Free The Terminal War: A Space Opera Novel (A Carson Mach Adventure) by A. C. Hadfield

finite: we don’t receive guests normally, you understand.”
    There was a sound of bitterness to those words, Mach thought. Although he couldn’t make out Kortas’ face in the silhouette, it didn’t take a genius to detect the underlying resentment for their presence.  
    Kortas disappeared back into the light, leaving the others to do as he suggested. Mach glanced down at the bracelet wrapped round his wrist and for a brief moment couldn’t remember how it got there. It was heavier than it looked: a centimeter-wide band of polished chrome with a single pinhead dot of red light blinking in the middle.  
    “You can see us, can’t you?” Mach said as though he were a madman.
    “Who are you talking to?” Adira said as she opened the case of supplies and pulled out the atmospheric suits.  
    “They’re watching us,” Mach replied.  
    “A bit early for paranoia, isn’t it?” Beringer grumbled. The older man had removed the last of his wet clothes and started to dry himself off.  
    “It’s never too early when vestans are concerned,” Mach responded.  
    For the next ten minutes, they all got themselves dried and suited up.  
    Without having to tell anyone they were ready, a sliding door at the end of the shuttle bay opened up. Kortas’ long frame stood there and gestured for them to follow.  
    Mach stepped forward, glancing at his bracelet, wondering just what it was capable of doing. He doubted it was just a listening or tracking device. He had fought these people in the War; he knew of what they were capable
    And then he thought of Morgan, and the feelings Mach had had before leaving.  
    None of this felt right, he thought. Not right at all.  

    *

    A few hours, and a few liters of coffee later, Mach and the others felt more human. At least for Mach, he was happy that the stasis-fog had gone. He wasn’t quite thinking as clearly as he would like, but at least he could manage more than a few weak thoughts.  
    They were sitting in another spectacularly dull room. Nothing more than an off-white cube with a table in the middle, around which they all sat. Mach, Beringer, and Adira were wearing their suits, but with the masks down—the air supplied to this room, Kortas had assured them, was plentiful.  
    The vestan sat at the head of the table in his cream robes. They contrasted against his dark, almost glossy skin. Completely hairless, his head was elongated and narrower than the regular vestans; he was thinner and taller too.  
    Although the vestans had an innate ability to shape-shift their appearance and limbs to suit their situation, they still held a core appearance, which to Mach’s eyes was markedly different to Kortas—a so-called Guardian.  
    “So,” Beringer said, his face attentive as he soaked in all the details and making Mach confident he had made the right choice bringing the archeologist and historian along with them. “You were talking about the Guardians’ role here. How is that affected by Afron’s disappearance?”  
    Kortas leaned his bony elbows onto the edge of the white table. “Your minds couldn’t comprehend the change,” he said, but without malice. “It is our task to ensure the minds of the Saviors and all those that came after them remain with us. With fewer Guardians to hold this mental network together, the harder it is for us to retain this information.”
    “Fascinating!” Beringer said. His hand twitched as though it were grasping a pen or gesturing over a holoscreen. The bracelet on his wrist clanked against the tabletop, prompting Adira to hold her wrist up to Kortas.
    “And what is the purpose behind these? You were quick to take advantage of our confused post-stasis condition, weren’t you?”
    Whether Kortas took offense to this, Mach couldn’t tell. The vestan remained still, impassive, and simply responded, “It is as much for your protection as it is ours.”
    “Explain that further,” Adira said, squinting her eyes at him.  
    Kortas