Glotaj compressed his mouth. “I’m sending a team to Yanura regardless of your views, Mara. The mission will confirm the data regarding the drug and see if their delegates had anything to do with Jallyn’s disappearance.”
“Then I’m going. I’ve been working with Fromoth Trun for the past five weeks, and I’m familiar with his preferences. You won’t find anyone else better acquainted with Yanuran culture.”
“Agreed,” Glotaj said almost too quickly, as though he’d expected her to volunteer. “Lieutenant Wren, you’ll join the group as navigator. Consider your medical leave canceled.”
“We’ll need a medic,” Mara said. “Ask Hedy to go.”
A smile cracked the supreme regent’s face. “Excellent idea. Lieutenant Ebo, a Sirisian, will serve as communications officer. He’s also a qualified engineer. Lieutenant Commander Deitan Sage will serve as pilot and mission leader.”
Wren’s eyes widened. “Commander Sage? He’s a diving specialist in the SEARCH Force. We’ve worked together before.”
“What’s the SEARCH Force?” Mara asked, unfamiliar with that branch of the Defense League.
“SEARCH stands for Sea & Aerospace Command Detachment,” Wren answered. “It’s a commando unit whose operatives are trained to function in all types of environments. Commander Sage joined our crew last annum for a mission to Souk.”
“I think Sarina briefly mentioned this to me. You had to transport a couple of people off the Isle of Spears in the Scylla Sea?”
“That’s right. The commander dropped at forty kilometers offshore, swam to the island and laid out the laser markers to guide the rest of us in with our chutes. Luckily for us, Commander Sage took out a squadron of Hortha guards that would have pinned us on the beach. I don’t know anyone else who could have taken them on single-handedly without leaving one of them alive to sound the alarm.”
“Great,” she muttered. Just what they needed—a gung-ho soldier in charge of a mission requiring diplomacy and tact. She knew the best way to deal with the Yanurans, and muscle power was not the approach of choice.
Hopefully, Commander Sage was a reasonable man who would respect her opinions. But if he took an aggressive stance, she’d have to deal with him in the only way he might understand.
She loved a good fight, as long as the weapons were words.
Chapter Two
“Be careful. Those fish squirt acid if they’re handled improperly,” Lieutenant Commander Deitan Sage warned through the commlink embedded in his face mask. Beyond the glimmer of his lamp, it was difficult to follow the movements of his fellow divers. The reef stretched into the inky blackness and his vision extended only as far as his light source.
He checked his own net that had caught a school of flatfish. Careful not to touch any of them with his gloved hand, he twisted the net opening around a tensile bar knot to seal it.
He’d much rather be exploring the reef that teemed with marine life instead of capturing fish destined for Defense League research. Flatfish could change colors to match their background. The military hoped to isolate the chemical process responsible and apply it to camouflage uniforms. No longer would it be necessary to issue desert wear for dry terrain or white parkas for frozen ice lands or forest green bodysuits for verdant planets. Enhanced with a chemical color changer, a standard-issue uniform could be created to suit all types of missions. It wasn’t the kind of research Deke prided himself in.
For nearly the entire span of his thirty-five annums, he’d been fascinated by the watery depths. Having grown up on Eranus, where most people lived in floating cities atop vast oceans, that was easy to understand. But his father, the director general, had hoped Deke would follow in his footsteps with a military career. Jon Sage had enjoyed being a warrior, but not his son. Deke excelled at swimming and diving, and he chose marine biology for his career path. Despite his father’s disappointment, Deke had coaxed Jon into sending him to the Institute for Marine Studies.
The chancellor, Samuel Ho Chin, had recognized his potential and encouraged him to pursue the research that fascinated him. Deke had advanced rapidly and earned his doctorate. When he heard Sammy intended to retire, Deke considered applying for the position. His area of study focused on deep-sea vents, but to continue his work, he needed a large grant. Securing the chancellorship would get him the required funding.
He knew many other qualified people would be in competition for the position, and it would help if he could stand out from the crowd. Jon advised him to accept a commission in the Defense League. Serving in the military would provide him with a well-rounded experience and should win him points over the academicians applying for the chancellorship.
He’d joined the elite SEARCH force as a diving expert. Although he accomplished his missions with a high rate of success, the end of his two-annum term of service was rapidly approaching. Meanwhile, Sammy’s contract was due to expire in six months, and a rival was being considered for the job. Deke needed to distinguish himself before his best career opportunity dissolved.
He wouldn’t be earning any bonus points in these murky waters. Collecting schools of fish was a total waste of his time and talent.
His glance snagged on a patch of long, whitish tubes with blood red tips glimmering in the cast of his light beyond a piece of brain coral. The ghostly cluster swayed gently in the current. Nearby, small crabs crept among a rise of rocks while an eel slithered off into a crevice.
Great stars, could those be giant tube worms?
His pulse accelerating, Deke swam over. He’d never seen the eight-foot-long tube worms in the absence of hot sulfur-rich water before. Did this mean they could exist in environments other than a deep-sea vent community? Or was there something special about this reef that made the red-tipped creatures show up here?
He yanked a specimen container off his weight belt and had just obtained a sample of ocean water when an agonized scream sounded from the commlink in his ear. He looked up in time to spot one of his colleagues sinking to the seabed in a flurry of bubbles.
After snapping the collection jar onto his belt, he took off with the efficiency of a strong swimmer. Deke kicked his legs and thrust water out of his path with powerful strokes to reach his fallen comrade. One glance at the ruptured air-supply hose showed him that a flatfish had spewed its acid. Nueva was barely conscious.
Deke ripped the woman’s mouthpiece out and replaced it with his own. Sharing breaths, he revived her enough to get her to cooperate when he put his arm around her waist. He ascended toward the surface, his muscles straining. They stopped every few meters so he could give Nueva several intakes of air. Sweat dripped inside his dive suit, and his heart raced in a thumping rhythm. The passing minutes seemed like hauras as they slowly neared the light at the surface.
At last they broke free. One quick glance, and his crewmates on the boat realized what had happened.
“Get her on board,” yelled Larse, the team medic. The bearded man helped haul her onto the dive platform. It wasn’t easy considering her weighted gear and the boat’s rocking motion.
Deke looked skyward. The weather was deteriorating, according to the moisture-laden clouds scudding overhead. A stiff wind created high crests that battered his face.