hoarse, blood spinning to the ends of his fingers. He’d forgotten that the Cortii had no actual need of a ship; not to get to the planet, not to travel