Chapter 2

If all Royal Delta Marineslooked like her, he’d sign up tomorrow. Lucius had never actually met an RDM before. The old Canmerican Delta Force had merged with the British Royal Marines a quarter century back when Canmerica had finally gone down hard. The Deltas and the Night Stalkers—Canmerica’s elite fighters and fliers—had fought their way out to orbit and the Brits had given them a home.

Syra looked half cat and half invisible in her skin-tight black jumpsuit. He didn’t see a spare gram anywhere, but rumor said that an RDM could step out an airlock and complete any mission with just what they were wearing.

Smoothly bald. Rumor was they all shaved their heads to save the extra ounces. Of course so did half of spacers—hair and zero-g he supposed could be awkward. His own seemed to be okay, but he’d never worn it long. Bald looked silly on some women, but not her.

“Am I going to like what’s on this chip?” She led him into a hangar that looked like a rabbit warren for ships. A line of the big Stinger 60s of the Night Stalkers filled one side of the bay. The other side of the hangar housed a long rack of smaller vessels. In the ceiling racks were parked all of the utility craft, and the floor area was service bays and gear. She led him to one that had to be too small for human use. It wasn’t just space black. It was so black that it hurt his eyes trying to see it.

“Hm-nmn. Nmnnm.” Something was wrong with his mouth. He was starting to panic when he caught her hints of a sly grin.

He managed a calming breath, then poked her shoulder to get her to turn to fully face him. It was weird, she was hard, like Plas hard. He was fairly sure he’d know if they’d figured out android bodies.

“Mn rm nu?”

“What am I? An RDM. So don’t screw with me. It’ll wear off in a few minutes.” Her smile was a good one. He didn’t have a whole lot of experience with women, though he suspected that any experience he did have wouldn’t have been relevant with a Marine anyway.

She rested her hand against the impenetrable darkness of the small ship and a hatch appeared. An Insertion Ship. He’d heard of these, mostly by rumor. They were an extreme evolution of the Bell Little Bird attack helicopter—the same way humans were to whatever proceeded chimpanzees. It was little bigger and could carry just two people, but that’s where the similarities ended. Canmerica, while they still existed, and now the Brits knew one thing—give your Special Ops teams the very best gear. Inserters were almost mythic in their capabilities. Stealth, weapons, and computers that were so smart they were barely legal even with I-Loc control by humans.

The engineer in him wanted a full rundown. One look at Syra told him to keep his mouth shut even if he could talk.

At her gesture, he entered first. The first seat was beyond crazy. It made the cockpit of the Earth Launch ship look like a surface slider’s control panel in comparison. The second seat was devoid of controls—a half dozen interfaces that he recognized and not much more. He opted for that one. There was no third seat—not as if there was room for one.

His ears popped after she slid in and closed the hatch. A quick run of her hands over the controls, and the ship seemed to wake to life. A thumb on the I-LoC pad and the computer came online.

She slotted the chip.

“Id wond murk mile dockd.”

“This ship has a few tricks that aren’t on the books.” She punched some control. “Poof! We’re no longer here. But we are. But we aren’t. You wanna tell me about what’s on here before I crack it?”

“I can’t!” He wanted to yell it in exasperation, and somehow he could.

Her smile again looked dangerous. Pretty as hell, but dangerous. An RDM with dimples. He wondered what color her hair really was that went with those curiously green eyes. Even rarer than his own blue.

“I…” he tried in a normal voice, and it also worked. “We’re going to steal something.”

She shrugged, “Fine by me.”

Oddly, her Plas-hard suit seemed to flow with her underlying musculature. Armor wasn’t one of his specialties, but he had no idea how she felt so hard yet looked so soft. Was the woman inside the armor like that as well?

“What are we stealing? And why you?” She was all business.

“Why me?” No one had asked him that. Up until this point, he’d explained what he’d figured out and then he’d been told “You’re it!”

He had to think before he could answer the question.

“I suppose that it’s because I’m the one who figured out how to steal it. As to what, maybe you’d better open the chip. I don’t think it’s likely that you’ll believe me. I’m just a Rook Dweeb Engineer.”

No smile at his joke, granted, lame joke. Not even a twitch that he could detect. She simply leaned down and eye-dented the chip. Maybe her brain was as hard as her armor. And her heart as cold and dark. But that wasn’t right. He’d heard her fiery temper when she’d unleashed it on Colonel Deeton. Everyone had, despite the closed door.

He’d built the main infrastructure of the chip’s contents. The Royal Delta Marines commander-in-chief had been the one to lay in the mission orders and lock it down.

“Royal Engineer Lucius Markham…” the commander’s voice sounded into the tiny cockpit.

“Even you name is retro,” Syra muttered.

“…is in absolute and unquestioned command of this mission. Acknowledge.”

“What kind of space junk is that?” Syra yelled at the commander.

But he was a recording, only programmed to respond to one answer.

“Acknowledge,” the chip responded. “Message will autodestruct in ten. Nine. Eight…”

Lucius could hear her teeth grinding. At Two, she snapped out. “Acknowledge. Major Syra Clairborne of the Royal Delta Marines.”

“Acknowledge accepted,” the chip answered flatly.

Her fury seemed to seethe off her in waves that threatened to flood the tiny cockpit.

“Major Syra Clairborne? You’re that Syra?” She had a reputation that carried all the way to Earth. A lethal one. She was the most decorated soldier of them all.

His question gave her a focus for her irritation. If looks were lethal…

He raised his hands. “Not my idea. Please don’t kill me.”