Between

Chapter Sixteen

Officers' Mess Hall aboard the OSV Nightjar, Mid-Eastern Port of Corzibar

Silas Sacavage exited his stateroom in full Directorate garb, although he held the glossy black mask at his waist. It wasn't necessary to don the mask just yet, after all.

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea, Captain."

Silas had entered the officer's mess hall to find the rest of his recovery detail waiting for him. All but one of them were dressed in identical clothing to his own, and it was the one not like the others who had spoken.

"I will take that under consideration, MSO Bower," the grey-haired, grey-eyed Silas replied with a faint smile. To his left, Craig Bower frowned, but it was clear he knew the Captain's mind was made up. He stepped forward and handed Silas a weapon.

"Take this then, if you insist on dropping into the middle of this mess. It's a tranq gun, so if you have to shoot anyone, you're not shooting to kill. Less suspiciously dead bodies left behind, and all that."

"Thank you MSO," Silas replied, grinning a little wider now. "Though I suspect none of us will need our weapons, it is good to know we are all prepared for the worst."

"There's no guarantee we're even going to find her there, Captain," came the voice of Senior Security Officer Natalie Lennox from a meter or so away. She had one boot on a stool, working to tie the laces as she talked. "The word is the treatments have already begun, and we have no idea if she'll even survive that. They botch a lot of those surgeries, you know, Sir."

"I am well aware, Lennox," replied the older man, nodding. "That is why it is so very important that we get there as soon as possible."

Natalie nodded as Bower piped up again.

"Don't forget to check the bunkhouses too," he suggested. "Some of the soldiers there seem keen to keep certain Ill-Borns out of harm's way. If Williams recognized her value, it's possible someone else did as well, and the soldiers would be the first to see her since Williams."

"We'll start with the groups going into the Tower," Silas said, taking charge of the situation. "Lennox, do you have the list?"

"Right here, Sir." She held up a small notebook.

"Good." Glancing around, Silas took in the faces of his officers and the several enlisted personnel who would be joining them on their venture to collect another round of Ill-Borns and bring them aboard the Nightjar. "Everyone knows the drill. Two of us take post at the entrance to the Tower. One takes post at the turn to the lab and funnels the ones on the list to the hospital wing. From there, Mister Brown will give each Ill-Born the brand so they can get through harbor security and onto our ship. Whoever's left will be in charge of getting those people onto our carrier."

The enlisted crewman, twenty-year-old Ross Brown, looked suddenly uncomfortable.

"Brand, Sir?"

The Captain studied him patiently.

"Yes, son. Brand. As in a hot iron to the wrist. They don't get that brand, they don't leave Corzibar. That brand tells the harbor guards they're sterilized and ready for transport. Think you can you handle that, son?"

"Yes, Sir. But where does that leave you and SSO Lennox?"

Natalie set her foot back on the floor and straightened.

"We'll be scouting the barracks and bunkhouses, looking for any other potentially important people."

Silas nodded to indicate the words of his third-in-command were accurate.

"Remember, men, it's very important we are only transporting the numbers seen on our list. For those of you who haven't taken part in this event before, each Corzean has their Sector Residency Number tattooed at the back of the neck near the base of the hairline. If you can't read it, use your scanner and scan for a tracker. It should have an electronic copy of their number. The only exception to the rule about bringing aboard people on the list is if that person doesn't have a tracker. It's not very common anymore, but if they can't be tracked, check again and make certain. If you are certain—and only if you are absolutely certain—they have no tracking device, you can send them to the Nightjar with the others."

The enlisted men nodded to indicate they understood.

"The woman we're looking for is number 1927-7. If you find her, you are to call one of the others so that you may leave your post and escort her aboard the carrier." Natalie stood beside the Captain now, stone faced and serious as was so typical of her. "The rest of you will continue with your duties until the throng has passed, even once that list is complete. We can't leave until the carriers do, so this is an exercise in patience and redundancy."

"Remember," the Captain added, "you're not going to find everyone. Some of them will have gotten themselves in trouble and may very well already be dead. But 1927-7 is our priority. Whoever she is, we need to find her and get her aboard the Nightjar. If those carriers try to leave and that woman isn't on board, do whatever you have to do to stall them."

Now it was Craig Bower's turn to step up. The burly man gave a nod of thanks to Silas and Lennox before he spoke.

"Weapons!" he began, grinning widely at the enlisted men. They stared at him, intent. "Don't use your weapons unless absolutely necessary. There may be points when you have to, though, so be prepared for that. These people are frightened and desperate, and just because we're charged with getting certain individuals out doesn't mean they know that, and it doesn't mean they'll come willingly. Each and every one of them has just lost everything, so they may fight back. We can't tell them who we are, and we can't tell them where they're going. If they know, it could blow the entire operation—short term and long term. Oh, and for God's sake, whatever you do, no matter the reason, don't get trigger happy on any of the Directorate soldiers. They may be crazy bastards, but they don't shoot each other. Remember you're dressed like them. You go shootin' them up, they'll get suspicious real damn quick."

Silas cleared his throat once Bower had finished his speech. Taking a step forward, he clasped his hands behind his back and looked around at them all.

"This is what we do, men, and we're damn good at it. It takes skill, and smarts, and good morals to do the right thing. But we're doing the right thing, here, just like we've always done. Remember that. But also remember, you need to talk to each other. You need to communicate exactly what's happening to all of us so we know what we're up against, what to expect, and whether we are ready to stop looking for this woman. Use the encrypted radio channels. Anything else'll get picked up by the HMUC, and if that happens, it's game over."

The Captain paused then, raising his eyebrows.

"Does anyone have any questions?"

A unanimous shaking of heads followed.

"Then let's get going."

A chorus of, "Aye, aye, Sir!" echoed through the mess, and Silas Sacavage smiled determinedly.

They had one hell of a job to do.