Page 91 of Alien Burn

After his lead left, Dhomhes fetched the meal from the next room.

The cook would have disowned it by now, but he finished it.

I ate.

Her reply was a single word.

Finally.

He laughed, alone in the borrowed office, and for a few breaths the room felt less airless.

Ruthak's inspection unit had barely resumed its search when the first order arrived.

Withdraw from the sector pending hazard recertification.

The operator called his own supervisor instead. Dhomhes was brought onto the channel in time to hear wind dragging across the field pickup and a male asking, with commendable restraint, who had found a hazard that his instruments had somehow missed.

The readings showed the same heat pockets and unstable debris, all within the unit's working limits. Before Dhomhes could answer, a second order reassigned it to the southern pans.

“They've given me a different reason to leave,” the operator said. “And the southern station hasn't requested equipment. I checked before I called.”

Dhomhes brought both orders onto the display.

An earlier attempt to divert the search had used a lie about an instrument. Another had borrowed an old audit reference. His lead sent the verification for these orders. Both carried valid emergency credentials.

Someone had stopped pretending to have authority and begun using it.

“Can you identify who issued them?”

“The office, yes. The person, not from this copy. Several staff can work through the same emergency authorization.”

“Get the original access records preserved. Through the commander. Before anyone corrects a mistake.”

His lead was already moving.

On the field channel the operator cleared his throat. “Gol-Vett? Shall I stop?”

“Keep the unit in a safe position.” Dhomhes put the conflicting orders before the search supervisor and security commander. “I need a confirmed instruction.”

The commander checked with the teams responsible. No new hazard report. No request from the southern station. He suspended both instructions, and the operator returned to work.

Only then did Dhomhes let the ridges along his forearms settle.

His lead watched the last field image disappear.

“They knew which unit to move.”

“They had its registration. Its location. The time it started.”

“A response-office employee could see all of that.”

“So could someone using an employee's access.” Dhomhes stood. Whoever was behind the orders, they knew which patch of ground to keep him from searching.

“Copy everything to my father,” he said. “And arrange a flyer. I need to see Head Hawn.”

Fiviel's father was holding a practice blade when Dhomhes entered the hall.

For one painful instant, hope came into his face.