Weapons are not allowed.
Shit. How the hell are we supposed to protect our humans if we can’t use weapons?
I glance back at my racks of guns, grenades, shield bombs, and blades that line my ship’s interior. The only options are to take everything down and store it all in a crate in an isolation chamber or lock it all down for hyperspace.
“MONA, lock all weapons for hyperspace travel.”
Every rack behind me seals up, and the lights darken.
“Are we jumping soon, sir?” the soft, slightly masculine artificial voice asks.
“No.”
“Then I am to assume we are locking-up to conceal weapons for entry into the lunar shield.”
“A-firm,” I reply, looking through the forms again.
“May I suggest you take a look at this form? You have missed it.” MONA opens a document on a nearby screen.
Compensation form? Ugh.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to figure out what to put. I can’t charge her for a service she might not even want. I can’t say it’s free, or they’ll know something is up. I can’t have been hired by someone else to protect her because that opens a whole new folder of paperwork. I need this to be fast.
Scanning the rules MONA found, I select the only one that makes sense, one I’ve never used before.
A Life Debt owned by The Protected (as The Former Protector) can initiate a non-monetary contract if both parties are willing, for a duration as determined by The Protected and The Protector and mutually agreed upon.
I type out a statement of agreement I hope she will accept. Then I break the law and forge her signature from a shipping document I got my hands on years ago while I was tracking her.
When my documents are completed, I open a double-encrypted file and pull out the approval seals I need.
With my files notarized and ready, I grab a flash drive from a hidden storage compartment under my controls and plug it into my dash.I really hope you didn’t screw me, old friend.
My wristband buzzes softly, alerting me to a change in Zariah’s status. Her heart rate is up. Blood pressure is rising. I hope she’s just excited. I hope she’s not in trouble yet because I’m not there to keep her safe.
Sending the documents to the necessary organizations, I tag them with the program that runs and request that it backdate their arrival to thirty minutes before Zariah left the spaceport.
The files load into the Terran Security Headquarters’ Customs and Private Security Check-in sites. Then I send one to ABR.
The program’s cursor blinks over the date and time of all three files. Anxiety grows with every passing second that the creation and send dates and times don’t change. Then one switches. And the next. Finally, ABR shows it arriving before Zariah left.
Thanks, Aurelius. I owe you.
After one more check of my ship to be sure I’m going to clear their scan, I call the spaceport tower.
“Tower, Elix, disengaging from dock.”
“Elix, tower. One Lathelite approaching departure space. Hold your position.”
I could easily dart around them, but I don’t want to give anyone a reason to stop me and inspect my ship.
The helical Leosantian vessel passes, its crystalline facets reflecting the lights of Catalyst Five and the few green lightson my stealth model medical rescue transport. Its pace is frustratingly slow.
I grip my thruster controls, track the ship visually, strain to keep my control, and then punch it the moment the Lathelite is out of the way. Rocketing across Terran space, I fall into line with the other security ships, most of them broad-winged and oily black SolaTacks or light gray AtomicFires with a bold array of small blue thrusters coating their exteriors.
A few are one-offs like me, but I’m in the only Scintilla. I’m fairly certain I have the only one left in operation.
The ships ease into the gate in the shield. Port security flashes their lights at the ship ahead of me. It gets detained for what I wager is a torn aileron by the flecks of damage I can see on the aft section.
