Then the view changed to show one more man on his right. This guy was big, bulky in a way that most people weren’t able to achieve, and looked like he could crush a man’s skull with his bare hands. The name below listed him as Brock Goodwater, a former defender, only serving his mandatory five years before cutting the CORE loose. He would have made a terrible agent. Too big meant too noticeable.
This crew was typical of cargo runners. They moved things for a price, lived a nomadic lifestyle, and did their best to stay out of the cross-hairs of Tellusian pirates.
And they were all listed as deceased.
On the recording, they held weapons in front of them, uneasy expressions on their faces. Miranda in particular looked like she was about to vomit.
A loudkerclunkresounded. The recording jerked, then another softerclankfollowed. The airlock rolled open, revealing the interior of a second ship, but no people.
“Is there anyone on board?” the captain called out, his voice sliding directly into Carver’s ear, a younger version of the ravaged voice from days ago.
He gritted his teeth.
Silence met the question. The captain looked at his crew again, hesitation on their faces.
No one moved at first, then Goodwater ducked, stepping inside. The light on his weapon led the way. The captain followed.
Two more feeds popped up on either side of the captain’s. One was Goodwater’s, the other Valcon’s, who took up the rear behind Miranda.
The recordings showed sleeping pods on either side of the narrow corridor, and Carver frowned. This was a long-distance transport, but a private one, the finishings too lush for a government ship. Plus, the location tag on the recording said Sector Five. There were no public transports in that area; it was too close to Tellusian space.
Why would a cargo crew fly that far out to begin with?Probably smuggling.
No civilian cargo carrier would pass up the opportunity to make extra creds with unsanctioned loads.
Carver paused the recording to access the initial assessment again. It listed their cargo at the time as being cloned livestock. That made him snort. “Livestock” was a great place to hide people. And that close toTellusian space? He would have bet his entire bank of creds that there were passengers on that ship who weren’t supposed to be there.
Shaking his head, he continued to watch the recording. The group moved past the closed doors of the sleeping pods, and into an empty living space. Each view swept the entire area, lighting every corner. There was no one there.
Carver focused on Goodwater’s feed as they approached the closed door of the cockpit. He looked back at his captain, got a head nod, then touched the control panel to open the door.
They all froze as they took in the sight of a small boy sitting on the floor between the two seats, his head bent and his palms facing forward. From his size, Carver would guess his age to be ten or so. There was no additional information under his image. No name, no nothing.
Archibald took point, advancing to kneel in front of the child. “Are you okay?” he asked, his hand reaching toward the boy’s shoulder.
It stopped mid-air when the boy lifted his head. His irises glinted silver in the low light.
Someone gasped. Someone else swore.
Carver swung his legs over the side of the bench and gripped the edge of the seat with both hands.
There was jostling among the team as they tried to back up all at once in the narrow space.
Archibald dropped his hand, but hadn’t moved otherwise. The moment stretched while they stared at the small boy who did nothing but stare back. He had short hair, and his clothes appeared odd, as if fabricated off center.
Finally, Archibald stood and said over his shoulder, “Get the government on the comm.”
The last thing on the recording was Valcon reaching over the pilot’s seat to turn off an active distress beacon.
Carver blinked at the dead feed, his mind racing with more questions than answers. How was it that Milo Archibald, the man who Carver hadkilled not even a week ago, was the captain who discovered a Calypson child on an abandoned ship?
Why had they sent him to torture and kill that man? His superiors had wanted a number. A number of what?
Archibald asked what had happened to the boy. He’d been asking aboutthatboy.
What had happened to the kid? Could it be the same person he’d just fought?
No.Their facial features hadn’t been similar. And as soon as the CORE had gotten a hold of that boy, he would’ve never seen the light of day again.
