Free Skylock by Paul Kozerski

some lofty task, one where anonymity was crucial to top management and the agents generally expendable. The key in passing muster was to remain emotionally detached; impassive to the point of denying your very presence.
    His genuine lack of concern made Trennt a formidable player. Focusing on a neutral point between them, he freely left himself open to scrutiny, yet peripherally scanned his captor in return. His assessment was unfavorable. The seated man was a whipping storm flag if ever Trennt had seen one.
    Scouting his guests like a horse trader, the man's eyes stayed nonbetraying and impenetrable. But when a final try at overpowering Trennt failed, his stone face relaxed a bit. Quick fissures of amusement sliced the far corners of his hard gray eyes and the room's heavy mood thawed.
    "I trust you gentlemen have been treated properly during your stay?" inquired Corealis in his rich baritone voice.
    "Mister Trennt," he started, not waiting, thus staking his immediate claim to superiority. "You've recovered well enough from your car crash to consider a return to duty?"
    Trennt shrugged, unaffected. "Yeah."
    "And, Mister Baker, you're feeling properly?"
    Baker nodded curtly, anxious to please. "Always ready."
    The director settled back in his chair. "John, my friend, our guests might like some drinks."
    He motioned the visitors to chairs. "Gentlemen?"
    "Whisky and ice," gushed Baker, eagerly taking a seat.
    "Water," Trennt muttered.
    The product was offered him in a crystal glass with brutally clear ice. As a "Cee-Dee" family, his had once existed on bug-filled runoff, while here was a personal bar with its own ice cubes. A quick resentment of his hosts boiled up and out.
    "Why are we here?"
    The aide bristled at his forwardness, but Corealis welcomed the tone as a quick preamble to his subject matter.
    "To perform a special, patriotic duty for your country. These times are different from any other in Mankind's history. Freak weather. Worldwide hunger, starvation, dead economies. Whole governments dead, for that matter. A large number even claim we're in the throes of heaven's own Armageddon.
    But you know all that from personal experience. What you don't know is the broader picture of the biased political climate, which has put our nation at a serious disadvantage among its so-called allies. This has forced us to take certain drastic steps in the name of future self-preservation; not if, but when, Skylock comes to an end."
    The director gave his aide a nod.
    "Set on a remote plateau," continued the younger man, "is a covert research station operating outside the conventions of the global Manna Project. Shortly, we will be concluding its work and closing that station, removing and relocating its personnel. It's been decided to add some non-military specialists to the site as camp overseers—operatives, if you will, to expedite the final evacuation. That decision has put us in the market for skilled and reliable agents to handle the task. You gentlemen come highly recommended for just such an undertaking."
    "For obvious reasons," interjected Corealis, "it's best not to give too many exact details. But I will tell you that the guardianship of the work being conducted at that station is of utmost value to the future autonomy of this country—and yourselves.
    "If you're willing to accept the job, you'd be inserted by air, assist in the shutdown of the base and departure of its people. That will likely occur in a few days. Until that time, you will be our guests here in the regional center with all executive privileges."
    Baker glowed comfortably, sipping his drink, but Trennt never relaxed as the director went on.
    "Also understand that the mission requires strict secrecy. No flight plan would exist for your trip, nor any record of you. In the event of an emergency, you could likely find yourselves left to your own devices for survival. But you do seem to be thorough experts in that field."
    "Be also advised," said the aide,