“Thanks.” Mitzi clapped him on the back before passing through the door at the back of the room.

Teal Riot, their ship, looked as though it had originally been a privately owned shuttle. Mitzi guessed Central must have claimed it after losing too many of their own ships. The rooms had been stripped of everything non-essential in an attempt to lighten it and increase its speed, but there were still enough touches of elegance—mahogany panelling, plush seats, and large clear windows—to make it feel like a vacation cruiser. Mitzi crossed through what had once been the ship’s lounge area but was currently storing seven cloth-covered shapes, and paused outside the door to the storage room, where her six-person crew was waiting for her.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Normally, Central arranged for teams to spend some time together—usually undergoing a week or more of training in each other’s company—before a team was dispatched on a mission, but there had simply been no time before their mission. With the Cymics moving so quickly, every hour counted.

Mitzi knew she’d have to make a strong first impression if she was going to get any respect from them. She ran her hands through her short bob of black hair to smooth it back then shoved the door open. Quiet chatter abruptly fell silent, and four out of the six people inside unbuckled and stood.

Mitzi paused in the doorway for half a minute, glancing at each occupant before stepping into the dingy, cramped room. It had probably been the kitchen before the conversion, judging by the tiled walls and exposed pipes. Its equipment had been stripped and replaced with twelve crash seats, six against opposite walls. There was just enough of a walkway between them for Mitzi to pace comfortably, so that’s what she did.

Look confident. Speak loudly. Command respect.

“I’m Mitzi, and I’ll be your tour guide on this delightful field trip. Quickly now, tell me your names.”

She stopped in front of the first man on the left. He was the oldest out of all of them, probably older than Mitzi herself, but the thin, reedy man looked completely uncomfortable in his new silver-and-blue suit. His eyes bugged a little when Mitzi focussed her attention on him, but he swallowed and answered quickly, “Franc, ma’am.”

“Captain,” Mitzi corrected. She squinted at the man, trying to figure out his occupation. It clearly had nothing to do with defence. “Let me guess; you were in banking before Central volunteered you for this mission. No? Some job involving money?”

“Accounting, ma—Captain.”

Mitzi gave him a tight smile. “I hear accountancy schools have terrific combat training.”

It had been a joke, but Franc only frowned at her, perplexed. Mitzi grimaced and turned to the woman beside Franc, one of the two people who’d remained seated. She was young, probably still a teenager, and her long dark hair framed her face.

“Name?” Mitzi asked.

The girl pursed her lips as she looked Mitzi over. As her sullen eyes met Mitzi’s, she said with a careless shrug, “Mir.”