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“Do it, and keep me apprised of the results. Caldrasite shortage or not, we need C-100 tech, Alec, or the size of our security net may soon be a moot issue. Let’s give the man what he needs, understood?”

  Masterson snapped a salute. “Clearly, Sire.”

  “Very good,” Zier said with a curt nod before returning to his throne. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a briefing in twenty minutes with Ministers Moyer and Symah to prep for. Report back to your ship, and we’ll speak again later. Dismissed.”

  Masterson offered a final bow then turned to go.

  “Oh, Alec?” Zier added. “I understand your executive officer is retiring.”

  Masterson halted in his tracks. “Yes…Sire. That’s correct. Last week, actually. I’m in the process of vetting possible replacements now.”

  “For the time being, I’m reassigning Reau Langella to that post.”

  Masterson felt his blood pressure spike. “But, Highness, I—”

  “My selection is final. Besides, the major is a fine officer, and he would benefit from spending some time on the Kamuir before assuming a command of his own.”

  No, you would from having a spy on my staff. Masterson clenched a fist out of sight from the throne. No matter. With any luck this whole charade between him and the chancellor would soon be over anyway. “Very good, Sire. I’ll let the quartermaster know to be expecting him.”

  * * *

  An hour later, having returned to his office aboard the Alystierian flagship Kamuir, Masterson traced a pale, wrinkled hand through his silvery-black hair and stared in delight at this morning’s Eurial Sun on his tablet.

  “Zier Administration Reels in Wake of Vendale 2 Disaster,” the headline read.

  Perfect. Unlike Zier, whose dealings with the Sun had teetered on adversarial at times, Masterson took no issue with the staff or reporting of Alystier’s public news service. Outwardly, he’d enjoyed quite the mutually beneficial relationship with them, partly because he’d always made time for their cameras, but mostly for the explosion of fleet access he’d allowed them since becoming commandant. Privately, they’d never know just how indebted to him they really were, through the “an anonymous source tells the Sun” status of Daryn Reese and his network of intermediaries.

  Leaning back in his seat, Masterson scanned the article and was pleased to see much of his original language still intact. What made this particular story all the more rewarding, however, was that, unlike past instances where he’d had to embellish the facts a bit to tie them to Zier, Masterson had needed to do no such thing to pin the guilt on him for Vendale. The old man had known full well the risks associated with pulling ships from the mine’s security detail—or at least, those risks that Masterson had chosen to share with him—and yet he’d still elected to do so. As such, when the ASC had attacked, Zier had effectively tripled the empire’s response time. And for what? Continued talks with a backwoods race of farmers like the Rymonians? How absurd.

  Swiping the story off of the tablet’s home screen, Masterson set the device on his desk and directed a pensive stare out his office porthole. Certain as he was that his motives were just, that still hadn’t kept him from the occasional pang of regret. After all, his loyalty had always been, and forever would be, to the empire and his men, neither of whom would see his actions as anything but treason, without the proper context. At the same time, though, he took solace in the certainty that everything he was doing—the leaks, the compromises, the unilateral decisions, and the lies—had all been for the long-term good of the empire. Even on those rare instances when he’d had no choice but to leave his own people in harm’s way for the sake of Zier’s continued lampooning in the press, he’d known it had to be done. A swift return to traditional Alystierian ideals would never transpire otherwise, and the empire’s very survival rested on that happening. Besides, it wasn’t Masterson’s policies that were denying his people the tools they needed to wage a proper war. If it were up to him, the fleet would invade Rymonia and a dozen other systems to get more resources and indentured recruits.

  Still, Masterson mused, not every leak had elicited a guilty response. In the years since his adoption of the Daryn Reese persona, he’d unleashed a journalistic treasure trove of government scandal through his network. It’d begun with Zier’s involvement in the botched Dulaston mission to seize Kendara, and it had then run the gamut from backroom political dealings to the undercover sexcapades of four Zier staffers—each story neatly packaged with iron-clad, verifiable facts, corresponding photos where possible, and a print-friendly “rip and read” format that could go straight onto the page if the reporter needed. Oh, the backlash those had caused…

  Then, of course, there was Reese’s magnum opus: a very public, and borderline-pornographic, feature story involving Zier’s daughter Kara—Masterson’s wife of sixteen years—and the young stud, Captain Ratner. No divorce in imperial history had ever been so highly publicized and so weakly contested.

  Ultimately, though, Masterson knew that the root of his disdain for Alystier’s chancellor ran far deeper than that of political ideology. In point of fact, this couldn’t have been more personal. Alas, he didn’t expect anyone to understand that, for no one else could. No one save for a forbidden wife and son, had either been left alive.

  Knitting his fingers at his chest, Masterson exhaled, then he returned his attention to the matter at hand: the tattered Auran data drive lying peacefully on the zearawood desk before him. Finally. His lips formed a grim smile. Finally, I’ve found you.

  “Commandant, sir?” a voice asked through the desktop terminal.

  Recognizing it, Masterson swiveled in his chair and tapped a key. “Lieutenant Commander Briggs. What is it?”

  “Sir, I received the security feeds you asked for,” said Briggs, the Kamuir’s head of security. “The Vendale 2 CIC footage.”

  “Excellent work as always, Commander,” Masterson said, reactivating his tablet. “Upload the files to my personal server at once. I’ll review them here.”

  “Sending them through now, sir. Oh, and sir? Mr. Larson from the Eurial Sun called to confirm tomorrow’s appointment about the next-gen Phantom exposé he’s working on. Do you still plan to attend?”

  Masterson grinned at the terminal. “Of course. Anything for our good friends at the Sun. Now, the security files, please.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  A few seconds later, Masterson toggled into his inbox, where he found a message marked “Vendale 2 Security, A-C.” Figuring the C-file to be the one with the actual breech footage, he selected it and began skipping through the various camera angles for each time code, watching for anything significant. As expected, everything was perfectly routine. There was the morning briefing with Major Harrison, the base’s commander, followed by a handful of arbitrary exchanges among the senior staff. Then came a closed-door production meeting between Harrison and Minister Kean, followed by a vid-conference with the shipping authority, after which came a second closed door meeting—this time between Kean and a modestly attractive female private who, by the look of her, was half the minister’s age and very eager for promotion.

  “Sloppy old fool,” Masterson mumbled, rolling his eyes at the skin-heavy footage before copying it to a ghost folder for safekeeping. Sure-fire votes, after all, were precious things in a bind, especially when they came from someone as well connected as Kean.

  Next was lunch, then the afternoon briefing, then more talking, and then finally the main event.

  Slowing the feed to real time, Masterson adjusted the image to a split-screen view of both the CIC itself and the ministerial study upstairs.

  Excellent precision, he thought, admiring the techniques used by the five Auran soldiers as they stormed the room then methodically cleared it of all opposition, starting first with the CIC’s lower level and ending in the study where the ASC squad leader put a gun to Kean’s head.

  “You!” Masterson snapped, launching upright in his seat with wide eyes at the man in
the frozen image. It couldn’t be!

  His heart now in his throat, Masterson raced his fingers over the tablet’s options to clean the image for cross-referencing through facial recognition. It has to be you. His pulse was racing. It has to be.

  Slowly, frame by frame and pixel by pixel, the image came into focus.

  Fairly tall with a solid build, he looked different from the last time Masterson had seen him, long ago in a security feed much like this one. New lines aged the man’s face. He was also more muscular, more defined, and his spiky blond hair—the likes of which Masterson had never seen before on a solider—had been cut down to a standard-issue crew cut. The chief difference, however, showed in the man’s deep hazel eyes, which now held a level of determination and confidence that hadn’t been there five years ago on Myrick 4, when he and his friends—backed by absolutely no support from the ASC—had executed a near-flawless extraction of one of their own from Alystierian custody.

  Masterson could feel the rage welling in him as it always did when recalling those most heinous of events. It was during that same op that his only son had been gunned down by this soldier’s CO—a man named Lee, Masterson had later learned. Lee Summerston. He’d cashed in a lot of favors to get that name. Though strangely, it, along with those of Summerston’s unit, was all he’d been able to find. Nothing in the way of a past had been unearthed for any of them. Not service records, nor enlistment papers, nor med files—not even birth certificates. Nothing, until now.

  Laying the tablet back down on the desk, Masterson steepled his hands and grinned wickedly at the image before him. This man—Danny Tucker, a member of the 102nd infantry, apparently—was ultimately not the one he wanted. That honor went to Summerston. But Tucker would do for now, if he could be caught.

  Masterson swiveled back to his comm. “Commander Brigg. Get me Colonel Reirdon on the Lancetor at once.”

  “Opening a channel now, sir.”

  The Lancetor had been the first to arrive on the scene at Vendale 2 once the AS Keystone had fled the system, and according to protocol, her LORASS scans would’ve tracked the Aurans’ last known course. It wasn’t much, but it was a lead, and the best one he’d had in years.

  Masterson drummed anxious fingers on the desk as the signal went through. Finally, after all this time, those who’d robbed him of his son were almost in hand. And oh, how they’d pay once that happened. But first he had to find them.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 7: Reception

  Seated at a reception table with Hamish and Link, Katie sipped her glass of pinot noir as the swarm of guests descended on the forty-foot buffet and open bar.

  “Man, I gotta hand it to Lee and Mac,” Link said, washing down his second helping of Oysters Rockefeller. “They might’ve kept this thing small, but they sure as hell didn’t skimp on the vittles.”

  “Aye,” Hamish agreed over a glass of thirty-year-old scotch. “As I understand it, they flew the lobster in from Maine first thing this morning, though I still opted for the prime rib, mahself.”

  “Nope, not this guy,” Link said. “Our cook on the Keystone can whip up a fairly decent strip whenever I want steak. Fresh lobster? Steamed to perfection and served up with grilled asparagus, a dry white, and some of that savory garlic-and-herb butter-cream sauce?” Link’s eyes rolled back. “Sorry big man, but you can keep the moo cow.”

  “Listen to you, Mr. Foodie,” Katie laughed. “You run off, strike it rich, get married, and pop out a couple of kids…Next thing you know, you’ll be voting Republican!”

  “Eat me,” Link belched.

  “And there’s the Shorty I remember,” Katie said. She’d missed the little troll. “Seriously though, I met your wife just before the ceremony, and holy cow, what a sweetheart! I totally love the fact that she’s, like, a foot taller than you, too.”

  “Yeah, we’re pretty adorable that way,” Link said through another mouthful of oysters.

  Katie took another sip of her wine. “So what’s your story these days, Hamish? You got a little Scottish lass running around here somewhere?”

  Hamish chuckled. “No, love. Unlike ma distinguished colleague here, I stay pretty busy with work, which takes up the bulk of ma time.”

  “And that is?” Katie asked. “I mean, I know Lee and Mac fly all over the world for this Phoenix Gaming Company you all work for, and Shorty runs legal.”

  “Right…legal. Because I’m a lawyer,” Link said, as if he’d momentarily forgotten his own occupation.

  Hamish shot his friend a sideways look. “To answer yer question, Katie, I handle a good deal of PGC’s operational logistics.”

  “Meaning what, exactly?” Katie asked.

  “I make sure things get where they need to go, and on time…so to speak.”

  Katie wrinkled her nose, fairly certain she was missing something. “All right. I think I get it. Sort of. What about Danny? What’s his role in all of this?” Her expression twisted. “And how on earth did he ever land that redhead he’s with? Isn’t she a doctor?”

  “Oh yeah,” Link said. “She’s actually a geneticist, and a pretty damn good one, too.”

  “Really?” Katie said, incredulous. “Her last name’s Reynolds, right?”

  They nodded.

  “Huh,” she mused into her wine glass. “Wonder if her stuff’s on PubMed?”

  “I’m thinking no,” Link said under his breath.

  Another thud rumbled the table.

  “I’ll say this for her.” Katie smirked. “Her research notwithstanding, she can’t be that smart if she’s hooked up with Danny. I mean, really—what’s the longest that guy’s ever been faithful in a relationship, anyway? Like, three minutes?”

  “Easy, love,” Hamish said. “That may’ve been the Danny of old, but I think you’ll find he’s changed quite a bit in the last few years. We all have.”

  “He’s right, Katie,” Link said. “Danny’s happy with her…happier than I’ve ever seen him, and Hamish and I oughta know. We’ve seen that guy plow through a butt-ton of chicks over the years that—”

  “Three of whom happened to live in my dorm, I’d add.” Katie narrowed her eyes. “But please…do continue.”

  “Listen, has Crockett committed his fair share of past transgressions?” Link asked. “Sure, who among us hasn’t? But from where I sit, he’s a different guy nowadays, and Madisyn’s a lot of the reason why. I kid you not, Katie, he’d just as soon take a beating as hurt that girl. You can believe it or not, but it’s true.”

  Uh-huh, Katie wanted to say. Once a man-whore, always a man-whore. Instead, she just rolled her eyes. “Whatever. For her sake, I hope you’re right about Danny. But I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  The trio looked up when the bride and groom strolled over.

  “Man, that’s a whole lotta trouble sittin’ at one table,” Lee joked to his wife.

  Mac didn’t respond. She just collapsed into the seat next to Katie, looking completely spent.

  “That bad, huh?” Katie gestured at her sister-in-law’s shoes.

  “You have no idea,” Mac said. “Heaven willing, I’ve got one more hour in these torture traps, tops, and then it’s back to my flips.”

  “Oh c’mon sis,” Katie said. “This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, remember? Don’t let a little foot soreness get you down.”

  Mac threw Katie a less-than-thrilled look then waved to Danny, Madisyn, and Layla at the bar.

  “So this is where you’re hiding out,” Danny said once they’d reached the table. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t you guys still have a first dance to do?”

  “Awww,” Mac whimpered.

  “I hate to say ‘I told ya so,’” Madisyn said, “but I did warn you to skip the heels for the reception.”

  Mac smirked at the ceiling. “Yeah, I know. But I learned a long time ago to choose my battles carefully when it comes to Mom and etiquette.”

  “Here, here,” Lee muttered.

  “H
i, I don’t think we’ve actually met.” Katie rose from her chair and extended a hand to Madisyn. “Katie Summerston.”

  “Madisyn Reynolds. It’s nice to finally meet you, Katie. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “All glowing, I’m sure,” Katie said, turning a skeptical eye to Danny, who shrank into his seat.

  “So Katie, what’s the plan for the rest of your sabbatical?” Lee asked. That won him a grateful look from Danny.

  “You know, I hadn’t really made any plans.” Katie returned to her chair. “Officially, I’m off for another two weeks, but my boss told me to take all the time I need to get my house in order after…Well, you know.”

  “Yeah, heard about that.” Link grunted. “Say the word and me and Hamish will totally fly to Seattle and neuter your ex. Hell, we’ve got a private jet! We can do it tonight, if you want!”

  Katie grinned and saluted him with her glass. “Thanks, Shorty, but I’m fine. Honestly, it’s been a long few months, and all I really wanna do right now is kick back on a beach with a book and glass of fresh sangria, and just chill for a while.”

  Katie saw Mac give her husband a nudge and look.

  Lee responded with a shrug, his expression mixed.

  Mac rebutted with sad-puppy eyes.

  “Um, guys?” Katie waved at them. “We’re sitting right here. Care to share with the table?”

  Lee sighed, as if considering something. Then, after a few seconds, he nodded.

  “Hey Katie,” Mac asked, suddenly upbeat. “Just for the sake of discussion…how married are you to your beach plans?”

  Katie regarded her sister-in-law with bewilderment. “I hadn’t put much thought into any other options, honestly. Why?”

  Now it was Hamish, Link, and Danny who exchanged looks.

  “Okay, seriously, guys,” Katie said. “I hate it when you pull this inner-circle, Jedi mind-trick crap because it usually means I’m gonna have to cover for you at some point. Case in point.” She aimed a finger at her brother. “Spring break of sophomore year. You told me you were going to Panama City Beach. Only it wasn’t PC Beach, now was it? It was friggin’ Vegas!”