Chapter 9 #3
How many operatives had been necessary to execute the princess’ extraction?
How had they managed to secure Bauder’s technological signature?
Did they even know how essential this specific Amplifier was to his own goals?
If they didn’t know why the princess was so important to the project, they wanted her for another reason.
What else has been infiltrated?
Emil made a note to review the security feeds in all the satellite facilities working on the successor initiative. It was his pet project; the scientists working on it knew better than to run their mouths. Eliminating the possibility of a leak there would be swift, but diligence paid off.
His tech implant gave a little beep, notifying Emil of a message. He slipped his communications device out of his pocket and read:
Incoming. Arrival in two minutes.
The Twins.
While he hadn’t been thrilled with the notion of outsourcing staff to hunt down the team that had plucked the Amplifier from her pod, Emil knew when and how to delegate — rarely, and with discretion to the task at hand.
The money would be well spent, and his focus could be better applied to the myriad other demands on his plate. Ones he wouldn’t delegate. Couldn’t.
He had a planet to run, colonies to oversee. He didn’t have time to unravel this mystery, no matter how intrigued he was.
He walked back to the security desk to watch as a small, shiny jump ship docked on the other side of the airlock from Emil’s own.
They may have been contracted to work for him, but he wasn’t foolish enough to trust them.
Emil trusted few people without question, and even those relationships he evaluated quarterly.
Two tall forms enrobed in sleek space suits entered the airlock. They waited patiently, both facing straight ahead in complete stillness — more so than even Emil had managed while waiting out the pressurization. When the doors swooshed open, they strode into the reception area.
The helmets prevented Emil from getting their first impressions. They removed their gear in sync, helmets, suits both stowed neatly near Emil’s own equipment.
Emil didn’t know why they were called the Twins.
They weren’t related, as far as he knew.
One rumor claimed that the true reason for their irreverent call sign was that Pearl Locke and Ivan Padua had worked for the Witch in perfect synchronicity for years.
Emil doubted it. He found that call signs were usually dripping in sentimentality, not hours logged at work.
He was, however, aware that their reputation was beyond reproach.
If you had a problem to solve, call the Twins.
Missing cargo, inconvenient witnesses, unbearable relatives?
They handled it all, for a price. And people across the galaxy paid.
Both had tall, lithe frames that hid their strength from the average observer.
Height and build aside, they were a study in contrast. Pearl had warm brown skin and eyes and kept her hair cropped on the sides, the curls on top of her head neatly twisted into perfect spirals.
Ivan was fair, with blonde hair cropped short and icy blue eyes that emptied of expression with a blink.
The Twins stared at the pile in front of them. Pearl raised an eyebrow at Ivan, and he nodded in agreement. They each drew sleek blasters from holsters hidden by their jackets.
“You made excellent time,” Emil said, striding around the droid detritus. “The computer system you’ll be examining is around the back of this mess.”
“The vessel is secure?” Pearl asked, making no move to holster her weapon. Ivan’s eyes darted around the reception chamber.
“Scans state that we are the only life forms on ship. Your dedication to security is noted and appreciated.”
They holstered their blasters, but Emil caught the dubious flash on Pearl’s face. She schooled her features carefully and nodded at him.
The Twins moved toward the reception desk in such synchronicity that competitive dancers would be jealous of their awareness of each other’s bodies.
Ivan examined the computer, his long fingers making deft work of the keystrokes.
He inserted a memory stick and started transferring data.
Pearl examined the droids, giving the structure delicate nudges and taking photos with her communications device.
“You have a serious leak,” Ivan stated. He rose from the desk to join Pearl by the pile of destroyed security inventory.
“We have what we need to retrieve the asset,” Pearl said.
Asset retrieval. Droids couldn’t be sent to hunt down a woman, their programming wasn’t advanced enough to handle the nuances of plucking a person out of a crowd or a darkened bedroom.
If he dispatched military resources to hunt down Evelyn, Emil would have a hard time keeping this operation under the radar.
Conscripted men talked. He hated to spend the additional money, but this was what slush funds existed for. Clean up.
“Get it done.”
They re-suited in silence, and dispatched to their ships.