Page 3 of Taming Chaos

Two dark-suited humans walked on either side of her; one female, the other male. They scanned the area through reflective datalenses, their faces impassive.

What sort of humans were ballsy—or foolish—enough to travel to a shit heap like Zarhab Groht, and why would they be meeting with those dangerous, elusive Ephrenians?

Down at the large-vessel docks.

That’s where they were headed. Torin looked the other way as they passed, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

He waited until the humans were almost out of earshot.

Then he sighed, turned, and followed.

Chapter Two

This place gave Seph the creeps. The farther they walked, the more and more she felt like they’d gone past the point of no return. Even though she was surrounded by two dozen of the Federation’s most elite guards, nothing could diminish the growing sense of unease welling in the pit of her stomach.

She’d never seen so many aliens gathered in a single place in her life. It wasn’t necessarily the presence of aliens that bothered her so much, it was more the looks they received—as if they were fresh fucking meat.

“Let’s step up the pace, Agent Markov,” she said softly. “I don’t want to be late.”

Agent Markov stared straight ahead, scanning the area through his datalenses. “We can march as fast as you like, Miss Winters. I just wouldn’t want to tire you out before we reach our destination.”

Jerk. What exactly are you implying? For most of the long journey from Earth to Zarhab Groht, she’d avoided Markov like the plague. Whenever he used that patronizing tone of voice on her, Seph got the sudden irrational urge to claw his eyes out.

She tried not to let her irritation show, but it was difficult to keep it out of her voice. “Do I look tired to you, Markov?” Seph would never admit it, but she was tired. The long trip to Zarhab Groht had been an endless grind of cramped cabin-sleep, hours spent dictating to her holoscreen as she tried to finish her offworld reports, and terrible spaceflight food.

Markov shot her a skeptical look. “That’s not for me to say, Miss Winters, but if you insist, we can speed it up.” As per usual, Markov’s reply was tinged with an almost imperceptible hint of sarcasm. He turned to the guards. “We’re not on a sightseeing tour, lads. Let’s pick up the pace.”

Seph glared at him. I know what you’re trying to do, asshole.

She knew what a spook like Markov would be thinking. He probably expected a full-figured girl like her to be slow and unfit. He was trying to make her understand, in that subtle, insidious way of his, that he didn’t respect Seph or her station.

Agents didn’t like analysts. Never had, never would. Analysts like Seph were responsible for the research, the groundwork, the diplomacy. Because most of them were former academics who specialized in alien cultures, they generally advocated for a tactful approach.

Agents, on the other hand, preferred to shoot first and ask questions later. To them, a successful mission was one with a high body count.

Seph suppressed an aggravated sigh as she quickened her pace, moving to the front of the group. Forced to adjust their speed, the guards muttered to each other through their comms as they struggled to maintain formation.

They were testy; irritable. The tension radiating from the group was palpable.

Just like the agents, the elite guards of the Federation forces didn’t have much time for academics, and an analyst like Seph didn’t have much patience for their anti-alien mentality. She was a xenologist, and her entire existence revolved around embracing the weird and wonderful. In contrast, the guards and agents and enforcers just wanted to fight.

To make matters worse, these two pain-in-the-ass agents from Nonhuman Affairs thought they could do everything their way, without consulting her.

It was obvious that Markov and his partner, Agent Davis, didn’t like her. They thought her presence here was unnecessary, and they took great pains to make that clear.

Screw the lot of you.

Seph gritted her teeth as she marched on, her irritation growing.

She was the one who’d made the connect with the Ephrenians back on Earth. She’d gained their trust and convinced them to do business with the Federation, and now, for the first time in human history, they were on the verge of obtaining something that would change Earth’s standing in the Universe.

Plasma weapons.

The Kordolians weren’t the only race that had access to plasma guns. Granted, Kordolian weapons were far superior to Ephrenian tech—well, to anything else out there—but plasma was plasma, and the human race badly needed some of that power.

Seph tapped her link-band, drawing forth an intricate holo-projection. “According to my protomap, there’s an elevator slipway just beyond here.” Damn thing had better be accurate. The stupid map hadn’t offered up any data to indicate just how fucking busy this place was.

It wasn’t a good kind of busy. This was a seething, frantic, violent, dangerous sort of busy, the kind that could eat you up, strip the meat off your bones, and spit you out in a heartbeat.

---