Page 19 of Smuggler's Beauty

He took a moment to process his shock that Hills’ debriefing had not in fact been hyperbolic nonsense.

Emil was presented with a tower of mangled electronic limbs. He felt his eye twitch as he removed his helmet to get a closer look at the pile of droid parts obscuring the reception desk.

This is going to turn the budget upside down.

If the scorch marks on the ceiling were any indication, metal had hit metal so hard it had sparked. There was noway to disentangle any of the components without specialized equipment. It would be cheaper to melt the whole mass down and start from scratch.

What did this?

The level of force necessary to achieve this level of destruction was greater than any weapon Emil would have picked for a mission in space. Such a powerful extraction team and tools wouldn’t have come cheap.

He wanted to get his hands on that tech.

Placing his helmet in the cubby next to the airlock door, he removed his spacesuit and hung it up before straightening his suit and stepping forward. He walked around the droid pile and logged into the computer to find the records Hills and the techs had brought up. He read them again, making sure no detail was missed by less diligent eyes.

The security breach was a sophisticated one in its simplicity, as it seemed to rely solely on the introduction of the proper codes into the system. The records showed that the entry the kidnappers made read as a routine entry to do a weekly security sweep.

A leak? A hack?

Emil knew that this vessel didn’t do the standard weekly security sweeps; they weren’t necessary. The ship was too well camouflaged. Or he had believed it was. The system didn’t know that, though. The system just believed what it was told. The benefit of computer intelligence he so prized — unemotional, unflappable, unquestionably compliant when an order was given — was used deftly against him here, and Emil grudgingly respected the move. He filed it away for future use should the opportunity present itself.

Never let any defeat be less than an opportunity to best a future opponent.

As there was nothing else he was able to discern from the computer records, Emil stood, tucked the chair back in — precisely centered with the keyboard for the computation unit — and turned to check the labs. Each lab seemed untouched. A strange strategic choice. Why wouldn’t they take the labs apart? Amplifiers were not so rare that the research the Bauder scientific defense team was carrying out couldn’t be replicated. The Alpertti’s cousins had spread throughout the sister sector, breeding happily on a dozen other planets. The talent popped up infrequently, and other Amplifiers could be found — for a price Emil hadn’t been willing to pay.

Sentiment, or ignorance?

The kidnappers must have been strictly motivated to remove Evelyn Alpertti, rather than the research his scientists had been carrying out on her unique manifestation of Amplification power. That interesting quirk had only been discovered after the round of testing that occurred after her family’s contributions had been added to the dataset. Emil spent the rest of his search with half his mind on the implications of that fact. The kidnappers did not waste time with tertiary goals. They didn’t waste time with any destruction that did not directly impact their ability to escape the medivessel.

And when they did turn to destruction, they left a towering example of the power behind the strike.

How many operatives had been necessary to execute the princess’ extraction? How had they managed to secure Bauder’s technological signature? Didtheyeven know how essential this specific Amplifier was to his own goals? If they didn’t know why the princess was so important to the project, they wanted her for another reason.

What else has been infiltrated?

Emil made a note to review the security feeds in all the satellite facilities working on the successor initiative. It was hispet project; the scientists working on it knew better than to run their mouths. Eliminating the possibility of a leak there would be swift, but diligence paid off.

His tech implant gave a little beep, notifying Emil of a message. He slipped his communications device out of his pocket and read:

Incoming. Arrival in two minutes.

The Twins.

While he hadn’t been thrilled with the notion of outsourcing staff to hunt down the team that had plucked the Amplifier from her pod, Emil knew when and how to delegate — rarely, and with discretion to the task at hand. The money would be well spent, and his focus could be better applied to the myriad other demands on his plate. Ones he wouldn’t delegate. Couldn’t.

He had a planet to run, colonies to oversee. He didn’t have time to unravel this mystery, no matter how intrigued he was.

He walked back to the security desk to watch as a small, shiny jump ship docked on the other side of the airlock from Emil’s own. They may have been contracted to work for him, but he wasn’t foolish enough to trust them. Emil trusted few people without question, and even those relationships he evaluated quarterly.

Two tall forms enrobed in sleek space suits entered the airlock. They waited patiently, both facing straight ahead in complete stillness — more so than even Emil had managed while waiting out the pressurization. When the doors swooshed open, they strode into the reception area.

The helmets prevented Emil from getting their first impressions. They removed their gear in sync, helmets, suits both stowed neatly near Emil’s own equipment.

Emil didn’t know why they were called the Twins. They weren’t related, as far as he knew. One rumor claimed that thetrue reason for their irreverent call sign was that Pearl Locke and Ivan Padua had worked for the Witch in perfect synchronicity for years. Emil doubted it. He found that call signs were usually dripping in sentimentality, not hours logged at work. He was, however, aware that their reputation was beyond reproach. If you had a problem to solve, call the Twins. Missing cargo, inconvenient witnesses, unbearable relatives? They handled it all, for a price. And people across the galaxy paid.

Both had tall, lithe frames that hid their strength from the average observer. Height and build aside, they were a study in contrast. Pearl had warm brown skin and eyes and kept her hair cropped on the sides, the curls on top of her head neatly twisted into perfect spirals. Ivan was fair, with blonde hair cropped short and icy blue eyes that emptied of expression with a blink.

The Twins stared at the pile in front of them. Pearl raised an eyebrow at Ivan, and he nodded in agreement. They each drew sleek blasters from holsters hidden by their jackets.