Read Nethereal (Soul Cycle Book 1) for Free Online

convoluted, but Jaren had let the chain of command develop as his officers worked together best.
    Filling the empty chair across from Nakvin, Teg listened as she shared the fruit of her research on Temil. Her target had been a Guild Magus who’d developed a sudden interest in history: specifically, the time of the Great Purge. “Shan made several unlogged runs into former Resistance space,” she said. “After a few weeks he started up a small-time smuggling operation.”
    “How’d we make him?” asked Teg.
    “He used the same fence as us,” Jaren said.
    Nakvin slid an obsidian plaque to the middle of the table. “These charts track the orbit of an unnamed asteroid. It looks like Shan stumbled onto an old Gen military base.”
    Jaren picked up the plaque and scanned it. “You’re wrong about one thing,” he said. “This wasn’t a Gen base. From these notes, I’d say it’s a thuerg fortress.”
    Teg raised his hand. “What’s a thuerg?”
    “Nothing now,” Nakvin said. “They were a Middle Stratum race that fought beside the Gen during the Purges.”
    “I thought Gen meant any nonhuman,” said Teg.
    Jaren’s grip on the tablet visibly tightened. He seemed to stare right through it, emerald fire flashing in his eyes. “There were others,” he said, though Teg had to strain to hear it.
    Facing his swordarm, Jaren spoke up. “In my father’s tongue, Gen means our people .”
    “Were your people killed in the Purge?” Deim asked Nakvin. She and Jaren stared at the junior steersman as if seeing him for the first time.
    “That's complicated,” Nakvin said. Her curt reply declared the subject off-limits.
    “Getting back to current business,” Jaren continued, “Magus Shan robbed this grave. It’s all ours now that he’s in his.”
    “We might even make some money,” said Teg. “If he left any swag behind.”
    “We’ll have more use for guns,” Jaren said, “if Dan’s pitch drummed up enough interest.”
    “I wouldn’t worry,” said Teg. “Pirates flock to freedom like Kethans to an open bar.”
    Jaren turned to Nakvin. “I want you on the Wheel,” he said. “Deim’s on backup.”
    “Aren’t you forgetting someone?” asked Teg.
    “I don’t expect much trouble,” Jaren said. “Pick out ten hands to crew the ship, then stay put and heal up. No sense risking your health on a salvage run.”
    “You’re leaving me here with twenty raucous pirates?” Teg said with mock surprise.
    Jaren cocked one red eyebrow. “Someone’s got to tidy up for company. Any objections?”
    “The sooner you leave, the better,” said Teg. “Then I can walk around in my skivvies and drink milk from the jug.” He winked at Nakvin, who rolled her silver eyes.
    Few of Teg’s past employers—and even fewer law enforcement officers—appreciated his sense of humor. Jaren’s tolerance of and occasional participation in Teg’s jokes remained a key reason for his continued service to the Gen. The growing excitement that Teg’s flippant demeanor concealed pertained to another, even more important reason. Like every member of Jaren’s crew, Teg had suffered loss at the Guild’s hands. Among the thinning freelance ranks, only Jaren seemed intent on paying the Steersmen back in kind. That resolve had earned Teg’s loyalty. Now, against all odds, it looked like his captain might pull it off.

7
    To Nakvin’s eyes the asteroid field looked like a cannonade of gravel fired into a pink smoke cloud. The Shibboleth saw it as a school of lumpy grey jellyfish drifting in the ether current. The ship’s magnified, accelerated senses discerned the complex order disguised as chaos and shared that vision with its Steersman. Through the Wheel, Nakvin contemplated every detail. She saw each rock’s pitted surface, heard the chimes of signals bounced back to the ship, and tasted the coarse saltiness of cosmic dust.
    The Shibboleth heard a sustained sound originating from a position just ahead of the Wheel. Nakvin