The Warrior's Shade: The Saxen Saga, #2

By Ingrid Moon

A young officer's past comes to haunt him as he uncovers the secret behind a mysterious weapon.

 

A fleet for hire.

A mysterious client.

A weapon of mass destruction.

 

No longer a commander, Turner Boone will come to the rescue of any fleet that will pay him. However, he has done his job too well, and his clients have no need to call. His fleet-for-hire is running out of funds—and options. 

 

Things look up when he is hired to retrieve the wreckage of an ancient terraforming machine. He soon realizes the device can be turned into a devastating weapon, and he has no idea who his well-paying client is. Caught between delivering the artifact to the client, whose methods to collect it are ruthless, and hiding his fleet from the Coalition Navy, who hunts him as a traitor, Boone faces the most difficult decision of his life.  

 

In discovering the client's secret, his investigation goes too deep, propelling himself and the assassin, Elyon, into a Coalition trap—one that will require untenable sacrifices to avoid execution.

 

 

Epic Space Battles, Biological "Magic," Found Family, Galactic Empire, Pirates, A Rebellious Assassin, Daring Pilots and more!

 

The Warrior's Shade is a desperate chase across the galaxy, where a young man discovers his fatal flaw, and an assassin learns the meaning of sacrifice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ionic Press
• Release date: Apr 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798989242450

Book preview

The Warrior's Shade

Saxen Saga - Book 2

Ingrid Moon

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Ionic Press

Copyright © 2024 by Ingrid Moon

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [e-mail].

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

ISBN E-book 979-8-9892424-5-0

ISBN Paperback 979-8-9892424-6-7

ISBN Hardcover 979-8-9892424-7-4

The Saxen Saga

Terminal Deviation

Airlock 9

The Handler's Gambit

Relic

The Warrior's Shade

Worldbuilding References

AstroFiction

BioFiction

RoboFiction

This one is for Mom and Dad.

Contents

Galactic Map

1.01 Relic

2.02 Reluctance

3.03 Rations

4.04 Ejection

5.05 Remember

6.06 Insight

7.07 Conscience

8.08 Pirates

9.09 Yield

10.10 Air

11.11 Seconds

12.12 Reward

13.13 Bait

14.14 Extraction

15.15 Hooked

16.16 Intercept

17.17 Home

18.18 Reunion

19.19 Weeper

20.20 Gotcha

21.21 Fallout

22.22 Rationale

23.23 Ask

24.24 Resigned

25.25 Regroup

26.26 Gala

27.27 Ambush

28.28 Destruction

29.29 Escape

30.30 Recovery

31.31 Download

32.32 Finally

33.33 Destroyer

34.34 Control

35.35 Revelations

36.36 Assassin

37.37 Salvage

38.38 Collapse

39.39 Hostage

40.40 Rally

41.41 The Offer

42.42 Trade

43.43 Deals

44.44 Mortal

45.45 Surrender

46.46 Shattered

47.47 Concede

48.48 Deliverance

Epilogue

What's Next

Acknowledgements

About the author

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01 Relic

Quadrant: Penumbra

System: Unnamed

Ship: Kimmi, Light Assault Craft

Three years after Reia's escape.

One year after Vindik's demise.

In the enormous emptiness of the Milky Way galaxy, this murky system lacked the twinkle of distant stars.

Darkness spread across the viewport of Turner Boone's tiny, customized assault craft. Feeling a bit jittery, he snaked his fingers through his chestnut-brown hair, which was growing too long for his taste. He peered over the pilot's shoulder at the holospectric display above her console. It was also empty, like the pit in his stomach.

Jett shifted in her seat to give him a better view of the holo. The pilot suite was small for the three of them: Jett, Boone, and their flight engineer, Samon. With an estimated age of 19, Boone knew the pair was old enough to be his parents, if he had ever had parents. Jett's piercing blue eyes did not match his golden brown, however, and Samon's stocky build contrasted Boone's athletic form. For all he knew, he'd been gestated in a vat, and he was all right with that.

You're sure these are the coordinates? he asked Commander Cotsern through an interfacer over his ear. The tiny device relayed data to the quantum network, and its interface connected directly to his auditory and visual cortices. Direct connection was more efficient than simple comms and consoles, but in this enclosed star system, it was giving him trouble.

Cotsern's muddled image flickered, transmitted from several thousand light-years away, where Boone's flagship, the Makellan, monitored the operation. Rosewood skin and cocoa-colored hair stretched across the view in Boone's mind's eye without enough contrast to make out her features. The Kimmi was in a remote system, and its star emitted little light. The dense gas cloud surrounding the heliosphere also blocked light from other stars in the galaxy and interfered with the relay transmission, at least partially. He wondered what he looked like to her: a beige blob darkened by the disruption?

Your position is so precise, replied Cotsern, that I advise you to move out of the way before they arrive.

The thought of having a ship materialize in the space he occupied was downright unnerving. That this job came from an anonymous source tweaked Boone's nerves, but the stakes deposited were substantial, and he needed them to keep the fleet afloat. He leaned back and gripped an armrest with one hand. Take us a kilometer away.

Jett tapped something on the panel in front of her. The momentary discomfort of the higgs jump passed through Boone's body. Although the console displayed a new location, the viewport showed the same inky blackness as before. You could have used the grav thrusters, he said, thinking about the waste of gurelium fuel.

And leave a trail in our direction? she asked. The Kimmi's hull was coated in a non-reflective black nanopaint to help keep them hidden. A grav-thruster's energy contrail would reveal their presence.

Jett was right, of course. For all his training and experience orchestrating battles in space, Boone should have thought of that. But that was why he hired Jett—she filled in his lack of experience when it came to piloting.

Right on time, said Samon, as the contours of a ship appeared in the holo at their previous location. His beefy, weathered hands moved fluidly over his own console where the ship's systems and status were displayed. One ship, signature obscured.

In the distance, the ship's hull scarcely reflected the dwarf star's dim light. From the outline formed in the holo, Boone gauged it to be a corvette with a modified cargo hold at its bilge. Civilian corvettes weren't often employed for cargo transfers, and Boone wondered if he should have brought a larger ship. Whatever was inside the corvette might not fit in the Kimmi's cargo hold.

Grab and go, Boone reminded himself. Let me know when they make the drop, he said, although he would see it in the holo himself.

A moment later the corvette drifted aftward, leaving a small, indiscernible object in its place. That will fit in the hold, said Samon. With a brush of his fingers on the console, the object enlarged in the holo. Dimensions floated around it like a schematic.

Relieved, Boone leaned back in the jump seat. The long object floating in the holo was irregular and vaguely cylindrical, like several concentric tubes stacked onto one another.

Jett turned around to face Boone. Are we going in?

Not yet, said Boone. They are supposed to leave first. We don't want to be identified. The more he thought about it, the more this transfer of cargo unsettled him. The client bought the artifact but didn't want anyone to know who he (or she?) was. Boone and the seller in the corvette couldn't know one another, either. Boone apparently had an excellent reputation for delivering rare artifacts with discretion, although he would rather be extracting these treasures, not transporting them.

Jett turned back to the holo, and they waited. The corvette continued to drift, widening the gap between itself and the object. Boone wondered why it lingered. Perhaps they wanted to know who picked it up. But then the corvette turned and accelerated away.

Wait, said Boone. As long as the Kimmi was quiet and still, no eyes or sensors would detect them.

A long, gray frigate with a flattened bow and a flatter stern appeared near the object. What—? Samon was already tapping his console to adjust the holo. Unloading a volley of plasma, the frigate ignored the artifact and turned to pursue the corvette.

Boone swore. This was unexpected. He hadn't planned a contingency for this scenario. The client's instructions were clear and simple: Someone would drop the cargo and he would pick it up. He should have known it was too easy.

Two standard attack craft appeared where the frigate had appeared. With greater speed than the frigate, they overtook the corvette and sprayed plasma across its broadsides.

Hit it! Boone said. Grab the cargo and go before they turn around.

Arms engaged, said Samon. He controlled the means to grab the device using external arms on the Kimmi's aft, while Jett would maneuver their position.

Meters from the artifact, which resembled nothing more than wreckage, Jett spun 180 degrees, slowed, and backed the aft into the cargo. Samon's external arms secured it outside the cargo hatch.

Cargo secure, said Samon, his voice calm. In the distance, the corvette blinked out of existence. A moment later, the frigate also disappeared. The two assault craft made broad turns toward the Kimmi.

Shields, and let's go. Boone didn't need to say it, but it made him feel like he had some control.

With the disconcerting sensation of a higgs jump, the inky black sky was replaced with a stretch of illuminated gases and billions of pinprick stars. Boone breathed a sigh of relief, although he felt a small twinge of sadness for the crew on the corvette. We have it?

It's secure, said Samon. Do you want to bring it in?

Sure, said Boone. Samon, thick and muscular for his age, joined Boone in the cargo hold. Boone activated his field harness should the air pressure suddenly change and plunge him into the vacuum. The field would automatically surround him in an environmental bubble to protect him from the trauma. Whether Samon used one or not, Boone didn't ask.

Samon hit a panel with his palm, and the aft cargo doors slid to either side, revealing a… a hunk of wreckage exactly as Boone had seen from the viewport. The way it was attached to the arms, its length out-spanned the height and width of the hatch. The relic was long, thin, and crusty, something metal encased in some kind of accreted material.

With his hands in a webbed pouch, Samon activated the arms. He twisted one way and then another, and the two giant clamps outside the cargo hold wrested the object into a position that would fit through the hatch. A third arm at the top of the hold lowered and grabbed the relic at its center. The outer arms released their grip and retracted to their idle positions outside the hatch, where they could no longer be seen. The third, interior arm held the relic aloft while Samon guided it to the center of the cargo hold.

As the hatch doors closed, Boone moved in to inspect this strange cargo. A mist emanated from its surface, sublimation from the corvette's atmospheric moisture that had frozen in the vacuum. Boone's heat was drawn toward the relic, giving him a chill.

Boone deactivated the field harness and reached out to touch the accretion. Many colors speckled the gray stone around a marbled, white crystal. His finger was millimeters from the rock, when Samon, who had come up behind him, pulled his hand away. It's zero degrees, he said. Let it warm up before you give it your skin.

Walking around the object, Boone noted the distinctive difference between the rock and an exposed, dull metallic surface where the rock had broken off. Engraved in the metal were unusual symbols. Boone retrieved a metal rod with a flat end and chipped gently at the rock, exposing more of the metal and the symbols. The rock crumbled into small flakes, revealing layers in the fresh surface. Maybe it wasn't rock at all. Geology was not his strength.

Boone burned the symbols into his memory. It might come in useful at some future point, perhaps on another excavation.

Commander! Jett called urgently from the pilot suite. Carrying the rod like a baton, Boone ran, followed by Samon. In the viewport, the frigate had appeared and was already showering plasma toward them. Jett maneuvered to dodge it. Boone had to turn away from the viewport to avoid becoming queasy.

Boone and his crew were in an assault ship, well designed for hit-and-run attacks on larger ships. A battle with the frigate wasn't the problem. Boone had been in worse situations and was confident he could win this skirmish. The problem was that it had followed them through higgspace, which meant it had special tracking capabilities that were unique to Coalition interceptors. And that meant the frigate could follow them anywhere if it had a few minutes to track the quantum signature they left behind with each jump.

A memory stirred, and he quickly devised a plan based on that memory. Samon, get coordinates to a well-guarded Coalition outpost in the Transition Zone.

Have 'em, said Samon. Tralucki Station, currently pretty active.

Jett— He didn't need to finish as the disequilibrium set him off balance.

Before them loomed a three-ringed space station heavy with Coalition Navy traffic. A new fear gripped Boone. As a defector from the Coalition, if he were captured here, it would be the end of all his efforts and all the sacrifices that led to his present livelihood. It was a calculated risk that he was confident would work. Take us as close as you can until someone fires at us, he said. He knew an interceptor would attempt to follow them beyond the station, but at least the frigate wouldn't have time to track their signature. Samon, prep a jump to Enceladus.

Samon hesitated as the Kimmi rolled under a battleship. That's across the core, he said.

Boone gripped the back of both seats and closed his eyes. Then take us around, no more than two jumps. The C.N. is going to follow us— The trans-d sensation hit him again and he opened his eyes. Nothing but stars.

Hold on, said Jett. Boone was already holding on, even though the helm was steady and the stars outside weren't moving. One more disquieting sensation, and they appeared in the upper plane of Saturn's rings. The Kimmi rose above it, dodging clusters of dust and debris on the way. Turning toward the planet, she slammed the grav thruster and accelerated toward a distant white speck: Enceladus, firmly in League space.

Its orbit hosted a full armada of League defensive warships.

They're going to think we're sneaking up on them, said Samon.

If the frigate comes up behind us and starts firing— said Jett.

Ah yes, said Samon. They're the aggressor.

The frigate did not appear, and they were rapidly approaching the patrol ships around the Enceladus bases and mining stations. The nearest warship, a battlecruiser with a wide, cross-sectional gun port at its midships, angled the artillery toward them.

We'd better go, said Boone. We don't need another ship to outrun.

02 Reluctance

Quadrant: The Fringe

System: Blue Astra

Ship: Tazaec

Nine men surrounded Elyon, each taking on his own preferred attack stance.

Elyon braced herself, shifted onto her back foot, and pulled her arms into a defensive position. Reaching out with her senses, she listened to the creak of each man's foot on the mat, or his breathing, or the rustle of clothing. She would hear them move, even behind her.

The most difficult part of this exercise would be to deny her instinct to take the offensive and kill every one of them. Having to focus on defense was distracting, but she wanted to practice controlling the rage.

A small group gathered outside the circle at the edge of the broad, octagonal mat. Almost everyone on the Tazaec knew Elyon and her former role as a child assassin, but none had ever seen her in action. She thought about what the onlookers saw: A blue-skinned, fire-haired girl against these fit men, most of them troopers. The odds might favor the men, but as a Con Long student, Elyon had her own advantages. An ancient martial fighting style, Con Long outmatched every other style in the galaxy. Few practiced it, even fewer mastered it. When Elyon's training was cut off by the murder of her former teacher, she never knew how far she had progressed on the path to mastery. But she knew she was good.

A man behind her charged, his bare footsteps making only the softest sound as they squished into the mat. Elyon timed the turn, spun on her back leg, raised her other knee, and dropped. As she fell, she swept the oncoming man's front leg out from under him just as he planted it to prepare for a kick. She was on her feet without so much as a hand on the mat. The man rolled to the side and climbed to his feet.

Now facing the direction the man had come from, she listened again. Choosing not to use her Saxen talents—reading the scent of fear, hearing the shift in the air molecules—she could only wait. Two men came at her from either side, each making an attempt to land a blow, and with a block, a twirl, and a kick, she had one man down while the other staggered back. He recovered his balance and leapt to grapple her, but she ducked, rolling his momentum over her shoulder and to the side. He landed face-first next to the downed man. They climbed to their feet and returned to the circle.

With a burst of action, all nine men charged at once. While Elyon blocked and parried, often using the attackers' momentum against them, she took a few hits. This only riled her up, and she became the fiery whirlwind of Tazaec legend, defending against every man on all sides at once. The men went down and sprung back up, and Elyon took them down again. She never once took the offensive, only reacting to defend herself.

Exhausted, the men backed off in turn and sat on the mat at the outer edge. The last man standing was a trooper who had also been training in Con Long. He landed a few punches to her ribs and shoulder, but she was only letting him get the practice he deserved. In fast form, Con Long appeared as a flurry of attacks, almost a blur to those unfamiliar with the style. To two Con Long students, time slowed and the movements were perceived rather than seen.

Because she had chosen to focus on defense, she could not use the offensive forms she would have used in a real fight. That would end the fight too quickly. Defense was also more difficult to practice without partners. She let the trooper attack her over and over until he slowed, winded. On his last punch, she dodged aside and slammed him into the mat, where he lost his breath. He conceded.

The crowd that had gathered let out a respectful cheer as Elyon concluded her match with a Tigris form as menacing as the animal it was named for. The men stood up, each bowing to Elyon, who returned the gesture.

With only a light sheen of sweat on her skin, Elyon retrieved her socks, boots, and the thin duster she wore over her training suit. Some time in the cleanser under the medical field would relieve the growing aches and bruises.

Domina, said a voice behind her. Elyon turned to find an unfamiliar petite woman carrying a palm facer in one hand. Domina, Madame Reia wishes to speak with you in her office. Elyon might be the second-highest ranking Saxen in the dominion, but Reia was the reigning lady. Reia had built her collection of ships and trade through business alliances, investments, and charisma—a Saxen talent Elyon had yet to master. Reia had also built up her power over others by deploying her child-weapon, and Elyon was still bitter about it.

Elyon replied with irritation not intended for the messenger. Tell her I'll come by in a while. I need to clean up.

The woman nodded and hurried off. Elyon followed the aide to the studio door but turned in the direction of her apartment.

When she was cleansed and dressed more appropriately, she arrived at Reia's office through the secondary door behind Reia's desk. Reia did not turn when she entered, but continued speaking with the two women on the other side of the desk. Arms crossed, Elyon stood behind the high-backed chair that hid Reia's golden curls from view. She hated waiting, especially when she had been summoned.

I'll be happy to have my administrators draw up a contract, which we'll send to you to review and amend, Reia said to the women. I'm sure your governor will find our terms amenable.

The women shared an expression of contempt that might have been permanent, but Elyon had seen it before: Many people feared or hated Saxenkind. Their eyes drifted to and hung on Elyon. Elyon stared back, sizing them up. The women's garish business suits told her plenty about their roles and their lifestyle.

All three women stood, and Reia ushered them toward the main door. It opened, revealing one of Reia's many assistants, Milijou, who waited to escort them. Reia said some words in the hallway, then returned to her desk. Elyon took advantage of a now-empty seat on the far side of the desk.

Recognizing Reia's impatient mood, which drifted casually across the desk in her pheromones, Elyon braced herself. As both were Saxen, they shared special abilities that no mere human could fathom. Something about Reia's agitation stirred Elyon further into a rebellious mood, which she did not hide in her own pheromone aura.

What do you want? Elyon asked. She crossed one leg over the other and used her foot to spin the chair side-to-side.

I want you to deliver a message for me, said Reia.

What kind of message? she asked. There were many kinds of messages that Reia had asked her prodigy to deliver when Elyon was younger. Elyon didn't want to do those kinds of missions anymore. She wanted to blend in, to learn to control her temper and her desire for chaos.

It's just a data chip, said Reia. It has to be delivered by hand, by someone I know I can trust.

Flattery was not going to work. Then why don't you send a trooper? You have a lot of those.

Reia's face was tight. It needs to be you, she said.

Elyon knew what this meant. Whatever the task, she would be called upon to do the things she was trying to move past.

No, said Elyon. You know I don't want to be that person anymore.

You will always be that person, no matter how much you try to avoid it, Reia snapped.

An avalanche of anger smothered Elyon into a state of rage. Standing, she leaned over the desk, her body heating up beyond a normal temperature. You said I don't have to do these things any more if I don't want to, she growled, balling her hands into fists and opening them again to reveal flames. Reia did not appear fazed. And I said I don't want to.

Elyon, stand down and get ahold of yourself. You're being rash.

Elyon couldn't attack Reia, but the urge was there—an urge she was certain was leaking in her aura strongly enough for Reia to feel it. She wanted Reia to feel it. But Elyon realized she was doing the very thing she had been trying so hard not to do—acting before thinking, letting her feelings drive her actions. She spent a moment calming herself, then sat back down in the chair with her arms folded in defiance. Reia should not have this much control over her.

Reia's smugness lingered as she sat back in her chair. When you're calm, I would like to discuss this rationally.

Fine.

Reia waited until Elyon returned to a normal temperature. As soon as Elyon expected to resume the discussion, Reia extended the silence, which sent Elyon into a rage again. Reia was doing it on purpose—forcing Elyon to show control. And by forcing her, it made her all the more angry.

It was a perpetual spiral—unless she did what Reia wanted and let her rage go. It always came down to doing what Reia wanted, never what Elyon wanted for herself. Reia never asked, she demanded. Giving in wasn't easy, and it tested her patience more than it tested Reia's, who sat back with weary serenity while Elyon pulled herself together. When Elyon thought she had it under control, she said, I still don't want to do it.

Reia cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. You're going to do it. You might even enjoy yourself being away from all the business and the things you hate around here.

Breathe, thought Elyon. Closing her eyes, she focused on her breathing and tried to remain calm. Reia was right—almost everything about living on the Tazaec and being the domina's companion-heir-daughter-pet drove her crazy. Reia was the head of a large business empire, her dominion. Elyon never had the desire to help run it, but somehow, since she had been freed from the Lupis, she had fallen into this role. As much as she hated the activities involved, anything was better than being a slave to that horror of a warlord, Vindik. She would never feel remorse or regret for killing that monster a rev ago.

Now, said Reia, apparently sensing her resignation, can I tell you what you need to know, or shall we waste another twenty minutes?

It's my time you're wasting, Elyon thought. I'm not your pet, she said.

True, said Reia. You're my child. I raised you. I made you who you are.

I hate who I am, said Elyon.

You hate not fitting into a world where your talents are not appreciated, said Reia. You know we're trying to change our social status. So let me give you the outlet to express your true self, and you'll feel better.

Elyon slumped in the seat. She hated when Reia's logic was sound. Fine.

A tight-lipped half-smile threatened to set Elyon off again. I'd like you to meet someone named Evinder Trisham on Reklar 3—

What? Elyon interrupted. That's too close to Reklar Titus! Elyon's narrow escape from Reklar Titus, after causing a station-wide lock-down and a manhunt for her, had put her on the Coalition's list of fugitives. A vast, militarized culture, the Coalition occupied more than a quarter of the galaxy. Its navy, the C.N., considered the so-called independent Reklar stations within their domain. Independent stations were rife with lawlessness, and the C.N. enforced their laws with impunity. Everyone outside the Coalition hated the Coalition.

Reia continued. On Reklar 3, you'll meet with Trisham and hand off the chip.

Elyon stared at Reia. That's it? It couldn't be that simple. Otherwise, what did she need Elyon's talents for?

That's it, said Reia. Then you can come home.

Why can't a trooper do it? Or one of your assistants? Reia had to be hiding something. She was always hiding something.

Because Trisham needs to see you in person. You.

Now Elyon was really confused. Who was this person and— Why? she asked, extending the word for a whole breath.

It doesn't matter. Deliver the chip and return. You're the guarantee that it's legitimate data that I'm handing off.

I take it she gets a lot of fake data chips?

Something like that, said Reia. It's important for our business to make this transaction, so just get it done.

Elyon frowned, pulling her feet up onto the seat and wrapping her arms around her knees. The chair continued its slow spin until its momentum ran out. Going to Reklar 3 was risky. Doing Reia's clandestine business transactions added a level of tension to the mission—tension she hadn't felt when she was younger and naive and wanted to please Reia and their boss at the time, Baisen. She was older now—17 according to her telomeres—and she had discovered there was more to life than obeying her masters and her trainers.

In moments like this, Elyon wanted to be with Boone. When he wrapped his arms around her, she relaxed in a blanket of security. He was a comfort in her world of chaos, even when she made the chaos herself. If anyone showed her respect and treated her like a normal person, it was him. And he smelled good…

Reia snapped Elyon's attention back to the present. I just need to hear you say you will do it.

I won't, Elyon thought. I shouldn't. I can't. Fine, she said.

I want to hear you say it.

Elyon rolled her eyes with dramatic flair. Yes, I'll do it. Resigned, she asked, When?

Reia's satisfied smile almost plunged Elyon into anger again. She always gets her way. Always. Reia said, How soon can you leave?

Seriously?

Yes, seriously, said Reia. Elyon inhaled a long, deep breath to prevent another outburst. The sooner Trisham has her chip, the sooner our plans move forward. All right? Get in, give the chip, get out. Should be easy.

Staring again, Elyon asked, So I'm not going in to kill someone, or send that kind of message, or any of the stuff I used to do?

In, drop, out. You don't want to be violent, and I wouldn't want to make you do anything you don't want to.

Elyon didn't believe it for a moment, but she held out her hand. Reia put the chip—about the size of her thumbnail—into Elyon's palm, which she slid into a hidden pocket beneath her outer garment. If the C.N. discovers I'm on Reklar 3…

They're not looking for you. Reklar 3 is old and practically abandoned. I doubt they have surveillance at all. You'll see—it's not the most attractive group of people living there.

This did not give Elyon confidence. Confidence she would have to dig up on her own.

Take a solo. Keep a low profile and no one will know you were on the station at all.

Elyon sighed. Her unique blue skin and red hair were not conducive to a low profile. Evinder Trisham. In and out. It should be easy, but Elyon knew her own penchant for making things problematic. It would be a good test of her resolve to avoid violence and maintain self-control.

Good luck with that, she thought.

03 Rations

Quadrant: Penumbra

System: Roma 9

Ship: Makellan

Jett brought the Kimmi to coordinates near the Makellan and its fleet, but far enough away to steer clear of its traffic. Roma, one of hundreds of brown dwarf stars in the space between the Fringe and the Penumbra Quadrants, was an outlier ejected from a high-radiation globular cluster. The star system was old and not contained within the usual flat planetary disk. Roma had a large, blue-gray ice giant, its ninth planet. Backing the fleet against the planet protected them from unexpected approaches from the planet side.

Boone dropped into the jump seat behind Samon. With all the jumps and Jett's maneuvering, he wanted to get this queasiness under control.

Good work, he said, feeling awkward. He always felt awkward giving praise to people who were more experienced and older than himself. There wasn't much piloting skill in higgs jumps, and they were always the first resort for fleeing unwanted attention. But sometimes, as with this time, knowing the most efficient way to shake a ship off one's tail was a talent Jett had in spades.

The Kimmi rotated to align with the fleet's gravitational plane and docked to a passenger hatch connected to the Makellan. The dreadnought was almost a kilometer long, while the Kimmi was barely thirty meters. A gangway sealed the short distance between the two ships.

Once inside the Makellan, a wave of satisfaction and pride swelled up inside Boone. He had pulled it off, almost exactly as planned. And as usual, a little spontaneity got them out of a bad situation, although it was Jett's cleverness this time, not his own.

Commander Cotsern waited for him in the docking concourse, her arms folded across her chest. Her chestnut eyes gleamed within a scowling facade. Boone knew this look—it was a combination Cotsern seemed to embody full-time. You're an idiot, it said, but since you got away with it, I'm happy for you.

Tralucki? she said as he neared her. Jett and Samon threw each other a grin and carried on, but Boone stopped, confused. How could she know? Your facer is still connected.

Boone ripped the interfacer off his ear and swore. If he was broadcasting the