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  “No distress signals detected,” a human crewmember spoke up. The navigator, Andee guessed, judging by the position of his console.

  “I can locate them,” Andee said.

  Captain Hawke peered at her. “How?”

  “If we fly the shuttle close to the ships with the least damage I can get an accurate sense of the crew,” she explained. “Any survivors will read like average living beings.”

  “Captain, we don’t have time for a search and rescue mission,” Lieutenant Loren pointed out.

  “If there are uninfected survivors, they won’t live long enough to be rescued by Alliance forces. We’re not leaving anyone behind. We’ve got the room, and we can use any additional resources.”

  Andee’s brow furrowed at the mention of room, but a resistance ship was designed to transport large groups of freed Cy’ren. Hypothetically they could provide temporary housing for hundreds of survivors, though she doubted that they were currently supplied for that.

  “Aye Captain,” Loren said.

  “Tell your team to gear up and meet you in the shuttle bay. Take Soth and Lady Andelynn with you,” Captain Hawke ordered.

  “No.” Galen barked the word over the comm. and then stalked onto the bridge. “Absolutely not. You’re not taking my mate aboard damaged ships filled with plague victims.”

  “I will be fine,” Andee assured him. “I have full armor. It will keep me safe from infection.”

  “With all due respect, Lord Degalen, I’m sending my mate aboard damaged ships filled with plague victims,” the captain said. “Lady Andelynn will be with two of your shadow swords. They’ll keep her safe.”

  Galen’s lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line, but he nodded tersely.

  “Malcolm, please continue monitoring the area for life signs,” Captain Hawke said. “It’d be a great help if you can give the team any hints on where to search.”

  “Aye, Captain. Good luck, Andee,” Malcolm said.

  Andee smiled, bowed to Galen and followed Soth and Loren from the bridge. She headed to her quarters to arm and armor herself for the mission. A mission—this was an official resistance mission, not a covert assignment for her father where she gathered intelligence or slipped a silent dagger between a target’s ribs. She had never even worn her heavy armor outside of training exercises and sparring matches. When she was ready, she paused to calm her racing heart before leaving her quarters, her breath loud within the confines of her sealed helmet.

  Andee met them at the shuttle—the ship was so small. How would they fit survivors in it? Her hands shook as she strapped herself in, and she swallowed. The hatch sealed, and the shuttle lifted off with a shimmying rumble of thrusters.

  Soth grumbled from the copilot’s seat. “First Viera, now this. Whatever happened to females staying at home and raising the children?”

  Andee chuckled, grateful for the distraction. It reminded her of the grumbling she had heard when she began her training. Over time she had won the respect of even the most hardened veteran shadow swords—mainly by dropping them in combat.

  “Commander, one day you’ll find a mate who will kick your ass for saying that,” she teased, and a snort crackled over the comm. in her helmet.

  “Hope not,” he replied.

  “Lord Degalen is going to kick your ass if he hears you addressing his lady like that,” Lieutenant Loren admonished.

  “Right. Sorry, Lady Andelynn. I meant no offense,” Soth apologized.

  “None taken, Commander.” The truth of it was obvious in his energy. Like any shadow sword, Soth was focused on the mission, and there was nothing negative directed at Andee.

  Lieutenant Loren guided the shuttle out into space. “My lady, we’re going to do a slow search grid. If you sense anything, even something small, please don’t hesitate to speak up.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant. I’m scanning now.”

  Her palms were sweaty within her gauntlets as they began the search. The first three ships held nothing—two were floating tombs devoid of any activity, and the third was filled with infected crew. The fourth ship was the largest, the flagship she reckoned, and Lieutenant Loren’s emotion intensified as they neared it. He recognized it, perhaps from previous dealings with the Alliance, and it was important to him.

  The aft quarter of the ship was nearly obliterated, leaving it without engines. Emergency lighting flickered in tiny pinpricks along the hull, like phosphorescent algae coating the rippling surface of a lake. Andee detected the hunger of the infected clustered throughout the ship’s main decks, and as they neared the bow of the ship she caught several bursts of hope that bubbled like a hot spring.

  “There,” she said. “A dozen…no, two dozen perhaps. Grouped together. I think they can see us, so perhaps somewhere with a large viewport?”

  “The bridge?” Loren guessed. “If they can see us, we’ll be able to see them. I’m going to bring us alongside.”

  The shuttle’s lights illuminated the Alliance ship’s hull as they glided near and slowed as they approached a semi-domed structure with a weak, bluish glow. Shadowy figures waved for their attention from within the transparent viewport, and Soth whooped at the sight of them.

  “Good work, Lady Andelynn,” Loren said. “I’m going to find a clear spot to attach to their hull. There’s no hatch nearby, so we’ll need to cut one for a hard dock.”

  Slicing through the hull was a lengthy process, during which Andee turned her focus to other nearby ships and made notes on a data pad of locations to investigate next. When the shuttle’s hatch finally opened, a human male with white-streaked hair waited on the other side, his face smudged with smoke.

  “Captain Spenser. Welcome aboard,” Lieutenant Loren greeted.

  “Dack?” The human captain smiled in relief. “Am I ever glad to see you.”

  Chapter Six

  Andee and the team on the shuttle saved seventy-three Alliance crew members while Malcolm struggled to recover data and logs from the dying ships. Interfacing with the failing Alliance systems was like standing in a room filled with speakers, each shouting warnings at full volume. Malcolm was left with a throbbing migraine by the time he had downloaded and stored everything he could, but he couldn’t rest yet. There was so much to do, and not enough time to do it.

  Malcolm shuffled after Galen as they headed to a meeting between the command crew of the Talon II and several rescued Alliance officers. He wasn’t sure why they included him—Galen made sense because he was important, but Malcolm didn’t know a thing about the military. Indexers mainly traded in industrial espionage, cracking into commercial databases at the behest of competing businesses. He had never had an Alliance client before, because they seldom ventured into U-territory. Oh, he’d harassed their border beacons for fun, to familiarize himself with their coding, but nothing serious. They weren’t still mad about that, were they?

  They entered the room, and Malcolm smiled at the sight of Andee in her heavy armor, like a fierce warrior queen. Her helmet was attached to her belt, and her hair was twisted up in a messy bun that left sexy strands loose around her face. She broke off from the gathered group to greet Galen. “There’s someone you must meet,” she said without preamble.

  “Oh?” Galen said. Andee took his hand and led him toward one of the Alliance officers, and Malcolm trailed behind, uncertain of what to do.

  “Captain Spenser, this is Lord Degalen Fairren,” she introduced.

  “Talena’s adoptive father?” Galen asked, sounding startled.

  Captain Spenser smiled. “The same. I’m glad to finally meet you. I can see the resemblance between you and my Tali.”

  Malcolm silently agreed. Galen and Talena had the same thick white hair and similar shades of lavender skin, though Galen had intense crimson eyes instead of Talena and Sabine’s feline yellow.

  “I owe you all a great debt,” Captain Spenser said.

  “We were glad to be of service,” Andee said politely.

  Captain Hawke approach
ed and squeezed the man’s shoulder affectionately. “Really it was in our own best interests. Tali would skin me and Dack if we didn’t bring you home safe. Now, let’s all have a seat and get started.”

  She motioned to a nearby table. Several round metal tables were organized in rows in the room, like a cafeteria. Maybe it was—the ship was a passenger transport, or at least it used to be before it had been overhauled. Malcolm hesitated, uncertain of where to sit, but he took the spot to Galen’s left after Andee took the spot to the lord’s right.

  “We need a change in plans,” Captain Hawke began. “We were hoping to meet with the battle group and use our combined strength and resources to locate and take possession of the facility producing the cure. How long will it take command to organize another group?”

  “Too long.” Captain Spenser frowned. “We will waste precious time waiting for their arrival. Better to locate the facility on our own, and then rendezvous with them when we have a location to attack.”

  “Agreed.” Hawke nodded. “Malcolm, can you perform the search with what you have?”

  “No, there’s not enough computing power to break the encryption on the Eppes network.” He scratched his head. “I was hoping to access to the networks on the Alliance ships to boost the processing potential. I can link a few of the remaining ships together, see if that helps. You might want to plot courses for nearby planets where we can patch into a stronger communications network, or better, an Eppes facility that will give us direct access to one of their systems.”

  “Your access to the Collective has been temporarily restored,” Galen said. “Will that help?”

  Malcolm blinked—that couldn’t have come cheap. “It should, but directly accessing an Eppes facility is still our best bet. Go right to the source instead of sifting through the Collective’s files.”

  Lieutenant Loren frowned. “We’re not in good shape to tangle with Eppes defenses right now. Sam is still doing repairs from the attacks on Cyprena.”

  “Maybe we can do a hit and run,” Captain Hawke said. “We’ll prepare a few different strategies. How soon can you attempt the search?”

  “Malcolm has been jacked into the data stream for several hours. He should rest before attempting it again,” Galen warned.

  “No, I can do it. No rest for the wicked and all that.” Malcolm raked a hand through his hair. “I could use some coffee, though.”

  “Coffee’s in the mess hall. Commander Soth will show you where it is,” Captain Hawke said.

  “The mess is my second favorite place onboard,” the shadow sword commented to Malcolm as they left. Soth was so tall it was a wonder he didn’t hit his head on the doorways.

  “What’s your favorite?” Malcolm asked.

  “The armory.”

  “Commander Soth was the head of the Sunsinger shadow swords before he traded places with Lieutenant Loren,” Galen said.

  “Will I regain the position when Lieutenant Loren is on paternity leave, my lord?” Soth asked.

  “Definitely,” Galen assured him.

  “He saved me, you know,” Malcolm said. “Commander Soth and Jace did, from the jump station. Lord Jace, I mean. Wait, that’s not right, is it?”

  “Lord Najacen,” Galen said.

  “Right. I don’t think I thanked you for it. Thank you.”

  Soth chuckled. “You’re welcome. Wish we’d gotten there soon enough to save your friend. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks,” Malcolm mumbled. He rubbed his eyes to banish the memory of seeing Alexi sprawled on the floor outside the back office. That moment was filled with what ifs—what if he hadn’t told Alexi to evacuate, what if Alexi had left sooner, or later. It was his fault Alexi was dead.

  After visiting the mess, Malcolm and Galen returned to the ready room armed with mugs of steaming caffeine—Galen commented that Talena had introduced him to coffee, because she was very fond of the drink. Malcolm smiled at the thought of Talena introducing her long-lost brother to a good, strong espresso. She seemed nice, and he assumed he would spend more time with her if he was going to be an honored guest of House Sunsinger.

  He settled into the chair and connected his data jack. “Preparing to initiate data link. I’m accessing the Collective first, see what they have in their files.”

  The music of the Collective was as familiar and soothing as a lullaby. This was home more than any place he had ever lived, the data stream comforting like the embrace of an old friend. Malcolm settled in and began his search. Though the Collective had massive amounts of information on most of the controlling companies that formed the Syndicate, the Eppes had been notoriously hard to crack. They were über paranoid about the security of their data systems; Malcolm suspected that several “retired” indexers had been hired by the Eppes to create their security. The Eppes were also notorious for covering their tracks by releasing worms and viruses into the data stream to destroy records that did get out.

  But the Collective was even more paranoid, and kept copies of every last bit of data they collected on servers with no outside connection. Malcolm couldn’t access that data at the moment. He’d have to put in a request for an acolyte to do the search for him, but for now he could scan the open archives.

  Most of the information was public knowledge—financial data released by their accountants, low-level contact information for various planetary offices, ships registered in their name, some personnel files. They had their fingers in many Syndicate pies. Too many, really. The Collective had been amassing information on the Eppes, and most of the files had recent timestamps. Was the Collective looking to avenge the other indexers the mercenaries had killed? More likely they were looking for blackmail material.

  “What’s wrong?” Galen asked.

  “A lot,” Malcolm muttered. “This is complicated. The data in this folder connects the Eppes to dozens of corporations, big and small. It’s like a spider’s web, with strands that link to every corner of the Syndicate, including House Nightfall and Lord Bildanen.”

  “Does it say who controls the Eppes?”

  “No, just that someone—or something—does. There’s always a bigger fish. Do you have fish on Cyprena?” he asked, and then waved the question away. “That’s not important. The Collective is investigating. I’ll copy what I can so we can look at it later.”

  Malcolm continued to check the files as he downloaded them, and he noted that many of the company offices seemed to be on Argent. He scowled.

  What’s wrong, my pet? Didn’t you enjoy our time on Argent?

  Malcolm nearly yelped at his Master’s intrusion. A stream of text overrode the data he sifted through, the familiar overwrought font preferred by Archivist de la Cruz.

  “Your cardiac rate has increased to a dangerous level,” Galen warned from his handler’s console.

  “It’s okay. I’m okay,” Malcolm replied. What do you want?

  What do you want, Master, the Archivist corrected. Have you forgotten your manners so soon? Does Lord Degalen allow you to speak to him in such an intimate manner? Or does he have other intimate uses for you?

  Malcolm’s jaw clenched at the accusation, but he couldn’t argue with it. He wasn’t ashamed of it, either. He was fortunate to have been invited into Andee and Galen’s bed—he cared for them, they cared for him. It was one of the more positive relationships he’d had.

  May I help you with something, Master?

  I was simply curious how your relationship with your temporary master was faring. I am quite concerned about you, my pet. I look forward to your return.

  Malcolm scowled. I’m not returning. I’m a free man now.

  Hardly. You are bought and paid for. I merely leased you to the young lord, and when your time is up, I will collect you.

  The world froze around him like a system crash. “But…” he blurted aloud.

  “Malcolm? What’s wrong?” Galen asked.

  Malcolm could almost see his master’s smarmy grin through the text. Archivist de la
Cruz was a slender man with the face of an angel and the rotten soul of a demon. The things the Archivist had done to him, and would do to him again if the bastard had the chance… Malcolm’s stomach heaved and he twisted, the uplink cord yanked free from his data jack as he lost his lunch on the pristine floor of the captain’s ready room.

  Galen darted to his side, and Malcolm shoved him away. “You bought me?”

  “I…” The Cy’ren’s red eyes widened. “No, not you. I purchased your access to the Collective. I had to. It was the only deal the Archivist was willing to make.”

  Temporary access, thanks to his temporary master. Because his real master expected him to be returned. Horrified, Malcolm shook his head. “You said I’d be free. You gave me your word. You lied to me.”

  “No. I’m going to protect you. I won’t let him take you,” Galen assured him. Malcolm pushed him away and lurched to his feet. He needed to be somewhere else, anywhere else. He stumbled onto the bridge, and Captain Hawke looked up at him expectantly.

  “Well?”

  “Argent,” Malcolm replied. “It’s not on Argent. I couldn’t find the location. I need to directly access the Eppes system, and they have a main office on Argent.”

  “All right.” Captain Hawke nodded. “Rizzoli, set a course for Argent. Get some rest, Malcolm.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he replied automatically. Galen asked him to wait, but Malcolm ignored him and stalked away. He needed some space to breathe. And mouthwash. Definitely mouthwash.

  ∆∆∆

  Andee was exhausted but not ready to sleep. She had never used her aleithir abilities for such an extended, difficult task before, and though her mind was weary, her body buzzed with too much energy due to being stuck inside the shuttle for hours. After trading her heavy armor for her uniform, she headed to the armory to practice her sword forms. The familiar, graceful flow of the choreographed movements brought her peace in mind and body.

  Until Lieutenant Loren arrived with his cloud of negative energy and soured her practice.

  At first she ignored him. The blades she wielded required a different fighting style from those used by shadow swords. Andee’s petite build was not conducive to hacking an enemy with a sabre, so she sliced and cut with her curved swords, favoring speed and precision, like a blade dancer.