“Dropping from FTL in a few minutes,” Will announced. He looks over at Cynthia, who is sitting at one of the unused bridge stations. “You sure we’ll be welcome?”
The feline-featured criminal nods slowly. “Xarrix and Lorath are already here, so are the other security contractor and the client. You’ll be fine.”
Maxim looks up from his console. “Since we’re almost there, why don’t you tell us about this other group that Xarrix has hired?”
Cynthia smiles at the large ex-Peacekeeper. “I don’t know who they are. Xarrix hired them and never told me who it was. I don’t even know if Lorath knew who they were before they arrived.”
“Sure are a lot of unknowns,” Bennie says, from his station.
“Agreed,” Gabe says.
“And that’s why you’re being paid so well,” the Tygran woman replies, then points to the main display. “Oh look, we’re there.”
Wil grumbles something under his breath, then focuses on the ship’s controls. Reaching over, he pulls back the FTL slide and the main screen changes from long, stretched-out rainbow lines to regular everyday pinpricks of light.
“I heard that, and wouldn’t you like to know?” the Tygran chuckles, then turns to her station. “I’m contacting Xarrix and Lorath now.”
The screen changes, and Xarrix is looking at the crew from the bridge of a ship Wil doesn’t recognize. He smiles. “Kinda weird to not see you sitting in a booth at a bar.”
Xarrix laughs, which sounds like a rasping cough, then stops. “Always with the jokes. I wonder how funny you’d find it if I dropped a viral bomb on your mudball planet? I’m certain I could get in and out of your home star system without a Peacekeeper patrol ever noticing.” His eyes narrow as he leans forward and stares directly at Wil. “Would that be funny?”
Wil chokes on whatever he was about to say and just asks, “Are we ready to go?”
Xarrix smirks. “Almost. Come aboard the Berserker. Duchess Jurrella wants to meet the entire command staff for this little endeavor.”
Maxim looks up from his station. “Not a very apt name.” He gestures to one of the smaller sub-screens near the front of the bridge, which is showing a long-range view of what could at best be called a battleship class vessel. Ancient and very under-maintained, but still enormous. Several of its gun emplacements are barren, and there are meters-wide patches across its hull.
On the main screen Xarrix clears his throat. “Just you. Your crew can remain aboard the Ghost.”
“No deal, man,” Wil says, but Xarrix interrupts.
“It is not negotiable. Cynthia, ensure he does as he’s told.” The screen goes back to showing the section of space in front of the Ghost, which now includes the rapidly approaching battleship.
Zephyr turns to Cynthia. “Excuse me, what? Ensure he does as he’s told? And how exactly will you be doing that?” Her hand is resting on the pulse pistol she wears in a hip holster.
Cynthia waves one hand. “Calm down, everyone.” She turns to Wil, “Don’t start this little outing on the wrong foot.” She gets up and leaves the bridge.
“I dislike her,” Gabe offers.
“You and me both, buddy,” Wil says, working the controls, bringing the Ghost closer to the Berserker. “Zephyr, can you take the controls? I may have to go alone, but I don’t have to go unprepared.” He stands up and heads toward the bridge hatch. Gabe follows.
As Wil and Gabe enter the armory, below the bridge, Gabe says, “Captain, I do not have a good feeling about this. I would like to amend my earlier statements regarding my acceptance of this project.”
“No takebacks, pal,” Wil says, grabbing his modular armor. Probably be rude to show up in that Harrith power armor of mine, he thinks, attaching the armored cuff around his wristcomm.
“Is that a concept on your planet? Taking back things that have already been said?” Gabe asks, reaching up on a high shelf and grabbing a slim combat pack that Wil can wear under his duster without it showing.
Wil takes the pack and slips it on. “Thanks. No, well, sorta. The no take-backs thing is a phrase as old as Earth, I’m sure. It’s just my people’s way of accepting that what’s in the past, is past. You can’t take back your approval any more than I could not set a course for the rendezvous point where we picked up Cynthia.” Wil shrugs. “All we can do now is make the best of the situation as it evolves.” He slides an armor plate onto his chest, the powerful magnets locking into to concealed attachment points in the under-layer he always wears under his every-day jumpsuit. Wil grabs his brown leather duster and says, “Okay, let’s get this party started.”