Chapter One
Valiant Knox
In orbit around Ilari, Brannon System
Crazy frigging people.
That was Sub-Lieutenant Sebastian Rayne’s assessment, as he stared at the Command Intelligence agent and her handler.
“You want me to drop you where?”
The CI handler’s expression tightened, making the guy look like he’d gotten a whiff of something he didn’t like. “These coordinates. The ones I’ve just given you—”
“Yeah, I can read the coordinates, buddy. But you do realize they’re in the heart of enemy-held territory? Like, I’m talking so far up the proverbial ass—”
“We realize that,” the agent interrupted. “They told us you were the best pilot in the Brannon System. So, can you drop me there, or not?”
Well now, stroke his ego and then throw down a challenge? This chick had player written all over her.
He rocked back on his heels, hooking his thumbs through his belt holster.
“I don’t know. What’s in it for me?” He shot her a weighted look full of smarmy innuendo. However, he was just playing her tit for tat. The woman had all artificial looks—straw blond hair, perfect plastic features, and too much makeup. The usual CI agent killer-babe, who used her face and body to charm the unsuspecting enemy…and then slit the poor bastard’s throat before he’d even finished getting his rocks off.
Yeah, there was something too fake about her, all except for those eyes. Those jade green eyes had an expressive openness to them that didn’t belong in the face of a consummate fraud. Those eyes made him take a second look, even though she wasn’t the type of woman he usually noticed, and made him wonder if there was warmth beneath her stone cold surface.
Impossible. Not someone hard like her.
“Nothing,” the agent replied. “There’s nothing in it for you except the challenge of taking on a high-risk assignment. But, from what I’ve heard about you, that should be enough.”
Damn, she had it right there. Even now, the idea of getting so far into the heart of territory held by the CSS—Christ’s Sunday Soldiers, a group of religious zealots who’d taken over the planet and liked to keep the people in the dark ages with little to no technology—had anticipation pulsing through him with the steady, excited thudding of his heart. In his mind’s eye, he could see possible routes and the problems he was likely to run up against. It would be one heck of a ride and had all the hallmarks of a suicide mission.
He’d been in the United Earth Force military for nearly fifteen years, been posted on the Knox for about a decade, and been involved in more than his fair share of risky ventures. But none of them measured up to this little piece of lunacy.
The war—or “peacekeeping efforts” as the UEF liked to label their presence in the Brannon System—had dragged out for over two decades, all because some small-time UEF governor decided he wanted to be big potatoes and declared the three planets under his jurisdiction a sovereign state, then made himself Pontifex—religious leader of the CSS.
Really, he wouldn’t mind flying over the old Pontifex’s residence in the “holy city” and dropping a missile or two in his lap. Surely, that’d be more effective than the constant, never-ending skirmishes they engaged in. Unfortunately, he wasn’t likely to get clearance for that kind of aggressive, suicidal move. So he supposed dropping Killer-Babe Agent to her coordinates was the next best thing. Though it wasn’t as if she’d do anything useful while she was in there, like assassinate one or two of the CSS’s top echelon leaders. No, it’d be more along the lines of sneaking around and gathering intel. He supposed someone had to do the shady work, except what did it ever really achieve?
“Fine, when do we leave?”
The CI handler looked relieved, while the agent simply nodded.
“We leave now. Commander Yang has already cleared an armed personnel carrier for our use.”
Seb glanced over at Commander Yang, leaning on his walking stick. His bad leg—broken and never healed right while in the captivity of the CSS—must have been giving him hell today, because everyone knew the commander hated needing the cane. Yang gave a single nod. Had they all been so sure he’d take on this crazy assignment? When had he become so damn predictable?
He tapped a foot while the agent had a quick, quiet conversation with her handler before she walked over to join him.
“By the way, Sub-Lieutenant.” The agent paused in front of him, and that intense jade gaze of hers seemed to be sizing him up, in more ways than one, leaving him a little too aware of how close she stood. “We’re short on time, so not only do I need you to get me there in one piece, I need you to do it fast.”
He shot her a grin. “Then you’ve definitely come to the right place. When it comes to ships and jets, crazy and fast is the only way I do things.”
As he saluted Commander Yang, Seb caught the faintly exasperated expression that crossed the CO’s face. Yeah, his reputation of being a cowboy had been well-earned since he’d received his wings and joined the fighter pilot squadron. But someone in the squad had to fill the role of crazy sonuvabitch, otherwise who else would they give whacky, fun-filled assignments-of-death to?
The agent nodded to her handler and then walked out of the wardroom, and Seb fell into step beside her. “I assume we’re launching from port level alpha?”
Lips pressed into a thin line, she shook her head. “No, the personnel carrier Commander Yang organized for us is on port level charlie, bay foxtrot-ten.”
“So we’re launching from the boondocks, huh?” He made a face, though she didn’t see it, the way she was avoiding looking at him. What? She didn’t like dealing with the grunt? Well, too bad. If he had to fly her into the stinking armpit of Ilari, the planet the CSS called home, then she could damn well put up with his commentary the entire way. For some reason—maybe the way she blew him off—he wanted to goad her. “I guess that means you don’t want anyone to see me flying you off to your super-secret CI business.”
She cut him an unimpressed look, sprinkled with a hint of annoyance. “Yes. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you exactly how classified this is, so don’t go blabbing your mouth to any of your stick jockey buddies tonight when you’re having after-shift beers.”
He sent her a faintly mocking salute. “Yes ma’am.”
She sighed and glanced away from him again as they reached the transit—the system that took people up, down, and all along the ship. He went to step forward, but she grabbed his shoulder and shook her head.
Now what? He crossed his arms while she hung back, and they stood there watching several loads of people get on and off.
“I thought you said we were in a hurry.”
“We are.” The transit arrived again, this time empty. “Come on.”
He trailed her and then leaned back against the wall while she put in their destination as port level charlie.
“So even our ride down to the launch bay has to be done in secret?” he asked the back of her head. She didn’t turn around, didn’t even acknowledge his question. How snooty.
“Don’t you get sick of the constant subterfuge? It must be exhausting. I mean, I’ve only been doing it five minutes, and I’ve already had enough.”
Still no answer. She didn’t even move a muscle. Well, fine. He was more than happy to entertain himself.
“You heard that new song by Kat Sparkles? It’s catchy, right?” He started signing the annoying teenybopper pop song clogging all the music stations across the known-worlds.
The agent turned her head slightly, but didn’t even have the gall to tell him to shut up. Damn, how he wanted to get a rise of out her, although he wasn’t sure why.
The transit arrived at port level charlie, opening to the almost-deserted launch bay. There were a few maintenance crewmembers around, but no doubt Miss Secret Agent here would avoid them directly.
“Let’s take it down to Ilari. I hear it’s a beautiful day to defy death.” He shot the agent a grin, before brushing past her and heading for bay foxtrot-ten, still humming Kat Sparkles as he walked.