Date Point 10y4m AV
Byron Group Headquarters, Omaha, Nebraska, USA, Earth.
Kevin Jenkins
Rachael glanced up then gave him her professional smile and gestured to the door. “Go right on through, Mister Jenkins.”
“Thanks Rachael.”
Of all the perks that he had acquired during the last few weeks, Kevin was finding that the one he enjoyed most was that he could walk into Moses Byron’s office whenever the hell he liked. Nobody else in the Group enjoyed that privilege.
He whispered to himself as he entered Byron’s office, reflecting on his expensive suit and six-figure salary with bonus. “Look at me now, Moira…”
“What was that, Kevin?” Byron set his tablet down on his desk and looked up.
“Just talkin’ to myself, boss.”
“Only way to get some intelligent conversation sometimes.” Byron chuckled, and sat back, folding his arms comfortably. “What’s up?”
“Company wants a final report on that lunar jump beacon. Figured it’d only be fair to get your side.”
Byron frowned. He hated having the subject of that particular blunder raised. “Agent Williams already got that out of me.” he grumbled.
“Figure she’s not interested in hearing the positives, Mister Byron.”
Byron made a tired noise. “What is this, Kevin? Good Cop Bad Cop? Am I paying you to be my interrogator now?”
“You’re paying me to make sure the Company never has to visit your office ever again.” Kevin pointed out.
“Okay, okay…” Byron stood up and hit his wet bar again. Kevin had noticed he did that in pretty much every meeting, and also that – excepting the meeting with Special Agent Williams (AKA Darcy) – he never actually drank what he mixed. Presumably it was all a ploy to put his people at their ease and steer the conversation his way. “What’s your poison?” he asked.
“I’m fine without, thanks. One DUI is enough for a lifetime.”
“We’ve got people could drive you back.” Byron pointed out.
“Takes all the fun out of it, boss.”
Byron sighed and reclaimed a little momentum by mixing something for himself – a Virgin Manhattan – before sitting down as he dropped in the maraschino cherry. “Okay. Fire away.”
“Robert Frost.”
Frost had been one of the four crew on Reclamation, the ship that Byron had sent out to investigate the disappearances of BGEVs one, three, four and six. Somewhere during the ill-fated mission’s chain of misadventures, Frost had been forced to take a translator implant. He’d been under the scanner of a surgical robot, about to have the implant whipped straight back out again, when a Hierarchy agent had stepped into his head and used his body to murder the Reclamation’s captain, Jason Nolan.
Things had only gotten worse for them after that, but a full recording of the changes in Frost’s brain as he was taken over had, briefly, been in the hands of the Byron Group’s scientists: Byron had promptly deleted it.
Byron set his drink down, a little too sharply. “What about him?”
“Williams wasn’t impressed that you destroyed evidence there. The scans of his brain, all that stuff…”
“Unethical.” Byron grunted. “Couldn’t be used without huge human rights violations, and couldn’t be kept without maybe ruining the Group if it ever leaked.”
Kevin had to agree, but he had the questions he’d been instructed to ask. “Not even to research ways to stop the control from happening?”
“I trust my people.” Byron said. “Whenever they know things I don’t, I defer to them. That’s true of you, and it’s true of Ericson and Billings. Both of them recommended destroying the data. When I discussed the implications with Mr. Williams – our Williams, that is, our chief of security – he said the exact same thing.”
“And why not forward it to the government?”
Byron snatched his drink up again and stood to tour the office. “This may come as a surprise to you, Kevin, but I don’t trust the government.” he said, fetching up by the window. “The government has been sitting on a secret this huge for years. It knows who destroyed San Diego and why, and more defence spending than my whole Group is worth has gone dark in going after them. All of which has vindicated my lack of trust in them, which I’ve had since long before pretty little Agent Williams waltzed in here and told me off like a naughty schoolboy.”
He drained the mocktail in one, and set it down on top of his bookshelf with a shaking hand, plainly angry.
“Extinction?!” he snarled, spinning around suddenly. “These people are playing with extinction and they’re keeping people like ME out of the loop? People who could help?! Cause yeah, I knew something was up with the implants, but I was worried about… corporate sabotage, or spying. I was worried about losing more good people, so I added a failsafe to get them home fast in case something went wrong. Stuff like that, small tragedies that we could handle! Nobody said a dang thing about extinction, and I had no good reason to suspect it was even on the cards! But nooo, only the government can handle the responsibility of playing games with the lives of billions! Only the government has that right!”
He strode back to his chair and threw himself into it. “If I wasn’t happy with having that data used by my people, then what in the Sam Hill makes you think I’d forward it to the government?” he asked. “It’d be just as unethical if they used it, and just as ruinous to us if it ever got out that we were the ones that supplied it. And you can put every mother-loving word I just said into your report verbatim, Kevin. I don’t need a positive spin on that one.”
Kevin took a deep breath and gave it time for some of Byron’s rage to dissipate out of the room. “You sure you don’t want something with alcohol in it, Boss?” he asked, lightly.
Byron grunt-chuckled. “One liver’s enough for a lifetime.” he said, echoing Kevin’s earlier sentiment. “Reckon if I start drinking every time I get stressed, that way lies a couple transplants. No thank you… did the Company want you to ask me anything else?”
“I think you’ve said enough.” Kevin replied, putting his phone away – he’d recorded the whole rant. “Anything you need from me before I head back?”
“Matter of fact, there is.” Byron stood up again, and retrieved an old-fashioned physical document in a slim black plastic folder from atop his filing cabinet. He spun it onto the desk in front of Kevin. “You hear all the brouhaha up in Vancouver over the three space cadets who came home?”
“They’re fellow abductees and friends of an old friend, in fact.” Kevin said, opening it. The folder contained duplex printouts of the three Sanctuary survivors and a quick run-down of everything that the Group had been able to learn about them. Even at a cursory glance, their summaries made for impressive reading, and they didn’t include some of what Kevin knew about Kirk and his mission.
“No kidding? Well, I want them for EV-Eleven, not least because this Etsicitty fella’s got about the most sophisticated prosthetic foot on Earth and that’s a market I wouldn’t mind breaking into. Any objections?”
“None, so long as that’s ALL they’ve got, cyber-wise.” Kevin shook his head. “It’s only stuff that touches the brain that I’m worried about… though, for personal reasons, I wouldn’t mind having a word with them.”
“That’s fine. Not a bad idea if you meet them in person and assess them anyway. Reckon your other employers will object?”
“I doubt it.”
“Okay. Go have fun talking to your friends of a friend.” Byron technically had to wait for Kevin to decide to leave but, despite that in Kevin’s opinion the man was a high-functioning psychopath and a narcissist, he was still a damn good boss and Kevin didn’t mind letting him think he had the power. Keeping Byron’s ego feeling un-bruised made life easier for everybody else who worked with him.
He stood and headed out. “Try not to get in trouble while I’m gone, boss.”
Byron toasted him with his empty glass. “Kevin, you’re on my speed dial.” he said.
Date Point 10y4m AV
Cimbrean, the Far Reaches
Adam Arés
Training for the SOR was a delicate balancing act that weighed the need to keep the team on standby ready for a mission should the need arise, versus the hellish demands of keeping their bodies in the proper condition to go on that mission.
The result was training that varied in intensity throughout the week on a pseudorandom schedule, one day of which was the Heavy Day, followed by a light day for recovery.
Heavy day was designed for maximum effect at the expense of leaving the operator burned out and shaking, often barely able to move. Today was Adam’s heavy day, and he’d elected to go for a simulated suit run.
These were pretty simple: Wearing the EV-MASS undersuit under a weighted replica of the midsuit with a full tactical load – an arrangement that was actually worse to wear than the suit itself because it was loose on him rather than hugging tight and supporting its own weight – he set out for a dawn-to-dusk run. Pick a direction, go. Turn back at noon. And if you had any designs on saving your energies on the run out, you were just hurting yourself and everybody else you might need that little bit extra performance for.
He’d settled on a road run today, and had set himself the challenge of making it out as far as the coastal outpost of New Penzance.
New Penzance was nothing more than a research outpost – it had a cabin for the researchers, a boat shed with launch ramp and a weather station, and a radio mast for talking to Folctha. The parking lot was bigger than the combined footprint of all the buildings, and Adam jogged across it, slapped the side of the cabin, panted a smiling “hi!” to the surprised residents who were tending to their boat, then turned and jogged back down the access road, checking his timepiece. He’d made it just before noon, so when he reached the end of the access road he turned left and continued along the coastal road for another twenty minutes before the alarm went, calling him to turn back.
The return journey was always the worse. On the way out, even pushing the pace as much as he needed to for good training, he could at least enjoy the scenery, take in his surroundings, and they were fantastic surroundings.
The coast skirted the edge of the Scar, or the TMAZ, or the Skidmark, or whatever you preferred to call it, and so the lush Cimbrean forests that had once come right down to the tidemark – and the mangrove-like things that had once lived beyond even that – were now gone. Here and there a decaying stump jutted out of what was rapidly becoming scrubby coastal grassland. Imported Earthling grasses were outcompeting the native plants at an astonishing rate as they crowded out the sunlight and whipped the metaphorical rug out from under them.
A bird – an actual Terran bird, sleek and agile – whipped overhead, speared down into the grass and came up with something that could only be a native in its talons. An Earthling wouldn’t have been quite so… exploded.
A convoy of logging trucks swept up the road headed away from the city, and he raised a greeting hand when the lead truck honked at him. There was a lot of alien timber out there, and no point in letting it get eaten or choked by imported alien insects and plants. Folctha was getting hugely wealthy off a continent’s worth of virgin extraterrestrial forest, and most coveted of all was Pinkwood, with its delicate striations of alternating bands of dark chocolate and taffy pink grain. As a structural material it was worthless: as a luxury decorative wood, it was the most coveted thing on either planet, and its looming extinction made its devotees all the more crazy.
Of course there were protests and environmental campaigners who decried the rapacious logging of an endangered species, but the Reclamation Project had pointed out in an impassioned statement that the tree was extinct anyway, given that it was only a matter of time before the last one was killed by a marauding immigrant. In the face of which every veneer, tabletop and decorative turned piece that lived on as a treasured heirloom or favorite gift only served to prolong the plant’s unfortunate legacy and to remind humankind of the degree of care and seriousness with which interstellar colonisation would need to progress.
Adam’s muscles had been gently burning away all morning of course, but as he entered the young woodlands around Folctha, and more importantly when he crossed the field threshold for the gravity generator, ramping up from Cimbrean gravity to Earth gravity in about ten paces…that was the point when he hit the wall.
There were only so many energy-saving tricks that a man could do in these circumstances. He could stay hydrated, suck down electrolytes and sugar like his life depended on them, allow himself timed and brief rest breaks to stop, engulf an energy bar and recover a few drips of reserves before powering on…
But the only way to really get through was the trance.
PJ training had only reinforced something that Legsy had taught him when he was sixteen – that the human brain could enter a mode where pain, hunger, fatigue, thirst… all of it became abstract information. In such a state, focused completely on putting one foot at a time that little bit closer to home, a man could run, and run, and run, and run. The sun took its sweet time in ambling down to ground level, and the kilometers ticked by sporadically: vanishing in handfuls, and yet each one taking an age.
Adam had another level beyond the trance which he saved for the most serious exercise, when the only way to move forward was to literally break himself. He wouldn’t need it today.
There was an established end-point at the base: Rebar had rigged up a sheet of metal that rang like a gong when slapped in the big red circle at its center. Your run or whatever you were doing wasn’t complete until you staggered up to it and rang it, did a circuit around the dorm for good measure, and slapped it a second time.
Getting there involved thumping doggedly along the coastal highway, past the building he co-owned with Titan on Demeter Road, up Delaney Row, into Newlands Park and uphill beside the river as the lights came on to celebrate the hours of darkness. He crossed at the western footbridge, forced himself along Peake Way, past the MPs on gate duty, past the Gravball hall and the scenario course, past the open field where all of the base’s staff who weren’t Spaceborne Operators did their PT, up to the dorm, slapped the gong – this was where it got truly difficult in the last few seconds – staggered around the dorm counting every last step, slapped the gong again and…
Pain. Pain, exhaustion, weariness and reality all flooded back in as he let go and started thinking again.
Mechanically, his hand hit the stop button on his timepiece, then grabbed his drinking tube and he took a long, thirsty pull of his custom cocktail of high-performance sports drink.
He sat down on his butt, rolled backwards, and lay there for a minute or two while his breathing slowed and something resembling energy started to soak into his tissues again.
Voices started to percolate into his sphere of awareness, and there was something… familiar about one of them.
Well, okay. Every voice on the base was familiar, but this one was familiar in a way he hadn’t heard in a while.
”…just ran past me without acknowledging me. Do you think he’s okay?”
“Relax he’s fine. Ain’tcha Horse?”
Adam opened his eyes. Baseball grinned down at him. Standing next to him wearing what was probably an expression of concern, were two Gaoians. He didn’t recognise the female, but the male? He knew that white cowlick anywhere, especially coupled with a new prosthetic paw.
“Oh. Hey Dexter. How’ya doin’?”
The female chittered a Gaoian laugh. “You were right, Regaari. He’s overflowing with enthusiasm to see you again!”
Even Adam managed a laugh, and waved a hand reassuringly. “Just…” He looked to Baseball. “Whassat words the Brits use?”
“Knackered.” Base grinned. “How’d you do?”
“Got out past New Penzance.” Adam smiled.
“Shit!” Base swore, though his grin got all the wider. “You know we’re gonna have to try for Big Bay now, right?”
“No way your slow ass is getting out that far.” Adam grunted. He rolled over and, agonisingly, hauled himself upright with Base’s help.
“Right, ‘cause you’re Speedy Gonzales.” Base teased.
Adam chuckled. Olde-tyme racist though it was, he’d always loved that cartoon. “Andale! Arriba!” he grunted, and began the laborious process of rolling over and heaving himself upright.
“Are you alright, Warhorse?” Regaari seemed genuinely concerned.
“I’m fine.” Adam reassured him. “Good training. And… hey! Good to see you, bro. Figured you’d come calling sooner or later.”
He hit the release on his bag and let it slam to the ground. Both Gaoians took an alarmed step back.
Ayma made an alarmed chirruping sound. “You were running carrying that?”
“Yyyup.” Adam nodded then aimed a thumb at Baseball, who scooped the bag up easily and slung it over his shoulder. “His turn tomorrow.”
“But that must weigh…” Ayma paused and evaluated it.
“‘Bout five times what you do.” Baseball told her. “It’s just what we do. You comin’ in for movie night, Hoss?”
“Ooh, what we watching?” Adam asked.
“You get the deciding vote.” Base told him. “Terminator Two, or The Windup Girl?”
“Oh man, we having a good movie night?” Adam asked. “Uh… Judgement Day, I guess.”
“Tee-two it is.” Base smiled. “Go on, bro, hit the shower.”
“Crue patch first. Ten milligrams.”
Base had already palmed one, and produced it with a smirk. “Pussy.”
Adam rolled his eyes even as he took the patch and pressed it firmly to his aching right knee. It had definitely gone click in a nasty way during his final circuit of the dorm. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see how tough you are when you try an’ run to Big Bay tomorrow, tough guy.”
“Man, get your stinky ass in that shower so we can watch Ahnold do his shit.”
They knocked fists, and Adam did as he was told, hobbling his way round the dorm’s side to the locker room and shower block.
Ordinarily, he would have soaked at length, but the lure of a good movie, gaoians, and the bowl of jambalaya he had waiting for him was all too strong.
He swung by the kitchen to grab his dinner, took a couple minutes to microwave it, and headed for the couch. Disappointingly, Dexter – Regaari – had elected to maintain his dignity in front of the female, and hadn’t joined the comfortable, warm tangle of relaxation on the couch. Adam could relate. He’d felt similarly awkward on the two occasions when Ava had joined them for a movie.
He stomped on that thought immediately and found somewhere to insert himself on the couch.
“So what is this movie about?” Ayma asked, perching herself delicately on the armchair, which was otherwise only ever used by Major Powell, on the rare occasion that he joined them.
Akiyama, as always, was the one who leaped to summarizing it. “Uh, okay, so this is the second movie in a series and… what happened was that some idiot invented a computer that took over the world and killed most everyone. This dude John Connor…”
Ayma listened, rapt, and occasionally asked questions about the time travel aspect of the story, and Adam grinned silently to Regaari when he climbed up onto the back of the couch and made himself comfortable.
“Everything okay with you two?” He whispered.
Regaari’s ears drooped very slightly. In order to avoid triggering the translator and having Ayma overhear, he had to reply in his faltering English. “She…only want be friend.”
“Ouch. Sorry, bro.”
Regaari made a complicated duck-wobbling motion with his head that probably served as a Gaoian shrug. “Is best, prob’ly. Make hard with other Gao. They not ready.”
He flashed a few teeth imitating a smile, and extended a bunched fist, which Adam happily met with his own, and they settled back to watch the movie.
Schwarzenegger was in the middle of spin-loading his shotgun when there was a knock on the door and Powell shoved his head round it. “Stay seated lads.” he ordered, even as the men on the couch were beginning the undignified scramble to get upright. “Sorry for interruptin’, but summat’s come up.”
Ayma stood up and gestured to his seat, a gesture he acknowledged with thanks as Titan paused the movie.
Powell perched on the edge of it. “General Tremblay just got back to me about our Gaoian friends visiting Earth.” he said. Adam shot a glance at Regaari, who nodded. “It’s all gone a bit political, he says, and he wants to know how soon we can make it happen wi’out compromising on safety.”
“Sir… so soon?” Rebar asked. The men disentangled themselves and settled into an alert posture, engaged with the conversation.
Powell admitted a small twitch of frustration, which coming from him was a sure sign of stress, along with his thickened accent. “Ambassador Hussein got involved. Dunno why, an’ I wasn’t told.”
Regaari growled. “Father Rafek.” he said, referring to the current Gaoian ambassador. “He’ll be keen to win points with Mother Yulna for his clan.”
“It will backfire for him if he presses too hard.” Ayma promised.
“Whatever the reason,” Powell said “I have my orders. Two Gaoian VIPs to visit Earth ASAP. Thoughts?”
“They’ll need the full-time attention of two Protectors, sir.” Base suggested, immediately. “We’re the only ones with the training in ET medicine for if they get infected or inhale an allergen or something.”
“And personal protection.” Adam agreed. “Lot of folks on Earth who might want to make some kind of a statement.”
“Statement?” Ayma asked, ears swivelling in mixed curiosity and alarm.
Regaari seemed similarly concerned. “You think assault is a possibility?”
“Bombs are a possibility.” Blaczynski told them, a little too bluntly. He promptly received a light slap upside the head from Murray.
Ayma didn’t take it well. “Bombs?!” she squeaked. Her ears plastered themselves to her scalp and the fur along her spine bristled. Regaari shuffled closer to her and placed a comforting paw on her upper back.
“Worst-case scenario.” Powell told them, reassuringly. “And highly unlikely. Bomb plots take time to organise and if this goes quick and smooth, there won’t be that kind of time. Still, we have to consider all possibilities. So, it’s agreed; One protector per VIP. Aggressors? I’m thinkin’ not necessary.”
“Probably not.” Firth agreed. “Horse and Base have got Personal Protection down pat, we’d just get in the way.”
“Locals.” Murray prompted.
“Aye. good shout.” Powell agreed. “If we need a marksman on the roof or whatever, local operators or law enforcement would raise less comment. This is gonna be public either way, but I’d still rather keep us out the spotlight.”
“That just leaves us.” Rebar said, he looked to the Gaoians. “Don’t suppose you guys brought some kinda deathworld hazmat suits with you?”
“No.” Regaari admitted, plainly annoyed at himself. “We did not. We expected longer negotiations.”
“Can’t that nanofactory of yours make them?” Rebar asked.
“Too large.” Regaari explained. “The Springing Ember’s forge is for small tools and utensils, spare components and parts. Not for a whole excursion suit.”
“We could fly back to Gao and acquire some?” Ayma suggested.
“How long would that take?” Powell asked.
Regaari looked at the ceiling, suggesting mental calculation. “In human units… nine days each way.”
“Call that Plan B.” Titan suggested. “We can fix something up for you.”
“You’re sure, now?” Powell asked him. “Earth’s right up there at the top of the list for biohazards.”
“Sir, if we make this thing and I have even a moment of doubt, you’ll hear about it.”
“Make what exactly?” Powell probed.
“Portable biofilter forcefield and a small gravity generator sewn onto a modified MOLLE.” Titan replied. He glanced left and right to Rebar and Sikes who nodded along. “Not difficult, especially if that nanofactory can build some Gaoian-tech ones. Even better if we can send ‘em down to SCERF for Major Nadeau’s team to program and test. And we’ll need Horse’s skills as a seamstress to tailor the harness.”
The major nodded, satisfied. “Time frame on that?”
“Mmm… Two hours to put it together, a day to properly safety-test it.” Titan estimated.
“Two days.” Rebar corrected him. “Once SCERF have delivered the parts, that is. And ideally, sir, I’d press for three.”
“I’ll pass that up the chain.” Powell sat back and rubbed his face. “So. Three to four days minimum, as many as… twenty or so if not.”
“We could… Uh, actually, never mind.” Blaczynski began.
“Problem?” Powell asked him.
“Nothing I can explain in present company, sir.”
Regaari’s head tilted in a way disarmingly similar to a concentrating dog’s. “If you had a suggestion for retrieving the suits from Gao faster than sending the Springing Ember,” he mused “But the suggestion involves sensitive information… Then that implies that your ships have an impressive sustained cruising speed. Faster than I had suspected.”
Adam had already long since noticed Major Powell’s clear tell – when something surprised him or got past his guard, his best neutral expression slammed down, which it now did. Scott Blaczynski, however, was not so accomplished a poker player, and he had to fight to conceal a scowl. Either way, neither man could have broadcast a clearer confirmation of Regaari’s stunning leap of insight.
“I doubt they’re going to comment.” Ayma told him, answering on the humans’ behalf. “Please don’t antagonize our friends, Snowtop.”
“Snowtop?” Adam asked her. Regaari had a faintly put-out set to his stance that suggested a touch of light-hearted teasing.
“Come on, that wicked white mohawk of his? Snowtop’s a good’n.” Sikes grinned. A chuckle swept around the room, and Ayma looked quite pleased with herself.
“I do not have a ‘mohawk’ I have a white crest.” Regaari grumbled. “Or did you think my clan’s name was an accident?”
“Right. Okay. So that’s the Defenders sorted.” Powell grunted, immediately regaining everybody’s attention. “Burgess, Arés? Thoughts on their suggestion?”
“Can’t be too careful.” Base mused. “Fields are great, but any car they ride in’s gonna want to be steam-cleaned and hypoallergenic before they get in it. Same goes for hotel rooms, too.”
“Shampoo, too.” Adam offered. “We don’t want stuff accumulating in that fur.”
“And anybody who shakes hands needs to sanitize first. Even better, they need a Frontline shot.” Base continued.
“Hm. We should have a couple stasis containers on standby too, so if it all goes FUBAR we can extract them to an ET hospital. One of those class ten ones.” Adam concluded.
“This conversation isn’t filling me with confidence.” Ayma confessed.
“That’s because, to be straight with you? This trip is a bad idea.” Baseball told her. Everyone in the room immediately gave him their undivided attention. “You’re only safe in this room talkin’ with us because we’ve all got Frontline implants, and so does everybody else on Cimbrean. So does Zoo Chang, which is why things didn’t go real wrong for your homeworld the second you took her there.”
“Earth,” he added “Is a whole different can of trouble. There’s microbes everywhere. In the air, in the rain, in the soil, on the ground and the walls, on every surface you touch and on everybody’s hands. There’s gonna be viruses, dust particles, pollen grains and airborne compounds comin’ at ya with every breath, and that’s just the stuff that Titan’s harness can deal with. What happens if a wasp decides to ruin your day? What if you scratch yourself on a rusty nail? I don’t even wanna think about what Tetanus would do to a Gaoian!”
He sat forward to lend some extra solemnity to his words. “Throw in the gravity, the weather, the poisonous plants and the fact that some crazy SOB might just decide to take a shot at you for reasons that only make sense to his buggy ass and no-one else’s? And that’s all the stuff we probably know how you’ll react to. How about, uh, atmospheric pollution and heavy metal contaminants?”
He tailed off and looked around. Very, very gently, Powell gave him the nod to continue. “…Look, me and Horse, we’ve got your back. We’ll be there and if we don’t keep you alive, ain’t nobody was ever gonna.” he said. “But this is a real bad idea, mother Ayma. A real bad one. As your Protector, charged with your safety I gotta tell you: the safest thing you could do is not go.”
”…Fuckin’ A.” Adam grunted.
Ayma exhaled at length, looked down, and then back up and met John’s gaze levelly. Her ears were up and forward, and there was a determined set to her stance and the way her claws were slightly out that said everything before she even spoke a word.
“Thank you for your kind warning and counsel.” she said at last, and Adam suspected she was speaking very formally and diplomatically. Regaari had taught him that much about the Gaori language. “But I have a Sister on that planet, and I will speak to her at the very least. We are going.”
Together, Adam and John glanced at Regaari, who was still standing behind her, where she couldn’t see. Slowly, and a touch awkwardly given the different structure of his shoulders, he shrugged.
Adam knew that shrug. It was one he’d deployed himself on more than one occasion when the women in his life were busy making it difficult.
“I think we’ve had our marching orders, major.” he said.
Powell made a deep noise in the back of his throat. “That we have, staff sergeant.” he agreed. “Right. I’ll pass everything you just said along to General Tremblay. Go ahead and finish your movie night, lads, and get a good night sleep in. I expect you’ll be busy tomorrow.”
A “yes sir” rippled through the humans, and Powell stood up. “‘Night lads.”
“‘Night, sir.”
Ayma settled into his abandoned chair as Powell left.
“Where were we?” she asked.
The men exchanged glances, then with a shrug Akiyama hit the remote again and the burning wheel that had been frozen in place on screen for the last few minutes resumed its bouncing journey.
Adam sat back and spent the rest of the movie in thought, pondering the task to come.
Something told him that his coming night’s sleep was about to be the best one he’d get for a couple of weeks.