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THE STENCH of fear permeated the shuttle bay, overriding the smell of grease and rover fuel. Hundreds of civilians huddled in clumps like sheep in a snowstorm. Men, women, and children stared at each other, silent except for the babies crying in response to their parents’ tension. Even the toddlers stood still, big-eyed and quiet.
The speakers crackled, and a smooth, tenor voice spoke. “Attention, civilians! The Krimson Empire is not attacking. There’s no reason for panic. Federation and Empire diplomats have decided the presence of non-combatants in the forward area is hindering negotiations. Therefore, you are being relocated to Federation Base Zauras for now.”
Quinn Templeton leaned closer to her friend Tony Bergen and muttered, “Right. And my great-grandmother teaches marksmanship classes at her old-folks home.”
Bergen shrugged. “My grandmother does teach marksmanship,” he said, a hint of a laugh running under his words. “But she’s an instructor at the special forces academy.”
“At this time, groups one through twenty, proceed to Alpha Shuttle. Follow the blinking lights.” Green lights streaked across the shuttle bay floor, creating a meter-wide path to the spacecraft near the huge hangar doors.
Quinn frowned and turned to check on her kids. Ellianne stood silent beside her, one hand gripping a pink duffel, the other clutching the corner of Quinn’s jacket. Lucas slouched a few meters away with another preteen, both struggling to maintain cool attitudes. Lucas glanced around, made eye contact with Quinn, and quickly turned away, pretending he hadn’t just looked for his mother.
The shuttles loaded quickly. Quinn got Ellianne and Lucas strapped in and their bags stowed. Settling back into the uncomfortable seat, she reached to pull the straps across her body.
“Templeton, Quinn!” a voice barked over the din. “Piruytha, Steve! Front and center.”
Quinn jumped, her body responding to the command before her mind caught up. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back,” she told the kids. Pushing through the sea of people, she worked her way down the aisle to the front door of the shuttle, followed by Piruytha.
“This way.” An enlisted man in the familiar gray and black camo uniform jerked his head and started across the shuttle bay, not waiting to see if they followed.
“What’s going on?” Quinn asked, but both men ignored her. With a glance back at the shuttle, she trotted after them. In the ready room, she joined a dozen other grumbling passengers.
A tall man stepped to the front of the room and cleared his throat, stilling the muttered conversations. “I am Master Sergeant Kress.” The man twitched his sleeve, as if to draw their attention to his rank. “We need to re-balance the load on one of our shuttles. We’re moving passengers from that shuttle to the others, and we’re going to make a second run to pick up the last of the civilians. You will wait here until the Alpha Shuttle returns from the transport.”
“My kids are on that shuttle!” Quinn screamed, pushing back toward the door. Unfortunately, the rest of the group had the same idea. Voices rose in anger and panic, bodies pressing into each other as they all tried to push out of the room.
“Attention!” Kress’s parade ground voice cut through the hubbub. The mob settled, people unconsciously stepping back and straightening up. “We know some of you have dependents on the shuttles. We also know you wouldn’t want to put those dependents at risk. Many of you are former military or civilian employees—that’s why you were selected. You understand the importance of good order and discipline, especially in a situation such as this. We will transport your dependents safely to the cruiser, then the first shuttle will return to retrieve you. Now, Mrs. Andretti would like to say a few words.”
Quinn looked around the room, noting the faces. Most she recognized. A few surprised her. Spotting Bergen, she wormed her way through the crowd to his side. “What’s the admiral’s wife doing here?”
Bergen shrugged, surveying the room. “She’s definitely not former military. Unless her recruiter was desperate to make quota.”
A tiny, young woman with flowing blond hair, an elegant suit, and extravagant makeup raised a languid hand. “My dear fellow spouses.” Her high-pitched voice making more than one listener cringe. “We must all do our duty in this trying time.”
Tiffany Andretti, trophy wife of the admiral, had always irritated Quinn. She tuned out the squeaky voice and pulled out her phone to text her son.
Lucas’ reply was filled with arcane acronyms and angry emojis. She showed the phone to Bergen. “I don’t think Lucas is thrilled.”
Bergen reached up and patted her shoulder. “They’ll be fine. Melody’s on your shuttle, right? She’ll take care of them.”
“Yeah.” Relief washed over her, and she sent a quick message to her friend. Melody’s immediate response relieved her further. She put the phone away and leaned closer to Bergen. “What is The Trophany droning on about?”
Bergen rolled his eyes. “Do our duty, support our service members, yada yada yada. I think she’s here, so we’ll believe they’re coming back.”
“Doesn’t reassure me.” Quinn snorted. “Didn’t you see that pic of the admiral with the vid starlets last week? Getting rid of this one might be exactly what he’s hoping for. So sad, lost in the Krimson surge. Devastating loss. On to wife number four.”
Bergen bit his lip, but Quinn could see the smile.
The roar of a shuttle engine drowned out The Trophany’s voice. Every head in the room snapped toward the view screen on the wall. A streak of motion, a flare of engines, and the first shuttle took off. Three more followed in quick succession.
“That’s it, then,” Bergen said, under the angry outburst. “Perfect tactics. Distract us while they finish the deed. Where’s that Sergeant Kress?”
Quinn peered around the room. Being taller than average, she could easily see over the group. Even now, most military spouses were female. The few men, like Bergen, stood at the edges of the crowd, making her task easier. “I don’t see him.”
“Then let’s go find him.” Bergen moved casually toward the door, stopping when anyone looked in his direction. Quinn followed his lead. The door slid open, and the two made their escape.
The hallway was deserted. Bergen led the way to a door marked Control Center. He tried the handle. “That’s odd. This should be locked.” The door swung open.
Inside, communication equipment lined the walls, with a large view screen showing the runway. Lights blinked, static buzzed, but no one manned the workstations. “Where is everyone?” Quinn asked.
Leaving the control room, they checked the shuttle bay. Empty. Room by room, they checked the entire facility. “Even if they planned to evacuate the whole base, someone should be here to land the last shuttle,” Bergen said. “Let’s get back to the Control Center and find out.”
Cold sweat rolled down Quinn’s back. “You don’t think they really left us behind, do you?” She raced down the hall behind Bergen. “I was just kidding about the admiral.”
“You might have been kidding, but you might have been right.” Bergen stepped into the Control Center and shut the door behind Quinn. “You were in comm, right? See if you can raise anyone.”
Quinn sat and looked over the console. “It’s been ten years. A lot of this has probably changed. And I was an officer. I didn’t actually work for a living.”
Bergen grinned at the old joke. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”
She flipped a few switches and got a login command on the screen. “The username is auto filled, but we need a password.” Yanking out a drawer, she scrabbled through the contents, turning up the usual office flotsam.
“Check the underside.” Bergen yanked another drawer out of the desk, tipping the contents onto the floor as he flipped it over. “Nothing. Try yours.” He started rifling through the next desk.
“Bingo!” Quinn ripped a small card off the bottom of the drawer she’d just dumped. She slapped it on the desk and typed the symbols into the console. “Excellent security here.”
“Welcome to Sumpter Network” flashed up on the screen. With a grin, she started flicking through the system.
A voice boomed through the speakers. “Elrond, this is Sumpter Delta Shuttle. We’ve achieved orbit. Boosting out in five, four, three, two, boost.”
Quinn slapped the volume control. “That’s Kress!”
“Roger Sumpter Delta. We see you. Projected rendezvous in four hours,” a different voice responded.
“Elrond is the transport cruiser,” Quinn told Bergen. “If Kress was telling the truth, the shuttle will return in eight or nine hours.”
“But if he wasn’t, the transport will be long gone before we know it.” Bergen frowned. “Since he’s on that shuttle, I doubt he was being honest with us. We need to contact someone.”
Quinn scrolled through the interface and hovered over an icon. “What do we tell them? Won’t they want to know how we got access to the system?”
Bergen heaved a sigh. “Quinn, there’s no one here. No one. They can’t get mad at us for calling for help. Besides, it’s not like they can court martial you. You’re a civilian.” He held up a hand. “And don’t worry about getting the comm tech in trouble. If they were stupid enough to leave their password on the bottom of the drawer, they deserve to get tagged.”
Quinn flicked the switch. “You’re right. And besides, my kids are on that shuttle. Momma is coming.”
IN THE READY ROOM, the Trophany held court. The group sat in a circle, with the Trophany reigning over a pot of coffee and a tray of snacks. A woman in a pink jumpsuit held a yellow scarf, twisting it between her fingers as she spoke.
“My husband deployed to the front-line last year.” Her voice trembled. “He was gone for a week. A full week!” A tear rolled down her cheek.
From the doorway, Quinn took one look and turned to make a run for it. Bergen grabbed her arm.
“Just kidding.” She shook her head. “This is why I never attended the spouses’ meetings. The Trophany loves to create drama over nothing. That woman is complaining about a week of TDY? She should try a real deployment.”
Across the room, the Trophany nodded sympathetically. “Being the wife of an admiral’s aide is difficult. Not as hard as being the commander’s wife, but difficult.” She leaned across a stone-faced woman and gripped Pink Jumpsuit’s hand. “We’re here for you, Marielle. We feel your pain. Now pass the talking scarf on.”
Obediently, the young woman passed the scarf to the large, bald man on her left. The Trophany smiled, her blue-white teeth flashing. “Tell us your name.”
The man rolled his eyes. “I’m Doug, and I’m good.” He offered the scarf to the woman on his left.
“No, Doug, you aren’t good.” The Trophany placed one hand over her heart. “This is a difficult time. Open up to us. We’re here for you.” She beamed around the circle, and several heads nodded obediently in response.
Quinn shuddered then stepped forward, ripping the yellow scarf from Doug’s fingers. “We have a problem.”
The Trophany’s eyes narrowed. “Quinn Templeton, if you want to join the sharing circle, find a seat.” She pointed to an empty chair. “You can’t just ram your way into the middle.”
“I have the ranting rag, Tiffany.” Quinn waved the scarf. “It’s my turn to talk, and we’re in trouble.”
The Trophany leapt to her feet. “It’s a talking scarf, not a ranting rag. You must honor the process!”
“Look.” Quinn held the scarf aloft. “I just talked to the comm guys on the Elrond. They know nothing about the shuttle coming back for us. Their orders are to rendezvous with the four shuttles, take them aboard and immediatelydepart for the jump point. No waiting for us.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Trophany snapped. “My husband would never allow us to be stranded.”
“Maybe you should call him, then,” Quinn replied. “Because the Elrond isn’t waiting.”
THE DOOR to the Control Center opened, and Bergen paused in the entry. “The Trophany requests your presence.”
Quinn, seated at the console, ignored his statement. “Tony, check this out.” She waved him over, clicking on the panel. “This is a vid from the shuttle bay oversight cams.” The view on the screen sped forward then slowed, Quinn narrating as she manipulated the vid. “Here we are, leaving the shuttles. They get everyone out, then they move the passengers from Delta to the empty seats in the other three shuttles.” The view panned right and zoomed in. “Now they’re loading some crates onto Delta. We were removed to make room for cargo!” She turned to look at Bergen, arms crossed over her chest. “What do you think they packed in there?”
Bergen’s eyes narrowed. “I think we can find out easily enough.” He pointed at the screen. “They left some behind.”
TIFFANY ANDRETTI STALKED across the small office, stopping uncomfortably close to Quinn. The Trophany glared, eyes narrowed to slits, mouth set in an ugly scowl. On the doll-like woman, the effect was less than menacing, and Quinn bit back a grin. Then she sneezed as the trophy wife’s perfume smothered her.
“You’re telling me those sons of bitches kicked us off the shuttles to bring in a haul of gold?” The Trophany’s unusually soft voice cut through the room like a scalpel.
Quinn shivered. Usually, she found the Trophany entertaining, if irritating, but maybe the woman had unexplored depths. “They loaded dozens of crates onto that shuttle, and the three that were left behind contained these, so I think that’s a safe assumption.” Quinn held up the lump of gold.
The Trophany snatched the heavy rock from her. “How much?”
Quinn shrugged. “I didn’t count. Several dozen crates, I guess.”
“No, I mean how much is it worth?” The shorter woman licked her lips and caressed the palm-sized lump of unrefined metal. “The whole shipment. How many credits?”
Quinn shook her head. “No idea.”
“If I may,” a light male voice cut in. The man who had been standing by the door strolled over to them. He held out his hand, and the Trophany reluctantly relinquished the gold. Medium height and weight, with brown hair, brown eyes, and tan skin—the man was completely unremarkable in every way. He took the lump and scanned it with a device he pulled from his pocket. “This piece alone is worth—” He glanced at Quinn and Bergen, then leaned down and whispered in the Trophany’s ear.
The small woman’s eyes widened. “Holy chit! No wonder they dumped us. How much did they leave behind?” She asked, licking her lips again.
“There are three crates,” Quinn repeated. “But more importantly, how are we going to get off this rock? I don’t care about the gold. I just want to get back to my kids. And don’t forget the Krimson Empire is coming our direction.”
The Trophany waved that away as a minor inconvenience. “I’ll contact my husband’s command and have them come get us. Where did they get all this gold?”
“I don’t know!” Quinn cried. “Can we focus on getting home?”
The plain man stepped forward, turning slightly so he stood with his back to Quinn. “Rumor has it this asteroid is littered with gold. There are fifteen of us. If we can get a shuttle sent back, there should be room for—“ He paused, as if calculating, then continued, “—seven standard-sized crates. More if we—" He broke off, glancing back at Quinn, then guided the Trophany toward the door. “Let’s go call the Admiral.”
Quinn and Bergen exchanged a glance. “Who the hell is that?” Quinn demanded after the others departed.
Bergen grimaced. “That’s Perry Cisneros. Spook. Lieutenant commander, FSF, retired. Barely.”
Quinn’s eyes left the door through which the couple had hurried and focused on Bergen’s face. “What do you mean, ‘barely’ retired? Recently?”
Taking her elbow, he urged her toward the exit. “A few years ago, he was, er, encouraged to retire in exchange for the service dropping charges. He was accused of multiple extramarital affairs with both subordinates and spouses of subordinates. There were rumors of coercion, but they said none of his victims came forward to provide testimony. The JAG let it drop on the condition Cisneros leave the service. He’s here because his wife is the new personnel officer.” They entered the Command Center as he spoke. “Maybe you should contact the ship again. I’m going to nose around the databases to see what other options we might have.”
Quinn waved a distracted hand at him and logged into the comm system. “Elrond, this is Sumpter Base, do you read me?” She double-checked the protocols and sent the signal again.
“Unknown caller, identify yourself,” a voice replied. The screen remained stubbornly blank.
Giving the cam a puzzled look, she flicked an icon. “This is Sumpter Base. Quinn Templeton speaking. I just talked to someone up there about an hour ago.”
“Lieutenant Templeton?” The voice sounded surprised. “Is that you? What are you doing at Sumpter?”
“I was a Lieutenant a long time ago,” Quinn replied, cautiously. “Who is this?”
“It’s Hoover! Hal Hoover! From Port Lucretia!” The screen flared to life, showing a grinning middle-aged man with thinning hair and an FSF uniform stretched across the beginning of a beer belly. He waved enthusiastically. “I haven’t seen you in years! What are you doing on Sumpter, ma’am? I thought everyone there was getting deployed?”
Quinn shook her head. “I’m a dependent now. I separated from the service years ago. We’ve been left behind. I’ve got fifteen non-combatants and no active-duty personnel here.”
The man’s face fell. “Damn. The guys told me someone had contacted us. ...
