Cylo bolted for the common, praying the opportunity wasn’t lost or that Tias had good news for him.He burst in and weaved between the males gathered to reach the data officer’s side.
The expression Tias leveled on Cylo dampened any joy he’d relished seconds ago.
“I am sorry, my battle-bond.I lost the drone.”Tias lowered his chin to his chest.
“It happens,” Cylo said even though he wanted to rail at the universe.Whenever anger consumed him, he was never to reveal it.Malo expected stoicism, control, self-discipline—all three Cylo had abandoned this day.
“I deployed another and got you this…” Tias waved a palm-sized gold nugget.
Cylo grinned.“I can do much with this.My thanks, Tias.”
The male laughed.“I am glad.There is still time if you wish to mine more.”Tias slapped him on the back.“With two drones.”
“That would be incredible.”Cylo kept his body rigid when he ached to bounce on his toes.“Let us prep them for launch.”
Chapter Three
Demeter Science Station
Year of 2254, August
“Hey,Pony,youjoiningus for drinks at Escape?”Dallas asked, pulling Wren out of her focus.
She switched off the torch, flipped her welding shield up, and leaned back on her haunches to admire the neat seam.With a sweeping gaze, from left to right, a swell of pride engulfed her.Sure, she had far to go, but with all the beams she’d already done, she could rest on her laurels.
“Undecided,” she said.
“You say that every damn time we ask.”He huffed.“We’re not going to stop inviting you, so you might as well accept.”
She frowned and ran her gloved thumb over the welded seam her father would say was a job well done.Or not.She smiled and raised her gaze to a tourist ship inching past her location.Behind them were a few other ships, some she recognized.Beyond those was the endlessness of space, calling to her.
“I promise to consider it if you’ll shut up about it.”She stowed the torch and stood.
A whoop bombarding her ears made her wince, but thankfully, he said no more.
Her shift was almost over.If she wanted to leap, she’d need to store her tank and gear to make it to the tower.Sticky sweat layered her skin between her clothes and the suit.She itched for a shower, to slip into a baggy T-shirt, and spend some hours doing research on her Cherry Blossom bonsai.It had yet to bloom, but one of the online groups she belonged to had assured her that it would be soon.
Or she could read the latest in her alien romances.
She smirked and guided herself along the makeshift scaffold, using gentle flicks of her fingers on the support struts to float back to the tool locker.While stowing her equipment, she nodded at her colleagues, not daring to make eye contact lest it encouraged them to chat.They mumbled about their plans for the weekend.She had none and preferred it that way.After latching a refilled bottle of splice-laced water onto her suit, she sipped from the straw hidden inside her helmet.The burn started on her tongue and slid down her throat to coil delicious heat in the pit of her stomach.Yes, I needed this.Without a backward glance, she launched herself toward the tower crane.It took moments to unclasp the cord and hook it to her ankle harnesses.All accompanied by sips from her cocktail.She didn’t drink on the job, not wanting to risk getting caught.Possession of splice, though somewhat legal, would get her fired.
But she was off-duty now.
One more yank of the tether to the harnesses had her grinning.Along the crane she climbed, thunking along with her boots activated.Not that she heard a thing, just the vibration traveling up her legs from the magnets connecting and releasing.At the top, the crane stretched farther out.It must have been used that day.She laughed, grateful for the extended reach.This morning’s leap had gone uncontested, without a single station-sec showing their faces.So much for Pierce’s twenty-four-seven Turner duty.
Hooking the tether to the ‘highest’ cross beam, she straightened, closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath.When she swept her gaze across Pluto, she pushed off, throwing herself at its moon, Charon.She spread her arms out wide like an eagle riding the air currents.If she waved her limbs, would it be considered ‘making space angels’?She didn’t know but did it anyway, giggling at her silliness.
“Urgent communication from Earth Armed Forces–Justice Division,” a robotic voice, a little too feminine, droned in her ear.Before she could reject the comm, the automation continued, “Receipt documented for 0606/1806.Turner, Wren, Identification number: 222510180522081-A, age twenty-nine, on parole for corporate espionage.”
“Yeah, yeah, get on with it,” she snapped.E—e
The voice ignored her, programmed to deliver a message within set parameters.“Scheduled release interview delayed due to poor performance.Twenty-four months added to sentence.”
She jerked back then cried out, “Two more years?For what?”
“Information classified.”
Heat lambasted her body and not the good splice kind.“The hell it is.Declassify it.”
