“Razial . . .” She smiled, her English slightly accented with a hint of Oxford perfection. “You always did dance on the side of the angels with the devil’s own glee.”

“Siobhan,” he nodded as the Asian woman approached. “It’s been a while.”

“Hong Kong, I believe,” she answered, eyes skimming the gathering and the weapons. “These are not who I expected to see.”

“Others should be coming, but we needed numbers.”

“Quality, Raziel,” she chided him. “You of all people should know better than to rely on quantity.”

“They’re good men and women, love,” Eric shrugged unapologetically.

“Yes, but will they be durable?”

“Time will tell. I have a suit for you,” Eric gestured.

She walked over, looking the armor up and down. “Not really my style.”

“This isn’t an infiltration job,” Eric reminded her. “Suit up or stay behind.”

She sighed, a much put-upon sound, and then smiled teasingly at Eric. “Should I strip down here, or do you have somewhere a little more . . . private?”

“Use the inside of this lander,” he told her, expression dry. “I’d hate to start a riot or cause any heart attacks among our allies before we get a chance to fight.”

“Always the flatterer, Raziel.” She laughed, grabbing an undersuit and climbing into the rig.

When she was out of sight, Lyssa stepped up beside Eric, hissing softly, “Who the hell is that?”

“That’s the woman who broke into the most secure facility in the entire Block and helped me break out with the second-generation counter-mass generation plans. We’d have lost the war if not for her.”

Lyssa’s eyes widened. “Really?”

The woman didn’t look like a hardened spy, not unless you believed movies. She was pure femme fatale, right out of the golden age of spy novels and Hollywood.

“Really,” Eric answered. “And more than one enemy combatant has died thinking exactly what just passed through your mind. She’s not to be underestimated.”

“I can hear you.” Siobhan’s voice wafted out of the lander.

“She also has ears like a bat.”

Lyssa snorted. “So I see. Are all your old friends like that?”

“Hell no, sister,” a voice said from behind her, startling Lyssa into a semi-powered jump as she misjudged her armor. “Some of us are good looking.”

“Ron, you need to get your dosages checked. You’re having delusions of adequacy again.”

The big burly man with graying hair snorted, grinning wide as he stepped up and clapped a hand across Eric’s armored back. “Boy, you always could find the one ants’ nest in the park to set your picnic on.”

“Don’t remind me,” Eric sighed, shaking his head before gesturing to Lyssa. “Ronald Blake, this is Officer Lyssa Myriano of the NYPD. Lyss, retired full bird Colonel Ronald Blake, formerly of the U.S. Air Force.”

“Back when there was a United States,” Ron grumbled. He’d never been too happy about the whole Confederation deal.