Two days later, Rhianni landed at the spaceport on the
edge of Core, the main city of the colony, in a Rover Corps shuttle. The
official story said she was on medical leave from the Rovers.
It was the truth. Just not the whole truth. Her father
had died ridding a Gen-Tek operation on the other side of the galactic axis. As
a Rover, Rhianni was entitled to one Standard year of rest and recuperation
leave.
That didn't mean the Corps would let her take it.
She accepted this job for her father's sake. He had
lived for years believing he had abandoned Mallachrom when his adopted home
needed him most. Military documentation said otherwise, but as her father would
say, when did bureaucracy override the heart?
"Is it possible to borrow a two‑man sled for the
morning?" Rhianni asked the field security team that met her at the
shuttle hatch.
"No, Captain. The sleds are for official business
only. Sorry," the leader of the team hurried to add, with a nod of
deference to the Rover Corps knife-and-flame emblem, scarlet and black on her
green fatigues jacket.
"Oh. Could I send a message, then?"
"Until you clear security, no private
communications. Verbal?" The leader held out a recording wand.
Rhianni nodded and frowned to fight a grin. She
refused to let these brainless drones know they had aided her strategy. She
nodded for the man to press the recording button.
"To Mistress Shoreel of the Council," she
said, speaking slowly and louder than necessary. "Grandmother, this is
Rhianni. The Colonel -- my Dad -- is dead. I'm home on medical leave. When I've
completed an errand, I would like to visit you. I should be back in Core by
this afternoon."
Silence. The field team barely hid their panic. They
had said no to the granddaughter of a Council member -- forget her status as a
Rover Corps medic.
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