Page 46 of Star-Crossed Captive
“No need for drastic measures,” Cache said, straightening, her tone confident.
“You were right,” he agreed. If they’d initiated propulsion, they would have exposed themselves.
She tipped her head, acknowledging the statement, but her eyes spoke other words, how she could have easily been in the wrong. Neither of them admitted their weaknesses aloud, content to leave them unspoken due to their long friendship.
With a tap of her fingers on the holotable, the proximity alert lifted, the lights returning to normal. Most of the commanders scattered.
“I want to follow, sir.” He wouldn’t rest easy until the ship was well out of the sector.
She pursed her lips. “You know what I’m going to say.”
“That I’m being paranoid.”
Cache stared at him, waiting for him to justify the request that could signal their position as much as powering their engines would have.
“Paranoia has kept us both alive,” he said.
Cache turned to the image of the Guardian, bracing her hands against the table. “Assemble your team, follow, and appease your paranoia.” She touched the tabletop, replacing the image with another sector further out. “And while you’re out and about, I’ll get you to do some reconnaissance here.” She pointed. “We’ve had some new activity and need to find out more.” Cache glanced at her vambrace. “It’s not a long journey. I’ll expect your return in nine hours.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Mace, this is reconnaissance mission, not a raid. Even if you find something juicy, you leave it be. Understood?”
“Of course, sir.”
The lift of her eyebrows told him she didn’t believe his quick agreement. He just smiled.
The black of space stretched before them, endless, interrupted only by the smudge of gray the freighter created with its presence.
“You know, it would be fairly easy to force an airlock and take their cargo,” Grey said from beside him. “Whatever the cargo might be.”
Mace analyzed the data streaming across the main terminal of the Cetan, their stealth vessel, as they traveled concealed in the freighter’s energy wake. They’d trailed the Guardian until it had finished its scans and left the sector, and now followed this anomaly in the middle of nowhere.
“I agree,” Spiro said from behind him. Mace always included him on missions because of his aptitude with jamming signals and scans. “This juicy peach is waiting to be plucked.”
Mace turned at Spiro’s words and regarded the man whose dark glasses concealed his expression and contrasted with his copper skin. Spiro went on, “Send Betel in the Griffin for the forced airlock, and we’ll swoop in behind. Easy.” Eager for any chance to kill defenders after what had happened to him as a POW, his suggestion didn’t come as a surprise to Mace.
Beside Spiro, Betel grunted his agreement. A man of few words, he sat with his arms crossed over his chest. The scar over Betel’s left eyebrow contrasted with the umber tone of his skin. Out of all of them, Betel flew the Griffin housed within Cetan the best. He was also unstoppable at tactical and couldn’t seem to miss a target.
Mace cocked his head at his team before turning back to the controls. “I have two thoughts.”
“Please, do tell,” Grey said, using his most pompous tone.
Mace lifted an eyebrow. “One, if we take this ship, we lose any hope of finding out where it’s going and what it’s doing here.” He turned to Spiro. “Speaking of which, have you figured out what it’s carrying?” Mace asked.
“This peach is brimming with fighters. Not sure if they’re Marauders or Condors but there are at least thirty of them.”
Grey let out a low whistle.
A truly tempting raid. Not only for the hardware the fighters would provide but for the dent it would put in the CORE’s inventory.
“What was your second thought on the subject?” Grey asked, swiveling in his seat.
“This juicy peach stinks of ambush,” Mace said, scowling at the freighter through the viewer.
“Stars above, I could really use a peach,” Spiro murmured. “Haven’t had one in weeks.”
Mace knew he wasn’t talking about fruit, and ignored him to say, “When was the last time we found an unescorted freighter traveling this slow?” He looked at each of them.
