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CHAPTER 14

July 15, 2089

“Right this way, Doctor.” Artur led Joaquin Luce, MEP—Member of the European Parliament—and his somewhat appreciable entourage of staffers and a few press people down the main corridor that led toward the bridge. “The ship’s political officer is waiting for you.”

“Political officer?” Luce asked, surprised by the concept.

“Yes sir, the newly appointed ambassador from the White House. He and his staff started moving in a few days ago,” Artur explained just as he had rehearsed with Mr. Jesus the day before. “Here he comes now.”

“Dr. Luce, so good to see you again.” Charles held out his hand as he approached. The MEP took it and looked at him squarely as if to size him up. Charles could tell that Luce did not at first recognize him, and then his expression changed as he did so—and not in an inviting way.

“Mr. Jesus, right?” Luce shook his hand cautiously. “From the UN hearings?”

“Yes sir. You have a good memory. I’m the political officer of the Samaritan and the ambassador for Earth-Proxima Commerce. Good to have you aboard, sir.” Charles smiled a big fake grin while at the same time thinking of all the million things he would rather be doing—no, that he needed to be doing before leaving his home planet for . . . well, forever.

“What an amazing vehicle this is, Mr. Ambassador.”

“Please, Doctor, call me Charles. And yes, it is. I’m no engineer, so I can’t tell you much about the wizardry it took to build and the magic within, but just imagine that where you’re standing today in just a few weeks will be farther from our home world than anyone has ever traveled before. Mind-boggling, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” Luce stepped between Artur and Charles and put his arms around them. “Let’s get some pictures, shall we?”

* * *

Nobody pays attention to the press. Especially not the silent camerapersons or support staff. One extra tech guy here or there was essentially just a filler in the periphery of most people’s attention. And at the moment, MEP Luce was making certain that all eyes were on him. He was good at that.

Raymond Simms—or at least that’s who his visitor’s badge and press pass said he was—had hung in the back with a bag that looked like any other press techie equipment bag slung over his shoulder. He stopped to dig through it as if he were looking for just that particular adapter or gadget he needed, giving just enough separation between the rest of the political dog and pony show and himself. Nobody had even noticed as he slid an ID badge different from the one he wore across a panel on a side hatch. The door opened and he slipped in, closing the door behind him.

Raymond waited about thirty seconds to see if anyone had noticed, but, thankfully, nobody came. He tapped at the monitor panel on his left forearm and a three-dimensional map appeared in front of him, projected on his contacts.

“Hmm, the contacts work great,” he quietly said to himself. “Okay, this is the bridge here . . . yep . . . right there . . . astrogation. Down one level, back three.”



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