Chapter One

My last day on Mars didn’t go the way I expected. Probably because I didn’t know it was my last day.

I was working in the dingy little office I’d been assigned as part of my cover. Like everything else on this damned planet, the walls in this place were built on the cheap and were too thin to keep out the noise coming from outside.

Today, the crowd chanted loudly enough that I could still hear them over my music. Day six of the protests, and things were looking ugly out there.

After nearly twenty years in the armed forces—some as a soldier and more as a Syndicate Intelligence and Security agent—you’d think I’d have figured out how to operate in noisy, distracted conditions. You’d be wrong.

I’d adapted to this failing by using headphones and classical music to drown out any and all outside noise. Today, even the pounding beat of Motörhead couldn’t keep up with the din.

Unfortunately, my tunes were loud enough to drown out the sound of someone knocking on my downstairs door. By the time I heard the ruckus, it sounded like my door was getting a beat-down for insulting someone’s mother.

“It’s open, just stuck. You have to shove it,” I called through the intercom system.

That done, I tore off my headphones and tossed them into a drawer. Then I killed the music and slapped a button that changed the holographic desktop display. The intel reports, images, and leads all vanished. In their place were documents with detailed notes about nonexistent counselling patients.

Yes, they put me undercover as a relationship counsellor. The levels of irony there are deeper than a fucking black hole, but if I complained, I would have probably wound up working in biological waste reclamation. Again.

The front door opened, and heavy footfalls marked the approach of my unexpected guest as they climbed the stairs. Motion detectors activated and sent alerts to the flexible tablet I usually wore on my wrist. The flexi buzzed a belated warning.

As usual, my office door was open, but my visitor had to climb the stairs, which gave me enough time to check the position of my flechette pistol and confirm it was within easy reach. Then I tapped the screen of my flexi and called up the feed from the cameras I’d installed along the hallway and stairs. The image was grainy, but I easily recognised a familiar face. The brass was here on an unannounced visit. Shit.

I got to my feet and pulled myself to attention by the time he walked into my office. “Chief Supervisor Zakarov, I wasn’t informed you were coming.” Hell, I hadn’t known he was on the fucking planet. So much for my intelligence-gathering skills.

He entered and then shot me a baleful look.

“Agent Castor. Why in the name of Jupiter’s moons would you leave your front door unlocked? This isn’t a good area at the best of times and right now…” He kicked the door closed and locked it. “Right now is not even close to the best of times.”

“I’m aware. But if I lock the door, every thief in the neighbourhood will think I’ve got something worth protecting in here.” I shrugged. “They came in a few times near the beginning and snooped around. Now they leave me alone.”

“I could write you up for that,” he said as he sat down in the only other chair. Like everything else in this place, my office was cramped, filled with cheap furniture, and reeked of dust and desperation. Or maybe that was just me.

“I know you could.” I grinned at him. “But I also know you won’t because you hate paperwork almost as much as I hate Mars.”

“Yet here we are, on Mars, about to discuss paperwork.” He pointed a thin finger at me. “Yours, to be exact.”

I nodded but kept my mouth shut. He’d fill me when he was ready. Until then, it was best not to ask. I might work in intelligence, but that didn’t mean I wanted to know everything that went on. That path led to all kinds of trouble I wasn’t interested in. Been there, done that, and learned my lesson.

Besides, I was only eight months from walking away with full citizenship, a decent pension, and a chance to make real money in the private sector. I was too close to the finish line to take chances now. Whatever my former mentor’s reasons for being here, I’d know soon enough.

I already knew one thing. It would not be good news.

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