Page 11 of Alien Mercenary’s Wife (Lathar Mercenaries: Warborne #7)

"Fast and loud gets people killed." He leaned back and fixed her with a direct stare.

"Fast and loud also gets results." Eris frowned, tension radiating from her posture. "The longer we wait, the more time they have to track her down."

She had a point. Every hour they delayed was another hour for surveillance networks to tighten around their target. But rushing into hostile territory without proper reconnaissance was how good soldiers ended up as cautionary tales.

“True.” He nodded. “But how bad are Payne's symptoms? Can she run? Fight? Or are we extracting dead weight?"

"I don't know," Eris admitted, her drumming fingers stilling.

"But Payne would have warned me if there were serious problems. She's not the type to hide mission-critical information.

" She paused, considering. "We'll have to assume she's in similar condition to how I was when the Warborne found me.

Mobility issues that come and go, getting progressively worse. "

"Whatever condition your old boss is in, we'll manage," he said, matter-of-factly. "We adapt the extraction to her capabilities, not the other way around."

"Look at this." He highlighted sections of the map with swift gestures. "Security checkpoints here, here, and here. Automated surveillance covers every major approach route. Corporate facilities with their response teams positioned throughout the sector."

The display shifted to show traffic patterns, security rotations, and the electronic signatures of active scanning systems. It painted a picture of urban warfare fought with cameras and databases instead of bullets and bombs.

"We go in quiet," he continued. "Combat shuttle on stealth approach, minimal equipment, extract through service tunnels or maintenance corridors. Keep it surgical."

Eris snorted. "We don't have time for elaborate infiltration plans. Payne sent that message because she's desperate, and we don't know how badly injured she might be."

"We don't have resources for frontal assault either." He pulled up a defensive analysis. "This isn't some backwater colony with local security. This is Earth. They have orbital platforms, atmospheric interceptors, and enough scanning technology to track individual heartbeats from low orbit."

The conversation had been cycling for twenty minutes, each of them approaching the problem from their own tactical background.

Eris thought like a Scorperio pilot—hit hard, hit fast, overwhelm the enemy before they could respond.

In contrast, he thought like someone who'd learned that the most efficient kill was often the quietest one, but who could unleash hell when the situation demanded it.

Either approach could save Payne's life… or get them all killed.

"Compromise," he said finally. "We prep for both scenarios. Primary approach is stealth… minimal footprint, civilian cover, clean extraction. But we position backup assets for rapid intervention if things go loud."

Eris tilted her head, considering. "What kind of backup?"

"Skinny and Red in the second combat shuttle, positioned for rapid intervention. If we call for immediate extraction, they can reach the surface in minutes." He highlighted potential staging areas. "Fin stays with the Sprite, ready to provide fire support or create distractions as needed."

"And if we need to fight our way out?"

"Then we fight our way out. But we try the quiet approach first." He met her eyes across the table. "Your captain survived this long by being smart. Let's not get her killed by being stupid."

Eris was quiet for a moment, studying the tactical overlay, then she nodded.

"Primary stealth, backup force on standby. I can live with that." She paused. "Should we take more people? Extra security, better firepower if things go wrong?"

He opened his mouth to consider the question, but was interrupted by the sound of running footsteps in the corridor outside. Heavy boots pounding against deck plating, accompanied by screeching sounds.

A blur of motion flashed in the briefing room door, and something that looked like a cross between a chicken and a small dinosaur skidded to a halt in the corridor.

The creature's feathers were an alarming shade of crimson, and its beak gleamed with saliva that dripped onto the metal deckplating, hissing on contact.

"Come back here, you beautiful bastard!" Sparky's voice echoed through the ship. "I just want to check your tail feathers!"

The creature paused in the doorway long enough to fix them with one malevolent yellow eye before continuing its rampage through the ship. Sparky followed seconds later, clutching a handful of what appeared to be treats.

"Sorry!" he called over his shoulder as the creature squawked and took off again. "He loves me really!"

Eris and T'Raal looked at each other across the tactical display.

"Two is fine," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Two is more than enough. Now, let’s go save my old boss."

Earth smelled awful. Like that dumpster planet in the Krevanii system where they'd dumped three generations of industrial waste and called it terraforming. Same mix of rot, rust, and chemicals that burned your nose.

T'Raal moved through the crowded streets of Sector 12 like he belonged there… just another off-worlder in practical clothes, blending into the stream of shift workers and cargo handlers who kept the city's industrial heart beating.

The combat shuttle had set them down three blocks from the target coordinates, its stealth systems rendering them invisible to everything short of a direct visual sweep. Eris was on overwatch two blocks north while he conducted the initial recon.

"Visual on the warehouse district," Eris spoke with controlled tension, someone who'd learned patience the hard way. "A lot of industrial traffic, but nothing obviously hostile."

He grunted acknowledgment, his enhanced senses already cataloging threats that human eyes would miss. Years of staying alive had taught him to read a place fast.

The warehouse at the coordinates squatted between rusted shipping containers and abandoned loading docks, precisely the kind of place where clandestine meetings happened.

Three stories of reinforced concrete and broken windows, surrounded by the industrial detritus of a civilization that had moved its manufacturing off-world decades ago.

Perfect for hiding. Also perfect for traps.

He settled into a doorway that offered clear sight lines to the target building while keeping his profile minimal. The position stank of stale urine. Great, just draanthing great. He breathed through his mouth and focused on the tactical picture developing around him.

There were too many maintenance workers.

The district should have been running skeleton crews at this hour, but he counted at least six teams moving through the area. Their equipment looked authentic, their routes seemed random, but their movement patterns set off alarms in his head.

His eyes narrowed. They were covering the ground systematically... like they were searching for something.

There were also too many vehicles.

Three unmarked vans were positioned at chokepoints around the warehouse district.

Not unusual in an industrial area, except that none of them had moved in the past twenty minutes.

Their engines were running—he heard the subtle vibration even at this distance—but their occupants remained invisible behind tinted windows.

Overwatch positions. Or mobile command posts.

And there were no birds.

Most people wouldn't notice that the local scavenger population had abandoned the area. Animals knew when killers moved in. He'd seen it on a dozen worlds.

He keyed his comm against his jacket. "Eris. We've got company."

"How many?"

"Hard count, at least eighteen. Probably more." He highlighted targets through their shared tactical network, painting hostile signatures in his visual overlay. "This is a coordinated operation. Corporate security, not local law enforcement."

They'd planned for this, but hoping for an easy extraction and preparing for armed resistance were different kettles of hippos... or whatever the human saying was.

"Orders?" Eris asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

He studied the situation like he had hundreds of times before. The stealth approach was blown—too many watchers, too much coordination. But the backup plan would still work if they moved fast and hit hard enough to create chaos.

"Switch to the alternative approach. Signal Skinny and Red for immediate intervention." He was already moving, flowing through the crowd with predatory grace. "I'm going direct to the target. You take overwatch and start painting hostile positions for the cavalry."

"Copy that. Moving now."

The encrypted channel dissolved into static as Eris shifted to the backup communication network. The familiar shift when talking stopped and killing started washed over him.

He'd spent the past hour thinking like a rescuer, focused on extracting a wounded veteran from corporate hunters. Time to start thinking like what he really was: a predator who'd learned to kill quietly in places no one would find the bodies.

The warehouse district was about to become a very dangerous place for anyone who wasn't Warborne.

He smiled, the expression carrying nothing resembling humor, and began his approach through the maze of industrial debris. Somewhere ahead, a woman who'd served with honor was walking into a trap.

Time to even the odds.