Trial and Temptation (Mandrake Company) by Ruby Lionsdrake Page A

likely. Maybe he should have put finances on his checklist of things to talk with her about.
    “I cannot guarantee that,” Gregor said, “but that generally happens when men are selected for special missions that end up being more dangerous than average duty.”
    “Good. Let’s find this admiral, shall we?”

Chapter 4
    Val lifted her hands and leaned back in the seat. “We’re clamped down, and the airlock tube is attached.” The moon’s gravity was negligible but enough to affect maneuvering, and she had found the docking task difficult. It hadn’t helped that Thatcher had watched her every move. He was probably already preparing a quiz on docking maneuvers to give her later.
    “Good.” A soft rasp sounded, Thatcher removing his Mandrake Company patch from the shoulder of his jacket. “This shuttlecraft may be recognizable to those who track by serial numbers, but we shouldn’t blatantly announce our identity on the base, especially now that the mission has gone awry.”
    “My comm-patch is in my pocket,” Val said. “I was waiting until I officially became a mercenary before presuming to wear it.” Presuming to wear it, that sounded plausible, right? Better than the excuse that she had been too busy to attach the patches to her clothes. “I imagine I look more like a random traveler than an elite mercenary, anyway, even with the pistol.”
    Thatcher considered her briefly. “Yes.”
    Val decided not to take that as an insult. She grabbed some ration bars and two compact laser pistols from her duffel, stuffing them in a purse, and stood by the airlock, expecting Thatcher to join her. But he remained at the controls, the computer system interface hovering in the air in front of him, his fingers swiping in and out of the hologram.
    “The airlock is now keyed to us,” he said. “Nobody should be able to get in or start the craft except for us. I ran a security check, and no less than four separate computer entities on the base have noted our presence. One is the port master. The others are less open about their identities.”
    “Sounds like what you’d expect from this place.” Val’s travels had never brought her to this moon—one had to deal with pirates and the like out here among the outer planets, and she’d rarely encountered employers who wanted to take such risks—but she’d heard plenty about the base. A few small companies ran the corporation owners’ association, and most of them weren’t legal businesses. “I think your idea to go in incognito is a good one, sir, though I’d guess people will peg you as someone’s officer no matter what you wear.”
    Thatcher’s brows rose.
    “You have that bright but expendable look about you.”
    “I… see.” He looked like he wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not.
    Maybe she shouldn’t be teasing him, especially if he didn’t recognize it as such. She felt more kindly disposed toward him since he had told her he left the fleet over Grenavine. A lot of people had objected to that atrocity, but not many had walked away from their safe, secure government jobs over it.
    “I’m rarely sent out on independent missions, so my visage isn’t usually an issue,” Thatcher added.
    Val wanted to explain that it was more the way he carried himself than his “visage,” but he finished programming the security system and stood up. He stuffed a laser knife and a couple of small devices into his jacket pockets. She didn’t get a good look, but thought one might be an electronic lock picker. Maybe he wouldn’t be as useless at snooping around a base as she would have guessed.
    “Ready to depart?” he asked.
    “After you, sir.”
    Before either of them could head out, a bleep came from the console, demanding attention. Thatcher walked back and read a message that scrolled past.
    “A golden alert has been placed on the base,” he announced. “All laser and projectile weapons must be left on board a person’s ship or checked into a locker in