Star Brigade: The Supremacy (SB3) (22 page)

Being on first-name basis with Bogosian should have felt odd. For Sam, it was business as usual. Many thought their partnership began after the Battle of Terra Sollus—which was what she wanted them to believe. Years before Star Brigade, she had been an undercover operative helping the then junior Senator root out corruption in the Union Bicameral. The memory left a sour taste. Sam had been much different back then, working for a less scrupulous Union agency. She didn’t regret that phase of her life, but didn’t miss it either.

Something below caught Bogosian’s attention. Sam followed his gaze.

Trekking across the grassy earth under the bridge was a single-file line of Korvenite children led by a Kudoban teacher. From hundreds of feet up, they resembled one long millipede scuttling across the land.

“You think we’re trying too soon?” Ari asked.

Sam turned and lurched upright when seeing his drained expression. “What do you mean?”

“I believe in our work.” Ari’s gaze faltered. “But getting the government onboard has been such an uphill struggle. I expected resistance from political rivals.” Ari bowed his head in shame. “But former allies, who think I’m a coward for resigning… I’ve failed so many beings.” Ari’s voice trailed off.

Sam was speechless. Usually the former Chouncilor’s unflappable confidence was unnerving, even with how difficult these past few months had been. “Chouncilor Morje’Huijadan’s still a supporter, no?”

“Not returning my calls.” Ari sighed. “Can’t blame him, after the mess I left—”

Sam had heard enough. “
Hey
.” She grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. “No more self-pitying. You did what you thought was right by resigning. You are doing the same by fixing the Korvenites’ living situation.” She stood now, searching Ari’s face. “So man up and figure out how we get the Korvenites a new homeworld!”

The tongue-lashing visibly staggered Ari. Satisfied, she resumed leaning against the bridge handrail.

“I’m a former Galactic Union Chouncilor,” Ari stated in disbelief, “and you just reamed me.”

“I know. I was there.” Sam grinned crookedly.

“Some things never change.” Ari smoothed out his rumpled shirt with renewed resolve. “Thank you.”

Sam shrugged, feeling at ease again. “Anytime.”

A few orvs later, Sam D’Urso was back on Hollus Maddrone. She sat in her Brigade Intelligence office, addressing a much different audience.

Surje stood right in front of her desk, the pale light of his tricrest a fascinating counter to his glowing crimson skin. At his side was Bevrolor of Azelten, Sam’s second-in-command, the callused grey skin and fluffy sea-green hair strangely matching her broad, homely face. The three-eyed Nubrideen was six feet three inches of beefy muscle, behind only Khrome in pure strength. Sam’s medic Ozaihi-Iphor hung behind everyone. His gaseous form couldn’t survive long in normal atmospheres, so the Ubruqite employed a lean bronze containment suit with a milky ovular mask. Jan’Hax, her recon, looked green, lanky, and roguish. The Ciphereen’s duck-billed mouth pulled into a rascally grin when he eyed Sam. She winked back, her cheeks warming for some dumb reason.

Lastly was tech officer Addison Raichoudry, a petite earthborn standing between Surje and Jan’Hax. Her grey Brigade lieutenant uniform contrasted with everyone’s casual dress. Raichoudry’s raven-black hair was pulled up in an equally austere tight knot, with blunt-cut bangs hovering above her eyebrows.

Sam addressed Ozaihi-Iphor first, “The dead Korvenite in the sewers? Is that linked to prior CoE testing?”

“Hard to say,” the Ubruqite replied. His suit’s voice modulators gave his voice a metallic quality. “But I concur with Dr. Cortes’s analysis. Something drained the life from that Korvenite—”

“Osvorwraith,” Addison said.

That drew stares. “Who doesn’t like a late-blooming comic?” Jan’Hax snarked.

“No. An osvorwraith killed that Korvenite. The markings are telltale.” Addison’s lilt carried a brisk impatience, seasoned by flavors of Bengalistan on Terra Sollus. “When I was with the Children of Earth, a small group traveled outside Union Space to purchase one. Never knew what happened to it. Now we do.”

Sam resisted rolling her eyes with considerable effort. Raichoudry loved telling everyone of her precious undercover stint with the Children of Earth—repeatedly. Before his demise on Beridaas, Jovian Ivers had arranged this assignment without telling anyone else on Star Brigade. This extended Raichoudry’s four-month task by eight hellacious months, with no end in sight. Luckily, Habraum had accidentally discovered the assignment five months ago and immediately orchestrated an exfiltration.

Since then, the Cerc had personally helped Raichoudry reintegrate into Star Brigade. Now she fancied herself as Habraum’s protégé and—obvious to even a blind sentient—fancied him. That amused Sam, mainly because Habraum’s “pet” clearly fancied his authority more than anything else.

“Why are we just hearing about this?” she snapped.

The question irked Addison. “Notes on the osvorwraith are in my CoE files.”

“Amid exobytes of data,” Surje countered, “getting two mentions without context.”

“How much context does an osvowraith need?”

Sam made a sour face. “Plenty, since their existence has been rumored up until now.” She didn’t wait for a reply. “Anything on Reyes and Yin?”

Surje spoke, anxious to please as ever, “We’ve news on them. Our Children of Earth moles—”

Addison rolled her eyes. “We
have
.”

Surje glanced at her, confused.

“We
have
news on our Children of Earth moles,” she corrected, jaw clenched.

Bevrolor yawned, looking bored. Everyone else looked annoyed.

Christ, this one.
“Please,” Sam cut in, “keep us all waiting while you wordinistas do battle.”

Surje gave Addison an angry look before continuing, “The CoE picked Yin up yesterday morning. No word since. Reyes’s still in the sewers. Khrome’s nanovirus has completely integrated with his body. But by how disorganized his movements are, Reyes isn’t going anywhere.”

“Reyes already contacted eleven humans using semi-encrypted transmissions, which I cracked, of course,” Addison noted. Sam watched how the tech officer’s hands began fidgeting when not manipulating code cyphers or some sort of console.

“After voice and visual running crosschecks, we found that three of Reyes’s contacts are sleeper agents,” Surje added, “each implanted within ethnically diverse megacorps.”

Sam rose and rounded her desk, hopeful. “Any of them connected to CoE’s paramilitary arm?”

“At a summary search, no,” Addison said briskly. “They aren’t on my confirmed or suspected operative list.”

Godammit.
Sam pursed her lips to mask her displeasure. CoE’s paramilitary had gone dark after Star Brigade’s last strike. And neither Reyes nor Yin had yielded anything pertinent.

“Surje, get some analysts on those contacts, see if something useful surfaces.” She glanced at Addison. “Along with anything on our osvowraith.”

She addressed the rest of her CT.
My CT. W-O-W
. “We’ll powwow tonight to discuss options. Dismissed.”

Most of CT-2 departed after that. As Surje was leaving, Addison remained. The petulance on her thin lips accentuated those sharp and hard features, making her look older than twenty-four. “Why aren’t we bringing those sleeper agents in for questioning?” Not a question. A demand.

Sam studied her. “Because I said so. And our surveillance hasn’t yielded any ties to CoE’s paramilitary.”

“Addie,” Surje warned, turning an angrier crimson.

Addison ignored him. “Would these sleepers become a priority if they killed more hapless Korvenites?”

Sam tilted her head to one side, patience exhausted. At a glance, Raichoudry was a catch for any military program: sliced into Ministry of Defense networks at age twelve, became Gavron Colony’s top databroker by fifteen, enlisted with PLADECO’s Virtua Network Security Operations less than three years later, one of Star Brigade’s youngest recruits by twenty-one.

But Addison, as smart and gifted as she was self-important and humorless, reminded Sam too much of Marguliese. At least the Cybernarr didn’t need unending validation of her intelligence.

“You’re missing the point, sweetie,” Sam replied with poisonous sweetness, getting in Addison’s face. She had almost three inches on her. “It’s called delayed gratification, which you probably know nothing about.”

A dark flush stained Addison’s coppery complexion. She began to protest, but Sam overrode her. “Taking down the combat cells gives us ammo on who in CoE’s upper echelon gave the order. Then we can topple the whole organization. Therefore, we wait. Is that clear… Lieutenant?”

Addison’s flinty eyes narrowed. “Very…
Captain
,” she almost air-quoted the word. “How could I refute your years and years and
years
of experience?”

Sam bristled.
Pocket-sized bitch!
Habraum’s pet was quickly becoming her
bête noire
. She bit her tongue, not trusting what might emerge.

Addison smirked and marched out past a slackjawed Surje, her gait like a sullen teenager’s.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Surje stated after she left. His glow turned a pale red. “For Addison’s behavior—”

Sam waved off the apology. “It’s fine. We’ll never understand the effort it takes to be Addison Raichoudry,” she stated, a smile in her voice. “Cultivating such genius and aloofness is hard work.”

Surje laughed, his skin glittering with mirth. “I’ll prep those analysts. To monitor the CoE contacts.”

“Get to it.” Sam rounded her desk and plopped into her seat. The Voton lingered for a moment, as if waiting for a verbal pat on the head. When that didn’t happen, he turned to leave.

Sam watched him depart. She had to admit the Voton was improving. He no longer let his Living Light devoutness rule every decision, and worked hard to develop his own intelligence contacts. But Surje’s extreme eagerness to please still grated.
That can be worked on,
Sam supposed.

As field commander of CT-2, Sam had a duty to lead these Brigadiers and nurture their professional growth.

Field commander.
Sam shook her head in disbelief. The title still hadn’t sunk in yet.

She pushed those doubts away to regard the touchscreen on her desk’s surface, skimming her fingers across. A basic cartographic map with a black background appeared, detailing
Phaeton’s
progress to Faroor. The ship just dropped out of hyperspace outside of Faroor’s aerospace.

I should be there when CT-1 engages Ghuj’aega.
That absence sent a sharp pang through her insides.

Sam couldn’t help checking on CT-1’s mission progress, despite how many times she reminded herself that Habraum would be fine without her. But as acting Brigadier Executive Officer, monitoring her fellow Brigadiers was expected—along with tapping Communications Support once CT-1 encountered Ghuj’aega.

The regular, secret updates she was getting from Khal, though?

An extra layer of assurance.
Sam smiled as
Phaeton
drew closer to its destination.

“Reached Faroor in under twenty-nine orvs!” Solrao pumped both fists triumphantly, that thick Ibrisian drawl making her sound drowsy. “Bet ya couldn’t beat that on your best day back in AeroFleet.”

Habraum responded with a chuckle, “Just because I hung up my wings doesn’t mean you could ever beat me.” The Cerc sat in
Phaeton’s
cockpit next to CT-1’s mission pilot Solrao Xiahl, someone he always considered close if not equal to him as an aviator.

They had just dropped out of hyperspace. The unending azure streams of light dominating the viewscreen slowed and broke up into endless dots of starlight.

Faroor sat in the viewscreen’s center, a smallish ball of greyish-brown rock and minor deep-blue seas. Qos with its odd lavender glow hung further back against the inky backdrop of space, half in shadow. The
Phaeton
appeared far from Faroor’s long veins of arriving and departing starship traffic.

Habraum recognized the scene at a glance.

The hairless Ibrisian followed his gaze, her pale eyes with their many deep-red concentric rings twinkling. “Been here before, yes?”

“Twice.” Habraum nodded. “First as a sprout on one of my dad’s freighter runs. Second time was with Rukk and my brother Heith.” The three had traveled Union Space for seven months before enlisting with AeroFleet, Faroor being one of six worlds they visited. The Cerc made a face. “Faroor’s good parts all have nothing to do with the Ttaunz.”

As Solrao guffawed, Habraum continued, “Hated Muunica and Thasque the moment we stepped foot onworld.” All that Ttaunz ego and their scary face sculptures did not agree with a nine-year-old Habraum Nwosu. “The other trip was three weeks in Faroor’s wilderness, living among a nomadic Farooqua tribe. One of my favorite outings,” he muttered wistfully.

The Ibrisian blinked. “So you three were plastered the whole time?”

The Cerc smiled broadly. “A wee bit.” Having his former AeroFleet friend back on Star Brigade’s pilot duty just felt right. It had taken Habraum months of wearing Solrao down with one-off missions and training rookie Brigadiers before she finally agreed to return. The Ibrisian was made to soar through the heavens, not work at some grimy watering hole in a constantly sloshed state. Solrao’s crimson and black flight suit was an AeroFleet/Star Brigade hybrid, perfectly fitting her lanky physique with its ocher, segmented skin.

The cockpit’s entrance slid open. Marguliese entered, long, lean, and clad in all black. Habraum turned to acknowledge her. “Hey Maggie.”

“Habraum,” the Cybernarr returned the greeting as she stepped into the cockpit, arms folded behind her back. “Lieutenant Xiahl.”

Solrao eyed her playfully. “Call me ‘Solrao’ or ‘Rae.’”

“I prefer
Lieutenant
Xiahl
,” Marguliese answered curtly. “I fail to grasp the inane affinity of nicknames.”

“Because real ones get boring,” Habraum laughed. He knew small talk wasn’t on Marguliese’s list of enjoyables, if such a list existed, and got to the point.