Lost Planet 02 - The Stolen Moon by Rachel Searles

was. Corporal Liadan Lahey, with her limp brown bob and permanent sour expression, was probably the unfriendliest person on the entire ship—surpassing even Lieutenant Derrick. Swallowing his apprehension, he tried to stroll casually into the room.
    â€œHey, are the Federation people here?” he asked.
    Corporal Lahey looked up from her console with an insta-scowl, pursing her lips. “It’s none of your business. Get back to your quarters.”
    Chase tried again. “I was just curious if the ambassador’s on the ship.”
    â€œWhat part of ‘get back to your quarters’ did you not understand?” Her eyes shrank to angry slits. “Get out of here, or I’ll have the MPs escort you off the deck.”
    Chase opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and turned back to the hallway. He knew Parker would have had some kind of smart response for this, but he didn’t feel safe risking it, nor could he think of anything halfway clever to say. He was certain that Corporal Lahey was one of the soldiers who’d been sworn to secrecy about Chase’s status aboard the ship. He didn’t think she knew about his ability, but she’d been one of the few people present when Captain Lennard had accused Chase of being a clone—before Chase proved him wrong by surviving the vaporizing beam of a particle disperser.
    Chase headed back down the hallway, thinking he might go to the officers’ lounge instead, when a door slid open on his right. He froze as three MPs walked out, followed by a tall, dark-haired woman and two men.
    â€œI do of course appreciate you putting your ship and crew at our disposal with such short notice,” one of the men was saying in an overly gracious tone. His face was plump and saggy, and the receding knot of hair on the top of his head was obviously dyed an obnoxious mahogany. He ran his hands over a wide, soft belly that bulged under an expensive-looking caftan.
    â€œIt’s only our duty, Ambassador,” said a familiar booming voice. Captain Lennard followed them out of the room, giving a slight frown as he noticed Chase in the hallway, and continued, “I’ll have the crew begin prepping the ship immediately.”
    Chase frowned. Prepping the ship for what?
    The ambassador smiled at Lennard in a condescending fashion. “We’ll send over a crew of our own people to help with the preparations.”
    The tall, bony, raven-haired woman beside the ambassador caught sight of Chase and cocked her head. “Is there a large civilian population on your ship, Captain?” she asked in a deep, mellifluous voice.
    â€œSome of our older soldiers have families on board,” Lennard said curtly.
    The woman took a few steps toward Chase, eyeing him with a curiosity that made him regret coming to the conference level of the ship. “Hello there,” she said. “Who are you?”
    Chase gulped and looked to Captain Lennard.
    â€œHe is one of a small number of cadets we took on board after Trucon,” Lennard explained. “His parents were killed in the disaster.”
    â€œMy dear boy,” said the ambassador loudly, shaking back the sleeves of his caftan to spread his hands in a way that Chase guessed was supposed to look welcoming. “Please know from me personally that the Federation acknowledges your loss with great sorrow. You are the Federation.” His words were slick-perfect, delivered as though he’d spoken them hundreds of times. “Come, Ksenia, we must be getting back to the Falconer . Captain, we will rendezvous with you again once we are in Rhima’s orbit.”
    â€œI’ll escort you to the teleport chamber,” he said, giving Chase a stern look as he walked past.
    Chase hurried away down the hall, but he paused to look back as the group entered the teleport chamber—all but Ksenia, who lingered in the hallway a moment longer, staring directly at