The compact figure strolling out of a cross-corridor, the slight hunch over the pile of antique books, is the last thing the mercenary had expected to see after being kidnapped right out of the Ariel. There's no possibility of a mistake. Admiral Naismith is distinctive.
"Miles?" Catching the kit-bag that had nearly slipped to the ground, Bel sprints a few steps forward, a thousand questions clamoring for airtime. Miles Naismith had appeared out of nowhere ten years before, swept through the then-Oseran Mercenary Fleet like an ion storm, taken ship after ship before their commanders knew which way was up -- Bel's had been one of them, before Miles had granted them the captaincy. Is history repeating itself? Is this some new scam, an undercover operation more secret and impossible than any they'd taken on? Would Elena and Quinnie pop out of the next corridor, laughing at the prank's success?
Or...
Bel's step falters, even as the Admiral turns to see who shouted. A hot spike of doubt burrows into Bel's chest. At home in the uniform -- no surprise, Miles would be at home in any uniform. But there's something about the face, something about the gait... not quite enough for Bel to pin down, not even enough to be sure it isn't just imagination....
Admiral Naismith had departed only a few days ago. But it hadn't been long before Tau Ceti that the Dendarii had been infiltrated by the man's impossible clone, Jacksonian-produced, Komarran-engineered to replace... a man with Miles's exact face and name. Bel hadn't seen him face to face, but if he could fool Quinn.....
Momentarily lost for words, Bel looks the question to the one man they would have trusted implicitly only short weeks ago. Miles, is that you?
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The compact figure strolling out of a cross-corridor, the slight hunch over the pile of antique books, is the last thing the mercenary had expected to see after being kidnapped right out of the Ariel. There's no possibility of a mistake. Admiral Naismith is distinctive.
"Miles?" Catching the kit-bag that had nearly slipped to the ground, Bel sprints a few steps forward, a thousand questions clamoring for airtime. Miles Naismith had appeared out of nowhere ten years before, swept through the then-Oseran Mercenary Fleet like an ion storm, taken ship after ship before their commanders knew which way was up -- Bel's had been one of them, before Miles had granted them the captaincy. Is history repeating itself? Is this some new scam, an undercover operation more secret and impossible than any they'd taken on? Would Elena and Quinnie pop out of the next corridor, laughing at the prank's success?
Or...
Bel's step falters, even as the Admiral turns to see who shouted. A hot spike of doubt burrows into Bel's chest. At home in the uniform -- no surprise, Miles would be at home in any uniform. But there's something about the face, something about the gait... not quite enough for Bel to pin down, not even enough to be sure it isn't just imagination....
Admiral Naismith had departed only a few days ago. But it hadn't been long before Tau Ceti that the Dendarii had been infiltrated by the man's impossible clone, Jacksonian-produced, Komarran-engineered to replace... a man with Miles's exact face and name. Bel hadn't seen him face to face, but if he could fool Quinn.....
Momentarily lost for words, Bel looks the question to the one man they would have trusted implicitly only short weeks ago. Miles, is that you?