Libertia, Special Operations Brigade HQ, Liberty Commando briefing room, 0630 hrs
Tamara Lamnar had a strong dislike for her father. He was rash and very opinionated and stubborn. He always refused to hear another’s opinion, especially if it ran counter to his.
Tamara felt the stare of her father’s gaze, and returned her focus to the front of the briefing room. Sparse and empty, it had, in its glory days, reliable technology that worked at maximum efficiency and gave the feeling of having been lived in. Now, it felt barren, as if the room itself were at the end of its life.
The unit had been in this room for an hour, but it felt like eternity to her. She wanted to get out and roam around, feel the use of her legs and muscles as they went through practiced routines. She wanted to feel the butt of her automated laser rifle, taking aim at a distant target, feel the slight kickback as she fired off a few shots. Cursing herself for not paying attention, she honed in on her father’s hard droning voice.
“—cannons will have to be taken by force, if you know what I mean, Commander,” her father said, his steely gray eyes focused on Rhys. General Vohz Lamnar was at the height of his military career in the Republic Militia. A man of fifty-six, he was barrel-chested, black hair tinged gray, steel gray eyes, and a “carved of stone” face. His military career had started in the early days of the “Control War”, or as it was referred to the officers in the mess hall, the Libertia/Rulnudor split.
Rhys still had that stoic expression, as if he hadn’t been paying attention either, but she knew differently; he was always paying attention. Jones’ family had been in the military since the foundation of the Libertia on Crandox. His family was more militarized than her own. His black armor gleamed, drawing attention away from the scar on the left side of his face. Well-toned muscles displayed his masculine physique, even when he tried to hide it.
“Yes, sir,” Jones said. His light blue eyes focused on the tactical data on the wall behind Tamara’s father. She knew he was studying every aspect of the terrain to measure supplies, travel time, and ammunition.
A holomap of Crandox floated in the air, a pulsing red dot drew attention to the edge of the Libertia Territories. Lamnar tapped a button, and the world faded, replaced by a cubed city.
“Calassa,” he said, striding toward the bank of consoles behind them.
Data scrolled on their infopads, transmitted by the consoles at the back.
“Our agents in the field have some disturbing news about the Vice Cube,” her father continued.
“What about, sir?” Rhys leaned forward. The cubed city faded away, replaced by a store room with walls of containers and lockers. The image moved forward. Intel sure loves to play with their new toys. Tamara resisted the urge to snort.
“Intelligence has some evidence uncovering a warehouse filled with weapons. Not those with the emblem of Darkstar, but weapons that have been outlawed for decades.”
One of the containers was open, DAR-2000s—sniper weapons outlawed because of their habit of disrupting energy at the molecular level, disintegrating flesh and bone in a matter of seconds—were laid neatly along with a few ammo packs and scopes. Another held plasmacid bombs.
Tamara cocked an eyebrow. “Sir, who made these and why have they not been tagged by the LRC?”
Her father frowned in her direction. “Darkstar is manufacturing them, selling to both sides on the weapons market out on the front.”
Tamara was about to ask more when a calming weight settled on her shoulders. The warm feeling relaxed her mind and—
She snarled. Rhys was using his pheromone implants to calm her down. She hated when he did that. Yet, it felt good to know that her commander was looking out for her. I really hate those pheromones.
“Sir, is Darkstar our target?” Rhys asked.
“Yes, Commander,” Lamnar responded. “Your job is to infiltrate Darkstar, copy and wipe their data on the weapons, and take out their leader.”
“Who is the leader of Darkstar?” Sarha asked. The team medic of the unit, Lieutenant Sarha Poland, had a mean streak about her that only seemed to come about in a crisis and extraction from a hostile environment. Otherwise, Sarha was calm, at peace, using her enthusiasm and loving energy to bring out the best in the unit.
An image of a man swathed in a white tunic with beige trousers and shin-high boots replaced the warehouse. The man’s features were handsome, his black hair pulled into a knot. Long tinted nails made his fingers appear longer than Tamara assumed them to be.
“Prince Khariss, leader of Darkstar for the last decade and a half.” Lamnar walked to the edge of the hologram. He placed a boot on the circular pad and smiled. “He is wanted by every head of Crandox and then some.”
The data flickered on the wall, and then collapsed in darkness, taking all light from the surrounding area with it.
Jori sighed. “Great. Stuck in a room with five people on a high fiber diet. Makes the day so special.”
Tamara kept her face neutral, but inside, she was laughing.
Her father was not amused. “Lieutenant Jori—”
“It’s a dream come true.”
“—you realize you’re up for a promotion—”
“Thank you, sir,” she said. Tamara imagined her looking up at the ceiling, counting the slight shimmers of light gray on the dark ceiling. “You look lovely today. It’s the dark gray. Brings out the seriousness in your eyes.”
General Lamnar sighed. “Does she ever keep quiet, Commander Jones?”
“Not while her mind’s occupied, sir,” Rhys strained not to laugh.
Lamnar sighed. “Captain Lopez, can you see what’s taking the power so long?” His gaze shifted to Jori. “And take the mouthy commando with you, please.”
