Page 40 of Stars in Umbra (The Sable Riders #8)

‘I’m not sure how he’s involved with Mo’s predicament,’ Mirage said.

‘Still, with the kind of wealth and influence he has, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s funding the program.

He furthermore made some cryptic remarks to Mo during the Admiral’s Ball on Eden II, and he was lurking around that evening in some shady salesman’s attempt. ’

‘He’s suss, that’s for sure.’

At the sound of the familiar rumble, Rina glanced past the glowing map as Mo strode into the room, cradling a mug.

He looked devastatingly handsome in a pair of faded sweats and a dark, fitted vest.

He walked over to her and gave her a long, lingering kiss that almost had her panting, were it not for the company in the room.

When they broke apart, Mirage was waiting, a faint tapping coming from her heeled foot. ‘You two about done canoodling?’

‘Canoodling? Who uses that word anymore?’ Mo rasped, a glimmer of playful mischief dancing in his eyes.

‘It’s a classic,’ Mirage shot back. ‘Tis a term for people who spent the night fokkin ’ and haven’t quite caught up with the day yet.’

‘Perhaps you can exit and allow us to catch up,’ he growled.

‘Oh, he’s a ray of pure joy,’ Mirage deadpanned. ‘Now, if you two are finished with your PDA, can we focus on the potential doomsday scenario at hand?’

Rina raised a hand, her worry tightening around her chest. ‘ Naam . We need to know a hell of a lot more about Thrall, if and how he is involved with Mo’s neural activation.’

Mirage tilted her head, pursing her lips. ‘The only way we’ll get what we require is to infiltrate him and his operation.’

Rina met her gaze with steel in her eyes. ‘So be it. We go to the Thrall Estate.’

Mo, one hip leaning on the desk, swung his eyes from one woman to the other. ‘ Fokk . Do I get a say in this?

Mirage and Rina locked gazes and spoke as one. ‘ Nada .’

Parked beneath the broad shade of a star pine tree in her parents’ backyard, Mirage’s sleek obsidian Corvette shimmered like liquid night.

The angular cruiser, cloaked from public scans, maintained active stealth mode.

Inside the spacious gunship, the lights were dim, casting a subtle glow over the console as Rina hunched beside Mirage, elbow-deep in intelligence files and satellite sweeps.

Mo lounged in the back, arms folded, energy amped, saying little, eyes narrowed.

Outside, the sounds of the farm carried: goats bleating, hens fussing, the distant whir of irrigation.

Within the Corvette, it felt like another universe.

The covert, neat, and minimalist environment was primed for planning an infiltration mission.

‘The Thrall Estate is buried under a stealth dome,’ Mirage murmured, tapping through data overlays that flickered in the air.

‘I can’t locate clear access, nor any recent schematics, plus it has zero flight corridors above it.

I can’t find any backdoor either. A massive quantum shield mesh covers every inch of it.

We can’t even get a read on what’s inside. ’

‘Fantastic,’ Rina muttered, blowing out a breath. ‘It’s like trying to break into a black hole.’

Mirage narrowed her eyes. ‘However -.’

Mo leaned forward. ‘That’s the tone I like to hear.’

‘I’ve found a possible way in,’ Mirage said. ‘Each second Friday, a couple of Thrall’s operatives leave the estate for lunch. They hit the same spot, The Halo Horns . It’s a tavern that hosts the local riff raff, but serves up a passable pint and even better pub meal.’

Rina raised a brow. ‘So what? You want us to stake it out?’

Mirage gave her a slow, feline grin. ‘ Nada . I want you to approach Thrall’s crew. Get close enough to the ones with the best access level.’

Rina huffed. ‘How?’

‘You make friends, you talk, drink, flash some skin, not you, Mo, Rina. Whatever it takes to get close enough so I can hack their wrist comms. We’ll play it by ear, but be prepared for anything the occasion may call for.

If need be, we grab one of their guards and push him to tell us the intel we’re after.

Or we can either pay him or off him if he refuses. ’

Mo snorted. ‘ Plata o plomo , ay? Silver or lead?’

Rina crossed her arms. ‘There it is, the morally gray Sable ethos. Bribery or bullets.’

‘We’re dabbling in a twisted game with even more fokked up foes,’ Mirage intoned. ‘We have to play dirty, and I have Kainan’s full support. We have no time for - .’

‘Morals?’ Rina cut in, a shiver crawling up her spine. ‘My ethics professor from my military academy is trembling and shuddering wherever she is.’

Mo chuckled. ‘Using conventional means isn’t what’s warranted here. We’ve got to operate like a dark ops crew.’

Rina turned, narrowing her eyes at him. ‘You do know a lot about the shadowy paramilitary wings, soldier.’

‘Indeed, I was a merc, one of the best,’ he replied, deadpan. ‘A Six Flaco Mercenary operative. Before I dialed it down and joined the side with seat belts.’

‘Right,’ his lover quipped, with an arched brow. ‘That explains a ton.’

‘I’ve done worse for less,’ Mo confessed. ‘This is for a worthy cause.’

They exchanged a short, significant glance.

‘Indeed. So what’s the plan?’ Rina asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Mirage brought up a holo map of the tavern. ‘You and Mo go in. Act like a loud, drunk, wild-in-love couple. Pull focus. Perhaps consider getting close with one of Thrall’s people so I can hack them, or steal a passcode, whatever we need to penetrate that dome.’

Rina eyed her lover. ‘We’re going to flirt and brawl for sinister secrets?’

Mo leaned in, his grin lazy and lethal. ‘You’re concerned we can’t pull that off?’

‘I’m worried we’ll end up doing more than brawling.’

Mo growled, tugging Rina close. ‘I’ll show you more than brawling.’

Mirage stood, rolling her eyes as the pair kissed. ‘Get a room. Meanwhile, give me a few and I’ll send instructions with all the guidance you’ll need. Times, locations, the guise and clothes, even a freakin’ flyer to get you there.’

‘I hope this bloody works,’ Rina muttered, held in Mo’s arms.

Mo let her go, with another soft brush of his lips on hers. ‘It’ll work, mi kaya ,’ he rasped. ‘If not, we’ve got the Queen of Improvisation on our team.’

‘Now you’re talking, I do like being called royalty,’ Mirage murmured as the couple headed for the exit. ‘See you both soon.’

Rina raised an eyebrow as they stepped off the gunship. ‘Improvising is how people get killed.’

He winked. ‘And also how legends are born. Now let me show you who’s a legend in bed.’

She rolled her eyes and shoved him in the chest with a smirk and a suggestive wink as the sun dipped over the hills.

The cobalt-blue sky of Dunia was beginning to bruise with golds and deep purples of mid-afternoon when they arrived in the Trossachs.

It was a sprawl of jagged foothills that framed the eastern continent like a fractured crown.

Nestled in the valley basin was the hamlet of Rosch Vale, a mining village that wore its age in rust and soot.

The flyer Mirage wrangled for them rattled on its descent, painted in matte copper tones, its undercarriage scuffed and dented in all the right places to look unremarkable.

They landed on the scraggly field beside the Halo Horns tavern.

Gravel roads snaked between red-roofed dwellings, sheet-metal shops, and ale houses with faded signs swinging in the wind.

The town reeked of hot stone, iron grit, and old oil.

Locals moved with slow wariness, their cautious curiosity at newcomers flickering beneath brims and visors.

Outsiders were a rarity here, and Mo knew it.

Mo stepped out first, tugging on the edge of his weather-beaten miner’s jacket.

His boots appeared scuffed, the steel toes showing.

His shirt was damp with stained sweat and coated in cobalt dust patterns he spent an hour applying with a chemical mist.

‘Enjoying your new look?’

He glanced at Rina and arched a brow, eyes trailing over her tousled mane.

It was wild and windblown, similar to the untamed tresses of a rock star’s mistress.

His gaze fell further south to the scandalous curve of her bod in a tight black skirt and a sheer crimson top.

‘Forget about me,’ he growled. ‘Tis all about relishing you, woman. You look like every miner’s walking dream. Sexy as fokk .’

She smirked and brushed an invisible fleck off his shoulder. ‘Well, you look like you crawled out of a cobalt waste pipe.’

He chuckled, timbred and warm, and took her hand. ‘Perfect then. Let’s sell this illusion.’

They swaggered into the tavern, arms entwined, acting the part, her giggling, him half-limping like his boots didn’t quite fit.

The Haloed Horn was a cavern of dark wood, brass rails, and flickering light panels.

The air was thick with the aroma of grilled meats and spilled lager.

It was the kind of place where the clientele either sported old war medals on their collars or openly carried guns and blades tucked in oversized pants and under generous bellies spilling over their belts.

When they walked in, heads turned.

Conversations tapered into murmurs as they got a head-to-toe assessment, then drummed up once more as eyes swung away, disinterested.

Mo huffed in satisfaction. ‘I think we passed the blend-in test.’

They ordered two frothing tankards of bitter draft and found a corner near the laser pool table.

Mo lined up the cue with exaggerated sloppiness, while Rina perched beside him, laughing into his collarbone and whispering between kisses, her eyes never leaving the door.

Just as the third round began, the quietude was split by the roar of approaching skimmers.

Mo straightened and murmured. ‘Incoming.’

All of the newcomers hopped off their fleet of loud, dirt-slicked flyers, boots thudding onto the cracked pavement with practiced swagger.

The Thrall insignia, twin blades coiled in a serpent’s mouth, flashed on shoulder plates and forearms as they strode into the Halo Horns like they owned it.

The pub door banged open, slamming against the wall, and the tavern’s lights seemed to dim.