Free Ronan: Ziva Payvan Book 3 by EJ Fisch

their details were vague, particularly those for the person presumed to be overseeing the entire Resistance. Taran watched the screen until Mae reached the final profile in the list. The sight of it made another lump form in his throat. This was the person responsible for the capture and, if Federation intel was any indication, most likely the death of the Durutian scout team. And, if Taran’s gut was correct, this was the person indirectly responsible for the capture and…. He stopped before his mind could go any further – he didn’t even want to think about what could be happening to Devani at this very moment.
    He was almost relieved when the door of the room slid open, disrupting his train of thought. He stood and turned, squinting against the light and blast of hot air that rushed in from outside.
    “Sergeant Reddic, Corporal Nasser,” sputtered the young man who entered. Taran could see his silvery ocular implants adjusting to the room’s dim lighting as he stopped dead in his tracks and gave them a rigid salute.
    The time for formalities was so far gone that Taran found it odd to hear anyone address him by his title, much less salute him. The Durutian army had spent so much time working for other organizations over the last several generations that formal military procedure had almost become a thing of the past. He’d grown accustomed – during the past few weeks especially – to interacting with his soldiers on a more personal level, even going so far as to be on a first-name basis with most of them. Right now, they were all just partners trying to get the job done so they could rescue their comrades and get paid. But apparently old fashioned respect was still taught during training; many of the younger soldiers still clung to tradition. This man was a prime example.
    Mae and Taran both offered half-hearted salutes in return and motioned for him to move further inside and shut the door. “What’s the problem, Cowen?” Mae asked, folding her arms across her chest.
    “You said to report in if there was any suspicious activity at the port,” the soldier replied. “Two of our people posing as port police inspected a ship that touched down just an hour ago. The internal computer shows that the vessel is of Haphezian origin, though the exterior has undergone extensive modification. According to the flight logs, it was last docked on Niio. One of our recon teams reported possible Resistance activity on Niio, didn’t they?”
    “That’s correct,” Taran replied.
    “What do we know about the passengers?” Mae said.
    Cowen swallowed. “They do appear to be Haphezian, ma’am,” he answered, shooting a glance at Taran that seemed almost apologetic. “There were only two men, but our scouts at the port said they were heavily armed and their cargo included a variety of high-powered communications equipment.” He swallowed again. “I know Representative Redd— well, your sister, sir. I know she’s on Haphez right now. I figured you’d want to know about this.”
    Taran’s mind raced, leaving him speechless. He directed his gaze toward the floor, trying to come up with all possible explanations for the arrival of the Haphezians. He knew Mae was right about jumping to conclusions, but anger, fear, and desperation were beginning to take root and he couldn’t help but feel that his instincts were right.
    “Thank you, Cowen,” Mae said, snapping Taran out of his trance. “We’ll look into it.” Her voice was quiet but carried a commanding tone that told the young soldier the conversation was over.
    He bowed his head and rushed out, letting another wave of scorching air rush into the room. All was silent for several long seconds as both Taran and Mae contemplated the new developments.
    Her sigh finally broke the silence. “Maybe you were right,” she said. Her face was once again hardened by the focus and determination that made her one of the best soldiers the Durutian military had to offer.