Free FORT LIBERTY: VOLUME ONE by M Orenda Page A

temperature in his cabin rises over what would be expected from just him and three other men, why the air gets used up faster.”
    Petra blinks. “What?”
    “Life support for the Assaulter cabin is draining more than it should.”
    “Meaning what?”
    Clara shrugs. “A helmsman with a less suspicious mind might conclude that the calculations for Assaulters are a bit off, as they’re a bit bigger than what anyone figures for, but a nosey woman like me might think they’ve got something else alive in there… or someone, a small person. Math would square.”
    “ What? ” Petra stares, disbelief set to unbalance her temper. “Ten days into flight and you didn’t think to mention this sooner?”
    “It is mentioned, a few times, in those reports you don’t bother to read,” Clara says, smug, looking at her console like the cat that’s finally got the bird. “That’s how I know you don’t read ‘em.”
    “I’m gonna go kick his ass.”
    “They’re a team, wild one.”
    “Meaning all their asses.”
    “Oh, good. Go pick a fight with a group of professional fighters.” Clara rolls her eyes and leans back from the console, seeming to mock the idea with her entire body. “That’s going to turn out well, isn’t it?”
    “He’s gonna explain this.”
    “Maybe, if you’re smart… If, on the other hand, you jet down that tube, bang on his cabin and attack him—the big man who holds an auth key—he’s going to stuff you inside a storage crate, and me with you, and you know I don’t like small spaces, so I will hold you fully responsible for us sitting nose-to-ass for the remainder of this flight, Captain .”
    It bears consideration.
    “More subtle approach, maybe,” Petra mutters.
    “He likes you,” Clara says, and stresses it, as if it isn’t the very last thing she wants to hear. “Why don’t you start with that?”

    It only takes the press of an intercom button, a few curt words, to summon an Assaulter to one’s cabin. It takes a hard bit of something else to open the hatch once he’s there, invite him into an area that’s personal and private, and watch him glance over rows of tethered crates which barely give room for a hammock, a spray tube which barely gives room for a human, a wall of white cabinets and computer screens… all of it seeming to interest him far more than it should.
    He moves past her and latches one hand around crate cord, filling up what space he does, his gaze settling on her after a moment.
    He’s in a crew flight suit now, all whites and greys, high collar and sleeve pockets, no tattoos visible, no sidearm strapped to his thigh… just that strange weight to him, the kind of calm which has no name or proper description, something that speaks to a colder familiarity with violence and emergency, but no particular anger, or simply no need for it at the moment.
    She shuts the hatch.
    “Captain,” he says, proper and measured, a sign of respect.
    “Colonel,” she gives the same.
    Subtle… be subtle… be smart... subtle and smart…
    “What the hell are you hiding in your cabin?” she snaps, before she can soften or control it, and then the rest just comes spilling out like it was always going to. “Life support’s getting drained faster than what four men can do, temperature’s too high. You care to explain that?”
    To his credit, he doesn’t attempt to appear confused, doesn’t make her repeat the question, or talk around it in endless circles. He doesn’t pretend at all… just holds her gaze like she’s got no understanding of what she’s just done, brought true danger down on both of them.
    He takes a moment, weighing his options before he speaks. “I can’t tell you what we’re protecting, but I will tell you anything else you need to know. For instance, what we’ve got in there is under control.”
    “Under control?”
    “Not in a position to do damage to this ship, or its crew.”
    “Well, I appreciate that assessment,” she replies,