Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
Alow murmur of voices pulsed against Sawyer’s back. The galley wasn’t full, but enough defenders and other warship personnel occupied the space to give him a buffer of anonymity. His off-duty uniform blended in with others, even when he took a little longer at the terminal than he should.
“What are you doing?” Colonel Biggs’s question rolled over his shoulders.
He’d lost her two decks above, choosing to use one of the smaller galleys aft of the ship instead of the main ones fore, but he’d known his alone time wouldn’t last long.
Without turning around, he tapped twice on his selection. “Ordering breakfast.” The dispensary hummed while it worked, then the back panel opened to reveal his steaming pile of proteins mixed with the ideal amount of greens, and a cup of water. He picked up both and turned.
Biggs blocked his path, her hands loose at her sides and her eyes narrowed. “You were trying to access our main systems.”
He lifted his plate and cup. “Nope. Getting food.” He skirted her with a step to the side, and slid into a seat near one of the starboard portholes, the view a curtain of stars.
It took her a moment, but Biggs followed, sitting opposite him and crossing her arms over her chest.
“You should grab something,” he said, gesturing to the dispensary with his fork. “You look hangry.” He took a bite of the hot mess that was his meal.
She glowered as he ate.
Shaking his head at her, he flipped over his hand and touched his thumb to his pinkie to activate the local newsreels while he ate.
There was nothing about his trip to the planet, even in passing, though one weather report surfaced above the rest when he searched for news on Earth specifically.
That monster of a hurricane continued to ravage New Asia, disrupting travel, sensor data, and routine activities. Missing person reports followed.
Bored with the same old news, he set his fork down and took a swig of water.
The colonel hadn’t moved, even her eyes, in the entire time he’d dedicated to ignoring her.
“Wouldn’t your day be better spent doing something else?” he asked.
“Definitely. But the general says you’re one to watch, and I’m inclined to agree.”
He took another bite, returning her scowl with a placid expression.
During his brief span on his own, he’d noted this Guardian had more security than most, scribes installed in the overhead at regular, one meter, intervals.
The weapons lockers had double the protocols too, difficult to hack without his go-bag—which they hadn’t returned to him, and probably wouldn’t.
Getting rid of the tail for good would be difficult. Short of shoving her out an airlock, which he didn’t have the clearance for, he was stuck with her until she abandoned the task.
With a scrape of his fork, he scooped the last bite off his plate and shoved it in his mouth.
“This has been fun,” he said, standing. “We should do it again sometime.” He turned toward the reclamation unit on the back wall and strode between the other tables. Eyes lifted when he passed, taking in his uniform, then jumped to Biggs, who followed close behind.
Because of her, he was being noticed, and he hated that. His job, his life, depended on him blending in. The urge to take out everyone who’d seen his face in the past fifteen minutes bit at him.
If he couldn’t get away with one murder on this ship, then he definitely couldn’t get away with twenty.
The small door of the reclamation unit opened at the swipe of his PALM. He slid his dishes inside and strode casually to the exit without looking behind him. The soft thump of the colonel’s footsteps followed as he walked through the corridor, the scribes recording his every move.
His neck prickled at the feeling of the colonel’s eyes boring into his head. Defenders, both on duty and off, passed them by. The ones who had their visors transparent assessed him in a way that made Sawyer clench his jaw. He really needed to ditch her.
They passed by airlock accesses, and the murder scenario teased his thoughts again before he pushed it aside. He turned another corridor, one that led to a bank of lifts, then stopped.
Sawyer took a breath before he turned to confront her. “This really is a waste of your time, Colonel.”
She stopped in front of him, out of reach, her hand hovering over the AL-22 strapped to her thigh. “Not from where I’m standing. You were trying to access the ship’s systems using the galley’s interface.”
He gave her nothing. Not an answer or a twitch of expression. “Do you really think if I wanted to start some shit you could do something about it?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “General Cazin has the utmost confidence in my ability, or he wouldn’t have given me this assignment.”
True. But Sawyer wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of agreeing with her.
“He doesn’t trust you, and neither do I,” she went on calmly. “If it weren’t for the mandatory forty-eight, I would have you off this ship immediately.”
“You and me both.” He relaxed his posture and ran a hand over his head. “Look, I’ll make your life easier. I’ll stay in my quarters for the rest of my time. No babysitter needed.”
He didn’t wait for a response, but turned around and headed for the bank of lifts at a quick pace. When the door opened, he stepped in, hoping this was where he would leave the colonel behind. But she was only a half-step behind him and slid inside before the door closed.
He regarded her with a blank expression, and she returned it, unruffled.
“Deck thirty-two,” he said aloud, keeping her gaze.
She tipped her chin downward and crossed her arms over her chest.
So much fun. He bet she was a riot during the after-hours team-building regimen.
He glanced down at his PALM, calculating how many hours he had left of his false freedom, when the regular lighting in the lift abruptly dimmed. Red lights pulsed overhead.
The colonel’s shoulders tensed, and she lifted her PALM. Sawyer looked at his own, but was getting nothing other than a standard warning to return to quarters—a civilian-level message.
Standing this close to her, his eyes automatically skimmed the words materializing above her PALM. In the next moment, she engaged her helmet. He wouldn’t be seeing anything now, all data and intel displayed through her ocular implant inside her visor. But he’d caught enough.
Single vessel approaching.
Presumed hostile aboard.
All defenders to battle stations.
Biggs slapped her PALM against the lift’s interior panel, overriding the system. The lift stopped, then reversed direction. Sawyer’s stomach swooped at the change in momentum.
“What ship was it?” He stepped forward, seeing his reflection in her visor, the scruff he’d left on his face giving him a buffer against the world. “The specs?”
Her head turned to him, but she didn’t answer.
“If it’s the fucker from Earth, then I need to know.”
She twitched, then held up her PALM.
An image of a ship, his ship, formed above her hand. Weapons fire targeted it, the pink shield rippling against the black of space. Sawyer knew his upgrades could withstand even the largest weapons from a Guardian—for a time.
How the fuck had the Calypson gotten it space-worthy? It had only been a couple of days, and Sawyer’s last diagnostic had predicted weeks of repairs.
“That fucking thief.” He tore his eyes away from the feed. “I need a battle-suit,” he said. “And a weapon.”
A burst of orange erupted from his ship. They both braced, but it didn’t even make the Guardian shudder.
It should have. Sawyer knew his weapons, and they were fierce.
Maybe the Calypson hadn’t fixed everything. Even with that thought, an itch of unease traveled up his spine.
The door to the lift opened on deck ten, and Biggs stepped out without acknowledging his requests. She marched aft, to battle stations and tactical.
“Probably a pulse cannon, too,” Sawyer called, following behind. He’d need a bigger gun to take that fucker down. Not even his cruiser’s weapons had kept him dead.
Biggs didn’t acknowledge the demand, swiped her PALM on a security panel of a restricted area, and strode inside. It closed before he could get to it, and swiping his own PALM did nothing.
“Fuck.” He really needed some sort of protective suit if he was to get off this ship alive.
And that was what he needed to do. If that fucker landed, Sawyer wanted to be as far away as possible. His job was done. He had nothing invested in this ship except his mandatory forty-eight. They could all burn for all he cared.
Not quite true. Not everyone.
He ignored that little voice as the lights continued to pulse down the corridor. More defenders rushed to where Biggs had disappeared. He thought about following despite his lack of clearance.
But then he took a step backward, and another.
He’d lost the babysitter. He was on his own. Just what he’d asked for.
I need to get off this ship.
He’d always thought of himself as a smart man. Leaving right now might feel cowardly deep in his bones, but retreating, getting as far away from the Corvus as possible, was the smart thing to do.