“You put a lot of faith in a drunk girl.”
“Amye’s got issues, but so do the rest of them. I’ve a pretty good idea what they all are except for yours.” Reynard places four sensors in each corner of the room.
“I’ve been in Maxtin’s employ and share many of his confidences. In nine years, I may share some with you. The only way to maintain secrets is to keep to yourself.”
“The Admiral doesn’t share much.”
“Once you are proved to be the value he believes you to be. He takes on a lot of mercenaries, but never have I seen him give any of them the support he gives you.”
“Is that what all these seemingly petty jobs are about?” Reynard presses his watch. The room fills with blinding white light. He lowers his arm from shielding his eyes to find he stands alongside Ki-Ton in an empty room.
“Maxtin demands the Mokarran defeat more than anyone, but not at the expense of the UCP. The Throgen Empire poses a greater threat than the Tri-Star Federation. The UCP isn’t ready. So for now he wants to keep the Mokarran as a buffer, but to do that millions must suffer under their rule.”
“Tough choice.”
“Zayars live a long time, maybe three hundred years, and Maxtin’s a young one at age sixty. If it takes him twenty more years to build a fleet worthy of combating Throgen, he thinks little of those suffering for those twenty years.”
“I doubt he will take their suffering lightly, but to rush too fast and be defeated will ensure enslavement,” Reynard says.
“The Mokarran don’t enslave, and the Throgen Empire does much worse. I’ve become entangled in enough secret missions to have dealt with more than you’ll see in a hundred years.”
“I never thought I’d leave the surface of my home world, let alone see this much of the galaxy a thousand years from when I was born.”
“Maxtin assigned myself and Australia to help you. He said you were taken by the Iphigenians during their civil war with the Halcary.”
“You believe that?” Reynard’s shocked. Most never postulate his story so easily.
“Many have been frozen in cryostats. You are the first I’ve met that was kept alive for so long.”
“I’m still piecing a lot of that together from historical records, but some kind of botched hyperspace jump brought the Iphigenian invasion to my world and they conscripted my people into their war, scattering Osirians across the galaxy.”
“Why they placed you in cryostats would be my main concern. Millions of others they trained immediately to combat the Halcary.”
“I never learned why, but a few others were frozen,” Reynard says.
“My encounters with the Halcary have been limited, and the Iphigenian Empire fell long ago with only a few stagnant colonies surviving.”
“None of their records have much information about their civil war,” Reynard says.
“According to Australia?” Ki-Ton’s normal blank tone looms ominously at Reynard.
“That’s what she said, but there’s a lot of down time in hyperspace. I’ve read some of those histories for myself.”
“Smart. Don’t ever rely on the information given by a Nysaean.”
Before Reynard asks what he meant about his first officer, Doug bursts into the vault followed by JC.
“You get all the smerth’n treasure?” Doug blurts.
“Drop it an octave. There could be a random patrol we didn’t have on the schedule.”
“We inserted Amye into the royal wedding precession,” JC reports.
“And we have the dowry.” Reynard knows his communication officer is aware of his next task with a word. “Doug.”
The strawberry blond dips back through the hole in the vault. He runs his hand along the wall of the transporter room. He reaches a point in the wall behind the control console seat. He depresses it and a panel slides up revealing a weapons cache.
Doug pulls two electric wires from his watch, plugging the leads into the security reader. Reynard peeks over Doug’s shoulder. He has grown to understand only a fraction of the current technology.
Doug works the node into a receiving socket, and it expands to complete the circuit. He pries off part of the card reader and fishes the second wire inside.
“Couldn’t you just jack into the system and tell the lock to open?”
“If I wanted to leave a cybernetic trace pattern. The palace security system records all attempts to use the entry cards.”
“Even if you use a fake, they’ll know someone was there.”
“It can be tricked, but they’ll still have time and location,” Doug explains.
“Anyone monitoring will know someone opened this weapons locker,” Ki-Ton confirms.
“Even if they don’t smerth’n know who. I’m bypassing.”
“Looks like you’re earning back your parole fees.”
Click.
The locker door opens.
“Reach in and take the rifles. But don’t hit the wires,” Doug warns.
Reynard carefully pulls out a rifle and hands it to JC. “Will their own weapons set off the security alarms?”
“Fine time to ask.” JC passes the first rifle to Ki-Ton, before accepting a second and a third.
“We couldn’t stroll around with our own energy weapons because they would be detected. Every guard patrolling the palace would activate the alarms. So whatever frequency modulation these weapons heat plasma bolts to shouldn’t set off an alarm.”
“An operation like this should have taken weeks to plan.” Ki-Ton inspects his new rifle.
“I think we’re doing pretty good for only a few hours of off-the-cuff research.” Reynard pulls out a fourth rifle and slings it over his shoulder. He removes a fifth to carry.
Doug closes the door. Taking in a deep breath, he holds it in. He touches his watch on his right arm, and the wires snip free. When no alarms trip, he allows himself to breathe again. He grabs one of the two rifles JC holds and activates the power source.
Reynard flips his rifle e-clip on. “All we do now is get into position, avoid the guards and wait for Amye.”
BEFORE HER IN all magnificent splendors the wedding precession awaits. As each person or group of people exits the hall into the
