Page 19 of Alien Mercenary's Wife
Eris tilted her head, considering. "What kind of backup?"
"Skinny and Red in the second combat shuttle, positioned for rapid intervention. If we call for immediate extraction, they can reach the surface in minutes." He highlighted potential staging areas. "Fin stays with the Sprite, ready to provide fire support or create distractions as needed."
"And if we need to fight our way out?"
"Then we fight our way out. But we try the quiet approach first." He met her eyes across the table. "Your captain survived this long by being smart. Let's not get her killed by being stupid."
Eris was quiet for a moment, studying the tactical overlay, then she nodded.
"Primary stealth, backup force on standby. I can live with that." She paused. "Should we take more people? Extra security, better firepower if things go wrong?"
He opened his mouth to consider the question, but was interrupted by the sound of running footsteps in the corridor outside. Heavy boots pounding against deck plating, accompanied by screeching sounds.
A blur of motion flashed in the briefing room door, and something that looked like a cross between a chicken and a small dinosaur skidded to a halt in the corridor. The creature's feathers were an alarming shade of crimson, and its beak gleamed with saliva that dripped onto the metal deckplating, hissing on contact.
"Come back here, you beautiful bastard!" Sparky's voice echoed through the ship. "I just want to check your tail feathers!"
The creature paused in the doorway long enough to fix them with one malevolent yellow eye before continuing its rampage through the ship. Sparky followed seconds later, clutching a handful of what appeared to be treats.
"Sorry!" he called over his shoulder as the creature squawked and took off again. "He loves me really!"
Eris and T'Raal looked at each other across the tactical display.
"Two is fine," he said.
"Yeah," she agreed. "Two is more than enough. Now, let’s go save my old boss."
Earth smelled awful.Like that dumpster planet in theKrevaniisystem where they'd dumped three generations of industrial waste and called it terraforming. Same mix of rot, rust, and chemicals that burned your nose.
T'Raal moved through the crowded streets of Sector 12 like he belonged there… just another off-worlder in practical clothes, blending into the stream of shift workers and cargo handlers who kept the city's industrial heart beating.
The combat shuttle had set them down three blocks from the target coordinates, its stealth systems rendering them invisible to everything short of a direct visual sweep. Eris was on overwatch two blocks north while he conducted the initial recon.
"Visual on the warehouse district," Eris spoke with controlled tension, someone who'd learned patience the hard way. "A lot of industrial traffic, but nothing obviously hostile."
He grunted acknowledgment, his enhanced senses already cataloging threats that human eyes would miss. Years of staying alive had taught him to read a place fast.
The warehouse at the coordinates squatted between rusted shipping containers and abandoned loading docks, precisely the kind of place where clandestine meetings happened. Three stories of reinforced concrete and broken windows, surrounded by the industrial detritus of a civilization that had moved its manufacturing off-world decades ago.
Perfect for hiding. Also perfect for traps.
He settled into a doorway that offered clear sight lines to the target building while keeping his profile minimal. The position stank of stale urine. Great, justdraanthinggreat. Hebreathed through his mouth and focused on the tactical picture developing around him.
There were too many maintenance workers.
The district should have been running skeleton crews at this hour, but he counted at least six teams moving through the area. Their equipment looked authentic, their routes seemed random, but their movement patterns set off alarms in his head.
His eyes narrowed. They were covering the ground systematically... like they were searching for something.
There were also too many vehicles.
Three unmarked vans were positioned at chokepoints around the warehouse district. Not unusual in an industrial area, except that none of them had moved in the past twenty minutes. Their engines were running—he heard the subtle vibration even at this distance—but their occupants remained invisible behind tinted windows.
Overwatch positions. Or mobile command posts.
And there were no birds.
Most people wouldn't notice that the local scavenger population had abandoned the area. Animals knew when killers moved in. He'd seen it on a dozen worlds.
