been given a budget that should buy you the services of an entire company of the Star Crushers’ elite troops.”
Mal shifts in his seat and clears his throat. It takes him several attempts to speak.
“I am aware of that, but I should point out I’m hardly the only one to have faced defeat at the hands of the Kilgari captain and his intrepid privateer crew.”
Malcolm sneers, his virtual face scrunching up in anger.
“We are aware, which is why you are both still breathing and still in command of this operation. But our patience has its limits.”
“Sir, the Kilgari had help from an Ataxian hit squad, the Coalition Contras…”
“Your excuses are as tired as your lack of results.”
Everyone falls into silence after the scarred man’s declaration. Even Malcolm, who I had assumed to be in charge, seems frightened to so much as look at him. I follow suit, making sure I don’t make it too obvious I’m trying to memorize every aspect of his appearance.
“Ahem… about that, I am pleased to report we’ve had excellent results with the project, thanks to Miss Thrase. In fact, I’d like permission to begin preliminary research on Project M.”
Malcolm finally looks to the scarred man, whose goggles are blacked out so you can’t see his eyes. The scarred man nods, and then Malcom turns back toward Dr. Mal.
“You may proceed, but be careful. Must I remind you that you are in possession of our only sample.”
“Of course, sir.” Dr. Mal bows his head with humility though his smile is wide as a river. “I won’t let you down.”
“You’re staking your life on that claim, Dr. Mal. Most literally.”
“I know, and I am confident you will be pleased with our results. I’d like to bring in Miss Thrase all the way.”
Malcolm sighs.
“She was on the Kilgari ship for some time.”
“Indeed, but she bears them no love.”
He turns to me and grins.
“Her chief loyalty seems to be toward credits, though I can swear to you she is a true patriot who puts humanity above the mongrel scum of the galaxy.”
“Is that so?” Malcolm turns a grin toward me. “Miss Thrase, I will watch your career with great interest.”
I smile and nod in return, but my stomach turns at just the thought of being on good terms with this bigoted buffoon.
“Very well, Dr. Mal. Begin Project M, but do not fail us again.”
And just like that, the conference call ends. The images flicker out of existence, and Mal drags off his goggles.
“Whew.” He wipes the glistening sweat off of his brow and turns a grin on me. “If you’ll accompany me back to your lab, we can get started.”
Mal hands me a small device, which turns out to be a palm-sized scanner.
“Here. Input your retinal scan into the system. This will give you access to most of the areas of this vessel.”
“Of course.” I hold it up to my eye and wait for the automated scan to complete before handing it back to him.
We make a stop on the deck above the lab space they gave to me, and he passes through another secured door into a chamber where the atmospheric controls have been set to frigid levels. I shiver and clutch my body with my hands as Dr. Mal once again uses a retinal scanner to open a secured safe.
“Here.” He hands me a glass vial with a greenish fluid in it. “Do be careful with it. That’s the last known sample of the Modine virus.”
“Modine virus?” I frown as I consider it. “I had heard something about that, an insidious Coalition plot to infect the Alliance and the IHC, yes?”
“Quite.”
“But I thought it was all destroyed.”
“That’s what most people think, but we have… connections in the IHC.”
Yeah, I’ll just bet you do. I also bet I know exactly what you want done with it.
“Currently, the virus kills indiscriminately, but given your metabolic expertise, I believe it can be… fine-tuned, if you will. So that it will be harmless to humans, but still pack its lethal punch against all other sapients.”
I stare at the vial in my hand. What a monstrous plan.
Then, it gets even worse.
“You may use the Kilgari prisoner as your lab rat. Good luck, Miss Thrase. Both of our lives depend upon your success.”
My blood runs cold. How am I going to get out of this mess?
Chapter Twenty-One
Zander
The confines of my tiny cell offer me nothing by ways of fashioning a means of escape. For bedding, a solid metal bunk welded to the far