Briggon Hart’s nights followed a set routine, and woe to anyone who interfered with it. The changeover of the guards usually went like clockwork and, up until recently, had left him reassured that he could retire to his rented room, eat a light supper and sleep like the dead before his mid-morning shift and the process started all over again. He had liked the routine of his days, his hearts finally synchronising in a beating pattern he thought he’d never feel again when at fourteen he’d left his core family and his home planet behind to join the Agency.

  “I’ve nothing to report,” Briggon said to the three night guards, his annoyance hidden beneath a smooth mask of professional disinterest. He’d already sent Louis and Marle off for the night to get what sleep they could, so he was the only one left from the day crew. Well, besides the ever present house AI, affectionately named Andi, who was there around the clock. “The shift was standard, only minor deviations, but she’s down for the count and should sleep through the night.”

  “You’re always so serious, Blue Balls,” Tomas Esher laughed, tossing a look over his shoulder to check if his shift partners thought he was as funny as he thought he was.

  Blue Balls. That was a new one. Had the man-child spent a long time coming up with that one? At least Conway and Wilkes appeared uncomfortable rather than amused, but people like Esher only needed an audience, willing or not. And for those who didn’t know him, Briggon appeared an easy target.

  Briggon’s people, like most, were frequently stereotyped by their physical appearance. Besides the blue tint of his features and the short stockiness of his body -- genetic modifications from when their people first settled the icy dwarf planet Timera hundreds of standards ago – he and his kind were judged for the second heart that was nestled inside their chests. These hearts didn’t pump blood. Instead they pulsed in time with those in the individual’s core family group, a connection linking members and creating a shared empathy.

  Connections that Briggon had readily broken when he’d left Timera.

  Although his kind rarely left their homeworld, and those that did were considered abnormal, there was a universal assumption that his people were all natural caregivers due to their core heart. He was pretty sure it was why he gained his current job. That and his impeccable military record and honorable discharge that was supposedly sealed, but his boss, Baron Nathanael Perrault, wasn’t the sort to let the law stop him from finding out what he wanted to know.

  “I hope you’re not implying that our duties are not essential and that to fail in said duties would not have dire consequences.” Briggon’s gaze switched between Conway and Wilkes, ignoring Esher entirely, seeking confirmation that at least these two understood their responsibilities if Esher did not.

  Conway nodded sharply, his long dark hair tied back in a top knot, and Wilkes looked as if she was about to salute before catching herself and bobbing her head in agreement. Briggon offered a small smile, which had the guards straightening automatically, proud to have inspired Briggon’s approval.

  Esher flipped his silver bangs from his eyes, clearly annoyed his barb had failed to get a rise. The ponce had exchanged his eyes for a trashy gold set, the black pupil shaped like a five pointed star. Briggon had no issues with body modifications – he had more than a few himself – but Esher’s mods were purely for vanity’s sake.

  Esher’s eyes narrowed. “You make it sound like we’re soldiers guarding prisoners of war or something. We’re civilized here on Cherish, not like the caves you crawled out of. What’s the big deal? We’re pretty much glorified nannies.”

  Briggon’s dislike of Esher had been instant when he’d met the man, and that dislike had swiftly developed into a white hot loathing. Esher had started working the evening shift on his team just over two months ago and Briggon had done his best to get the kid booted, but nepotism was hard at work. Esher was actually a few standards older than Briggon, but was born and bred on Cherish, the booming capital planet of the Antypere System. He’d never slept on the icy ground during a Ridonian winter or watched the light flicker out in a wounded soldier’s eyes. As the youngest third son of Lord Albertin Esher, Tomas Esher had never worked for a thing in his life, including getting his current job. His father was a close friend and business partner of Briggon’s employer, Baron Perrault, who owned Cherish and a few other planets besides.

  Despite his protests, Briggon was stuck with the waste of good organs for the foreseeable future, though he often daydreamed of donating Esher for harvesting. At least then he’d be put to good use. Why Esher’s father had maneuvered him into a position that protected Perrault’s only weakness kept Briggon up at night. Was it just to keep him out of trouble? Teach him life lessons on hard work? He’d have done better shipping his son off planet to a boot camp, one preferably far, far away from here.

  Briggon’s charge was too precious to be left in the hands of some pretentious, lazy s.o.b who spent his paycheck on aesthetic mods and virtual gaming. He desperately wanted to snarl at the cocky brat, for his racial slurs and blazen disrespect for the work they did. Put the fear of Gwaia into him like he had with the greenies in his squad. Those kids had learnt quickly under his command to either straighten out or go home, even though they were often his senior in age. He’d had the highest retention rate and the highest performing soldiers in his company, many going on to lead squads of their own.

  “You’ll do your duties and you’ll do them well, understood?” Briggon didn’t threaten. Usually he didn’t have to. Most weren’t stupid enough to confront Briggon, despite his average height. There was a thrumming energy in Briggon that spoke of barely controlled rage, a sharp contrast to the mothering instinct most thought of when seeing his skin colour.

  Esher sniffed, rolling his eyes so hard Briggon expected them to pop out and spin across the floor. He was tempted to reach over and pluck them out of their sockets, the wires hanging loose and sparking, but he prided himself for his cool professionalism and this upstart wasn’t going to ruffle him, especially not in front of an audience. He also couldn’t afford to be dismissed. No one would take care of his charge as well as him, and he could put up with insults and derision if it meant he was right where he needed to be.

  “I suggest you check the windows and doors on the floor level of the East Wing first,” Briggon said, his tone making clear it was an order, not a suggestion. “Tread lightly. She’s sleeping.”

  “Yes, sir.” Conway and Wilkes chimed as one, gathering their assigned carbon-fibre batons that hung in neat rows from hooks by the door and the heavy torches in the charging stations beneath. The two guards didn’t even glance at the third member of the night crew, delegating quietly between each other their routes – never the same each night – and it only confirmed to Briggon that they were probably shouldering Esher’s work as well. He made a mental note to speak to both individually and add their reports to the records he had Andi compiling. There had to be a way he could kick Esher off his crew.

  Esher meandered over to the equipment, pretending to consider the available options despite them all being the same. Once he was equipped, he turned to Briggon, his lips twisting into a mocking smile and saluted sloppily, before sweeping off towards the kitchen. Probably to scavenge from the fridge, although he wouldn’t find much. The kitchen staff had taken to using a secondary freezer to hide perishables after one too many items disappeared during the night shift.

  Once the man-child was out of sight, Briggon allowed a heavy sigh, pressing his fingers into his eyes until fireworks of white and grey speckled against the back of his lids. Barely twenty-six standards old and already he felt like an old man.

  “That human is a – what is the term you organics use? Oh yes – a douche,” Andi said in a voice as dry as dust, and Briggon snorted. Briggon directed his words at the floor even though the AI wasn’t contained in any one spot.

  “You got that right. We’ll have enough to get him dismissed soon, no matter what his daddy says.”

  “Will you be heading off, Captain?”

  “It’s just Briggon, Andi. You know that.” The AI didn’t reply, though the small reminder that Briggon was more than capable of doing this job eased the raw, fraying edges of his fortitude. “I’ll head off in a minute. Keep an eye on Esher and notify me if there’s a problem.”

  “I’ll inform Conway and Wilkes,” Andi insisted. “You’re fatigued and need to eat a solid meal and sleep for at least six hours.”

  “Tell me about it. She’s more trouble than a squadron of newbies, paired with the brain of an elite politician and the moods of an unstable weather system.”

  “She’s a delight.”

  “A delightful terror.” His shift was well and truly over, but he climbed to the top floor of the East Wing one more time. The hallway was lined with closed doors behind which sat pristine guest rooms that hadn’t been slept in the entire time Briggon had been working for the Perrault family. His job would be a whole lot easier if he and his crew were given quarters on site, but Perrault believed if his employees lived and worked in the same space, then they were more likely to become complacent. That was why the house had its own AI, similar to those on space stations. Overkill maybe, but the extra security eased Briggon’s mind. The baron himself resided in the company penthouse so double standards appeared to be just as prevalent as nepotism within the elite. Only one person actually lived in this monstrosity of a house.

  The door was open a crack, allowing the soft hallway light to spill into the bedroom. He slipped inside and kept a wary eye out for obstacles, his footsteps softened by the plush carpet. Thanks to his superior eyesight, he spotted the carved wooden unicorn before it impaled his calf. He bent slowly, exhaustion making his joint modifications engage to keep him standing, and picked up the toy. Its body was painted a blue so dark it was almost black, its mane a shockingly vivid pink and its horn so white it glowed.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The smooth satiny finish of the wood spoke to Briggon of the Perrault’s family wealth more than the dozens of empty guest rooms. His planet was treeless, wood a precious commodity traded in from off-planet, and here was a toy unicorn the size of a small dog, carved out of the stuff and just left on the ground to stab unsuspecting visitors. He wouldn’t put it past his charge to have left it there on purpose. She didn’t like Esher either.

  He settled the toy on a shelf and approached the bed alcove, framed by soft, wispy fabric hanging from the ceiling. The bed had been designed to look like a secret nook hidden in a magical fairy glen, but it was a challenge for any averaged sized person to bend down to. The moonlight from the large bay window reflected off the simmering purple and blue silk sheets, draped over the tiny, soft lump of Airlie Perrault. Four-almost-five-years-old and an absolute terror when awake, Airlie was curled in a ball, one tiny hand stretched out towards Briggon while the other hugged Snowball.

  The doll needed a good wash, but Briggon knew better than to retrieve it from the sleeping child. Gwaia knows why the child insisted the cat-eared princess scientist was her favourite toy over all the other treasures she had as play things. At least it was soft when she smashed it over her carers’ heads. He could see the felt tiara wedged between black cat ears, and the lab coat was more grey than white.

  He realised he was smiling. He often did around the child, even when she was at her most challenging. He rested a hand over the flutter in his chest.

  After rotations being shipped from one conflict to another, his second heart had become encased in a diamond-strong layer, the surface reflecting back any bonds of connection that kept his kind happy and sane. He’d clung to his sanity through sheer determination and stubbornness, but even he admitted that at the end of his tour he was fraying around the edges. Except Airlie had wiggled her way inside, one invading tendril at a time, until Briggon’s core heart beated in time with hers. Soft and fluttery, like a glowing cave butterfly trapped within the cage of his ribs.

  This too was part of his routine. He’d hand off to Andi, Conway, Wilkes and the douche, then check one more time on his charge, reassuring himself that she was safe and well even with her heartbeat fluttering in his chest. He didn’t tuck her in. He didn’t dare wake her up, because a sleepy Airlie was a cranky Airlie. Awake and alert, she could talk circles around adults with the grace of a born politician, but when tired she could tear strips off people with the sharpness of her tongue. That’ll be Esher’s pleasure the next morning if Conway and Wilkes were smart about it.

  Briggon eased out of the room as quietly as he’d arrived, trudging down the hall towards the rear servants door. The actual front door was wide enough to fit half a dozen soldiers in full riot gear shoulder to shoulder. A right pain to open and close, not to mention secure. All the house staff, even with Airlie in tow, used the servant’s entrance. He could hear Esher grumbling to himself as he puttered about in the kitchen, and purposefully avoided him. He dropped off his baton and torch at the guardroom and shrugged into his jacket, exhaustion settling across his shoulders.

  The servant’s door had been updated with an electronic bio lock that only responded to those who’d been added with the right clearance. He pressed his palm to the panel – feeling the tiny pinch of the blood test – and the door opened with a soft beep, loud in the quiet of the house.

  The garden was large enough to land a mid-class vessel. The perimeter was lined with thick stone walls, stretching up twice the height of an adult human, and topped with a forcefield that stretched across the entire property, encasing it in an electric bubble. It was maintained by Andi who was capable of discerning friend from foe, allowing birds to fly in and out of the gardens without being fried but stopping an unauthorised presence in an instant.

  Checking the door was locked, Briggon walked down the pebble path towards the gate and unlocked another bio-checkpoint before he was finally outside the property. The camera above the gate gave a tiny, sympathetic chime and Briggon gave a tired wave to it. Andi would take good care of Airlie.

  During the short walk to the hoverstop where he’d catch a shuttle to his rented room, Briggon’s mind turned to the leftover curry pie he had in the fridge. Maybe he’d splurge and have a glass of wine with a slice of the cake he’d baked on his last rostered day off. He could always skip the pie and have cake instead. What he was really craving though was a very hot coffee, but the last thing he needed was a stimulant. There was a very real possibility he’d crash as soon as he sat down and sleep for a solid eight hours. Shower first then. He could have a beer in the shower and then cake. If anyone asked if looking after a four-almost-five-year-old was easy after three standards in active conflict zones, he’d laugh himself sick.

  The hoverstop was in sight when his core heart skipped a beat and he froze beneath a street light. Hand against his chest, he focused, wondering if Airlie was having a nightmare. Airlie’s heart stuttered like a skipped stone across a pond, a faltering frantic rhythm. Briggon almost tripped as he spun on his heel, engaging the military supplied mod pistons in his calves and sprinting towards the house. His thudding footsteps matched Airlie’s frantic heartbeat. When the wall surrounding the house came into view, he pushed his aching joints to their limits and slammed his palm against the bio-scanner. The scanner was coded to only open in the presence of specific DNA sequences, and only security and Barron Perrault could access the building at night.

  “Andi? Is everything alright?” Had the AI detected any breaches? The AI remained silent. He couldn’t hear any alarms, but the roaring in his head could’ve been drowning them out.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” the door clicked open and he sprinted towards the servant’s entrance, using his reinforced shoulder to break down the gated door instead of waiting the precious few seconds to unlock it.

  “Andi?” Nothing. The whole house was dark and quiet. Somehow the AI had been disengaged, a feat Briggon thought was impossible. “It would be real good to hear your voice right about now,” he muttered, not expecting a reply. The worst had happened.

  Esher wasn’t in the kitchen anymore so Briggon headed for Airlie’s room, his vision narrowing to a single point, so intently focussed on reaching her room he all but fell over the body of Conway. His team mate was slumped on the stairs as if he’d been yanked backwards by an intruder from above. His eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling, his mouth open in an unvoiced shout. Around his throat was a ribbon of red.

  “Dammit,” Briggon growled, panic receding as the standards working in warzones flooded his system with an icy calm. He left Conway where he found him, easing his way up the rest of the stairs on light feet, prepared now for insurgents hiding around every corner. He wished he’d paused at the guardroom to secure a weapon, but he’d relied on his fists before and he was prepared to do it again.

  He couldn’t hear any signs of a struggle and from experience Airlie had a voice that could pierce a concrete wall. He noted in a detached way that her heart had slowed, beating almost sluggishly in his chest. Drugged to keep her quiet.

  On the top floor he found Wilkes. Her body lay across the threshold to Airlie’s bedroom, caught while checking on the child, much like Briggon was in the habit of doing. She’d put up a fight, her baton lying in pieces not far from her and the head of her torch dark with blood. Her assailants had overwhelmed her through brute force, nothing like the quiet garroting of Conway, and her features were almost unrecognizable. Pushing the grief down, Briggon stepped over her body and into Airlie’s bedroom. It was almost as he’d left it. The scattering of toys, the wooden unicorn on the shelf, the window still shut and secured. Had he truly only been standing right here barely half an hour ago?

  He spotted the bloody heel print of a boot, the carpet absorbing the blood like a sponge. The stains led to the cupboard, not the bed.

  Briggon shut his eyes momentarily as guilt surged up to swamp him. He could picture it. Airlie being jolted awake by Wilkes’ fighting against her opponents, her heart racing as she snapped from sleep to alertness. She would’ve seen everything from her bed. Would’ve watched as Wilkes was beaten to death, the force so great blood had sprayed across the ceiling in wide arcs. But Airlie was clever. Frightened as she must have been, Briggon had run her through training scenarios, disguised as games, to ensure she knew exactly what to do until Briggon came for her.

  Stay quiet. Keep low. Move quickly.

  She would’ve aimed for the cupboard, the backboard pressure sensitive to the light touch of a child, swinging open into the room next door. Did she make it there before the assailants had killed Wilkes? But why then was her heart beating so slowly? Was she in shock?

  He darted back out into the hallway, preparing to break down the locked door to the room next to hers, except it swung open with ease. With it, dread settled heavily in his stomach. He’d checked this door before he’d left. It was always locked, providing Airlie time to slip from the back of her cupboard across the room and under the bed, a space barely narrow enough for a child her size. The bed hid the entrance to the safe room, set into the floor rather than the wall. The space was perfectly hidden into the architecture, carved from the ceiling of the room below so only a handful of people knew it was even there.

  She’d never made it. Someone had unlocked this room. Someone had been waiting for the child to emerge from the cupboard. Airlie hadn’t stood a chance. The scuffed bloody boot print revealed how the attacker had crawled through the secret door behind Airlie and had twisted a little, as if bending to scoop up something. Airlie would’ve been fast enough to escape anyone behind her, so someone had blocked her path.

  Briggon heard sirens approaching. Since Andi was down for the count, the external alarm must have been triggered when Airlie used the emergency panel between rooms. Conway lay dead. Wilkes where she fell. Andi was unresponsive. Where was Esher?

  Briggon paused when he passed Conway on the stairs and gently closed the man’s eyes. Airlie had loved the pancakes the bodyguard would make her in the morning, shaped like bunnies and cats and topped with far too much syrup. She’d be heartbroken when she found out.

  In the guardroom, he tapped into the security system, a sense of urgency making him mistype until he had to take a step back, breathe deeply until his hands stopped shaking, and try again. Andi had been deactivated and he only hoped the AI still existed and hadn’t just been erased. He was still able to bring up the house layout and locate the bio signatures of those on site. Conway and Wilkes read as unmoving dots, but there was no sign of Airlie or Esher. Briggon was alone in the house and he snapped. He drove his fist through the monitor over and over again, ignoring the sharp shards of pain until something sparked and the system went down.

  He blinked, staring down at his bloody fist and made a face. He’d not lost control like that since he first started basic training. The pain cleared the haze from his mind and he could finally think straight.

  He wouldn’t have been surprised if that snake Esher had run as soon as there was trouble, but Airlie’s kidnappers had had an accomplice. The biolock at the doors. Disabling Andi. Sneaking up behind Conway. Knowledge of the emergency safe room.

  Esher must have betrayed them all and by the end of the night, his organs would be sold off one by one if Briggon had a say about it.

  Waiting for law enforcement would only mean Airlie’s kidnappers had more time to escape, so Briggon sent out a brief pin to his employer that there had been a breach, Airlie had been taken, Conway and Wilkes were KIA and Esher unaccounted for. He then slipped out the servant’s entrance and headed for the one place Briggon knew Esher would run to.