Sword of Minerva (The Guild Wars Book 10) by Mark Wandrey (great books for teens TXT) 📕

woven into the case. Then he went after the other three layers of security. It was a miracle the box had survived the destruction of Citation’s CIC and captain’s cabin. If any high energy or shrapnel had penetrated the case…

After a nervous hour of work, the lid released with a click. Despite his self-assurance, he gave a little jump, then laughed at himself.

“A lockbox from a ship?” Rick asked.

“Yes,” Sato said and looked inside. The half-kilo thermite charge was now disarmed, and he removed it to add to the other gear in his backpack. Despite his inside knowledge, it had been a bit of a risk. The thermite was designed to destroy the contents of the case. It would also probably have killed him in the confined space of the module. Fire in space wasn’t something to joke about.

Sato took out a small plastic container holding six computer chips. They were nondescript, but with a blue marking. Those would be the special ones designed to allow a non-Hussars’ ship to find New Warsaw. He put them in his pocket. Next were three more chips, marked 1, 2, and 3. He had no idea what they were so he put them in a pocket, too. A piece of paper floated out. He caught it and flipped it over. It was a picture of a woman, smiling, holding a young child.

He turned it back over and read the writing. “To my husband, James O’Connell, captain of EMS Citation. Congratulations on your promotion. I am so proud of you.” It was signed ‘Lea.’ An address in Ann Arbor, Michigan was listed.

He stared at it for a long moment. Had Lea gotten the message that her husband had died in the battle of Golara? The battle had only been weeks ago, what with the occupation of Earth, maybe she hadn’t heard yet?  What about Captain O’Connell’s son?

“May I see that?” A metallic hand reached out, and Sato passed him the picture. “Pretty wife.”

“Yeah,” Sato agreed.

“Citation was destroyed?” Sato just nodded. “I wonder if she even knows her husband is dead?”

“Maybe we can give her some peace,” Sato said. Inside the box was one final item: a simple paper ticket, torn in half. He took both halves and placed them in a pouch before adding it to the other items in his pocket. He’d decided where to go next. He finished clearing out the box, then set it back into his gear. Then, he waited.

* * *

The cargo master looked at the container again and compared it to the manifest. Virginia Hall was one of the Winged Hussars intelligence cutters, and among the smallest ships in space capable of independent hyperspace travel. Her primary duty was gathering and moving intelligence reports from all over the Galactic Union. Alexis Cromwell was commander of the Winged Hussars, and the intelligence cutter fleet were her eyes and ears.

“Ted! Hey, Ted!” he yelled.

“What is it, sir?” His assistant handler floated over. Like many of the crew, the kid wore more than one hat. He was the assistant purser, assistant chef, and a damage control specialist.

The cargo master tapped the crate. “This one, when was it loaded?”

Ted checked his pinplants. “Shows we loaded it just before leaving New Warsaw.”

“I know that, damn kid. But we only had scheduling for four containers, and destinations for each. Our course is up to us, like always.” He tapped the container again. “This one, though, loaded at the last second with orders to just drop it off at the first port of call? Strange. Damned strange.”

“Orders are approved,” Ted said, shrugging. “Maybe it’s full of elite ninjas or something?”

“Ninjas? For fuck’s sake, stop watching those stupid Tri-Vs.” He looked at the container one more time. Completely nondescript, just like all the modules they carried. Something about it just wasn’t right.

“What’s the holdup?” the captain called on the PA. Virginia Hall’s hold was tiny, since the cutter was mostly powerplant and reaction mass. Her main trade was information, which took no space. The hold had two other containers and a plethora of gear and supplies for their cruise. Virginia Hall would often be out for six months at a time.

“I’m just trying to figure out this drop,” the load master said to the captain.

“Figure it out? The next time I understand how Colonel Cromwell thinks things through will be the first. Drop the container off. Now.”

“Yes, sir.” He looked at Ted and sighed. “Do it.”

* * *

“What’s happening?” Rick asked.

“It sounds like the load master is confused,” Sato explained. “He should be, since I forged all the orders to get this container aboard.”

“How long did you plan this?”

“A few days,” Sato said.

“What if they don’t drop us off?”

Sato grunted and checked his pinplants. The self-contained module he’d designed and modified was capable of operating independent of an outside power source for a considerable time. It operated on a bank of high-energy capacitors, the same kind used by warships to run particle accelerators. The problem was, the life support system ran on elements that needed replenishment. If the module were in space, it could sustain the two occupants for a maximum of 96 hours.

Luckily, the hold had been pressurized. Using tiny taps at several locations, the module could replenish air, and even water. There had to be some of either for it to work, though. Worse, it wouldn’t be hard for someone to get into the module if they tried. It was designed to look like a standard Transpac, and thus was made from common materials. Even the basic model was designed to be moved through starports and space stations without drawing attention to itself.

“If they don’t drop us off, they can just as easily cut in and see what’s inside,” Sato explained, then shrugged. “Nothing we can do about it if they do,