Excerpt: Andro

Nadia flickered before Fillip's eyes. He knew, as she reappeared, that he was going to hear about his faulty projector again, and she didn't disappoint.

“We all know how important contact is,” she said. “How would I know if your ship was disabled, or--”

“It's fine,” Fillip snapped. “This is more important.”

“I've told you--”

“Nadia.”

She looked down. “I only worry. You know that.”

“You don't need to voice all of your concerns out loud,” he said. He added particularly when I've heard them before in his head, but didn't add it to the end of his sentence. Despite Nadia's continued lack of respect, he'd been married long enough to know that she was more compliant when he didn't needle her.

“Of course,” she said. “I should leave you to concentrate.”

To concentrate on what, he didn't know. He'd done the trip enough to let the ship pilot most of the way, and which spots he needed to actually focus on. His attentions were better spent on matters at the convoy, and to keep an eye on the security monitor. And Nadia was his only link to the convoy at this point.

But if she was trying to bait him into begging her to stay, or to acknowledge that he needed her assistance, she didn't know him half as well as he knew her.

“You probably have a lot to do,” he said. “Maintenance, laundry. Washing your hair.”

She flinched. Fillip frowned. What had he said?

“Of course,” she said. “Should I message you later?”

“I'll message you when I have a better idea of my schedule.”

Nadia nodded again without looking up. “I love you.”

“Yes,” Fillip said, and turned off the connection.

Almost immediately, the security monitor flashed, and an alarm followed a heartbeat later. Fillip slid his chair in the track to take a closer look at the radar.

Red. Enforcement.

“F***,” he said. He pressed a couple of buttons, and the single screen fractured into four squares: radar, camera, heat, and distance. The ship was about fifteen minutes away, and headed for an intercept course. It wasn't close enough to pick up a heat signature, but it looked like it could hold a full compliment of officers.

Just as he had that figured out, his phone turned on.

“Enforcement, Cartel Division,” it said. “Requiring you cease your forward thrust and hold your position for face-to-face discussions of destination and motive. Prepare your bridge...”

The message continued with more instructions. It was the standard for a pull-over, but the Cartel Division?

“F***,” Fillip said again, this time as he exhaled. This couldn't be good.