Page 12 of Stars in Umbra (The Sable Riders #8)
More Patience Than A Saint
MOLAN
I n a subterranean bunker beneath Sable HQ, deep below the layers of security and the buzz of Eden II’s streets, Mo stood in his element.
Sleeves rolled, gloves off, and the scent of scorched laser charges in the air.
The space was industrial and stripped back, a former forge chamber turned into a weapons lab, loaned to him by the Riders for ‘specialized R its narrow walls telescoped inward to conceal the sealed, secure firing booth.
‘Smooth action,’ the woman purred, her voice like honeyed smoke. ‘Works flawlessly, from what I can tell. Though it does prove you’re still hoarding all the pretty toys.’
‘Only for you,’ Mo replied with a smirk, lowering the rifle. ‘Exclusive access, of course.’
She was tall, with a waterfall of platinum blonde hair and red lips curved in a smile of amusement.
Her name was Alara Trevino, a former Galician demolitions expert with the Six Flaco mob, infamous for setting off charges while in stilettos and making it a fashion trend.
Beside her, twitching with the nervous energy of someone always two steps from bolting, was Barwick.
No surname, just freakin’ Barwick.
The Falasian was skinny, stooped, with sunken eyes and fingers that tapped compulsively against the table edge, as if he were entering code on invisible keys.
Barwick had been the merc group’s data rat.
Still was, apparently.
‘You’ve gotten boring,’ Alara sighed, glancing over the curated display. ‘All this legal shit. Where’s the napalm-drone chaos cannon I know you’ve got stashed in the back?’
Mo smirked. ‘I’ve gone respectable. My inventory now won’t trip planetary sanctions and get your base zeroed by a Sable-class warship.’
Barwick picked up a weapon module and whistled. ‘Clean lines. Whisper charge. Reduced acoustic feedback but lacking fire-gel charges. Damn, Mo, you are housebroken.’
Mo snorted. ‘I wouldn’t quite go that far.’
What Alara and Barwick didn’t see were the stealthed crates hidden behind the wall, sealed and slated for destruction or repurposing.
Mo routinely purchased high-risk ordnance off the Dark Net, which was illegal, unstable, and terrifying, and relayed the specs to Mirage, Kage, and Harlow.
Harlow, in particular, had a talent for converting death machines into defensive infrastructure or integrated shielding components.
The rest got vaporized.
What made it past the vetting process, he sold to well-paying clientele like Alara and Barwick.
Win-win.
‘You’ll deliver these?’ Barwick asked, adjusting his wire-thin glasses.
‘It’s an end-to-end service, my friend. They’ll be on their way to Satyriasis on the next courier flight,’ Mo confirmed, sealing the last crate. ‘To your base at Char’s Hollow, via a coded route, no tails. Like always.’
Alara tossed him a gleaming chip. ‘Pleasure, as always, weapons master.’
Just then, Mo’s neural node buzzed in his cortex, slicing through the air like a stiletto in soft ribs. His jaw flexed.
Mirage.
Summons for a meeting with Kainan, priority code zero.
Fokk, he muttered via the cerebral link, rubbing the back of his neck. What have I done now?
Mirage’s voice curled through the comm like silk spun over steel. Nothing yet, soldier. But you know how Kainan gets when he’s a bee in his bonnet. Chop chop.
Fine, see you in ten.
Alara raised a brow. ‘Trouble, Molan?’
Mo huffed, sliding the last crate onto the hover dolly and shoving it into the delivery chute. ‘Probably. Think the boss might’ve found my secret rocket launcher stash.’
‘Go on now,’ Alara teased. ‘Try not to get a scolding.’
‘I can take care of myself, it’s Six Flaco I’m worried about. If your outfit’s involved in the Hussian Delta nonsense, then you have my compassion. I hear it’s been a bitch of a mission.’
‘Thus the much-awaited sweet drop from you,’ Barwick quipped with a wink as the couple strolled out of Mo’s office.
He walked them to the door, eyes tracking them as they slipped into the shadows of the street beyond.
The moment they were out of sight, he hit the security sequence and stepped into the elevator, metal doors closing around him with a hydraulic hiss.
As the lift rose toward the primary levels of Sable HQ, he cracked his neck and exhaled.
‘Mirage,’ he muttered, ‘you better not rat me out for the chaos cannon in your basement.’
Her laughter echoed through his node as he grimaced.
The Sable Group’s CEO’s office was calm and still, a contrast to the turmoil of traffic and whizzing fly craft beyond its windows.
Through the floor-to-ceiling glazing, Eden II’s dusk skyline stretched in jagged silhouettes against a bruised violet sky.
Skiffs and flyers wove between the towering spires, their exhaust trails weaving pale ribbons through the airways like hurried brushstrokes on a restless canvas.
Inside, the hum of ceiling fans stirred.
Alphetraz was in its wane period, so for the next two weeks, the artificial dome of Eden II would light the skies, compensating for the decline.
Despite this, lamps and internal lights were still necessary to combat the constant dusk that now enveloped the moon planetoid.
A single light in Kainan’s office cast long shadows across the dark marble and rich rug, catching on the sleek, severe, burnished steel edges of his desk.
Kainan stood behind it, a colossus of calm authority, hands planted wide on the desk’s surface, his chimeric energy crackling low and controlled beneath his skin.
Kainan’s power wasn’t in motion; it was in his stillness, like a predator about to pounce.
To his right, Zane leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, posture deceptively relaxed.
The cool tactician was like a panther, eyes penetrating and cold as frost, analyzing, calculating, breaking shit down.
His presence filled the corners Kainan didn’t, silent yet freakin’ probing.
Mirage stood near the window, dressed to the nines in a sequined jumpsuit and heels.
Her spine straight, gaze turned outward, keeping an eye over the streets below, quiet but ever aware.
The party of three was unexpected, and the somber expression on all their faces unnerved him no end.
In response, Mo remained at attention, hands folded behind him, shoulders braced, chin lowered, waiting for the axe to fall.
His mind churned.
Was his time with the Riders at its conclusion? What else would call for such gravitas?
Kainan cleared his throat.
‘We’ve been talking,’ he rasped, his energy a tidal wave.
‘Rather, we’ve got a conundrum and it boils down to this: Xion’s buried in Eden Guard guts these days, juggling local crims, street crime, then going to a home with enough children to fill a battle rig.
Kisan, who was going to take on our Chief of Security gig, is now on the fringes of the galaxy, building a quiet life with his family.
They’re both exactly where they need to be. ’
Kainan folded his arms across his chest, gaze sweeping the chamber like a commander surveying his line.
‘However, the Sable Group’s not slowing down.
We’re expanding with new contracts, additional factories, and new adversaries.
With that comes exposure. We’ve got more dignitaries cycling through our airspace than the diplomatic fleet can track.
We have supply runs, intel convoys, relief operations, and private security for half of the Pegasi elite.
Which means one thing: our defense net has to be airtight. ’
Mo moved his arms, crossed them over his chest, eyes narrowed, his senses all over the damn place, his insides clenching. Unsure where the fokk this was going .
Kainan went on. ‘We need an operative to work with Mirage on our internal protection. Not just a soldier, not just a tactician. A guardian. One who’s more familiar with our business halls than even ourselves sometimes.
A defender who’s been guarding our shit for so long, he knows all our ins and outs. ’
He leaned in, his flaming eyes scorching.
‘A kinai with a spine of iron, a mind razor-edged as a rail cannon, unpredictable in all the right ways.’
Mo’s inhale caught, but Kainan kept going.
‘Someone who can lead our internal surveillance ops. Not just keep the peace, but read the cracks in it and man our gates from the inside out. The kind of warrior who can play nice with diplomats and royals, then turn around and break bones in the corridor without leaving a trace.’ Kainan’s gaze honed in. ‘You up for it?’
Mo gave a ragged exhale. ‘Are you asking what I think you are?’
Kainan huffed, then a ghost of a smile played on his lips. ‘ Naam , brother. We are asking you to join us. Become a Rider. Not just a soldier or a collaborator, but one of us. Besides, you’re already family.’
Mo’s entire being lurched. Kainan was inviting him to join the prestigious Sable Group.
They were a close-knit brotherhood, forged over twenty years ago, and Mo had admired them for years, in awe of their ruthlessness, political finesse, and business acumen.
They’d gone from the streets of Eden II to designing high-end luxury yachts and racing boats, all while juggling a significant side hustle: covert surveillance, mercenary armies, and military ships to help defend the System against the coming conflicts.
He’d observed them from the outside with yearning for years.