“Hurry,” Eris said. “Let’s make this one.”
“Another one will come in less than ten minutes,” Clo grumbled, but Eris had already taken off, her steps quick and sure despite the slick sludge.
Clo forced herself into a run. Every step hurt. Some was the prosthetic, but mostly it was that ghostly feeling of a crushed leg, long gone, burned and scattered along the soil of Sennett. She placed her feet as carefully as she could. One wrong slip and her prosthetic could disappear down a bog, then Eris would have to carry her back to the craft, mission failed before it even began. And it’d be her own damn fault for lying to Kyla and Sher and downplaying the pain.
At hangar IV, they stomped the worst of the mud from their boots and crept around the back. They timed it perfectly. Floods of people from the Empusa streamed out, waiting for smaller craft to take them either to other planets or up to the floating palaces or resorts.
Clo had worked freelance jobs in these hangars when she was young. She’d hated being employed by the Empire—even briefly—but morality never entered into the choice between eating or starving. Her meals as a child had been meager as it was. No one would recognize her after being well fed for years. Her formerly thin arms were thick with muscle.
No one could call her scrawny. No one could call her weak.
<Two guards,> Eris said in her mind. <Palm panel entry. Retinal scan. Let’s hope the paperwork holds.>
<You’d know better than me if it will,> Clo said, and got a sharp look in return.
Eris adjusted her uniform, tightened her ponytail of long, dark curls. Clo felt drab in comparison but comforted by that. All eyes would be on Eris.
They approached hangar IV as if they had every right to be there. Eris strode with her chin up, shoulders back, her movements stiff and officious.
The guards watched their approach. Eris sent their false paperwork ahead, and the guards checked their tablets.
“An inspection?” the guard on the left asked.
“Yes, to ensure all is in working order for the might of Tholos,” Eris said.
The accent Eris put on was completely different. It was clipped and flat, abrasive.
The guards’ lips thinned. They both wore black jumpsuits similar to Eris’s, but their buttons and threads of blue ranked them as military guards. Their dark hair was cropped close to their heads, their beards short and tidy. Bred for service since before their birth. Loyalty further unshaken by the threads of the Oracle commands woven into their minds. The Oracle tamped down their fear—as well as most other emotions—and made their patriotism unwavering. Guards always gave Clo the creeps.
Eris’s chin stayed raised, her gaze imperious. The guards’ stances didn’t change, and their fingers strayed close to their Mors, their hands steady.
“An inspection for certain ships or the entire hangar, Publican?” one of them asked, his tone respectful.
“Every craft landed in the past three days. It’s just a routine look at the engines and cargo.”
Clo had forgotten just how good Eris was at deception. Her accent, her expression, the way she held herself, all transformed with the role she was playing. Everything about her—from her boots to the top of her head—demanded deference.
The guard glanced back into the hangar. “We’ve got fifteen new craft. Where would you like to start?”
Eris slid her finger down the surface of the tablet to draw up the list. “Zelus just arrived for refueling half an hour ago, no? We’ll start there and work our way through.” She let out a breath that shuddered with exhaustion. “We have to check six hangars before nightfall, then we’re off to three other planets to do the same thing by next week.”
Damn, she was good.
The guards softened, just slightly. They knew grueling schedules, long shifts. “All seems to be in order,” the one on the right said. They moved aside, and the doors embossed with the Tholosian scythes opened for Clo and Eris.
<What was that accent?> Clo asked Eris as they entered the vast, open space of the hangar.
<Tholosian Publicans are trained on the same planet as a lot of military commanders. It’s remote on purpose, so their accents are very distinctive. Not easy to mimic.>
Not for the first time, Clo was struck by just how vital that intel was to the Novantae. Clo had yet to be on a mission where she’d interacted with many high-up officials. She’d only met another member of the royal family once, by accident, and it hadn’t ended well. Eris had detailed, insider knowledge about so many aspects of the Empire. No wonder Sher and Kyla had insisted on keeping the Archon’s only Heir alive when she defected.
They made their way through the empty space toward the hulking craft at the far side of the hangar. Their footsteps echoed against the metal floor.
<Watch the guards while I’m in the ship,> Eris said. <One of the men at the door seemed less certain of me than the other. He’ll make a call once we’re inside, just for due diligence.>
<How do you know?> Clo asked.
<Because he’s hungry to prove himself.>
They reached the ships. These were smaller than the vast transport crafts that usually passed through. Clo’s attention was drawn to the stark, unmarked craft. It was all sharp angles, the front built like the point of a knife.
So, this was an S model? She hadn’t seen anything like it. By gods, it was beautiful. If they weren’t on a mission where she was meant to be a stiff, upright Tholosian, she might have whistled in admiration. Their target could slice through the atmosphere like a blade through skin. Clo itched to get her fingers around the controls of Zelus, to have a look at how it all worked.
“You start on the engine and I’ll inspect the interior,” Eris said aloud, keeping the strange accent and disinterested tone. <And turn off the comm hatch on that wall there,> she added, her gaze flicking to it. <Just in case.>
Clo nodded. She’d settle for laying her hands on that gorgeous engine.
The hangar was oddly beautiful, with high arched ceilings, the wall in front of them made of thick sheets of glass made to withstand Mors weaponry. Clo angled toward the comm hatch. There were no guards this close to the crafts when all entrances were covered. She switched off the comms to stall any outgoing messages. It wouldn’t help for long, but if things went south, a minute or two could save their lives.
Clo opened up the hatch. The engine was still warm. They couldn’t have timed this better. The inhabitants of Zelus should have just disembarked on a shuttle up to the floating buildings above. Not enough time to take out the cargo. A few minutes before or later, and this would have been much trickier. Clo thanked the gods for that flicker of luck.
<That’s strange,> Eris said. <We mapped our identities and the Oracle should have taken them no problem, but I haven’t heard any confirmation. It’s as if One is turned off. >