Between

Chapter Four

Bridge of the OSV Nightjar, Mid-Eastern Port of Corzibar

Captain Silas Sacavage turned away from the row of starboard-side windows of the bridge of the Nightjar, as if by doing so he could lessen the tension he felt in every fiber of his body. Verification Day had come and gone rather uneventfully aboard his ship, but then, that was nothing new. Verification Day didn't affect himself or his crew, but only the passengers they would soon be taking on board.

Right now, he knew that the newly identified Ill-Borns would be on their way to one of seventeen CO2 scrubs scattered across the Corzean mainland. From there, they would be 'processed' by the Directorate soldiers in an event known as Treatment Day. Once treated at the mainland scrubs, some of the Ill-Borns would be transported again, this time to the offshore scrubs located on the Neutral Islands. It was Treatment Day for which the Nightjar was forced to wait, silent and still in a Corzean harbor. The Captain sighed and ran a scarred set of fingers through his short, greying hair.

Silas Sacavage was not an old man by any means, having just turned 30 on their most recent journey back to Corzibar, but the lines of his face, grey-tipped hair, and the rough, tanned skin often caused others to mistake him for a man in his early forties. Silas didn't usually mind-a man in his position would often fare better with crew who believed themselves younger than him, after all-but on occasion he was reminded that his aged appearance also likely meant he would die at an age younger than the norm. Having spent the twelve years in the service of his country, he did not fear death itself, but the notion that his service could be cut short bothered him.

Beside him, another man appeared from one of the exterior hatches. As the newcomer slipped off his oxygen mask, Silas turned his gaze back to observe the blinking red lights atop the distant Scrub 9's electrified perimeter fence.

"Not long now, Sir."

Silas acknowledged the arrival of his second-in-command, Master Ship Official Craig Bower, with a low, barely audible grunt.

"Who do you reckon they'll send aboard this time?"

Silas straightened and shoved his hands into the pockets of the Corzean Greenkeeper pants he wore.

"Hopefully people that are more useful than the last batch we delivered. After twelve years, I'd sure like to hear that someone we've sent over has some real dirt on these bastards."

"Amen to that, Sir."

Behind them, a third individual emerged, and Silas pivoted to see a breathless Senior Security Officer, twenty-six-year-old Natalie Lennox, saluting them both. Silas gave a nod indicating she could speak.

"Comm's got a call for you, Captain," she told him, her eyes betraying an excitement Silas couldn't recall having seen in her for some time. "They say it's urgent."

His brows flickering downward, the Captain excused himself from the bridge, instructing MSO Bower to take over in his absence, and followed Lennox towards the communications booth.