Between

Chapter Eleven

Comm station aboard the OSV Nightjar, Mid-Eastern Port of Corzibar

Captain Silas Sacavage pressed the headset harder against his ears, straining to hear the muffled, crackling voice coming through from the other end of the line. Isla Williams sounded quite desperate and he couldn't recall ever hearing such an emotion from her before.

"You have to get her, Sir. We can't afford to let this one get away."

Silas frowned and held the mic almost against his lips.

"What is it Williams? What did you find?"

"Just a girl, Sir, but trust me. You want this one out of Corzibar."

"I need to know why, Williams. You need to tell me why. I can't modify the mission without the Imperium's consent, and I can't get their consent unless I have all the information."

But Williams didn't seem to be listening. Her voice kept pulling farther away from the mic, as though she were looking around her, wherever she was. He heard a scuffle in the background, like tents unzipping, ripping, or being pulled down. The line crackled again, and Williams' voice sounded even farther away. He could hear panic settling into the tone.

"Please, Sir. 1927-7. You need to make sure she gets on the ship before the HMUC realizes the significance of what they've lost."

Silas felt a twinge of concern settle in his gut.

"What's going on Williams?"

A clatter and muffled voices broke through the line.

"Williams? Isla! What's going on?"

His heart pounding, Silas slammed the clip down on the comm line and cut the connection. If the HMUC had gotten to Isla Williams—which it sounded like they had—he knew better than to keep the link open for them to trace and pinpoint. For a long moment he stood there, his head bowed, considering that he may have just spoken to his lead scientist and only foothold in the Directorate for the last time. A couple of feet away, one of the young Commsman looked up at his Captain, his widened eyes and pale expression perfectly mirroring Silas' own feelings.

"She gave us a Sector Residency Number, Sir," he issued quietly, and then slid a piece of paper toward Silas on the desk. "Sector 7. Haven't brought any Ill-Borns in from there in a good while."

Silas' frown deepened as he lifted the paper to study it.

"That's because it's the home Sector of the Master Controller, and his cronies never stop watching it."

"But we shouldn't have to get her from there. Williams wouldn't have been able to reach out until after the evals were done. She said we had to make sure she got on the ship. She should be at the scrub, then, no?"

The Captain nodded while the ensign thought aloud. It was something Silas had encouraged during his tenure as the Nightjar's Captain. Often the best thoughts were left unspoken, and so, he had striven to ensure his crew knew he wanted to hear those thoughts.

"So, we wait for her, and if she doesn't come aboard with the others, we can hold off until we find her. Engine trouble, or something?"

"I have to speak with the Chancellor before we can do anything," Silas replied, folding the note up and slipping it into his front pocket. "Keep listening for anything else from Williams. If you catch chatter from the HMUC, I need to know about it immediately."

"Aye, Captain," the Commsman replied with a salute, and he turned the volume control on the equipment, going back to his duties.

Silas, his mind still spinning from the conversation with Isla Williams, left the station. He had a few calls to make.