Opalina Outpost

Chapter 4: Aliens

Ravi spread his prep materials across the broad table in front of him and let out a satisfied sigh. Leaving the capitol and jetting out into the Fennec region's sand-blasted heat left a thrill. Nothing could weigh down his airborne mood. There was a fuckload of work needed to assume command, but he'd arrived in the town called Raffaret two days ahead of schedule, with enough time to post up in the nearest inn and dig into the documentation Com Huseda's outfit sent. Lucky that this particular inn had a bar on the first floor. Shitty lighting, decent sunbrew, and no distractions. It was exactly what he needed to get ready for Opalina.

He powered up his slate and waited for the inevitable parade of adverts, arranged his inktouch pens into a neat row, and positioned the blank pad of notebook paper so that it lined up with the edge of the table. The paper was old-fashioned, but so was he. Paper notes helped him absorb the scope of a task. He was going to need all the help he could get to turn this particular assignment into something favorable. But it was still a command position. A chance to finally run his own crew.

Archcom Pridian had warned him that the first step was passing a damn inspection. His eyebrows climbed as he read the litany of reports detailing the disasters of Opalina's failed inspections. Three—almost four—years since they'd met even the lowest acceptable bar. No one was going to hand a commendation to a unit that couldn't pass basic inspection. At least the first hurdle was obvious.

Commendations were next, and that was going to be tricky until he had a better idea of who he was working with. Years with a respectable Enforcer unit meant he was accustomed to the discipline and traditions of the most physical of the three branches. The unit at Opalina was too low ranked to specialize in any branch. Hopefully they had some promise as Enforcers. He didn't know the first thing about trying to propel a unit into Engagement or Enlightenment.

A racket at the bar's entrance snagged his attention, and he looked up at the noisy group spilling inside. They were exactly the sort of crowd he didn't want overtaking the homey quiet. Feathers, fringe, oversized gems, stripes of glitter across their faces. Loud. Some of their clothes were more holes than fabric. Undoubtedly a bunch of wealthy recruits from the ziggurat on dispensation and out to party. There was some club in the area that kept popping up in all his adverts, and it seemed like the only place in the desert that would welcome that many sequined outfits.

The horde charged further back into the bar, led by a tall man in a slinky shirt and pants that had to be threat to his circulatory system. Although, they did highlight a pair of well-shaped thighs attached to a goddess-blessed ass. Ravi cleared his throat and looked blindly back at his slate. Commendations. He was supposed to be investigating commendations.

Ignoring the sounds of tables shifting in the opposite corner, he scribbled a few notes onto his paper and swiped over to the personnel files. A blank page greeted him. Fuck everything, they weren't even keeping records properly. There was a mountain of paperwork ahead to get the outpost caught up.

Obnoxious laughter echoed from the clubbers, but he just added another note to the growing task list marching down one side of his paper. He swiped again, and the outpost blueprints popped up.

Ravi frowned. It was oddly laid out, but after studying it a bit, he could count the bunks correctly. Fully staffed, it was a small crew of nine, subal included. Better to start with fewer people when trying to build from the ground up. Another blaring laugh assaulted his ears. He glared across the room in the hopes that one of them might be polite enough to tell the rest to pipe down.

His gaze met a pair of hazel eyes framed by impossibly long, black lashes. Dark hair swooped in loose waves to the shadow of a kissable collarbone. The man grinned right at him, and the expression dimpled his brown cheeks. Ravi's insides went liquid. He dragged his gaze back to his table, fighting a flush.