Page 66 of Salvation for the Alien Mercenary
Covak's laughter choked off. "Wait, you pay wages?"
"Yeah," Ryke smirked, already cutting his steak like nothing had happened. "You eat yours in ice cream."
Laughter filled the galley. Even Davis's grip relaxed, though he stayed pressed against her side, his thigh still firmly against hers. She didn't move away.
Spot chirped happily, hopping down from the table to return to its power outlet.
"Nice work, killer," she whispered. The robot's sensors flashed in what she chose to interpret as pride.
Anson ignored everything, fingers already back to flying across his dataflex.
"They targeted information related to K’ell specifically," he said without looking up. "Spike attack came from the Vaatenian sector."
"Can you trace it?" Jesh asked.
"Already did." A hint of smugness crept into the B'Kaar's voice. "It was a clumsy job. Sophisticated tech, but amateur execution. They left trails everywhere."
"And?" Ryke's patience visibly thinned.
"I followed the money." Anson looked up. "The buyer used a complex laundering system, but they fucked up their encryption algorithm. The same pattern appears in research papers published across three different systems."
He tapped his screen. A holographic display expanded above the dinner table… scientific equations and data charts hovering in the air, sections highlighted in red.
"Look at the algorithmic structures." He pointed to specific sections. "Different research projects, supposedly different researchers. But the pattern's identical across all of them." Another tap. "And it matches K’ell's known work. Perfectly."
Davis leaned forward, muscles coiling with sudden intensity. "He's publishing under different identities?"
"Exactly." Anson nodded. "And the money trail from the spike attack leads straight to funding for one of these projects. A remote outpost specializing in xenogenetics."
"Where?" Davis's voice dropped an octave, suddenly dangerous.
"Cetaaris IV." The B'Kaar's fingers swiped through more data. "The official purpose is researching indigenous plant adaptations. Unofficially..." He let the implication hang.
"How sure are you?" Ryke asked, all business now.
"Ninety-eight percent." Anson shrugged. "The patterns are unmistakable. Same researcher, different names. The funding model matches K’ell's previous operations, too."
She felt Davis go rigid beside her, tension vibrating through every muscle where they touched. This was it… potential answers about whatever was happening to him.
"How soon can we reach Cetaaris IV?" Davis asked, voice tight.
"Twelve hours at maximum burn," Rann said from the doorway. When had he shown up? "Give or take."
"Prep for launch in thirty minutes." Ryke shoved his plate aside. "Rann, plot the course. Jesh, Jex, you're on weapons and defensive systems. That spike attack could be the first of many." He turned to Anson. "Keep digging. I want everything on this outpost before we arrive."
The galley emptied quickly, half-eaten food abandoned as the crew scattered to their stations. Soon, only Mira and Davis remained.
He stared at the space where Anson's hologram had been, every muscle tense beneath his skin.
"This could be it," he said finally. "Real answers."
She reached for his hand. His fingers burned against hers, scalding hot compared to her own.
"We'll find them," she said. Not empty reassurance. A promise.
He turned, eyes boring into hers with an intensity that stole her breath. For a second, she thought he might say something… something about them, about whatever the hell this was between them.
Instead, he squeezed her hand. "I should help with prep."
