Page 25 of Star-Born Anomaly
Shaking off the urge, she focused on her seeds, planting one, then another, until six pots sat on the shelf and she pressed the button to swap it upward for the next.
She sank into the repetitive nature of the work, allowing her mind to blank. But always after a time, another question would emerge. How old was he? How had he arrived? Why did he want to collect her?
Eventually, he moved off, looking at something else. He paused, then reached toward one sapling. She tensed, about to shout at him to be gentle, but she didn’t need to. His fingers stroked the leaf so gently, it barely moved. A few more steps and he did the same to another.
The farther he walked, the more the tension eased from her shoulders. But even as he left her alone, she kept her ears open for any sound of him through the clamor of the storm above and the recorded game playing from her work surface. His footsteps faded to nothing as he reached the far end of the greenhouse, then became louder again as he walked up the other side.
Wynn touched the control to swap out the next row of pots and watched him through the gaps in the shelves. He examined the pots like he’d never seen such a thing, his lips parted and his eyes wide. And perhaps he hadn’t. She knew nothing of Sector Ten. No one did.
The barrier of the work surface and shelves made her bold, and she examined him as thoroughly as he did her work.
Though his eyes glinted in their disquieting way, they appeared kind. Or gentle, at least. She’d thought him expressionless at first, but now she gauged him to be full of curiosity, perhaps even wonder.
Again, a sense of familiarity assaulted her, but in the wake of it surfaced another thought.He’s handsome.An internal curse followed. She didn’t want to find anything about him appealing. If he meant to take her off world, then he was a threat.
A threat who hadn’t yet broken his promises, and looked at a sapling like it held the secrets of the universe.
Her shoulders slumping, she admitted defeat and met his gaze square on.
“What’s your name?”
Chapter nine
Across the solar system
It wasn’t often that assignments happened one on top of another, but it wasn’t unheard of either. Except just this once, Carver could have used the time to clear his head. Maybe at one of the border stations where the laws blurred, and he could lose himself in strong alcohol and a willing body.
The lift door opened, revealing a bustling hub. He merged into foot traffic. CORE citizens went about their day, voices subdued, their clothing in pastel shades. The fashion trends on this station were ridiculous, including the light blue, two-piece suit he currently wore.
Carver nodded to the person next to him in polite etiquette and headed toward the transport hub.
With a touch to his PALM, he accepted the assignment.
Information scrolled across his ocular implant—a new handler, new contacts, a choice in transport options—erasing his previous assignment like it had never existed. The last item was an attachment, a portfolio with a massive file size. There was no name for the target or a location.
His eyebrows rose. Usually that was the first thing they sent him.
The last part of his new orders, the portfolio, was sealed, to remain unopened until he was off grid, an ultimatum order stamped on the file, along with a bonus creds package. His acceptance meant he would see this new mission through to the end, whether that meant his success or his death, and he wouldn’t be able to open the file until he guaranteed zero failure and a seven-day completion.
His mind whirred as he took the next right toward the docking bay that catered to public transportation. With a touch to his PALM, he pulled up the flight plans for all imminent departures. There was one heading straight to a station where he housed quarters. It left in thirty minutes, but direct paths were easier to track.
Another transport, scheduled to depart in fifteen minutes and already boarding, required him to transfer ships midway. Accessing the passenger manifest with a swipe of his fingers, Carver swapped one of his identities for someone who hadn’t checked in yet, a seat at the back where no one would sit behind him.
And just like that, he had a ticket.
He took another right and stopped at a bank of wall compartments. Swiping his PALM, he opened one up, dropped his bag inside, then marked it for pickup by the resident handler. Once sealed, he continued walking, got onto another lift, and descended two more decks. A short walk toward the docking bays, and the crowd slowed and clogged as he neared the departure gates.
The announcement of his flight echoed above him. Carver hung back, his eyes on his PALM like everyone else, minding his own business, until the bulk of the crowd for his flight had boarded. When only a few people remained, he made his way toward the gate.
“What do you mean there’s no room on this one?” The masculine voice cut through the lower murmur of everything else. “I bought my ticket weeks ago.”
As Carver neared the check-in terminal, he turned his head until the reception desk was in his peripheral vision. The agitated man touched his PALM, probably ordering himself a calming dose.
“I’m sorry, sir.” The other person’s tone placated. “There was a glitch in the system, and we’re overbooked.”
Carver swiped his PALM, and the security field allowed him through.
“I’ve been authorized to comp you…”
