Something is brewing in the galaxy, and it's not a double shot of espresso. With the dust barely settled after the last near-Armageddon, the four baristas are called back into action, even though the four have become three. With a little help from...
Sitting back down at his video-monitoring station, the harried and somewhat-mussed soldier pondered the chances of getting his magazine back—but only briefly. The screen displaying Uva Kwoin's undeniably still-empty cell suggested the odds were pretty slim.
And a glance at the adjacent video-screen was all it took to confirm that if the magazine was to be returned, it wouldn't be to a part of him that could actually read it.
"Uh, sir?"
"Don't talk to me," snapped the less-mussed but just as harried guard captain, massaging his temples as he paced back and forth. "I'm trying to think where else to look for Kwoin. And trying to remember if my health plan covers kneecaps."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Um, it's just that while you're thinking about that, perhaps you could give some thought as to where Zebular Prax might be, too."
"What?" The pacing stopped. "Why would I do that?"
The soldier swallowed and pointed.
Eyes wide, the captain stared at the offending screen. The screen showing Zebular Prax's empty cell. "No. No, no, no. You cannot be serious. You cannot seriously be telling me that on top of a GalCon councillor, you've now let the last surviving Rigellian High Lord escape, right before your eyes?"
"Um...not really, sir."
"Not really? Not really?
"No, sir—it wasn't really right before my eyes, because it must have happened when you had me leave my post to search for Councillor Kwoin...sir."
The captain's eyebrows drew together. "Wait a minute. Are you suggesting this is my fault, soldier?"
"Oh, no sir. I'm not suggesting that. I'm not suggesting anything. And I would never presume to speculate how Admiral Splurmfeen might view the situation. As the senior officer, I'll leave that to you."
The captain opened his mouth. He closed it again. He pulled up a seat alongside the soldier.
"Right, I'll review the video logs while you keep your eyes glued to the rest of those bloody screens. Because if anybody else disappears, I'm out of here, too."
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Uva Kwoin shook her head. "I can't believe it was you. All that time. With all that inside information. Providing all that help, to frustrate the Rigellians, to slow their conquests, to thwart their expansion—you, all along."
Zebular Prax shifted his weight, in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. Fortunately, Rigellians were not very large, but then neither was the cupboard in which he and the councillor were hiding.
"Indeed," he agreed. "Although surely, given the nature of the intelligence, you must have suspected somebody quite highly placed in the Rigellian hierarchy."
"Highly placed?" Uva exclaimed in a whisper (which was a diplomatic skill she was quite proud of). "Sure. But I was hardly about to suspect one of the eight High Lords who bloody well rule the planet, was I? Why the hell would one of you want to slow the rise of the Rigellian empire?"
