“I just want to get my family back,” the kid replied. “Even if that means going out and looking for them myself.”

“So what? You learn how to fly and then steal a starship and just go hunt them down?”

“If I have to,” the kid said, challenging him with a stare. “If you won’t.”

Hilliard knew better than to take it personally. You was the Coalition. The Aykari. The whole machine. The sergeant was just a cog.

“Probably better to leave the search and rescue up to the professionals.” He looked again at his notes. “Let’s get back to your dad, Dr. Fender,” he began, but his next question was cut off by the hiss of the door opening behind him. He turned with a scowl ready—he’d been told he could use this room for as long as he needed with no interruptions. “Excuse me, I’m sort of in the middle of some . . .”

The sergeant trailed off. Standing in the doorway was a human he didn’t recognize, though admittedly he didn’t know most of the personnel assigned to this outpost. She wore a Coalition uniform that looked too small, stretched over her muscular frame. A pistol sat on her hip, standard issue, but in her left hand was some other kind of device Hilliard didn’t recognize—something of alien design perhaps, sticklike, pointed at one end, like an oversize stylus. His eyes gravitated up to the woman’s hair—short and neon green—and back down to her eyes, which didn’t even seem to acknowledge his presence. They were fixed instead on the kid sitting on the other side of the table.

“Gareth Fender?”

The boy nodded. Suddenly the sergeant’s skin started to tingle, instincts from three years in the service kicking in. Something wasn’t right here. According to the bars pinned to their chests, Hilliard was a higher rank, yet this woman hadn’t bothered to salute. She might be in uniform, but she wasn’t a soldier.

Which meant she was trouble.

The impostor kept her gaze fixed on the kid. “You’re coming with me,” she said. It wasn’t an invitation or even a suggestion. There was no threat implied, but there was no doubt either.

Hilliard stood up, dropping his hand to his side, fingers reaching for the handle of his own weapon. “Excuse me . . . who are you? What’s your name and rank? What division do you belong to?”

The woman finally looked him in the eyes and Hilliard realized a second too late just how much trouble she was. He didn’t even have time to unsnap the button on the holster. The arc of blue energy spit from the tip of the unknown device, a jolt of forked lightning hitting him square in the chest, causing every muscle to seize. He hit the ground hard, feet twitching.

Sergeant Sam Hilliard’s last thought before blacking out was of sitting on his deck in his backyard with his wife and daughter back on Earth. So very far from here.