“Yes, sir.”
“And hurry up and get back to the bridge. Departure is at 0-15.”
“Roger.”
“By the way, what’s duty Sergeant Lequin’s status? He hasn’t reported in.”
Yul hesitated. “Don’t know, sir.”
“That’s Captain Lorde to you.”
“Yes Cap’n, I mean Captain Lorde, sir.”
“Rourke, anything wrong with you? You impaired? And what do you mean you don’t know? He was down there with you in bay L3, wasn’t he?”
Yul winced. Things were going sour. “Hard to hear you, sir. This headset seems to be breaking up. Com must be malfunctioning. Crappy thing.” He whacked it hard against the wall.
The captain’s angry voice surged through the com. “Rourke, you dumb ass, what the hell’s wrong with you? Are you gassed again? I’m sending someone down there.”
Yul heard some more expletives and some mumbling about the shipment being too important to tolerate mistakes.
Yul hissed. “Now what in hell are we going to do?”
Cloye shrugged. “It was you who decided to hop this ship.”
Yul balled a fist. He looked away in indecision. “I have to think.”
“I could kill our sleeping beauty, solve our problem.”
“Wouldn’t help.” He held up a hand. His mind fled over the possibilities. If the captain found Rourke passed out, he’d assume he was intoxicated, had maybe slipped and banged his head. He would order him taken to sick bay before slapping his wrists and taking disciplinary action. End of story. But if he found a dead man, or no man... Better to leave him alive. “Discovery of a murder victim’s only going to complicate things. We’ll have to risk it.” Yul shook his head sadly. This was very sloppy work.
“Suit yourself, ace, you’re in charge.”
Yul scowled, resenting the woman’s sarcasm. “Rourke’ll be out for a couple of hours, if he even wakes,” grunted Yul. “Gives us a chance to come up with a plan.”
She opened her mouth to argue but Yul was at the edge of his patience. “Move!” He shoved her up the companionway, recalling that she would have standing orders from Mathias to terminate him at will. But neither of them could finish the job alone, and he’d have a bitch of a time dealing with an assassin while in investigative mode. An uneasy truce was the only option... He had to reason with this lone falcon. Manhandling her throughout the ship would only get her pissed off, and make his job that much harder.
A wave of heat surged through him. Her sultry curves in such close quarters were impossible to ignore. Rarely was he affected by a woman so shamelessly. There was an electricity about her. Or maybe he’d been out in the hinterlands too long—likely both. Things were never easy on a mission, especially with a woman serving as a distraction.
He felt the tug and flighty, otherworldly lift-off course through his bones. The ship was entering the lightstream to another place in the universe, Hresh’s world and the completion of his mission, if they got lucky and weren’t caught.
Yul moved forward about the deserted halls like a hound on a scent. No question of sitting still. He had to look for some place to ride out the search for the errant duty sergeant. He kept her ahead of him. She seemed reasonable but she might try something stupid even under their dodgy circumstances. At least until this mission was over, at which time they could get to know each other or kill each other, he wasn’t sure which. Too many variables surfaced for his brain to compute—too much beyond his control.
But clear to him that if they didn’t get out of the area where Rourke got clubbed, they’d be discovered.
The ship’s ventilation system was noisy and gave out a clunking rattle. No secret it was an older model. Very old. The artificial grav was archaic and out of whack. Yul’s gait seemed sluggish and his frame slightly heavier than normal as he trudged down the corridors deeper into the ship. A particular rectangular unit was suspended from the ceiling and he cocked his head and leaned in to hear the unit buzzing with an electrical hum—boosted too high. He scowled. Maybe he should lodge a complaint with Captain Lorde...? Wry thoughts like these did little to calm his nerves.
Yul scratched at his shoulders where the skin itched something fierce. The coarse material of the man’s uniform reeked of sweat and rot-gut booze and was not helpful. Combined with his own sweat, the greasy stickiness felt as if he hadn’t washed in over a week.
He did not know how long they would be in light drive. If they were heading for the Dim Zone, it would be at least six, maybe eight hours.
It turned out to be seven.
He ducked back at a sudden noise, pulling Cloye down with him, as a grey-uniformed officer clumped by a cross-corridor. This was the second time they had almost been discovered.
“Only a matter of time before we get sighted and ID’d,” Yul murmured gloomily.
“Do you know this rustbucket well enough to navigate it?"
“There’re three levels in ships like this, as I recall: cargo on lower, ships’ engineering and weapons at stern, the bridge above, the toad-shaped belvedere seen from outside. We could go—”
“Elevators?”
“Maybe, or just a series of emergency stairwells at both ends.”
“Let me go ahead to scout out the ship for you. You hang back here and find some locker to duck into and jerk off. I’m better at this sleuthing than you.”
“Too risky. We go together.” Yul shook his head. Did she think he was that stupid?
“Have it your way,” she griped, staring at him, her dark eyes focusing languorously. “What do you suggest?” She contrived to reach out a hand behind her head, arching her chest, twisting close enough to brush against him.
“Certainly not what you’re thinking,” Yul grumbled.
“Oh, come now, Yul!
