Page 9

T he transition from chaos to quiet hit him like a slap.

One moment, he was dodging energy bolts in the concert plaza; the next he was walking through the corridors of the Lady's Dream , sterile light replacing adrenaline-sharp sunlight.

His fingers twitched, muscle memory still squeezing phantom triggers as sweat trickled down his spine despite the ship's perfect climate control.

The last off the shuttle, he d deliberately hung back to give himself a bit of space.

His chest hurt like a bitch but he didn t want the others to know.

He d been hiding the fact he was human for years, which on this crew meant he was weaker and less hardy.

Even though they all knew now, it was a damned hard habit to break.

He spotted Rann up ahead. Even though they should all be heading for the briefing room, the pilot was headed the other way. He glanced over his shoulder and Davis took a quick step to the side so he wasn t seen. Rann paused for a moment, then disappeared down a maintenance passage.

Davis reached the corner and slowed down, back pressed against cold metal.

The wall felt good against his fevered skin, but he barely registered the relief as he took a quick glance around the corner.

Ten meters down, half-concealed in shadow, Rann stood with a small comm unit pressed to his ear.

His back was to Davis, shoulders tense as he spoke in hushed tones.

"No, they don't suspect anything yet," Rann's voice carried clearly in the empty passage, bouncing off the metal walls. There was a pause as he listened to someone on the other end. "I know. I'll handle it."

Davis pulled back, the pain in his chest forgotten for a moment. Shit. Rann was working with someone. His mind raced through implications was Rann feeding information to their enemies? The M'Suun attack had specifically targeted the Reapers, which meant there was a potential danger to the crew.

To Mira.

He eased back toward the main corridor, planning his next move. Whatever was happening, he needed proof before confronting Rann or Ryke. The captain's relationship with Rann went back years; he'd need more than an overheard conversation to expose whatever secret they were keeping.

Walking forward, he headed for the briefing room without so much as a glance down the side corridor.

Like he d just been on his way up from the shuttle bay.

He reached the door and walked in, finding a wall to prop himself up against. He bit back his grimace as the torn chest plate pressed against his wound.

Each breath sent fire racing through his torso.

Fuck, that hurt. The energy weapon hadn t been standard merc fare.

Whatever it had done was still working its way through his system, and it felt like being electrocuted in slow motion.

The crew filtered in, shedding gear like snakes ditching old skin.

Ryke and Rann huddled at the tactical display, bathed in holographic blue glow as they replayed footage from the plaza disaster.

Covak sprawled at the briefing table, methodically wiping blood from his gauntlets with one hand while digging a spoon into what looked like a tub of ice-cream with the other.

Jex took up an entire corner, using the Scorperio suit s sensors to sweep the room.

The massive war machine's shadow stretched across the floor like a predator ready to pounce.

Boot steps approached from behind. Davis didn't need to turn; he recognized Mira's light tread.

She slid into his peripheral vision, blonde hair catching the overhead lights as her eyes darted around the debriefing room, cataloging positions and expressions.

Tactical assessment, even here. She was learning.

"Good news first-" Ryke straightened from the tactical display with a smile, "-the client paid. Tried claiming emotional distress until I offered to send Jex to collect personally."

Covak snort-laughed, spewing ice cream particles. "Classic Ryke negotiation technique."

"Now for the bad news." Ryke's expression hardened as he nodded to Anson. "The attack wasn't random. Show them."

Anson's fingers danced across the console, bringing up energy signatures and footage. The screens flashed with overlapping data-targeting patterns, weapons discharge analytics, and finally a fragment of an insignia recovered from the battlefield.

"These weren't random thugs," the B'Kaar said, enlarging the insignia with a flick of his wrist. "They were M'Suun troops. Energy signatures and cam footage confirm clan identifiers."

"M'Suun?" Mira's brow furrowed as she leaned forward, studying the symbol. She shifted her weight, unconsciously moving closer to Davis. "Who are they?"

"Old Imperial clan," Covak answered between heaping bites of his dessert. The spoon looked like a child's toy in his massive hands. "Claim they're princeline descent."

"They're definitely not," Rann snorted from his position near the tactical display, where he was methodically field-stripping his rifle.

The weapon parts clicked and clacked as he disassembled them with practiced efficiency.

Davis tried not to glare at him. Just what was the pilot up to? How could he betray them Ryke?

"Princeline descent? What does that mean?" Mira looked up, confusion evident on her face. A stray strand of hair dropped over her forehead. Davis couldn't help focusing on it, forcing himself not to step in and tuck it behind her ear.

"Once upon a time," Covak waved his spoon like a conductor's baton, "before the first emperor, the Lathar were ruled by seven princes.

Now, every Tom, duck, and Harry claims royal blood.

Trouble is anyone can make that claim, and it can't be proved one way or the other.

" He shoveled another spoonful into his mouth, tongue darting out to catch a drip.

"It's 'dick,' not 'duck,'" Davis corrected, the words escaping before he could stop them.

Covak fixed him with an unblinking stare. "While you might be impressed with it, Davis, I am not interested in your puny human genitalia."

He rolled his eyes and started to fold his arms... big mistake. The pain in his chest spiked, and he tightened his grip on the table edge until his knuckles went white. A wave of nausea hit him hard, and he swallowed, fighting to maintain his composure.

"M'Suun, standard Imperial assholes, doesn't matter," Ryke cut in, his gaze lingering on Covak's dessert. He frowned. "Is that my rum and raisin ice cream?"

"Yep." Covak popped the "p" with obvious satisfaction as he scraped the container clean with aggressive swipes. "Delicious," he added.

"Asshole." Ryke's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "I'm spacing you next time we hit vacuum."

Davis felt Mira tense beside him, her shoulders tightening at the captain's threat. He leaned slightly her way. "Don't worry. He threatens to space Covak at least once a week. Hasn't happened yet."

"But there's always tonight," Ryke added, clearly overhearing. His ice-blue eyes shifted to Davis, narrowing as they cataloged the sweat beading at his temples, and the white-knuckled grip on the table. "You look like shit, Tell."

"Thanks. I try." The room tilted sideways, and Davis locked his knees to keep from swaying. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat sending fresh pulses of agony through his chest. The impact area burned like someone had driven a hot poker through it and was now twisting it for fun.

Mira stepped closer, her movements casual, as if she were repositioning for a better view of the tactical display. She was good, but her concerned glance gave her away. Shit. She'd have seen him take that hit on the comms.

He shook his head, pleading silently with her not to rat him out.

"Davis took a nasty energy hit," she said. Her gaze flicked to the tear in his body armor. "He's pretending he's fine, but he needs Covak to check it out."

Heat flashed through his veins, a flood of betrayal and embarrassment. The word traitor died on his tongue as his ribs screamed with each heartbeat. He'd have handled it himself after he figured out what Rann was hiding.

Ryke's ice-blue eyes fixed on them with unsettling intensity-like a predator suddenly noticing wounded prey.

"Covak!" Ryke bellowed, though the Vorrtan sat barely ten feet away. "Get our engineer to Medbay. He walks, or he goes unconscious over your shoulder." He turned back to Davis. "Your choice."

Covak's grin spread across his face, revealing rows of gleaming fangs. He cracked his knuckles-a sound like small-arms fire in the sudden quiet. "Always happy to provide transport, Mikhail."

"Alright! Fine!" Davis scowled at Mira, then Ryke, finally settling on Covak. "No need to knock me out. I'm going."

He paused as he caught the gleam in the medic's eyes. Covak's healing skills were undeniable, but his bedside manner left something to be desired. Like basic compassion. Or any sense that pain wasn't just a fascinating response to be explored.

"Actually, you know what? You are a shit doctor," he said. "Maybe I don't want to be awake for whatever you call treatment."

He turned stiffly toward the exit, each step sending fresh waves through his chest. Yeah, something was definitely wrong in there. Maybe a torn muscle

Covak fell in behind him, the deck plates vibrating slightly with each of the Vorrtan's heavy footsteps.

"I could carry you there in half the time," Covak offered cheerfully. "Save us both the agony of watching you shuffle like a wounded kreltak ."

"Touch me and I'll rewire your quarters to play Izaean opera while you sleep," Davis gritted out, focused on placing one foot before the other.

One step, breathe, another step. Why was the damn corridor so long all of a sudden? Each step seemed endless, stretching into infinity.

Covak chuckled, the sound rumbling through the corridor. "Threats already? You must be feeling better."