Taylor straightened the collar of Sam Rhythm’s uniform and noted the square photograph of Jessica tucked into the missing timeslinger’s locker. The colonel’s shoulders sagged.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” he whispered.
Jessica lay in Sam’s cot, her arms smothering her lover’s pillow. After hours of sobbing, she’d fallen asleep. Taylor lifted Sam’s blanket over her shoulders.
His datapad buzzed. Incoming message from Brigadier General Ethan Falko. Taylor grimaced and exited the barracks.
“Sir?”
“Meet me in the briefing room.”
Click. The line went dead. An unannounced Falko visit meant trouble. Taylor picked up his pace.
A former president—assassinated. Apollo 13—aborted. Apollo 14’s crew—murdered. Sam Rhythm—left behind, MIA. Hector Salazar—AWOL. Between XLS successes and Union insubordination, the Subdivision was in shambles.
The briefing room. Falko stood over a stack of schematics and reports.
“Nukes, Bill. And we have no idea what they’re planning to do with them.” Falko slammed his fist into the table. “What happened? A Class 4 Breach? A dead agent—possibly two? This is a mess!”
“I take full responsibility, sir.”
“That’s why I’m here. I’m taking command of the Subdivision,” said Falko. The words hung in the air. Taylor clenched his jaw as if someone was removing a bullet from his chest. He managed a weak nod. Falko continued, “Tell me we’ve got something to work with.”
Taylor sighed. “Hector was pursuing a theory about Fra Ma–”
“I don’t care what Salaz–” Falko halted. “What did you say?”
“Fra Mauro. On the moon. Hector thought the XLS was–”
Falko didn’t wait for him to finish. He darted for the emergency alarm while engaging his communicator. The siren shrieked.
“Connect me to Division Headquarters!” Falko commanded the datapad. The color drained from his face. He pursed his lips. “God help us, Bill. They found it.”
