Excerpt
Mortimer Schumacher. The name itself conjured images of silk sheets, expensive whiskey, and the scent of illicit substances lingering in the air. He was a walking contradiction—a hedonistic philosopher, a cynical romantic, a man who'd inherited a fortune and spent it, piece by piece, in a glorious bonfire of self-indulgence. He lived for the moment and the fleeting pleasure that could be found in a cocktail, a high-stakes poker game, or the curve of a woman's back beneath his body.
Mortimer was everything Lauren Kutyna wasn't—extravagant and emotionally unburdened. And yet—or more likely because of this—he was the best shag she'd ever had. Though she suspected his pharmaceutical cocktail played a significant role in his stamina. She wasn't naive enough to believe it was all him. But hey, who was she to judge? A girl's gotta have her standards, but a little pharmaceutical enhancement had never hurt anyone. Except maybe Mortimer, eventually.
Lauren gathered her clothes from where they lay scattered across Mortimer's imported Persian rug. Each item was a piece of armour being reassembled—her practical cotton underwear, the sturdy flight suit, the heavy boots. A world away from the silk sheets she was leaving behind.
Mortimer watched her from the bed, taking a long drag from one of his expensive cigar. The smoke curled around him like a possessive lover. 'You could have another taste of this body,' he said, though they both knew she wouldn't.
'You wish.' Lauren zipped up her flight suit.
'Of course I do, and you're missing all the fun.'
'Your kind of debauchery takes dedication, Mort. Don't sell yourself short.'
He laughed, deep and genuine. 'Same time next lunar cycle?'
She didn't turn around, but allowed herself a small smile. 'If you're lucky.' She left Mortimer's perfumed paradise, heading to her ship.
As she pulled away from him, a familiar sense of detachment settled over her. It was always like this with Mortimer. Pleasure, a release, nothing more. No demands, no expectations, no entanglements. Just the freedom to walk away and return to the quiet solitude of her ship, the only place she felt at home. Her space. Her rules. No compromises.
The Sagan was at dock AC-142 of Sector three of Luna. Lauren approached the main hatch and, as it cycled open, detected that something was off. The interface panel displayed a subtle flicker, indicating the system had been compromised.
Her fingers danced across the multi-use comm that hugged her wrist. The device responded instantly, throwing up holographic data. The readouts showed fluctuations in the power distribution, minuscule deviations from the baseline parameters she had calibrated before launch. Someone had been busy accessing the Sagan's while she'd indulged herself in Mortimer's quarters.
'Computer, run a full diagnostic on hatch security systems.' The readout shifted, displaying a cascade of system checks in amber text.
*SECURITY ALERT: Unauthorised hatch entry detected.
*Unauthorised access attempts: 3.
*Last authorised access: 72 hours ago.
*CRITICAL ALERT: Unauthorised hatch entry successful. Time stamp: 47 minutes ago.
* Life Signs: Intruder detected. Location: Engineering.
* Security Recommendation: Manual inspection advised. Threat level unknown.
The blood drained from Lauren's face. The Sagan was her sanctuary, her only true safe space. And someone had violated it while she'd been wrapped up in Mortimer's silk sheets.
Altamura. The name flashed through her mind. Was this her former boss doing? An attempt to silence her and bury the secrets of what had really happened on Outpost 9001? No, this was her paranoia taking over her training. Altamura wouldn't leave any evidence of his passage. Besides, he had left her alone, hadn't he? Probably because she had never tried to expose the truth about him and Logan, despite her promises to herself to do so.
But if not him, who was it?
Lauren cursed under her breath. Amateur or not, any breach of a registered cargo vessel was a serious offence on Luna. Protocol demanded she alert station security, but that would mean hours of delay.
She pressed her back against the hull beside the hatch, activating her comm again. 'Computer, life sign scan, full spectrum.'
The scanner beeped, confirming the diagnostic. Only one life sign in engineering, the compartment where a saboteur could turn her ship into a very expensive debris field with just a few wrong moves.
She unholstered her stun gun and proceeded inside with caution, clearing the cargo hold first as a standard procedure. The containers were undisturbed, their tamper seals intact. The cabins and galley showed no signs of intrusion. In the cockpit, she noted with relief that the navigation and communication arrays remained offline with their quantum encryption still active.
She paused at the engineering hatch, listening to the hum of the reactor core. Her comm displayed the intruder's position: stationary, crouched by the primary coolant manifold. Not good.
The hatch slid open with a soft hiss. Lauren kept her weapon trained on the coolant section, using the main power coupling as cover. 'Step away from the manifold. Hands where I can see them.'