Page 30 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy

“I would never.”

“You absolutely would if they had inscriptions.”

I bring up the scan on my compad and project it between us. “This seal was cut and replaced. Before primary arrival. Possibly before staging.”

Brakk wipes his hands on a rag that appears dirtier than his hands. “That tunnel was supposed to be dead.”

“Supposed to be?”

“Old survey labeled it unstable. League ordered it sealed. I checked the outer plate last week. Looked intact.”

“Who knew about it?”

“Anyone with old survey files and a death wish.”

Anita steps closer to the projection. “Could black-market scavengers have found those files?”

Brakk’s ears flatten. “Scavengers find everything eventually. League space is full of bastards who’d steal teeth from a sleeping Odex if they thought the enamel had resale value.”

“Are there crews near Nareth-Kul?” I ask.

“Oh, sure. Prospectors, salvage rats, relic sniffers, fake miracle dealers, one smuggling ring that keeps pretending it’s a mineral logistics cooperative, which insults both minerals and logistics.” Brakk climbs onto a crate and peers at the scan. “But this is too clean for scavengers.”

“Why?”

“Because scavengers are greedy before they are patient. They would crack the seal, grab anything portable, and leave beer cans or corpses behind. This is quiet. Planned. Somebody wanted access without noise.”

“Religious extremists have been mentioned,” I say.

Brakk’s eyes flick to mine. “Who told you that?”

“Your question answers mine.”

He curses under his breath and hops down from the crate. “There are rumors. Nothing solid.”

“Rumors are often smoke from a hidden fire.”

Anita’s mouth tightens. “What kind of extremists?”

Brakk looks from her to me, then back again. “Depends which rumor you like least. Some Ataxian splinter group has been sniffing around old Precursor sites in nearby systems. Choir of something. Revelation, maybe. They think certain ruins contain truths that should stay buried.”

The name settles in the bay like cold vapor.

Anita’s eyes sharpen. “The Choir of Revelation?”

“You’ve heard of them?” I ask.

“I have heard footnotes. Fringe movement. Anti-disclosure, anti-syncretic, very big on sacred containment and controlled revelation. Most academic sources treat them as a paranoid little sect that writes manifestos nobody reads.”

Brakk scratches his jaw. “Well, somebody’s reading them if they’re cutting seals on murder planets.”

“Have they attacked sites?” I ask.

“Nothing proven. A burned archive on Harrin’s Moon. A dead linguist on some Coalition border station. A dig team that packed up and left after receiving threats written in blood, which does seem rude.” Brakk glances at Anita. “You academics always say nothing is connected until the bodies line up in a helpful diagram.”

Anita goes pale beneath the dust on her cheeks, but her voice remains steady. “Most threats to archaeological sites come from looters, political suppression, or funding disputes. We don’t leap to cult murder every time someone writes an ugly letter.”

“Maybe you should leap more,” Brakk says.