 
Shadowplay:

Book One of the Starcrown Chronicles

by Jon Gerrard

Copyright 2012 Jon Gerrard

Smashwords Edition

Cover by Dane Low

For D

Who Believed.

Special Thanks to my two biggest fans:

Shay

Whose perceptive critique helped me make the story work

and Puka

Whose constant encouragement helped keep me going.
Chapter One

I guess it was the vibration of the deck plates that dragged me back to consciousness. I lay there with my face pressed against the decking for several moments trying to get my bearings. My thoughts were a complete jumble. I tried lifting my head and a grenade went off in my brain. Okay, bad idea. I let my cheek settle back into the warm puddle of drool on the deck.

I felt completely drained and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep but there was something tugging at my mind. Some nagging little voice was running around in my head trying to get my attention.

"G' way," I mumbled with all the authority I could muster. Then the vibration in the deck plates changed as power to the ion drive was sharply increased. I could always tell when the drive in a ship shifted by the way...

It finally penetrated the pea soup my brain was swimming in that I was on a ship. The problem was that I didn't remember boarding a ship. In fact, now that I thought about it, I couldn't remember anything about how I had gotten here... wherever here was. I tried thinking back but found that I couldn't remember what had happened yesterday, or the day before that, or the week before that. There was _nothing_ there, just a black hole where my memory should have been.

That got my attention.

I heaved myself to my elbows and snapped my eyes open. A supernova went off in my brain. Screwing my eyes shut against the light spearing its way to the back of my skull I waited for the torture to end or my head to explode. Either would be an improvement. When the pain finally dimmed to mere agony I cracked my eyes and looked around. Bare synthesteel deck and bulkheads, harsh overhead light panels, barred doorway, and about a dozen men all dressed in alike orange jumpsuits. A quick glance down at myself confirmed that I was wearing the same thing.

A knot formed in the pit of my stomach. There had to be some mistake. I wasn't a criminal, I was... I couldn't complete the thought. I felt my heart begin pounding in my chest. I had to figure out what was happening. Think! What I needed was more information. Focus on the surroundings. There had to be something else to help me figure out what the hell was going on.

Through the door bars I could see a passageway with other cells like the one I was in. My legs didn't feel like they were strong enough to hold me up just yet so I crawled to the doorway and used the bars to pull myself up. When I finally got my feet under me I had to wait for several moments for my sight to swim back into focus. I decided I could ignore the little star-bursts going off at the edges of my vision for now.

Looking through the bars I counted four cells on the opposite side of the passage, each of which appeared to be as full as the one I was in. That probably meant the same number on my side. Assuming an average of a dozen in each cell that meant somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred prisoners. To the left the passage ended at a bulkhead with a secured hatch. To the right was a one man station where a bored looking guard sat flipping through pages on his datapad. He was seated sideways to me but on his shoulder I could make out a patch with the emblem of the Royal Department of Corrections—a federal transport. My hands started to tremble. Squeezing tightly on the bars I took several deep breaths. Calm down! There had to be an explanation! I didn't know what was going on but I knew in my gut that I didn't belong here.

"Excuse me, guard," I actually managed to speak above a whisper without my head quite splitting open.

He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. Something passed briefly across his features–pity? Then he looked back down at his pad and swiveled his back to me.

Okay, so no help there.

Using the bars to steady myself, I turned and faced my fellow prisoners. Most had staked out a place on the deck and were just sitting there brooding silently by themselves. They didn't seem like a very talkative bunch.

"Pell!"

Now that I thought about it, the cell seemed pretty crowded. This size space was only rated for about half as many people as there were here. I wondered why I would even know that. A sudden inspiration made me glance up at the outer wall of the cell only to find a blank synthesteel plate greeting me. A viewport would have let me see the stars and get an idea of what system I was in or at least what sector, but the only breaks in the walls were small ventilation grilles in the center of the bulkheads to either side.

"Pell!"

Me?

"Over here!"

There was movement in the grille to my left.

"Pell! Over here!"

Pushing away from the cell door I staggered miserably over to the vent. I got several dirty looks as I picked my way through the other prisoners sprawled around the cell, but I managed not to step on any fingers. The opening was too small for me to see more than the upper half of her face. Dark, intelligent eyes regarded me through the narrow opening and I could see smile crinkles in the corners. I decided that I liked those eyes.

"It's me, Alex. I was starting to get worried. That was some smack on the head the guard gave you."

That explained a lot. I reached up and ran a cursory hand through my hair but didn't find a lump.

Her eyes sized me up. "You look like hell."

"Thanks. Just a headache the size of a small moon." I lied. It was more like the size of a gas giant. "Do you have any idea where we are?"

"Well, we've been boosting for a couple of hours now, so I guess we're just about out to the Tombs."

The Tombs was what prisoners called the federal detention facility on Demerl, the last planet in the capital system, Argo. Prisoners checked in, but they didn't check out. Officially, Demerl was just one of several maximum-security prisons across the kingdom. What most people didn't know was that in actuality it was where the government buried those cases they wanted to go away—serial murderers, mob bosses, national traitors and the like. How many damned fragments of random crap did I know that didn't connect to anything useful?

A thought struck me. "Aren't there a lot of us? I mean, this seems like an awful lot of lifers in one trip."

"We're part of the new King's program to ship all of the so called 'undesirables' off planet." I must have been giving her a blank stare. "Geez, Pell, don't you read the news?"

"Guess I'm more of a sports page guy."

"You really need to start paying attention to what's going on in the world. Anyway, ever since Duke Sebastian assumed the throne the courts have been working overtime."

"Who?"

She gave me an odd look. "Duke Sebastian, well its King Sebastian now, the uncle of King Jason? He took the throne after the young King was assassinated."

I felt like I should know what she was talking about but my mind was a complete blank. How could I know so many odd little scraps of information and not know major things like who the King was?

"Pell? Are you sure you're all right?"

"Sure. I mean, I guess I'm still a little out of it, you know. So, you were explaining why there are so many of us aboard."

She gave me a penetrating look for a moment before continuing.

"What it boils down to is that they need to make room. Things have gotten pretty bad on Haven ever since Sebastian came into power. He's made the laws so strict that people are being arrested for every little thing. Crime is practically zero, but people have virtually no freedom either. Of course people tried speaking out against what the King is doing, but that's a crime now, too. As a result, the prisons on Haven are getting so full with all of the unfortunates they've been rounding up that they had to start shipping anyone with more than a couple of years sentence off planet to make room. Hence our crowded little transport ride."

A glimmer of hope. "So we're not being sent away for life."

She stared at me for a moment, then laughed. "You've got to be kidding me! Cordass Pell, the most notorious smuggler in this sector, and his pilot? Us they're going to lock up and throw away the key!"

The name still meant absolutely nothing to me. But that didn't matter. The law had decided that Cordass Pell was a danger to society and I was on my way to spend the rest of my life in prison. An overwhelming sense of hopelessness started to settle over me when that nagging little voice in my head came back.

"Wait. Didn't you say we were just about at the Tombs? But, if we're nearly there, why would they be _increasing_ power to the drive? They should be cutting back power to swing us into orbit."

My mysterious companion stared at me and the smile lines disappeared from the corners of her eyes. I told her about what I had felt through the deck plating. She seemed to accept my opinion about what the engines were doing without question.

"Something's wrong," she said softly.

Something about the way she said those two words chilled me. They were still echoing in my ears moments later when the deck jumped up and kicked me in the jaw.
Chapter Two

The basic principles of space flight have gone unchanged for hundreds of years. The traveling ship is pointed toward the location in space where your destination is going to be and thrust is applied. If you have enough fuel you can maintain thrust until you are halfway there, building up velocity and cutting the length of your trip. At that point you turn the ship 180 degrees about and boost in the opposite direction. If you want to do it cheaper you can boost only part of the way out and coast until you need to decelerate. The only tricky part is calculating the exact direction to point the ship in and how much thrust to apply. Since you are leaving a planet with its own momentum and traveling toward another body with a different motion relative to the one you're leaving, you need to be sure that you and the thing you're trying to reach are going to be in the same place at the same time. But calculus has been around even longer than space flight, and with modern navigation computers being what they are, programming a flight is basically a matter of telling the ship where you want to go and when you want to get there.

One thing is clear. At the end of a trip there is no need to increase power to the drive. Modern torch ships are very efficient. Not only can their ion engines supply thrust for an entire trip, but the thrust generated is so steady that there is rarely a need for even minor adjustments. Boost halfway out, turn around, boost the rest of the way in and shut down the drive. Neat and simple.

But the ship we were on had drastically increased thrust as we were nearing the end of our trip. That just didn't make any sense. This contradiction was still on my mind when I drifted back to consciousness some time later.

I had a dizzying feeling of vertigo for several seconds until I realized that I was in free fall. I found myself floating just above the deck... no, just below the overhead. All around me I could make out the dim forms of my fellow prisoners floating limply around the cell with me by the glow of the emergency lighting from the hallway. That wasn't good. I strained to listen above the moaning but couldn't make out the one sound I really wanted to hear—the sound of the air circulation fans. That _really_ wasn't good. I did a few quick mental calculations and estimated that CO2 concentration would reach dangerous levels in a little over an hour. The Tombs was starting to look a whole lot better than where I was now.

I tucked my legs and launched off the ceiling with my feet. I managed to get my fingers into the grille of the ventilation duct and brought myself to a stop.

"Alex?..."

"Is that you, Pell? Just a second. (Oof)." A moment later she floated into view. "How bad do you think it is? That didn't feel like a system blowout. It's more like we hit something."

"Or something hit us. That increase in thrust I felt before could have been evasive maneuvering."

"Maybe. Do you think the navigational deflectors failed and let some piece of space debris through?"

"I don't know, but it felt like it came from aft. My guess is the engine room, considering that all the main systems are down. Our biggest problem right now is that without power there's no way to open the cell doors."

"Hmm. What if..."

A sudden explosion erupted behind me and the aft corridor hatch sped past my cell. Then I heard the sound of heavy footsteps. A few moments later a dark, bulky figure hove into view—a man in space armor. The blue LEDs on his ankles indicated that the magnetic soles were active. As he made his way along the passageway I could hear the faint whirring of the suit's built in servos, and gripped in his fists was a high yield plasma rifle.

The ominous figure ignored the prisoner cells and continued forward, followed by two more men in armor. Silence blanketed ship. There was only one explanation for who they were.

"Pirates," Alex whispered. "But here, in the capital? I've never heard of anything so... _bold_!"

She seemed to be taking it a bit personally.

"It may be bold, but what's worrying me is that I can only think of one thing on a ship like this that's worth anything."

Our eyes locked and for a moment I thought I saw a flash of fear in hers. Whatever it was it was gone in an instant, replaced by smoldering anger.

"We'll have to go along with whatever they want for now," she said, thinking out loud to herself as much as to me. "If we keep our eyes open we might be able to find a way out of this mess."

Powered armor and plasma rifles made a pretty compelling argument. We had no choice but to do whatever they wanted.

Just then we heard the sound of distant weapons fire. My ears picked out what sounded like shots from a small hand blaster which were answered by the single bark of a much more powerful weapon. Then silence.

Most of the prisoners had come to their senses by then and the cells were starting to get noisy. Everyone knows what a failure in main power means aboard a space ship. Alex and I kept ourselves anchored in place by clutching to the ventilation grille while the others bounced and swam their way toward the cell doors in a hopeless attempt to escape. Sporadic arguments broke out as people poked and grabbed each other in a useless struggle to get to the doors. This went on for several minutes until a round of shots reverberated in the hallway.

As the other prisoners frantically launched themselves away from the door I could see someone returning from the direction of the cockpit. Four of the transport's crew were being herded by one of the pirates. I recognized one of the men as the guard I had tried to speak to earlier. They moved grudgingly from hand hold to hand hold at prods from the end of his rifle. As they passed the cell door I saw the glint of reflected light around their necks.

"Obedience collars," I said to Alex softly. These were the worst types of pirates: slavers. At the going average rate of twenty thousand Solars for a healthy adult, these flesh sellers stood to make an easy two million.

But how did I know what the black market rate was for slaves? If I was a smuggler, could I have been a slaver too? If that was the case I deserved to be put away for life.

"All right, listen up!" The pirate driving the transport's crew had removed his helmet. "We're going to be opening your cells one at a time. Just shut up and do as you're told... _or else_!" He reached out and grabbed the bars to one of the doors on the other side of the passage. His suit servos whined as he closed his fingers, bending the bars he was holding as if they were wax. With a yank, he pulled the heavy door off its track.

There was no trouble. We all lined up quietly and were each fitted with an obedience collar. Once we were collared we were directed aft. Armored pirates were spaced along the way within eyesight of each other to keep us moving. They obviously had experience dealing with captives and we were hustled quickly through the ship. A lot of the prisoners were new to weightlessness and had trouble moving around, but they learned quickly enough after being clubbed with one of their rifles.

Judging by the way they were treating the transport, the pirates had no interest in salvaging the ship. Everything was a mess. Emergency bulkhead doors had sealed after their missile strike, which is what I was certain now it had been, but they hadn't let that stop them. Every doorway we passed had either been forced open or blown in and each cabin ransacked. With one exception. As we filed past the hatch to the engine room the flashing light strip around the doorway warned that the compartment beyond was open to space.

Their weapons officer must be an idiot. We were lucky that the whole ship hadn't blown.

The pirates had docked with our shuttle using an extendible sleeve. We were led through the ruined airlock and into the sleeve in single file to pull ourselves along by overhead tow bars. Once we reached their ship we returned to gravity. We were also greeted by an overwhelming stench. It was a nauseating mixture of burnt wiring and dirty machine oil on top of unwashed bodies and rotting vegetation.

The pirate waiting for us in the airlock seemed amused by our reactions as the stench rolled over us for the first time and gave each of us in turn a solid jab in the gut with his rifle. Whether it was to get us moving again or simply for his personal amusement I couldn't tell, but he seemed to be enjoying his work.

The mess that the pirates had made in our transport was matched by the state of their own ship. Layers of grime covered virtually every surface. A number of wall panels had been removed exposing hastily made repairs to various systems. Scattered light panels were either flickering or burned out which made avoiding the random piles of debris on the decks that much more difficult.

As we made our way into the ship I couldn't stop the feeling that I was someplace familiar, although I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Had I been on this ship before? Could I have been part of this crew at some point? I was really starting to worry about what kind of person I was.

We were directed down one deck and herded into a large cargo bay. Even in that crowd it didn't take me long to spot Alex. I recognized those eyes immediately. She was seated with her back against a bulkhead deep in thought. She glanced up and nodded as I slid down next to her.

"How are you holding up?" she asked.

"Aside from a killer headache and a cracked jaw I'm just peachy. You?"

She shrugged. "This is going to make things ... difficult."

Like being on a prison transport headed for a life sentence on a frozen rock was a party? I wasn't sure what she was getting at so I simply answered her with a grunt. She was prettier than I expected. Not in a beauty pageant kind of way, but there was definitely something very appealing about her. Her dark hair was cut short in the style of an experienced spacer, but she was one of those women who could pull off short hair without looking boyish. She had full lips and wide cheekbones and of course those dark, slightly almond eyes. I also enjoyed the way she filled out her jumpsuit. Generous curves in all the right places but not soft. In fact she seemed quite fit, like some kind of athlete.

Of course she caught me checking her out.

"Yes?" she said, tugging up the zipper on the front of her jumpsuit.

"Nothing," I said, pulling my eyes away from her neckline. "You just seem a little, I don't know, distracted."

"Getting hijacked by slavers wasn't exactly something I was planning on."

Who was? "At least we won't be rotting behind bars for the rest of our lives."

"There is that," she said flatly. What was it with her? She seemed like her mind was a million light-years away.

Before I could think of anything to say a commotion started across the room. A brawl had broken out between the transport crew and a group of very angry looking prisoners. Everyone scattered to give them room. It was an ugly fight with two or more men ganging up on each of the former transport crew members. At one point, one of the corrections officers almost broke free but one of the others tackled him to the deck and started pummeling the back of his head as the guard tried to curl into a ball to protect himself. It wasn't looking good for the officers.

Suddenly, all of the fighters dropped and began spasming violently. They were clawing at their throats and several of them were actually screaming in pain. After a few moments the spasms stopped and they slumped to the deck.

"Knock it off!"

Standing in the doorway was one of the pirates holding a remote.

"Next time I leave it on!"

The stunned men lay moaning softly on the deck but I was sure they had heard him. With things back under control the pirate returned to shoving the last of the prisoners into the hold. Soon the combatants started picking themselves up from the deck. The transport crew looked like they were in pretty bad shape.

Without thinking about it I went over to give them a hand, prisoners and officers alike. The prisoners who had started the fight only had to shake off the effects of the obedience collars for the most part, but the officers had been beaten to a pulp. One in particular had been beaten so badly that one eye was swollen shut and his lip was split and had ballooned to grotesque proportions. It was the same guard who had been posted in the cell corridor when I first woke up, the one who was too busy reading to talk to me. I had seen him take several kicks to the face before the fight had been broken up. As I moved to help him up Alex appeared on his other side and helped me take him over to the corner where the rest of his people were huddled. As we eased him down against the bulkhead I noticed him giving me a questioning look with his good eye.

"I don't like an unfair fight," I said, feeling like I should say something.

When he was settled we went back to our own piece of wall. A number of the other prisoners were giving us strange looks but we ignored them. I had a feeling this was going to be a long trip.
Chapter Three

A hundred people, no shower, and one poorly installed toilet. By the time they let us out of here we were going to be ripe. These were my first thoughts as I sat looking around at our new prison. The last of us had been shoved into the hold several minutes earlier and I could feel through the deck plates that we were under way. Unlike the prison transport however, what I felt this time was the thrum of a hyperdrive. Wherever the pirates were taking us had to be well outside of Gilead space. We would probably be locked in here for several days at least. I revised my earlier opinion. This wasn't going to be a long trip. It was going to be a miserable one.

For a while I simply sat there feeling numb. In my mind's eye I called up the image of a face: oval shaped, curly dark brown hair, prominent nose, heavy lipped mouth, intense eyes beneath full brows. It was the face that had looked back at me from the scratched and smudged metal rectangle that served as a mirror in the refresher alcove. A face I did not recognize. I had studied my reflection for several minutes, which eventually earned me a round of angry pounding on the compartment door. The fact that I didn't recognize my own face didn't surprise me. What surprised me was how young I was. The face that had stared back at me couldn't have been older than twenty-one or so. Just barely out of my teens and my life was already over.

Letting out a long breath I lolled my head back against the bulkhead where I was sitting and stared up at the overhead. The cargo bay was three decks high. Most of the ceiling was taken up by a pair of immense hull doors. Pipes and power conduits ran around the edges. Just forward of the doors was a small, open access panel that looked big enough for someone to squeeze through. Interesting but useless since we couldn't reach it.

A sudden restlessness came over me and I stood up. I swept my eyes around the compartment, searching. These pirates were sloppy. There might be something they had overlooked, some way we could fight back against them. Alex stood up next to me, as if reading my thoughts.

"I'll start over here and go to the left," she said. "We'll meet on the far side."

I don't think either of us actually expected to find anything, but it was something to do. We took our time, going over every square centimeter of the bulkheads in our reach. The others moved out of our way without comment whenever either of us came near. After a few minutes I heard someone coming up behind me. When I turned around I recognized two of the men who had been part of the fight with the transport crew. My hands instinctively closed into fists.

"Could you use a hand?" the first one asked sheepishly while his friend hung back slightly. He was about my height, well spoken, educated. His friend was taller, long limbed, and actually wearing genuine eyeglasses. I seemed to remember that it was the new style among the young crowd. In fact, the more I studied them the more they reminded me of a pair of college students. As they stood there waiting for me to answer them, they kept stealing self-conscious glances at the transport crew. I felt myself relax. They weren't looking for trouble.

Extra hands couldn't hurt, so I put them to work. It turned out that my original take on them was right. They were college students, or they had been. The tall one was Mark Sooth, an electronics and computer sciences senior from Haven University. I sent him to see if he could find a way to access the door controls from our side. I had noticed an inactive keypad beside the door. He thought he might be able to do something with it. The other one was Christopher Conrad, also a senior at Haven, but a political science major working toward a law degree. He didn't have Mark's technical skills so I had him follow me so I could show him what to look for as we searched the bulkheads.

As we worked, Chris kept up a steady stream of nervous conversation. He didn't seem to mind that I didn't have much to say and I just let him ramble on. As it was I actually learned a lot about what was going on in the world from him.

He told me that he and his friend had been arrested for organizing a campus rally. After King Jason was assassinated one of the first things the newly crowned King Sebastian did was to order a dusk to dawn curfew across all of Haven. He claimed it was necessary to 'contain the subversive elements in our society'. Chris snorted. After what had happened to his nephew, most people figured Sebastian was just scared. Many prominent civil rights activists had objected to such a drastic policy—at first. There were protest marches and speeches, heated debates on the news networks, but none of it made any difference.

And then, a few days after the protests began, most of the organizers suddenly reversed their opinions. Others simply dropped from public view. Rumors spread through net that family members of several of the more vocal leaders had been picked up for questioning. Then the soldiers started appearing. In spite of the fact that the constitution expressly forbids the use of military forces against Gileadean citizens, troops were deployed in all of the major cities. Public gatherings of more than three people were forbidden. Citizens were required to carry identification with them at all times to be produced on demand. A week after the first of the protest marches, city streets across the entire planet were virtually empty as people only went out when they absolutely had to.

While the curfew made life difficult for everyone, it was especially frustrating for the young people whose social lives were lived largely in the evening hours. After a few weeks Chris and his friends were bursting at the seams to get out and blow off some steam. Then word got around about a party that was being thrown by a group of graduate students who shared an apartment off campus. It was a way of thumbing their noses at the new curfew. Three of Chris's friends decided to sneak out on the night of the party. They hadn't been seen since. Chris and Mark went to the police but they were turned away at the front desk. They tried asking around campus and learned that others who had gone out after curfew that night were also missing, along with the grad students who had thrown the party.

It was at this point that Chris and Mark had come up with the idea of a protest rally—a sit in on the main mall of the campus. In spite of everything that was happening, he and his friend actually believed that such a rally might make a difference. There had been no incidents since the King's initial crackdown and they thought that if they could get enough students to stand together, the King would have to listen to them.

They started reaching out to people through the net and the word spread like wild fire. Haven University is one of the largest schools in the nation and thousands of students showed up for the event. The rally had barely gotten under way when a swarm or armored hover-craft appeared overhead. Moments later a platoon of armed soldiers marched into the campus mall from all sides. Then a voice boomed from one of the circling hover-craft and ordered them to disburse. Instead of leaving, the students started booing. The soldiers formed ranks and again the students were ordered to leave. There was a tense stand-off for a while with neither side willing to back down.

Then one of the students threw something.

That was when the soldiers opened fire.

Chris remembered the next several minutes as a confusion of running and pushing through panicked crowds as everyone scrambled to race back to their dorms. Within an hour word reached them that thirty nine students had been killed, while dozens of others had been taken to the hospital. He and Mark were still trying to come to grips with the reality of the news when a squad of military police officers broke down their door and arrested them for insurrection.

They were brought before a judge the very next day where testimony was given against them and a verdict of guilty pronounced without either of them having a chance to defend themselves. Chris had tried to object but the judge wasn't interested. A series of witnesses had identified them as the rally organizers. That was all the evidence he cared about. Chris remembered how each of these witnesses—fellow students who could not look either of them in the eye—bore bruises and other injuries that hadn't been there the day before.

His head was spinning. Things like this didn't happen, not in Gilead. This was a nation of laws and democracy where people had rights.

He demanded to be allowed to speak before they were sentenced and the judge reluctantly allowed it. While he admitted to the judge that they had organized the rally, he denied any attempt to overthrow the government. Insurrection? That was absurd. They were just trying to exercise their rights to peacefully object to the King's new policies.

I watched the hate fill his eyes then as Chris described what happened next. The judge smiled down at him and thanked Chris for his testimony. According to the judge, _any_ criticism of the King was insurrection. He said that Chris had just convicted them with his own words. He announced that a new day had dawned in Gilead. King Sebastian was determined to stamp out the subversive attitudes that had infected society. People like them were to be made an example of.

"The next thing we knew, we were on that prison transport," Chris said, winding down. Now that he had gotten everything out I could see that his eyes were brimming with tears. Balling his hand into a fist he pounded lightly against the bulkhead.

"I never even had the chance to call my parents. They probably think I'm dead."

For a while all I could do was stare mutely at him. It was more than just the horrible injustices this young man and his friend were being subjected to. What was bothering me was how the King was flagrantly abusing the system. But why did I care? A convicted smuggler, maybe even a pirate and a slaver, and I was concerned about the politics of the nation? I didn't have the right. Yet for some reason I was deeply troubled by what Sebastian was doing. It was ... wrong!

Of course the King could change things any way he chose to. He had absolute discretion to act outside of the law. That was the whole point of our system of government—a democratic monarchy. For the most part the people elected leaders who in turn ran the nation, but the King could step in as he saw fit and make changes. This allowed him to make corrections in the system when he found laws or policies that were ineffective. Historically, most Kings had used this authority very rarely. Unfortunately, it also meant that someone like Sebastian could subvert the system for his own purposes. Innocent people were suffering for the King's paranoia and arrogance. For my part I probably deserved my punishment, but this young man and his friend had done nothing to justify what was happening to them.

Then the full implications of what Chris had said finally hit me.

I spun around and took a look at the other prisoners, my first real look at them. Before I had simply seen convicts in prison jump suits. Now I looked beyond the prison clothing and what I saw unnerved me. Facing me was a room full of frightened people. These weren't hardened criminals. They were average men and women whose world had suddenly been turned upside down. Many were actually huddled against the bulkheads like terrified children. Alex had tried to explain what was happening to me before, but I was too confused to pay attention. Now, in the eyes of these terrified people I saw reflected the growing nightmare that was unfolding in our nation.

I turned back to Chris. He was standing there with his head hanging as tears ran down his cheeks.

"I'm so sorry." It was the only thing I could think of to say. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, but it was all I had to offer.

Chris wiped his face and managed a faint smile. "It's not like it's your fault."

"I'm sorry too." While we were talking one of the transport crew had come up to us. It was the officer with the swollen face. The rest of his group waited nearby, anxiously watching the exchange.

The officer straightened up as best he could and held his hand out to Chris who hesitated briefly, then took it.

"Ricky Molina," he lisped through his split, swollen lips. "And I mean it. I heard what you were saying and I really am sorry about what they did to you. To everybody here," he added in a slightly raised voice. "They used to send only the real hard core criminals out to the Tombs. But recently they've been having us transport more and more people like you who haven't done anything and it's been eating me up inside."

"Actually, I think I owe you an apology," Chris said guiltily. "Me and my friend kind of picked that fight with you. Then the others joined in and—"

Ricky waved it off. "After what you've been through I'd want to pound the crap out of somebody, too."

They both laughed. Ricky stopped after a moment and pressed a hand to his head.

"Are you okay?" Chris asked.

"I don't know. All of a sudden I don't..."

I watched as his eyes went glassy and rolled up into his head. I was just barely able to get to him as he collapsed and I eased him to the deck. He was still conscious, but complained that the room was spinning.

"Excuse me, I'm a doctor."

I looked up and saw an older man. Tall and slim with a full head of pure, white hair, I placed his age around sixty. I moved aside as he knelt down next to Ricky and watched as his knowledgeable hands began to gently examine his injuries.

"You look familiar," Chris said, squatting across from the doctor. The doctor gave a thin smile without looking up from his work. Within a couple of minutes he had determined that there were no broken bones but that Ricky probably had a mild concussion. There was also a slight chance that he had a detached retina in his injured eye, but to be sure he'd need instruments.

"He should be all right if he's left alone to rest," the doctor said. "I just wish I had something to relieve that swelling around his eye a little."

"Will this help, Doc?" A small crowd had been growing around us. One of the other prisoners was holding out a small bottle of white capsules to the doctor who examined them briefly.

"What is that, Prohibitol?"

"Yeah. I managed to bring in a few things I thought might be useful."

"What is it?" Ricky croaked.

"It's a rather potent pain reliever," the doctor said. "But it also acts to reduce swelling," he added as he pushed two capsules into Ricky's mouth. "May I keep the rest of these, Mr. ...?"

"Dobbs, Lawrence Dobbs," said the man who had offered the pills. "Actually, my mom's the only one who calls me Lawrence, everybody else just calls me Lucky. And sure, keep them. You're the Doc. You might find somebody else who could use them."

"Thank you, Lucky," the doctor said. "He's going to need doses every few hours for the next day or so. You may have just saved his vision in that eye."

Lucky shrugged. "Glad I could be of help."

"That's a military prisoner's uniform you're wearing," I observed, noting the differences between Lucky's khaki green jump-suit and what the rest of us were wearing.

"I was in the Fleet. Used to be a supply officer, until I got in trouble for redirecting a few things."

"Redirecting?"

Lucky was a real character. He explained that as a supply officer he often had to go outside of the normal military channels to keep his unit properly supplied. It seemed that a simple requisition to the central depot, say for a gross of laser sights, could just as likely get you a case of powdered eggs as it would the sights you wanted. While this type of mistake didn't happen all the time it did happen often enough to be an annoyance. But getting the central depot to acknowledge that there had been a mistake or to actually correct it took a small mountain of paperwork and the patience of a saint. Lucky found a better way. Being an enterprising young man, he took it on himself to build a network of contacts that he would trade with from time to time. Every unit was short on something and overstocked with something else. It was just a matter of tracking down which unit had an excess of what your unit needed and figuring out what they would trade it for.

Over time Lucky got so good at tracking things down that supply officers from other units started calling him for help. In those cases he would also tack on a little something extra for his trouble, which the other officers were happy to provide since Lucky was usually the only one who could get whatever they needed. Exotic liquors, expensive cigars and even jewelry found their way to him as tokens of appreciation from grateful supply officers throughout the fleet. In turn he would offer such bonuses as incentives to other units when he really needed something for his men. Eventually he had the most well stocked warehouse of any unit, boasting everything from laundry soap to lingerie (a sideline he got into accidentally when a commander needed a last minute anniversary gift). But that was also what got him into trouble.

After King Sebastian took the throne he set about making sweeping changes throughout the military. Like all of the Royals, Sebastian had served a mandatory two-year term in the fleet as a young man, but the experience had not been a positive one for him. He hated following orders and he left the service as soon as his term was over. Even though it was more than twenty years since Sebastian had served in the fleet, stories were still circulating through the ranks about how his behavior was so bad that had he been anyone other than a member of the Royal Family he would have been discharged during basic training.

Once he became King, Sebastian announced that he was going to put an end to what he described as the 'flagrant mismanagement of the armed forces'. One of his biggest objections to the military was that he saw no reason why the fleet should command such a large portion of the national budget. It seemed that fighting interstellar terrorism and piracy, combating illegal intrusions into Gilead space, or even the basic necessity of maintaining a military force strong enough to discourage unfriendly nations from attacking our systems were not sufficient reasons for him. What he did was hire hundreds of auditors to poke their noses into every aspect of how the military functioned. One of the first results of this was a series of surprise inspections throughout the entire fleet in which complete inventories of supply warehouses were conducted. When the auditors went into Lucky's warehouse they acted like they had hit the mother lode. Not only did the list of supplies in central records not match what was actually in Lucky's warehouse, but many of the items he had stockpiled were not even military issue. They thought they had come across a vast black market within the military.

Although he was perfectly candid with them about his trading enterprises and in spite of the unwavering support of his commanding officer, Lucky found himself brought up on charges. At one point they offered him a plea bargain which would have saved him from a court-martial. But what they wanted in exchange were the names of the other supply officers who were part of his 'ring'. They had been unable to find any records because he kept everything in his head and they needed him to make their case. Lucky knew that if he fingered any of the others they would be arrested too, so he conveniently forgot everything.

"That was pretty noble of you," I said.

"Yeah, well, you can see what noble did for me—twenty years in the Ritz."

I couldn't stop myself from warming to this character who had chosen to take the full weight of the consequences on himself rather than implicate others. But I could also see that he was regretting how much his principles had cost him.

"What about your friend?" I asked, nodding toward a prisoner sitting by himself across the bay. He and Lucky were the only ones wearing military prisoner uniforms. In the other man's case however, the jump suit barely fit his huge physique. He looked like he could pick up any one of us with one hand.

"I don't know. I never saw him before today. Doesn't like to talk much."

"Excuse me, doctor?" a female prisoner had joined us and was anxiously pointing out a very large woman across the bay who was huddled against the base of one bulkhead crying hysterically. "Can you please help her? She keeps saying something about her babies and how there's no one back at home to look after them."

"Go on, Doc," Chris said. "I'll keep an eye on Ricky."

The doctor nodded and stood. A look of frustration crossed the old man's face as he looked over at the distraught woman. He hesitated. "I not sure what I can do for her. I don't have anything I can give her to—"

"Try these, Doc." Lucky said, pressing another bottle of pills into his hand with a sigh.

"Valium?"

"I know it's a little old school, but they work."

The doctor clapped him on the shoulder and started toward his next patient.

"Got any other surprises up your sleeve?" I asked. "A laser torch would be real handy right about now."

Lucky Grinned. "Sorry, that was the last of my stash. I couldn't bring in a whole lot."

"How did you manage to smuggle anything aboard with you at all?"

He made a sour face. "You don't want to know."

Alex had finished her circuit of the room by then and was walking over to us. A shake of her head told me that she hadn't found any weaknesses we could exploit.

"That man," she said to the Doctor's back. "Isn't that Dr. Jacobs?"

A sudden memory flashed across my mind. Dr. Joseph Jacobs, known in the news media as Dr. Death. He had been arrested for helping terminal patients commit suicide. People either praised him for having the nerve to help suffering patients end their torment or they saw him as a murderer. The courts had decided that he was guilty of contributing to the unlawful deaths of several people and had sentenced him to life in prison.

"I knew I recognized him," Chris said. He turned to go after the doctor. "We shouldn't be letting him treat anyone."

I put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "I don't think he's going to go around poisoning anyone. Besides, he's the only qualified doctor here. What we need to focus on is trying to find a way out of this cargo bay."

"I've got an idea," said a young man with long hair and a beard as he stepped forward. He was just under average height with broad shoulders, an athletic build and a deep, coppery tan. He pointed up at the open access hatch I'd noticed earlier.

"I saw that," I said. "But there's no way to reach it."

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward an aft corner of the room. "Give me a boost up over there and I bet I can reach it."

A third of the way up the wall a sealed fiber-op trunk line entered through the bulkhead and ran up to the ceiling. Chris and Lucky gave him a boost. As soon as he got his fingers around the pipe he started climbing like a monkey. In moments he had reached the ceiling and began making his way along the girders and piping. The bay grew quiet as everyone stopped whatever they were doing to watch him. He moved like an acrobat, swinging from hand hold to hand hold and soon was in reach of the open access panel.

"STOP!"

It was the other prisoner in the military jump suit. I never even heard him come up beside me.

"That's an unshielded power conduit junction! If you touch _anything_ in there you'll be dead instantly!"

Our young acrobat hung there swaying uncertainly for a moment, then turned himself around and started to make his way back down. I looked up at the hulking figure who had just saved his life.

"I used to be the assistant engineer on a patrol cruiser," the big man said quietly. A few moments later our young climber rejoined us.

"Hey, thanks man," he said, clapping the big man on the back. "You saved my ass! I really owe you one. I'm Bobby, Bobby Dare."

"Ian Brunner," the quiet giant said. "I would have saved you the climb but I didn't know what you were trying to do at first."

"That's what you get for missing staff meetings," Lucky chimed in.

Mark returned from across the bay just then with his head hanging. The keypad box had been welded tight. There would be no quick escape like in the adventure stories where the hero pries open the control circuits with his bare hands and crosses a few fiber-op leads. Our prison was quite secure.

A group of us continued to throw out ideas for a while but in the end we couldn't come up with anything. There was little we could do with our bare hands against synthesteel bulkheads. We were just going to have to wait and see what the pirates had in store for us.
Chapter Four

Things quieted down quickly after Bobby climbed down from the overhead. Ian slipped away to find a private place to sit while Chris and I helped Ricky back to the corner with the other transport crew members. The crowd that had gathered around us broke up as quickly as it had assembled. Apart from the transport crew, Alex and I were the only ones who knew anyone else and everyone went off to sit by themselves.

The bay grew very quiet as we all sat wrapped in our own private thoughts. With nothing to do everyone just sat there staring off into space. I was no different. Like most of the others I sat stiffly against my chosen section of bulkhead and dozed from time to time, unable to get any true rest on that unyielding deck. On those few occasions when I did manage to drift off for a while I was bothered by nightmares of explosions and running through a shadowy landscape. I eventually resorted to pacing to keep myself awake.

After a long while our captors brought us the first of what would be several meals. We were each treated to a cold bowl of gray gruel with sparse fragments of what seemed to be protocarb floating in the watery slop. My portion had a bonus—there was a cockroach swimming in my bowl. By this point I was so hungry that I simply dipped the bug out with my finger and flicked it aside. No matter where humans went those little vermin found a way to follow. Alex and I gave each other a brief look then forced ourselves to choke it down. It tasted like chalk and several of the others refused to eat it at first. A few hours later however every bowl was empty.

That became our routine. The meals were the only way we had to keep track of the time. My own internal clock said that they brought us one meal a day—and I could swear that they forgot us once. Altogether I estimated we were confined to that filthy hold for a week, a week during which we could do nothing but sit and wait.

At first everyone sat by themselves and simply stared around at everyone else. Whenever anyone did speak it was usually in hushed whispers. Doc Jacobs was kept busy tending to the medical needs of several of our fellow prisoners. Under his gentle care, Ricky and the others who had been hurt during the brawl slowly recovered. Thanks to the drugs Lucky had been able to smuggle aboard, the swelling around Ricky's eye went down quickly and in a few days Doc declared that there would be no permanent damage to his vision.

Mary Jones, the large woman who had been nearly hysterical when we first came aboard, was also doing better. It turned out that she was a welfare mother who had been trying to raise her three grandchildren after her own drug addicted daughter abandoned them to prostitute herself on the streets. After she disappeared Mary continued to collect her daughter's support voucher to care for the children. She knew she was supposed to report her daughter's disappearance and have herself declared the children's guardian. But being a veteran of the system, she also knew that it could take weeks if not months for everything to get straightened out. During that time it was possible that the children would be taken away from her by social services. And when it was all finally sorted out she would just end up receiving the exact same payment her daughter had been getting in the first place. In her mind it was simpler to not say anything and just continue caring for her grandkids. Eventually however the system realized its mistake and she was arrested for fraud. She hadn't seen her grandchildren since the police had taken her into custody, and with no other family she feared that they had been separated and thrust into the unsympathetic maze of the foster care system.

In spite of her worries, Mary bounced back quickly. She turned out to have a heart as big as she was and she spent most of the trip helping others who were struggling through their own bouts of depression. She seemed to thrive on taking care of others and as long as there was someone else to look after Mary was able to cope. She quickly earned the nickname 'Momma Mary' among the other prisoners.

Others found their own ways to cope. Bobby Dare focused on coming up with a way to escape. He quickly decided that a group of us should attack the crewmen who brought our food and make a break for it. He had several of the others ready to act with him until I was able to talk them out of it. I had actually considered a similar plan myself but decided against it when I saw how one crewman always remained outside in the passageway whenever they brought our food. As long as we were wearing obedience collars any direct action against our captors was foolish.

While he grudgingly came to agree with us that direct action against the pirates was hopeless, Bobby still needed something to do. He was a bundle of energy and he couldn't stand being cooped up. Before his arrest Bobby had spent all his time following summer around the world in search of the perfect wave. Haven's twin moons gave the planet some of the best surfing anywhere. A sizable trust fund established by his parents had allowed him to live free of any personal responsibilities. An ounce of marijuana found in his luggage, however, had cut short his endless summer. Convicted of possessing a controlled substance with intent to distribute (he swore it was only his personal stash), he was given a thirty year sentence. That sentence was a crushing blow to the free spirited surfer.

Since he couldn't move against the pirate crew directly, Bobby burned off his excess energy by making forays across the ceiling of the cargo bay. It was fascinating to watch him swing gracefully among the girders and pipes. He was a natural athlete. Unfortunately, the results of his explorations were always the same. Without tools there was nothing up there he could get into, yet day after day he would climb to the overhead and continue his search.

Lucky seemed to spend the time getting to know everyone. He had a naturally outgoing personality and in spite of our situation he managed to find things to laugh about. His good-natured guffaw could be heard throughout the day as he helped lift the spirits of those who were beginning to lose hope. Within a couple of days he was on a first name basis with everyone. He even managed to get Ian to open up a bit and talk about himself. He learned that our soft-spoken giant had been court-marshaled for striking an officer. Ian refused to give any details of the incident except to say: "The guy was an asshole."

Alex spent most of the time exercising. She quickly developed a daily routine of calisthenics that she would perform until she was dripping with sweat. Others joined in from time to time but she was the only one to maintain a consistent regimen. I even joined her for a few sessions myself. Although I could do most of the exercises with her I didn't have anywhere near her stamina. She was like a machine, banging out her repetitions with military precision.

When she wasn't exercising Alex was circulating among the other prisoners. She had a commanding presence and when she chose to use it she could get people to tell her things about themselves. Every 'evening' we would talk about what she had learned. She seemed to think it was important to know as much as we could about our fellow prisoners and insisted on reporting everything she learned to me.

For myself all I could think about was how we were trapped and helpless and would soon be sold into slavery. The idea of being someone's property was abhorrent to me and the injustice of our situation frustrated me because I was completely powerless to do anything about it. The future looked black, as black as the void of my memory.

For most of the trip I kept to myself. At first Alex tried to draw me out, engaging me in conversation, proposing plans to fight our captors, or anything else to get me to talk. I listened politely and offered a few comments or suggestions of my own, but I was just going through the motions and she knew it. After a while she left me alone.

It was shortly after we had been given our sixth meal that we were visited by the captain. Flanked by several of his crew as bodyguards, the pirate leader strutted into the bay and looked us over. He was dressed in a flamboyant collection of expensive but tasteless clothes and jewelry that was meant to show off his wealth but only made him look foolish. He introduced himself as ' _Captain_ Mercurio Cross', speaking as if that name was supposed to mean something to us. None of the others reacted so for once I didn't feel alone in my ignorance. I suspected his renown was more in his own imagination than anywhere else. Undaunted, the captain continued with his announcement. He told us that the ship would be landing shortly and we were to be sold. Although we had expected as much, his announcement generated scattered whimpering and moaning. Cross shouted for silence and a couple of his men waded into the prisoners and used their fists to enforce his order. Once everyone was silent he told us that our former lives were over. We were now slaves and we had better get used to the idea.

Then his voice softened and he told us that we were actually fortunate. He was taking us to the plantation of someone called Fernando Rabine. He said that Rabine was quite wealthy and that we would have good lives there. However, if for some reason any of us were not selected by Rabine, the ship would be making a second stop. This second stop would be at the base camp of Ahmed Kahn and he would buy anyone Cross brought to him. Kahn ran an asteroid mining operation that specialized in radioactives. It was dangerous, back breaking work. Although Kahn paid less for his slaves than Rabine, he was a regular customer because he constantly needed to replace his workforce. Living and working around radioactive ores eventually caught up with his slaves. Life expectancy there was only a few years.

Captain Cross left us with one warning. It was coming into harvest season on Rabine's plantation and he needed more workers. With luck he would take all of us. But he didn't tolerate disobedience. If we behaved ourselves we would end up with Rabine. If not, we had only Ahmed Kahn's radioactive mines to look forward to.

* * *

The ship landed less than an hour later and we were quickly off loaded. Wherever we were it was hot and muggy. Walking down the access ramp from the ship's belly was like stepping into a steam sauna. We had touched down at what appeared to be a small, private port. The neocrete landing-pad was a little over one hundred and fifty meters wide, just large enough to accommodate the pirate's ship. Surrounding us on all sides was a lush, tropical forest. To our left, a line of low buildings stretched across one side of the field and in front of us a solitary road ran off into the forest.

We were marched out from underneath the pirate ship into the scorching midday sun where the pirates prodded us into a series of lines as a hover-limo appeared from the forest road followed by several ground transports. The trucks stopped at the edge of the landing pad while the limo pulled into the shade of the ship and settled to the ground.

Cross made a grand display of greeting the man who climbed out. Fernando Rabine was an unimposing man with a slight build, an olive complexion and the beginnings of a pot belly. He was dressed in expensive clothing but not in the same garish style as the pirate captain. In his lizard skin loafers and silk shirt Rabine did not present an intimidating presence—until you looked into his eyes. They were cruel eyes, eyes without any trace of compassion.

He glanced at us prisoners briefly then spoke to Cross who turned and gave an order to his men. Moments later the crew began leading dozens of horses down the boarding ramp from the ship. They were beautiful animals, young and healthy. I wondered where the pirates had stolen them from.

Rabine smiled as he inspected them, but it was not a kind smile. He walked slowly around each horse in turn, his eyes studying them covetously. He ran his hands along their flanks and patted their noses, something an experienced horse person wouldn't do to a new animal. That was a good way to get a finger broken. A few times he even walked directly behind one of the horses, not realizing how dangerous that was either. Some horses were skittish and the strangest little thing could spook them. If he startled the wrong horse it could kick out and leave him crippled or dead.

Rabine spent some time admiring the animals. Finally he motioned to his driver who approached with a briefcase. The driver opened the case and held it for Cross to inspect. The pirate grinned as he fingered several thick stacks of bills before taking it. Bowing to Rabine, Cross gestured to where we were waiting in the sun and they slowly walked over to us. Rabine began walking down the lines of prisoners, looking us over, inspecting us like pieces of meat. He prodded each prisoner briefly, testing muscle tone, and looked at each person's teeth.

"It's like buying any animal," Rabine was saying conversationally as they moved along the line. He paused and roughly pulled open another prisoner's mouth. "The condition of the gums and teeth in particular can tell you a lot about the general health of a slave." A few of the prisoners did not measure up to his standards and at a gesture they were taken out of line. Cross bit his lip each time that happened. Soon he came to Doc Jacobs who was standing next to me. Rabine glanced at him and without even examining him gestured for Doc to be removed from the line. Before he could be moved Cross interrupted.

"Excuse me, but you may want to reconsider this one."

"He's too old."

"True," Cross said quickly, "he is not as young as some of the others, but this one is a medical doctor. Such skills could have any number of uses. And at only ... double the regular price, he's a real bargain."

Rabine looked at Doc again. He prodded him and pulled open his mouth. "He seems to be in reasonably good health. I'll take him, but at half price."

Cross started to object but Rabine ignored him and turned to me. "Open your mouth," he instructed. I stared at him, revulsion in every fiber of my body. "Open ... your ... mouth." I clenched my jaw and locked eyes with him.

He moved quickly.

I saw his hand flash toward me and knew that I could block it if I wanted to, but I stood there and let him strike me. The back of his hand caught me right in the mouth and snapped my head back. I tasted the saltiness of blood and could feel a line of it running from the corner of my lips. I ignored it and simply stared back into those unfeeling, black eyes. Cross reached for the remote on his belt but Rabine covered his hand.

"Breaking you might be amusing," Rabine said to me, "but I don't have the time for such diversions right now." He gestured me out of line. Cross shot daggers at me from his eyes as one of his men grabbed me by the arm and dragged me toward the line with the other rejected prisoners.

"NO!"

I recognized Alex's voice. Looking back I saw her break out of line. One of the pirates was only a few steps away and moved to intercept her. But as quickly as he moved she moved faster. In one fluid motion she evaded his grasp, knocked him to the ground and hurdled him. Three more pirates raced toward her. At any moment I expected then to use their collar remotes to stun her but they didn't. Maybe they figured she was only a woman and they could handle her easily. If so, they were wrong. As they drew near, Alex dropped the first one with a quick chop to the throat. Spinning right she sank her foot into the stomach of the second, causing him to double over. The third managed to grab her by the arm—his mistake. Grabbing his hand, she spun back the other way and sent him cart-wheeling through the air.

She sprinted forward as six other pirates closed on her. The one facing her drew a metal baton he was carrying on his belt. Pointing it at her he activated the wand causing electricity to crackle and arc around its tip. With barely a hesitation she faked right and veered left. Blocking the prod below its electrified tip, she grabbed the wand and twisted as she drove her toes into his groin. He went down like a pile of wet laundry as the wand came free in her hand. Now she had a weapon. Brandishing the prod like a sword she slashed in all directions, parrying blows and striking out at the pirates whenever they got close. Then one of the pirates threw himself at her knees and she went down. It took five of them to hold her.

Cross took a step forward and started to draw his collar remote, but once again Rabine stayed his hand. He strolled over to her as the pirates dragged her to her feet. She was bruised and had a cut on one cheek but defiance radiated at him from her eyes. Again Rabine smiled that unfeeling smile of his. He reached up and grabbed a handful of her hair, forcing her head back.

"I enjoy a woman with spirit," he said, staring into her eyes. Then he crushed his mouth against hers. A moment later he snapped his head back. Alex glared at him as he dabbed at his lip. He smiled and licked the blood away with the tip of his tongue. Reaching up he caressed her injured cheek.

"I admire your spirit. But I will teach you to respect me." He pressed his thumb into the cut on her face, forcing her to wince. At his gesture the pirates dragged her away.

The rest of the sale went quickly, but I wasn't paying any attention. My stomach was knotted with conflicting emotions. I hadn't seen Alex since she had been taken away. I knew that I should be worried about her but all I could feel was emptiness. The entire situation was unreal, like a bad dream. I didn't care about anything. Even the prospect of Ahmed Kahn's mines didn't bother me.

Suddenly, the group of prisoners I was standing with scattered. I looked up and saw a horse bearing down on me in full gallop, reins flying behind it. Everything seemed to shift into slow motion. Without thinking I walked directly toward the horse, waving my arms above my head. Horses run panicked when they get spooked. If I could make myself seem tall enough I might make it wary of me. As I continued toward it however, the thought came to me that if this didn't work I would very likely get trampled.

I strode calmly toward the charging animal nonetheless. Seeing that I wasn't backing down, the horse slowed and came to a stop a meter or so away from me. He reared and kicked out with his front legs, braying a challenge. I waited until he brought his feet down and dashed forward to grab his halter. Once more he reared, this time with me holding tightly to his halter. The powerful animal lifted me into the air with him, but I was ready for it. I clung tightly to the halter, letting my weight pull down on his neck. He couldn't rear for as long this time and he came down hard. Making sure that my feet didn't get crushed, I hushed the frightened animal and stroked his neck. He beat the ground with his front hooves and tried to pull his head away from my grip but did not try to rear again. After a few moments he began to calm down. I hushed him again as I continued to stroke his neck. I could feel his breath blowing hot against my shoulder but he slowly settled down.

Eventually I was able to step back a little, although I kept a firm hold on his halter. I reached up cautiously and started slipping the bridle off his head with one hand.

"What do you think you're doing!"

The man rushing up to me wasn't dressed in a prison uniform but wore an obedience collar around his neck. Ignoring him I finished removing the bridle and slipped the bit out of the horse's mouth, leaving only the halter on his head. The man snatched the bridle out of my hands.

"You have no right to touch this! That horse belongs to Mr. Rabine!" He started fumbling with the bridle but only succeeded in getting it tangled.

"I suppose you're the one who lost control of the horse," I said. The man's presence was agitating the stallion so I started stroking his neck again to keep him calm.

"The animal is untrained, but I'll have it conditioned soon."

"Uh huh. Well, while you're at it you might want to—"

"I know what I'm doing!"

He continued to fumble with the leather straps for a while until he finally managed to untangle the bridle. When he moved to put it back on the horse, the animal jerked its head away.

"That's why he ran away from you before," I said, pointing at the bridle. He stopped and looked at me. "You've got the bit attached the wrong way," I said tapping to the metal pieces he had been trying to force into the horse's mouth. "That's a curb bit. With the way it must have been twisted in his mouth you were hurting him whenever you pulled on the reins. Just clip a lead line to his halter and he'll go where you want him to."

He glared at me briefly then moved to put the bridle back on the horse anyway.

"Christian! Go fetch a lead line."

Christian jumped like he'd been shocked, but he lowered the bridle and moved away. I looked into the eyes of Fernando Rabine who had just ordered his slave away.

"Tell me about this 'curb bit'," Rabine demanded.

He might be buying horses but he obviously didn't know much about them.

"You use a curb bit to manage a difficult horse," I said, holding his gaze. "The extra pressure on his mouth makes him listen to your signals better because it's uncomfortable if he fights against the reins. Some riders use them to control a difficult horse, but if you train your animal correctly you shouldn't need it."

Rabine considered me for several moments. "You know something about horses."

"I know _a lot_ about horses." I had originally spoken only to show how much more I knew about horses that he did. But as I was speaking I realized that it was true.

Christian returned with a lead line just then. He fumbled around for a moment trying to figure out where to attach the clip. I finally took the line from him and hooked it to the metal ring under the horse's chin. Giving me a nasty look he snatched back the rope and led the horse away.

Rabine turned to Captain Cross who was just returning after seeing that all of the prisoners had been rounded up again. "I will take this one after all." Then he turned back to me and raised his hand. I saw that he was holding a collar remote. "But you and I are going to have to come to an understanding about what you place is."

I watched his thumb jab down on a control and fire erupted in my head. I felt myself falling and heard screaming nearby. As blackness closed in around me I realized it was me I heard screaming.
Chapter Five

I awoke spitting up water and found myself squinting up at someone standing over me in silhouette against the brilliant midday sky.

"Get up!" the silhouette growled and landed a solid kick in my ribs.

I got up. It was Rabine's slave, Christian.

"Mr. Rabine says you're to work with me," he said, shoving a dripping bucket into my hands. He leaned close, breathing his stale breath right in my face. "But let's get something straight first." His fist slammed into my stomach and doubled me over. "I'm Christian Lout, Mr. Rabine's head slave. That means I'm in charge. You see this?"

I looked up from where I was kneeling in the mud clutching my middle and fighting to breathe. In his hand he was holding a collar remote.

"You step one toe out of line and I'll leave you wiggling on the ground like a hooked worm. Got it?" I could see his thumb hovering over the activation stud.

I wasn't able to speak so I nodded.

"Now get up."

I pushed myself to my feet again. It hurt to breathe. In fact my stomach hurt straight through to my spine and I seriously wondered if he had caused an internal injury. Lout watched me as I carefully straightened up. As soon as I was standing upright he feinted another punch to my gut. I flinched. He smiled cruelly and gestured for me to follow him. Spinning around he headed toward a nearby building and I hurried to keep pace with him. I hated myself at that moment but continued along beside him like an obedient pup. Lout obviously enjoyed abusing the other slaves and I didn't want to give him any reason to work me over any more.

I realized then that we were no longer at the landing field and looked around quickly. We were in the middle of a large patch of bare ground. Multiple vehicle tracks cris-crossed the muddy earth. A lot of heavy equipment must regularly move through this area. To our right was a wide, squat building with no windows and a single door in the center. The keypad beside the door and the security sensor above it made it obvious that it was off limits. Behind us a much larger building with a series of wide, roll up doors stood beside a deeply rutted dirt roadway that led off into the trees. Several of the bay doors were open and inside I could see one of the trucks that must have brought us here from the landing field. On our left was a long, dilapidated building with a sagging roof which seemed out of place among the other well maintained structures. Beside it another road led off in a different direction. And further back, surrounding us on all sides, was the ever-present forest.

"Move it!" Lout snarled.

I hustled to keep up with him. The building we were headed toward looked new. As we drew near I realized that it was a stable. On its left was a large riding ring, surrounded by a classic, three-rail fence. Beyond that a wide, fenced in meadow stretched far into the distance. As I followed Lout toward the stable, a gravel path came into view on my right. Glancing up I could see the top of what appeared to be a very large and impressive mansion set far back away from the compound.

Twin doors slid apart as we approached the stable and we were greeted by a blast of wonderfully cool air. As we stepped into the dim coolness I could see that everything inside was sparkling new. Rows of box stalls occupied most of the space. Each of his animals would have plenty of room. There was a large tack area to the right where dozens of saddles and other equipment were hung, none of it showing any signs of wear. To the left was a practice ring. It was smaller than the outdoor ring but large enough for more than one rider to train in at the same time. The nearly thirty horses Rabine had just bought had been turned out in the ring together.

Rabine had obviously spent a small fortune on this impressive facility and its top quality equipment, but he had made several mistakes. The most obvious one was the flooring. The flooring inside the stalls was neocrete. This was bad for the horses' hooves. A layer of sawdust and straw had been put down as a bedding but that wasn't enough. The underlaying surface would still be too hard and could eventually cause any number of hoof problems. There was also the air conditioning system. It had to be twenty degrees cooler in here than it was outside. Going from one environment to the other could easily cause the horses to cramp, which could lead to injury if they were forced to work before they were properly warmed up. And then there was the problem of putting all of the horses together in the ring. New horses should be isolated for several days to make sure that they didn't have anything contagious they could pass to the others. There was also the real possibility that placed together as they were they could start fighting. People don't usually think of horses as being aggressive, but fights between horses could be serious. A blow from a hoof could tear open skin or shatter bone.

All in all, it was a stable that had been built by someone who could afford the best but who had little practical knowledge of what he was doing. I was trying to figure out how I might be able to use this to my advantage when Lout rounded on me and cuffed me on the side of my head, causing me to stagger and drop the bucket.

"Mr. Rabine wants each of his horses fed, watered and groomed!" he snapped. He folded his arms and stared at me.

I looked over at all of the animals that needed attending to and groaned inwardly.

* * *

By the time I finally finished with everything it was well past sunset. I of course had done all of the work while Lout simply watched. He interrupted constantly to ask questions about everything I was doing and often had me explain each step in detail. He was obviously trying to learn as much as he could from me since he seemed to know very little about horse care himself.

Lout didn't like me asking a lot of questions but I did manage to learn that Rabine had only recently developed his interest in horses. Piecing together bits and pieces of things Lout said, I guessed that Rabine saw horses as a way for him to enter high society. Riding was an expensive hobby. Only the very wealthy could afford to pursue it seriously. Rabine obviously had wealth. But even with all of his money he was still an outsider to the elite social circles.

The work had been back breaking. Finally however, each of the horses had been washed, brushed, fed, watered and transferred to their assigned stalls. The entire floor had been swept and hosed down. I had even washed each of the already clean windows, both inside and out. After all of that was done each of the tools I'd used had been cleaned and returned to their proper places. Only when there was nothing else Lout could possible make me do did he release me for the day.

I didn't know how many hours I had been working, but I was dead on my feet when I finally staggered out into the yard. My entire body ached and I wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next two days. Lout directed me toward the broken down building across the yard, which was of course the slave quarters. It had rained for most of the afternoon and the ground was slippery with mud. Although the rain had stopped some time earlier, water still dripped from the edges of the sagging roof and there was a huge puddle in front of the steps. Lout laughed as he shoved me toward the door, causing me to stumble into water up to my ankles. He boasted that he didn't live with the common slaves. Mr. Rabine had given him his own, private house. His 'house' turned out to be a small shack just past the regular slave quarters that I hadn't even noticed before. It was nothing grand, but it was in better condition than the general slave quarters and there was no pond in front of its door. As he headed toward his shack, Lout told me to get a lot of rest. He wasn't going to be as easy on me tomorrow.

As run down as it was, the slave quarters was home for the foreseeable future. At least it was a place to lay my head. Slogging through the puddle, I climbed the creaking stairs and went in.

While Rabine had spared no expense for his horses, the opposite was true of the slave quarters. The building was little more than a barracks. Rows of dilapidated bunk beds lined the walls. Several spaces had makeshift curtains strung on ropes to screen off individual areas as private. Battered, mismatched furniture, much of it obviously homemade, was scattered about. There was an underlying smell of human sweat, but nothing nearly as vile as the stench aboard the pirate ship.

Everyone from the ship seemed to be here, both men and women, including a lot of others that I had never seen before. Rabine must have already had quite a few slaves before he bought us from the pirates. Most people were sitting in casual groups talking, although a few had turned in for the night. Down on the left was a small kitchen area. The sudden rumbling in my stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten all day.

"Pell!"

Alex was hurrying toward me followed closely by Chris, Bobby and Lucky. From her expression I could tell that she was relieved to see me.

What I wasn't expecting was the slap in the face.

"Have you lost your mind?" she yelled at me.

Before I could come up with anything to say she grabbed me by the front of my clothes and slammed me back against the nearest bunk bed.

"Don't you ever do anything like that again!" she snarled. "You almost got yourself sent to those mines! What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I won't live as a slave," I said, trying to put as much righteous indignation as I could into my voice.

Her grip tightened as she brought her face nose to nose with mine. "No! What you were doing was giving up!"

I forced myself to meet her eyes. "It's my life." It sounded lame even to me.

"That is the stupidest, most selfish...! We're _alive_ , and as long as we can draw breath there's a chance! Don't let your pride get in the way!" Others had started to gather around us. I saw Mark, Ricky and Doc hovering nearby, self-consciously watching our exchange.

I felt the strength go out of me. My shoulders slumped and I dropped my gaze. "You're right," I admitted. "I couldn't see any way out and I ... I didn't care anymore."

She slowly released me. "You're not the only one here," she said in a more controlled tone. "You've got more than just yourself to think about."

"That's right," said Lucky as he pushed his way forward and clapped me on the shoulder. "We were worried sick about you, buddy. When you didn't come back with the rest of us we figured Rabine had you strung up by your thumbs somewhere."

"Not quite, but almost as bad." I looked around, noting how everyone seemed pretty well settled in. "How long have the rest of you been here?"

"Several hours now, since before sundown," Lucky said. "Where were you all this time, anyway?"

"Lout had me working in the stable. He made me do everything except scrub the floor with a toothbrush."

"That guy's a real charmer, all right."

"So what did Rabine have the rest of you doing all day?" I asked.

"You won't believe it, Pell," Bobby jumped in. "This entire place is one giant cocaine farm! We spent the whole day picking coca leaves, truckloads of them. The fields go on forever!"

"All right, that's enough for now," Momma Mary's voice said from behind me. "You all can finish talking later. The poor boy's been worked hard all day and hasn't even had a chance to catch his breath." Mary grabbed me by the arm and started guiding me toward the kitchen. "You all give him some time to rest up a bit and eat, you hear?"

I let her lead me to a battered table as the others followed. In a moment a steaming bowl of stew was set before me.

"I know it's not much, but there wasn't much to work with," Mary apologized. "I'll see if I can't whip up something a little better tomorrow." She had apparently established herself as our cook.

I lifted a heaping spoonful to my mouth.

"It's delicious!" I said around a mouthful of stew. It was the best meal I had had since ... I didn't know when.

Mary beamed. "There's more if you want, honey."

She moved away to finish tidying up and the others sat down around me. As I looked around into the faces of my friends I felt a warmth inside me that had nothing to do with the steaming food I was eating. We had known each other for barely a week but these people truly were my friends. I realized then that something had changed inside me. I did want to live after all.

"So tell me what you've found out," I said, shoveling another spoonful of stew into my mouth. "If we're going to get out of here we need to know what we're up against." I caught Alex's eye. The barest trace of a smile touched her lips and she gave me a slight nod.

They took turns filling me in on what they had learned so far. What Bobby had told me was essentially correct. Fernando Rabine was a drug lord, one of the largest and most powerful on the planet. The rumor was that he had murdered his way to the top, eliminating anyone who stood in his way—competitors and government officials alike. We were on a planet somewhere in the Argent cluster, a nation to the galactic south of Gilead. Argent was relatively small, made up of only half a dozen star systems, and fairly poor. But it was the number one exporter of cocaine in the known galaxy.

Although slavery was not technically legal here, the local officials had either been bribed to look the other way or were simply too scared of the Drug Lord to interfere. The tropical conditions that dominated the planet made it ideal for growing coca plants and Rabine had one of the largest plantations anywhere. His property spread for thousands of acres into the mountains and he needed a large number of slaves to pick the leaves by hand without damaging the plants the way harvesting machines would. Altogether there were a little more than a hundred and fifty slaves on the plantation. Most worked in the fields, although Rabine had a few who worked in his house, and another group who worked in the processing lab. The lab was the secure building directly across the compound from the slave quarters. It was where the raw leaves were processed into his product. Doc Jacobs and about a dozen others worked there. Apparently Rabine wanted Doc more for his knowledge of pharmacology than for his medical abilities.

"What about security?" I asked as Momma ladled more stew into my bowl. "Can we just walk off into the forest if no one is looking?"

"I wouldn't recommend it," Chris said. He glanced uncomfortably across the room at Ian and lowered his voice. "Rabine gave us a little demonstration while you were still unconscious."

As soon as the trucks dropped everyone off in the compound, Rabine gathered all the new slaves together. He picked Ian to help with his demonstration, using the big man as a lab rat. He tossed a small stick into the forest just beyond the tree line and told him to get it. Ian was still a meter from the tree line when his collar suddenly activated and he fell to the ground screaming as an alarm siren sounded. Rabine left him there for almost a full minute before telling a couple of his guards to drag him back. As soon as he was pulled away from the trees his collar deactivated. Only then did Rabine point out the transmitter poles spaced around the compound. The invisible 'fence' was programmed for a setting that would cause pain but would keep the slave conscious. Slaves could only leave the grounds if Rabine or one of the guards shut down a section of the perimeter fence.

"After that there really wasn't anything else he needed to say," Chris finished. "Point made. Then he had a couple of the guards take us out to one of the fields and we spent the rest of the afternoon picking coca leaves."

"How many guards?" I asked. Now that my stomach was full my brain was beginning to work.

"We never saw more than a few at a time," Alex said. "Altogether I counted eight different faces, but there are probably more."

"Weapons?"

"These guards weren't carrying anything other than collar remotes."

"Clever," I said. "That way there's nothing one of us could take and use against them. Wait a minute. You said these guards weren't carrying anything else."

"At the landing field I noticed that Rabine's driver was wearing a blaster pistol. There were also two other men standing back by his limo carrying pulse rifles. But I haven't seen any of them since we've been in the compound."

"Personal bodyguards," I said. "We probably won't see them unless Rabine's around."

"Yeah, well, they don't need weapons as long as we're wearing these damned things," Bobby said, tugging at his collar.

"One problem at a time," I said. "It seems to me that the collars are only a problem if Rabine has a way to activate them. If we can slip away without being noticed we might be able to get out of the range of those remotes. Then these collars are nothing more than uncomfortable necklaces."

"You sound like you have a plan," Lucky said.

I shook my head. "No. But I do have a few ideas."

We stayed up late into the night discussing possibilities. Altogether there were nine of us who banded together that first evening. Alex, Lucky and I formed the core of the group, along with Chris, Mark, Bobby and Momma. Doc and Ian wandered over to join us after a time, completing our group. By the time we went to bed we still didn't have a plan, but we had something that was just as good. We were united and we were committed. We were going to find a way out of here. It would take time. We would have to be patient. Meanwhile, we would watch and listen, and learn as much as we could.

Eventually, we would be free.
Chapter Six

Weeks passed into months and I lost track of the days. Life on Rabine's plantation was tedious and depressing. Probably the most depressing thing about being on this world was the weather. It was always hot and sticky with showers every morning and afternoon that were regular enough for you to set your clock by. We just got used to being hot and wet. The work routine was the same every day as well. It started with us getting up at the crack of dawn. I would be sent to the stable to take care of the horses' morning needs while the others headed out to the fields and Doc's group went to the lab. Some of the others were envious that I got to spend long stretches of the day inside an air-conditioned building. But with all of the heavy work Lout had me doing I ended up drenched in sweat nonetheless.

Whenever I wasn't tending to horses, polishing tack or cleaning the stable I was in the training ring with Rabine. After he finished his daily lessons with his instructor, he would use me to help him practice. My knowledge of horses and riding was surprisingly thorough. I have no idea how I had found the time to learn so much about horses while running a smuggling operation but I really seemed to know what I was doing.

The routine of our lives continued in mind numbing sameness for many months. It was in the late evening one day after we had been released from work that Momma Mary finally brought us the news we had been waiting for. Since we first arrived at this little slice of paradise, our group had been learning everything we could about the plantation so we could plan our escape. As usual we waited until everyone else had settled down to occupy themselves for the evening before we got together to discuss our plans. Alex was in a sullen mood because Rabine had sent for her at the end of the day. I had grown close to her during our time here and seeing her upset really bothered me. Unfortunately there was little I could do to help. From time to time Rabine would send word for one of the female slaves to come to him in the mansion. None of them ever talked about it afterward. There was no need to.

Momma Mary had just finished overseeing the evening clean up—she ran a tidy kitchen. She usually looked worn out by the time she finished for the day, but tonight there was a subdued energy about her. She had been pulling double duty as a cook in Rabine's kitchen and she often heard things before the rest of us did. Rabine had found out early on that she was a talented cook, especially with desserts, and ever since then she had been working in his kitchen several days a week on top of her duties as a field hand.

She came over to sit with us, drying her hands on the worn towel she had tied around her middle as an apron, and told us her news. Rabine was expecting a large delivery of food the next day. A food shipment meant that he would need a group of slaves to load and unload the trucks. It was just the type of break we had been waiting for.

It had taken us a long time to work out all of the details, but we had finally come up with an escape plan. We were going to steal Rabine's own transport ship. Alex would pilot it. It had light speed capability and was large enough, with some squeezing, to carry all of the slaves from the compound. Although we hadn't let the others in on our plans yet, we weren't going to leave anyone behind. I had insisted on that right from the beginning. Taking the ship should be no problem. There was no real security at the landing field. The only time Rabine even posted a guard there was if the transport were loaded. Other than that the area was pretty much deserted. Everyone knew whose property this was. None of the locals dared to come within kilometers of any land that belonged to the Drug Lord.

Deciding on the means of our escape had been the easy part. The hard part was figuring out a way to get out of the compound. We had spent months looking for some way around the invisible barrier that was keeping us prisoners. For a while it seemed hopeless. Then one day, Lucky stumbled onto a find. In the garage beside the slave quarters there was a workshop area. He discovered that several replacement poles for the perimeter fence were stored there. It had taken a lot of patient planning but we managed to arrange for Mark to have several minutes alone to examine them. He understood the system and was confident that he could set up a feedback loop in one section of the fence. Essentially, he could create an electronic hole that we could slip through without having our collars activated.

But there were several problems. First, Mark would have to be on the outside of the perimeter fence to access the circuitry. Second, the system power would have to be off while he worked. Finally, he couldn't do anything with his bare hands. He was going to need a few special tools.

The tools turned out to be no trouble for Lucky who somehow managed to scrounge what Mark needed in only a few days. Shutting down the power to the fence however was going to take some doing. Ian was able to help with that.

It took several more weeks of careful investigating, but we eventually learned where the compound's generator was located. Fenced off in a clearing behind Rabine's mansion was a small blockhouse that housed the Dyna-Flow 323 power converter that supplied electricity to Rabine's entire property. Ian knew of a way to rig the system to build up an overload that would shut it down. If done properly it would look like one of the connections had simply come loose due to the vibration of the machine's operation and our sabotage would not be suspected. But that would only give us a small window. The emergency generator would kick in thirty seconds later. After that, the perimeter fence CPU would reboot and bring the system back on line. Depending on where in the start-up sequence our chosen section of the fence was, it would become active again anywhere from fifteen to thirty seconds later. At best, Mark would have a minute to complete his work.

But to get to the generator in the first place, someone would have to already be outside of the perimeter fence. That was the major stumbling block to our plan. Tomorrow's food shipment however, solved that remaining problem.

Rabine had told Mary to select the slaves she needed to help her move the supplies, but we had already decided weeks ago who they would be. Although Ian knew the generator system best, he was too big to slip away unnoticed. Instead, Bobby had volunteered to do the sabotage. He was fast and stood the best chance of being able to slip away quietly. He would have to sprint through the forest, locate and scale the fence around the blockhouse, sabotage the generator the way Ian had shown him, and then return before he was missed. To give him the time he needed we were going to arrange a small incident on the way back to the compound.

It was a bold plan and there were a lot that could go wrong. But we were determined. We saw how many of the 'old timers', slaves who had been on Rabine's plantation for years, had been beaten down by the drudgery. Some had given up on life, like I was close to doing when I first arrived. Their spirits had been broken over time and they moved through their days like robots. None of us wanted to end up like that.

We finished working out the details of our plans and turned in. It took me a long time to fall asleep. So much depended on tomorrow. So much could go wrong. I lay awake going over every aspect of the plan again and again, making sure that we hadn't overlooked anything. Surprisingly, I wasn't nervous. We had done our homework and were as ready as we could be. Those elements that we had no control over I couldn't worry about. Eventually, I put it out of my mind. Whatever was going to happen would happen. With that I rolled over and was able to fall asleep.

* * *

The following day began the same as usual. I had just finished with my morning care of the horses when Lout called me away. A large food shipment had arrived at the landing field. In addition to my normal duties that day, it seemed that I was also needed to load the transport trucks. Lout found the entire thing funny. I knew he wasn't going to do any of my chores for me while I was away, so this extra job was only going to add to my work for the day. I tried to look properly angry about the extra work assignment, but inside I was fighting to contain my excitement. I could be up all night and it wouldn't bother me. This was the day!

I was careful to act annoyed as I stepped into the compound and headed toward the pair of ground transports that stood idling across the yard. The morning rain had started a little while ago and I was nicely soaked by the time I reached them. A bored guard electronically scanned my collar ID before I was allowed to climb into the first truck with the other slaves. We were all here—Momma Mary, Ian, Bobby, plus a number of others selected at random. Except for Mary, who would supervise the loading and unloading, the rest of us were men. Strong backs were needed for this job. Aside from the slaves there were also two guards in the back of the transport—Fat Jack and No-neck Nelson, as they were known among the slaves behind their backs. They were not the brightest of Rabine's guards, which was good for us. We were counting on their inattention to pull off our stunt right under their noses.

I took a seat and tried to seem sullen as I stared down at the floor of the cargo bed between my muddy feet. Fat Jack and No-neck looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. The fact that they looked bored was a good sign. It meant that the first step of our plan had gone off without any trouble. The one person I didn't see here was Mark, even though I knew he was one of the people Mary had picked to help with the loading. If everything had gone according to plan, Mark should be secretly making his way back to the compound right now. I just hoped he could make it back from the fields in time. He had to be in position when the power went down or the whole plan would fail.

The trip to the landing field didn't take long. We exited the compound by the road next to the garage and wove our way through the forest for several minutes before we were there.

There was no perimeter fence around the landing field. There was no need for one. Slaves were never here unescorted. And if someone were to manage to run away there was nowhere to go. Rabine owned the land for a hundred kilometers in all directions. Aside from a few small villages, the nearest city of any size was several hours away by ground car. And of course if a stranger turned up anywhere wearing an obedience collar it would be obvious where he belonged. The locals knew that the Drug Lord would generously reward anyone who returned a runaway. To the impoverished locals, such a reward would be more than they would otherwise see in a year. Our prison was quite secure and the guards knew it.

As we rolled onto the field, a small shuttle was just lifting off. A large pile of shipping cases sat waiting for us in the middle of the tarmac. The trucks pulled up to the pile and we jumped down to begin loading.

Mary directed things smoothly. Food for Rabine's house went on the second transport and food for the slaves went on the other one. While our supplies consisted of staples like crates of raw vegetables, sacks of unprocessed grains and beans, and a few, small cases of preserved meats, the supplies going to the mansion were far more varied and appetizing. There were even several refrigerated units containing unknown delicacies.

We dragged our feet with the loading, stretching the time out as long as we dared. Eventually, however, everything was loaded and we climbed back into the first transport to ride with the slave supplies. The benches along the sides of the cargo beds had been folded down to make room for the supplies and we were forced to stand for the return trip. As we each found a place for ourselves among the sacks and crates, I caught Ian's eye and he signaled me that everything was ready. He had positioned himself behind a tall stack of crates near the back of the cargo bed. Everything was supposed to be tied down, but the transport's lift gate along with several key straps had been left loose on purpose.

I watched the forest carefully as we moved along the roadway. When we reached the point where we should be parallel to the generator blockhouse, I gave Ian the sign. The big man had been leaning casually against the crates the entire trip. Now he braced himself and pushed. No one else could have moved all that mass alone. Yet he did it and managed to make it look as if the crates had started sliding away on their own.

There was a great crash behind us as several stacks of crates fell off the back of the transport. Ian landed hard on the truck bed, managing to look as surprised as everyone else. The driver behind us tried to swerve out of the way but was too close. His transport ended up running over several crates, crushing them and scattering their contents across the roadway before he was able to stop.

Fat Jack swore loudly and hammered on the cab of our vehicle for the driver to stop. Shoving slaves aside as he waddled to the back of the cargo bed he looked down at the mess scattered across the road. After a moment he turned back to us.

"Don't just stand there with your thumbs up your butts. Get out there and clean it up!"

We dropped down and surveyed the scene. Ian had done a good job. This was going to take a while.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bobby and another slave crawling around on their hands and knees beside the transport as they gathered scattered potatoes. Then, in the blink of an eye, Bobby dropped flat to the ground and rolled under the vehicle. A moment later I saw the brush part on the far side of the transport as he slipped away into the forest.

I stole a quick glance up onto the flatbed, but Fat Jack and No-neck hadn't noticed. However, the slave who had been down by the truck with Bobby had seen him leave. It was Gerrit Wheems, one of Rabine's old timers. When he realized what Bobby had done he froze. After a moment he looked around and our eyes met. His were wide with fear. I gave him the barest shake of my head. He seemed confused for a moment, then he turned away and went back to collecting potatoes, but I could see that his hands were shaking badly. I dropped down beside him and started picking up potatoes too.

"He'll be back," I said quietly.

Gerrit nodded without looking at me. From his expression he didn't seem convinced.

"I promise," I said. "We just have to stall for a while."

Again he said nothing, but I noticed that he had slowed down how quickly he was working.

We spent the better part of an hour cleaning up that spill. From what we knew about the location of the bunker house, Bobby should have been able to make it there and back in fifteen minutes. But it had been over twice that long and he still wasn't back. Rabine's men were lax but they weren't stupid. Whenever a group of slaves was taken outside of the perimeter fence a head count was done when they returned. If Bobby didn't get back before we finished loading and drove away, they would discover he was missing as soon as we returned to the compound.

I needed to stall for more time. Picking up a wobbly crate of carrots, I moved to slide it onto the truck when the bottom gave out and the contents spilled all over the ground again. I had picked that crate on purpose because I knew that its bottom was damaged. As long as I kept my fingers wrapped around the bottom edge I could keep the broken slats in place, but as soon as I moved my fingers it fell apart. Fat Jack cursed me as I bent down to start gathering up the carrots again. He kicked me in the seat of my pants, sending me sprawling in the mud as his partner snickered.

"Sorry, boss!" I said as I pushed myself to my knees and went about collecting carrots again. Just about all the rest of the food had been recovered and I would be finished with the carrots soon. I couldn't use the same trick a second time, but I needed to do something. Bobby still wasn't back yet.

Where was he?

* * *

Bobby was surprised at how easy it had been for him to slip away. He knew that Wheems had seen him go, but slaves didn't snitch on other slaves. Besides, with the mess Ian had created he would be back long before they were finished cleaning up.

The forest was very dense. He had only gone a few meters when the transports were completely hidden from view. A little farther and the sound of everybody working behind him was swallowed up by the dense foliage as well. He noticed that it was dimmer here. The thick canopy overhead cut down on the amount of light that reached the ground. The rain was lighter too, coming down more like a gentle mist.

Bobby only had a general idea of the direction to go in so he kept his eyes focused ahead, hoping that he could find the generator house by dead reckoning. After going what he guessed was eighty to a hundred meters he paused. The generator was supposed to be around here somewhere, but he didn't see it. He turned in a slow circle, scanning for some sign of the blockhouse. Then something caught his eye. It was ... lighter over that way. He started forward slowly. Then he saw it. The generator house lay just ahead in a small clearing. Both the fence and the building had been painted green to blend with the forest, which was why he almost missed it.

He closed the distance quickly and stopped just short of the fence. The fence was not supposed to have an alarm, but they weren't sure. There were no sensors anywhere that he could see, but a good security system wouldn't necessarily be visible.

Screwing up his nerve, Bobby jumped up and pulled himself over the top of the fence. No alarm sounded. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

There was no door on this side of the building so he flattened himself against the outer wall and peered around the corner. The entrance was there. The fence on that side had a gate, closed and secured, with a gravel path leading from it into the trees. He knew that the path led to a Japanese garden in the rear of Rabine's mansion that his wife had made him put in several years ago. He could just see the far end of the path and the open space beyond which must be the back of the garden. No one was in sight.

He crept around the corner and moved to the shed's door. He grabbed the handle and pulled. Nothing happened. His heart started to race. There wasn't supposed to be a lock on the door! Taking the lever in both hands he tugged and pressed down hard. After a moment the lever gave and the door swung open. Bobby darted inside and closed the door behind him.

He took a few seconds to let his eyes adjust to the dimness inside the generator shed. There were wide, narrow windows running along the tops of the walls, but the diffused light they admitted amounted to little more than a murky twilight. In a few moments he could see a little better and he crept toward the big machine that occupied most of the building's space, thrumming quietly to itself. It was just like Ian had described it. He moved left, looking for the junction box that should be there. It was. He found the correct cable, grabbed the coupling ring and twisted. The ring stubbornly refused to turn. Wiping his palms on his damp pant legs he grabbed the ring again and twisted with all of his strength. Slowly the ring gave and began to unscrew. With the coupling ring removed it was a simple matter to wiggle the connector loose.

Being careful not to touch the bare connector, Bobby cautiously lowered the cable and brought the metal tip into contact with the generator housing. There was a brief spark and the sound from the generator changed. It became higher pitched and began to grow louder—an overload was building up.

Bobby was excited as the crept back to the door. He was getting almost as much of a thrill from this as he used to from catching a monster wave with his board. He had just opened the door a crack when he heard voices nearby and froze. He didn't sense any urgency in the voices so he didn't think that they knew he was there. Pulling the door closed again as quietly as he could he moved to one of the windows and grabbed the bottom edge of the frame. Chinning himself up he peered cautiously out.

Standing at the end of the gravel path he saw Rabine's wife and chauffeur. As he watched they embraced in a passionate kiss while the chauffeur's hands groped her in ways that an employee should never touch the boss's wife. Apparently Rabine was not the only one to dally on the side.

Under other circumstances Bobby would have found the situation funny. But he needed to get out of there. Behind him the generator was emitting an increasingly more and more urgent whine. Unfortunately, Rabine's wife and the chauffeur didn't look like they were going to be leaving any time soon.

Lowering himself from the window Bobby considered his options. Once the generator failed all hell was going to break loose. Power in the mansion and all across the grounds would go out. Even though the back-up generator would kick in half a minute later, someone was bound to come to check out the system. He didn't like to think about what they would do to him if they found him here. Of course he could stop the overload, there was still time. But then all of their planning would have been for nothing.

He weighed the different options and made what was probably the toughest decision of his life. This was about more than just him. If the others could do their parts there was a chance they could still escape. That was what mattered. If he were caught he would make Rabine believe that he had acted alone—a reckless slave taking advantage of an opportunity to run. He would make it seem that he had simply stumbled across the generator shed and tried to throw the entire plantation into a state of confusion so that he could escape.

It sounded believable. Of course, it also meant that he would be "punished". Bobby had seen numerous whippings since he had been on the plantation. Rabine liked to administer such punishments personally. He seemed to enjoy inflicting pain. His favorite tool was a braided, twelve foot leather whip. A number of slaves and even a few guards bore ugly scars on their bodies where the lash had cut deeply into their flesh. One man that Rabine had been particularly angry with had actually died from shock and blood loss.

The thrill he had felt earlier had suddenly gone sour.

Just then the generator built to a high pitched crescendo. There was a brief electrical sizzle and a brilliant flash. Smoke started billowing from the unit as the turbines quickly whined down into silence.

* * *

The plan to allow Mark to slip away from the rest of the group had worked perfectly. Just as she moved to climb up onto the flatbed, Momma Mary's foot 'slipped' out from under her, sending her sprawling backward. Good planning had arranged for Ian to be directly behind her. But even the big man didn't seem to be able to manage Mary's bulk and down they both went—just as they had meant to. In moments a small crowd gathered to help them up. That had been Mark's cue. Using the distraction created by Mary's fall, he had been able to slide into the shallow gully that ran alongside the service road. He concealed himself in a clump of vegetation that grew there and lay perfectly still until the transport pulled away.

Once the transport was out of sight Mark began the long crawl toward the trees. The gully was not very deep and he had to stay on his belly to keep from being seen. The perimeter fence was just off to his right, not quite close enough to activate his collar. Still, being this close made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He moved slowly, disturbing the vegetation as little as possible. The few guards who were nearby were facing the other way as they kept a casual eye on the hundred plus slaves still working in the field. For once he didn't find the steady rain a nuisance. It would help to conceal his movements should one of them look in his direction. It was quite some distance to the point where the service road turned into the trees, but he kept flat to the ground and made steady progress.

It seemed to take forever but he eventually made his way under the protective canopy. He forced himself to be patient and continued to crawl along the ground until he was several meters into the tree line before rising into a crouch. No one was looking in his direction and he crept away.

Mark had never been much of an athlete and he soon found his wind flagging, but he kept moving nonetheless. The others said they would give him as much time as they could, but he had to get back to the compound as quickly as possible. Having spent several months walking and riding along the kilometers of service roads Mark knew where he was. They were working in the grotto fields today he thought to himself as he took the next right. In his mind he was picturing the layout of the fields and mentally plotted the path he needed to follow back to the compound. He still had quite a distance to go.

He continued plodding along, concentrating on keeping his feet moving, refusing to give in to the heaviness he felt creeping up his legs. The others were doing their parts, taking their own risks, and he would do his part too. He was so focused on keeping himself moving that he didn't hear the sound of an approaching vehicle until it was almost too late. By the time the sound registered in his brain her realized that it was just ahead around the next bend. Digging into a reserve that he didn't know he had, he put on a burst of speed and just managed to dive behind the concealing leaves of an ecca plant as the truck swung around the curve.

He was sure that he was completely hidden among the plant's huge leaves but the truck stopped right beside his hiding place. Slapping a hand over his mouth as he fought to quiet his breathing, he listened in terror as the cab door opened and the driver stepped to the ground.

"What are you doing?" a voice called from the truck. "Mr. Rabine wants this stuff moved as quickly as possible!"

"Keep your shirt on, I gotta take a leak!"

The driver stepped up to the plant Mark was hiding in and began undoing his pants. A moment later Mark could hear him relieving himself right into the plant. He could also feel the warm splatter of the guard's urine as it landed on his thigh and ran down his leg. The man must have been holding it in for a long time because it seemed to take forever before he was finished. Finally he did up the front of his pants and climbed back into the truck. A moment later it pulled away.

Mark waited until he was sure that the truck was far out of sight before he crept out of the bush. Ignoring the urine stain spreading down his leg he resumed his loping jog back to the compound. He had to get there as soon as possible.

A long time passed before the road broke into the open beside the great, fenced in meadow Rabine had created for his horses. Mark paused just long enough to be sure that no one was in sight before he pushed on. This was the most dangerous part of his journey. Where the road ran beside the meadow there was no cover. The roadside gully didn't exist here and the open space above the meadow made the entire area bright. If anyone came along now he would have no place to hide. But the meadow also meant that he was almost back at the compound. He took off at the closest thing to a run he could manage, praying that no one would come along. His thighs were burning and his legs felt like they were moving through jell-o. In the distance ahead he could see the stable on the left. He kept his eyes scanning the open area ahead for any movement but there was no one in sight. He tapped into the last of his reserve strength and sprinted the rest of the way. His lungs ached and his legs were like dead weights but he pushed himself onward.

Finally he was at the compound.

Turning right, he hobbled behind the slave quarters as quickly as he could. He squeezed down between the garbage dumpsters and felt around behind one of them for the small package he had hidden there earlier. After a moment his fingers found the bundle. Withdrawing it, he unwrapped the dirty rag and took the small tools in hand. Only then did he relax. Leaning against the rear of the building he gulped air as he clutched the tools to his heaving chest. Now all he had to do was to wait until ...

Just as he glanced up at the top of the pole nearest to him the small indicator light winked off.

* * *

Bobby had begun pacing nervously inside the generator shed. As long as Rabine's wife and the chauffeur were outside he was trapped in here. There was no place to hide and there was no way he could slip out without them seeing him. He tried furiously to come up with some way out of his predicament but nothing came to mind.

Then he heard a raised voice speaking quickly from the other side of the door. Had they come already? When the door didn't open Bobby chinned himself up to the window to steal another look outside. The chauffeur had pulled away from Mrs. Rabine. He had a finger to his earpiece and was speaking rapidly into his phone. He said something briefly to her then dashed off along the gravel path—away from the generator shed!

Mrs. Rabine stayed behind briefly, adjusting her clothes and patting her hair into place before she also turned and started away, but at a more sedate pace. The lady of the house would not run in an undignified manner.

The instant she was out of sight Bobby burst from the building. He scaled the fence in virtually a single bound and dove into the forest. He stopped, looked around quickly to orient himself, and took off in a different direction. He had been gone way too long. He only hoped it wasn't too late.

* * *

It took Mark's mind a moment to register what he was seeing. The light had just gone out—the fence was down! Shaking himself out of his stunned immobility he lunged forward, fighting the cramps that wanted to cripple his legs. He was on the far side of the pole in a moment. Grabbing his first tool he started to loosen one of the restraining bolts on the cover plate at its base. While he worked he realized that it was taking too long! As soon as he removed the first bolt he jammed the handle of the flex-wrench into the narrow opening and heaved. The cover plate resisted briefly then popped loose and fell to the ground. Switching tools he began probing the circuitry within.

He had no idea how much time had passed or how long he had left. His mind was completely focused on the task in front of him and his hands moved almost with a will of their own. He had to find the right circuit. Probe deeper. It had to be the right one. Where was it? No, not this circuit ... _that_ one. Disconnect. Now bypass the next circuit and connect the first path with the other one. Remove the control card. Now cross connect the remaining two. And ... he was done!

Mark sat back on his heels, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and looked up. The blue indicator light was back on—and his collar had not activated!

He became aware of a sudden explosion of activity in the compound. With trembling fingers he picked up the cover plate and put it back in position as best he could. It would pass at a glance. He snapped the control card in two, flicked the pieces deep into the woods behind him and slowly crawled back through the perimeter fence. His collar still didn't activate!

As he drew up against the rear of the slave quarters he could hear voices on the other side of the building shouting back and forth to each other. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying but he had a good idea what was causing all the excitement. He was suddenly aware of just how exposed he was. He had to figure out something quickly before someone looked behind the building and saw him.

* * *

I had stalled as long as I could. Putting the last of the carrots back in the crate I heaved it onto the cargo bed. As another slave slid it into place I glanced over at Mary. Our eyes met and I silently pleaded with her for help.

"Are you finally done?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer she pointed to me, Ian and Wheems. "Okay now, you, you and you come with me." She turned and started toward the second transport.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" No-neck called after her.

Momma spun around. "Now look here, Mr. Rabine told _me_ to make sure I brought his food up to the Big House! Somebody," she shot me a hard look, "obviously didn't tie everything down properly or we wouldn't have lost half our load! I'm going to make sure that everything is tied down nice and tight this time!" She settled her pudgy fists on her hips. "Or do you want to explain to the boss why his supplies fell of the truck and got ruined?" Mary was the only slave I had ever seen who could get away with speaking to the guards that way.

"Just let her do whatever she needs to do," Fat Jack said, waving her away.

"Well, okay," No-neck agreed. "Just hurry up!"

Mary harrumphed and led us around to the back of the second transport.

"Where the hell is that boy!" she hissed through her teeth as we pretended to check the tie down lines.

"I wish I knew."

"Everything looks good here, ma'am." That was Bobby's voice!

We snapped our heads around and found him standing behind us with a giant grin on his face.

"What happened?" I blurted out.

"Tell you later," he whispered between puffed breaths. "But the everything's been taken care of."

I felt a great weight lift off of my shoulders.

We spent another few moments pretending to inspect knots then returned to the first transport. As we climbed up into the cargo bed No-neck Nelson was frowning.

"Didn't you only take three guys with you?"

Mary looked at him like he was a slightly retarded child. "I count four, honey. One, two, three—"

"Okay, okay! Enough already!" Fat Jack said. He settled his bulk on a crate at the front of the transport and banged on the cab. "Get going!"

As we started to move I saw Gerrit looking from me to Bobby and back again with a puzzled expression.

The compound was a flurry of activity as we pulled in. We were directed off of the transport as soon as it stopped and lined up for a quick head count. The guard who had ordered us down checked his count against the entry on his flatpad.

"There's one missing," he said, turning to Fat Jack.

"B-but that's not possible!" Jack said. "You missed someone!"

"I did the count twice," the guard said. "So help me, Jack, if you and your stupid partner let—"

"Here I am, Boss!" Mark called as he trotted out of the slave quarters adjusting his pants.

Fat Jack stormed over to him and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "Where the hell were you?" he screamed in his face.

"Sorry, Boss, but I really needed to use the bathroom!"

Suddenly, Jack screwed up his face and took a couple of sniffs. He let Mark go and stepped back. "You stink!"

Mark hung his head. "I didn't quite make it."

Fat Jack snarled and slapped him in the head, knocking his glasses askew. "Get back in line!"

"Yes, Boss!"

Bobby moved over to let Mark squeeze in between us. He really did reek of stale urine.

I looked at him from the corner of my eyes.

Catching my look he smiled then focused on the ground.
Chapter Seven

I was floating far out in space without a pressure suit—comfortable, warm, at peace. Stars, nebulae and galaxies surrounded me against a background of infinite blackness. It was magnificent. As I floated, I somehow knew that I was alone. There were no other people, no animals, not even microbes. In the entire universe I was the only thing that lived.

I thought for a moment about what I would do with my universe. I decided to create something new. I stretched out my hand. There. A new star burned brightly. It was a good star, young and strong. But something was missing. Of course. A sun needs planets. I gave my new sun a planet. At first it was just a featureless ball. But I worked on it, changing it, molding it into something better. I worked very hard on my planet, pouring my soul into what I was creating. I formed vast oceans, built towering mountains capped with snow, carved channels for surging rivers that flowed into the seas, and enclosed my world in an atmosphere with stepped layers of cloud. I sat back to look at what I had created and I saw how beautiful it was.

I wanted to share what I had done, to show someone the beauty I had created. But the empty universe was silent. There was no one to appreciate my work.

Anger.

Now I was the destroyer. I reached out again. This time I closed my hand around the world I had created and crushed it into rubble. I turned to a nearby star system and with a wave of my hand destroyed it too. I reached further. Now I destroyed an entire galaxy, scattering its stars like grains of sand in my wrath.

But the universe remained silent. There was no one to witness the evil I did. I was the only one who could judge my actions.

Good and evil were one.

No. Good and evil did not exist in my universe. Planets don't bleed. Stars don't feel. Galaxies don't know what happens to them.

As quickly as it had come, my anger was gone. I looked down at my hands, hands which had created and destroyed, hands which could do good or evil.

Again I looked out across the endless void and knew that I was alone. And in my solitude I understood that I could be neither good or evil here. That was the key. That was the answer I was looking for. Right and wrong did exist, but they were not defined by actions. Right and wrong could only exist—

"Everybody up!"

My dream evaporated as light blazed into my eyes. Lout was standing in the doorway to the slave quarters along with several of Rabine's guards. We didn't have a clock but I knew that it was still the middle of the night.

"I said get up! Move it!" Lout yelled.

As I rolled out of bed I realized that I had had that same dream of floating in an empty universe before. But this time was different. This time I seemed to be on the verge of some important discovery. But whatever the dream might mean to me, it was slipping away. Slaves have no time for dreams.

We were all still half asleep as we groped around for our clothes. At least I had the satisfaction of seeing that Lout wasn't doing much better. He looked like he had gotten dressed in the dark himself.

"Mr. Rabine is having important guests," one of the guards announced. "All lab slaves are to report to the processing shed to ready a shipment. House slaves will go to the mansion and prepare a meal for the guests. Christian is going to pick a work detail to load the shipment. After that the rest of you can go back to sleep."

While the lab crew and house slaves finished getting dressed, most of the regular field slaves waited to see who Lout would pick. I kept pulling on my clothes. I knew Lout wouldn't pass up the chance to give me an extra work assignment.

I was picked, of course, along with about a dozen others. Apparently this was going to be a big shipment.

Momma Mary and the other house slaves were brought up to the mansion by one pair of guards while Doc Jacobs and the lab slaves were let into the processing center by another. The rest of us were lined up in the compound to wait.

I had been standing there for several minutes fighting to keep my eyes open when I heard a low rumbling overhead. I looked up, expecting to see the visitor's ship passing above us, but was surprised to find only empty sky. It took me a moment to realize that a lot of the stars were missing. When we had first stepped into the compound the sky had been full of stars. Now a large section of it was empty. As I watched I saw the empty patch slowly make its way across the sky. It took my sleep deprived brain a second to realize that the great, empty patch was the visitor's ship.

I followed the empty patch as it headed toward the landing field. When it came into the glow of the landing field lights the ship became visible as an indistinct blur hovering over the treetops. Then, as it moved directly within the circle of the searchlights being beamed up at it, I could see the outline of its hull more clearly and realized why the ship was so hard to see. The visitor's ship was a sub.

I didn't know how I recognized it but I was certain. Combining an ablative coating to make them invisible against the blackness of space and stealth field generators to hide them from electronic scans, subs could virtually disappear, making them perfect for launching covert attacks against an enemy. But a sub here didn't make any sense. Subs were military technology. They couldn't be owned by the general public ... at least they couldn't legally be owned outside of the military.

A transport backed up to the lab door then and I had to reign in my curiosity for the moment as we began loading sacks of cocaine. We worked until we had exhausted Rabine's reserve stockpile. The cargo bed of the truck was almost completely filled. In all the time I had been here I had never seen a shipment this big before.

Once we were finished loading we were crowded into the back of the truck with the sacks and sent off to transfer everything to the visitor's ship. By the time we arrived at Rabine's landing field the sub had already landed. It was so large that it barely managed to fit in the landing field. Standing guard at the foot of the ship's access ramp were two members of the crew. I noticed that each man was wearing a holstered blaster pistol. That was unusual. I had loaded shipments for Rabine before and none of the crews were ever armed. I didn't think Rabine allowed it. They were friendly enough with Rabine's guards however as we went about stacking packages on the handcarts we would use to transfer the shipment aboard.

As I started up the ramp for the first time I got the strangest sense of déjà vu. It wasn't until I was in the airlock and had gotten a whiff of the ship's atmosphere that I realized why. There was no disguising that stench.

Once inside the ship another crewman directed me to the main cargo bay. As soon as I turned into the bay I knew that I was correct. I had spent a week of my life imprisoned in this very compartment. This was the pirate ship of Mercurio Cross!

Most of the others in the work detail had also been part of the group that was brought here by the pirate captain and his crew. We shot each other nervous looks as we stacked the packages of drugs in the hold. It was eerie being back.

Other than the surprise revelation of who Rabine's guest was, everything else went as usual. It took us quite a while to finish the transfer because the shipment was so large, but eventually we were done. We rode back to the compound in silence and were sent back to the slave quarters as soon as the head count was taken.

The lab crew had already returned, but the house slaves were still up at the mansion. I caught Alex's eye and called her and the rest of our group over to our usual table in the kitchen.

"You'll never guess whose ship that is," I said.

"Mercurio Cross," Alex answered without hesitating. The others gave her a surprised look. "Some of the crew were walking around the compound earlier and I recognized a couple of the faces. But I didn't think Cross was into selling drugs. That seems too much like work for him."

"I was thinking the same thing," I said. "His style is more like just grabbing whatever he wants."

"I'd like to grab hold of that bastard," Bobby said, glaring toward the mansion.

"Get in line, son," Lucky said. "I think we'd all like our pound of flesh. For me, I'll take the pound closest to his black heart. And I'd be happy to cut it out myself—with a dull spoon."

Something Alex said had started me thinking. Everything about this middle of the night transaction was odd. I was starting to get an uneasy feeling. "What were his men doing in the compound? You'd think they'd rather be up at the mansion stuffing their faces."

"That's a good point," Chris said. "There's nothing down here for them."

We spent the next minutes talking about all the strange developments but no one had any insights to offer. Eventually the late hour began to catch up with me. I knew that I had a long day of work ahead and already I was short a couple hours of sleep due to our 'accident' with the food shipment that afternoon. After Lout finished bossing me around tomorrow we still had a lot of preparations to complete before we would be ready to attempt our escape. We would only have one shot at it and we couldn't afford any mistakes. I had to be on top of my game.

I stood up and stretched. "Well, as fascinating as all this is, I need to get some sleep. So I'll be saying—"

Just then the door banged open and the house slaves were hustled inside.

"All slaves are restricted to quarters until further notice!" one of the guards announced. He slammed the door behind him and we could hear the bolt being thrown from the other side. Although they could lock us in at any time, the door to the slave quarters had always been left unbarred because there was nowhere for us to go. What the hell was going on?

Mary saw us all sitting together and hurried over to join the group. "There's trouble up at the mansion. Rabine and that pirate captain are having a big fight. The pirates only brought enough money to pay for part of the drugs and the captain wants Rabine to credit him for the balance."

Lucky let out a big whoop. "Rabine must love that! He always works on a strict cash and carry basis."

Something wasn't adding up. "But Cross would know that," I said. "This doesn't make any sense. He knows Rabine isn't going to let him leave here with anything he can't pay for up front."

We all stared at each other for a moment.

That was when the shooting started outside.

Alex and I hit the floor at the same time. About half of the others did the same while the rest froze wherever they were.

"Get down!" I shouted. A stray shot could come through one of the windows at any moment. Soon everyone except for Bobby was following our example. Bobby chose to rush over to the nearest window instead, where he stood transfixed as he stared out into the compound. Muttering under her breath, Alex crawled over to him and yanked him to the floor.

"It's a regular war out there!" Bobby said. "The pirates are everywhere! I even saw a bunch of them wearing those armored suits they used to board our prison transport!"

Armor took time to put on. This had all been planned. Cross had no intention of paying for anything. He was simply going to take the drugs. The street value of what we had loaded aboard his ship easily ran into the hundreds of millions!

Alex crawled over to me. "This is our chance!"

I met her eyes and knew exactly what she was thinking because the same thought had occurred to me. This was better than anything we could have planned.

"Everybody into the showers!" I yelled.

Staying on our hands and knees, Alex and I led everyone down to the shower room. The shower room was nothing more than a large space next to the kitchen area with a rusty drain in the center of the floor and corroded shower heads projecting from the walls every meter or so. The room was dank and smelled of mildew but it had a few narrow windows that looked out of the back of the building. That would be our way out. With some squeezing most of us were able to fit into the room while the rest huddled on the floor just outside the doorway. As soon as we were all crowded into the relative safety of the showers I stood up so I could address everyone.

"We have a chance to escape!" I said in as loud a voice as I dared use. "Rabine's guards and the pirates are too busy fighting each other to worry about us. Now is our chance."

"But we can't get out of the compound!" someone said.

"We've already taken care of that," I said. That got everyone's attention. "We managed to shut down a section of the perimeter fence directly behind this building. We can walk right into the forest without our collars being activated!"

An excited murmuring began.

"Are you _sure_?" another voice asked.

"Absolutely! Mark's already been through the fence. We know it works. We can all escape _if we act right now_!"

At that moment a volley of blaster shots tore through one of the front windows and dug a series of tracks across the ceiling of the shower room, showering us with dust and fragments of broken tile. Without waiting for any more questions I grabbed a small stool with a missing leg that had been propped in one corner and wove through the bodies crouched on the floor to one of the back windows. With a few swift blows I removed all the glass from the frame. A quick check out back showed that everything was clear.

I sent Bobby, Mark and Chris out through the window first. Between the three of them they managed to move one of the garbage dumpsters under the window to make it easier for the others to climb down.

"Let's go!" I said to the others when they were ready.

I put Alex and Mary in charge to keep everyone moving while I cut into the line and climbed out to check on things outside. Bobby was directing them through the correct section of the fence to where Chris and Mark were gathering everyone together back in the trees. At the rate things were moving, the slave quarters would be empty in a few minutes.

I crept to the corner to check on what was happening out front. The fighting seemed to be over in the compound, although there were occasional bursts of blaster fire nearby. From what I heard coming from the direction of the mansion however, I could tell that the battle was still raging there. I had a feeling that the pirates were going to find it a little more difficult than they thought to overrun Rabine's defenses. I had only been up to the mansion a few times, but I had noticed certain things about its construction that were unusual. To begin with, I had spotted a number of cleverly disguised blaster emplacements hidden in the decorative façade. They were positioned so that they could lay down a cross fire on any side of the building. The walls were also unusually thick, undoubtedly armored against attacks from small arms fire. The pirates had their work cut out for them.

As I knelt by the corner of the building I suddenly got an idea. I was going to throw my own little monkey wrench into the battle. There was no one in sight and I dashed across to the stable and let myself in. I moved quickly from stall to stall and opened each gate. The chaos in the compound had already agitated the horses and as soon as I opened their stalls they bolted for the door.

The frightened animals scattered in all directions. This would be their chance for freedom too. And hopefully in their panic they would trample a few of the pirates or guards as well. I didn't really care which.

As I moved back toward the slave quarters I couldn't suppress a smile. I was starting to enjoy myself.

But as I neared the building I could hear several strangled screams coming from the rear. I sprinted around the corner of the building and froze. A number of slaves were rolling on the ground clutching at their throats and crying out while others were kneeling with their fingers laced behind their heads. In the middle of this scene was Lout. He was standing over everyone aiming his collar remote down at the unfortunate group he had on the ground.

Fury welled up inside me and I darted forward. This sadistic, cowardly bastard was not going to stop us! His back was to me and I don't think he even knew I was there until I tackled him. The remote went flying out of his hand as he fell. I sat in the small of his back, grabbed fist-fulls of hair with both hands and shoved his face into the mud.

"Get them out of here!" I shouted.

From the corner of my eye I saw the slaves Lout had been torturing being helped up as the last of our people escaped through the window. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my thigh. Lout had managed to draw a knife and stab me in the leg.

He threw me off of his back and crawled away, gulping air. I clutched at my leg. It wasn't a serious wound, but it hurt like hell.

"You!" Lout said as he turned over.

We both got to our feet at the same time. Scraping muck off his face, Lout bent into a fighting crouch and shuffled toward me while I circled to my right. He held the weapon like someone experienced with knife fighting. It made sense. Killing with a knife was done up close where you could watch the light fade from your victim's eyes. It was just the type of thing Lout would enjoy.

He moved quickly, slashing at my middle, but I evaded the strike and continued to circle. A touch of fear entered his eyes then. I think he expected me to be afraid of him, and I wasn't. Up to this point I had meekly done whatever he told me to do and had endured his physical and verbal harassment without complaint. Those days were over.

I noticed his eyes flicking around as if he were searching for something. Then I remembered the remote. He must have realized that he might not be able to take me with his blade alone. The collar remote would once again make him master of the situation. But I wasn't going to let him have that type of advantage over me.

I couldn't afford to waste any more time on him. We had to get to that transport and I couldn't leave him behind to report our escape to his master. I stopped circling and moved toward him. Lout hesitated, surprised by my sudden boldness. I lunged in that instant. I was already inside the arc of his swing as he tried to strike. I blocked, captured his hand in a wrist lock and twisted. He screamed and dropped the knife. He moved to bring his knee up into my groin but I grabbed him in a bear hug and brought us both down.

I fought my way on top of him. He managed to land a solid punch to my mouth but I barely felt it. He started raining blows on me wherever he could reach but I kept him pinned and slid my hands up to his throat. My fingers closed like a vise around his neck and I squeezed. His blows became more frantic but I ignored them. And I squeezed. In my mind I was remembering all of the things I had seen him do to different slaves since I had been here–the unnecessary beatings he inflicted on whoever was at hand simply because he was in a foul mood, the laughter in his eyes as he whipped exhausted men and women to keep them working to meet a quota, the torturing with the collar remote over the smallest things, the forced rape of numerous women.

And I squeezed.

"Pell, that's enough! ... _Cordass_!"

I came to my senses and realized that Alex was shaking me by the shoulders.

"That's enough! It's over."

I looked down. Lout's neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. His face was purple and his bloated tongue was poking from the corner of his mouth.

I let go of his throat and stood up. I felt a surge of vindication course through me. I didn't know if this was the first time I had ever killed, but it was the first time I could remember. It bothered me that I could feel no remorse as I stared down at the sprawled body.

"Come on, Pell. Let's go."

I took a moment to spit in his face before I followed.

* * *

We made our way quickly to the landing field. Even though there were nearly one hundred and fifty of us everyone managed to keep up. The thought of going back to live as slaves under the not so tender care of Fernando Rabine drove us on.

We knew we were close when we could see light shining through the trees. Alex and I paused when we were just inside the tree line to study the area as the others quietly drew up behind us. The pirate ship sat just as I had seen it before, only now the guards by the access ramp were carrying plasma rifles. A single blast from one of those guns could cut a man in half. The pirates seemed fidgety, as if they wanted to be doing more than just standing sentry at the ship. But they weren't our focus.

Beyond the pirate ship was a row of hangars, and in the center hangar was ... _fire_! My breath caught as I stared at the battered hull of what used to be Rabine's transport ship. One of the landing struts had collapsed, leaving it listing to one side as flames licked out through the open hatch. The pirates must have destroyed it to prevent anyone from following them. But in doing so they had stranded us.

Ice formed in the pit of my stomach. After all we had been through, after all our planning and preparation, it couldn't end like this.

I glanced over at Alex. Her expression was hard as she stared across the field and watched our one hope going up in flames. As I watched her I saw her eyes fill up with tears. One escaped and traced a curving track along her perfect cheek. Seeing that single tear caused me more anguish than anything Rabine or Lout had ever done to me. It was a knife twisting in my gut.

I set my jaw. This wasn't over yet!

A sudden motion in the corner of my eye drew my attention. Half a dozen armed men jogged down the boarding ramp from the pirate ship and hurried off in the direction of the compound. One of the ramp guards went with them. Cross must have called for reinforcements.

Suddenly, I knew what to do.

I reached over and squeezed Alex's hand.

"We're not finished, yet," I said. She looked at me but I could tell she didn't understand. I pointed at the pirates' sub. "We're taking _that_ ship."

"Waaait a minute, buddy," Lucky said on my other side, "we can't go up against that armed crew. They'll cut us to ribbons!"

"They would if they were here," I said. "Seven more men just ran off to join the fight. How many do you think are left aboard?"

"Pell's right," Alex said. "They probably stripped the ship bare to throw everyone they have against Rabine's men. I doubt if there's even a hand full of crew still on board."

"But they have weapons," someone said behind us.

I glanced over at the row of buildings across the landing field. The little one on the far right was a workshop. "Then we'll just have to arm ourselves, too."

It took us a little while to circle around to the far side of the landing field and break into the workshop. There weren't any weapons in the strict sense, but we armed ourselves anyway. Hammers, screwdrivers, pipes, chains, utility knives—we grabbed anything that could be used to inflict injury. Within minutes a pile of makeshift weapons had grown behind the building.

"Is that everything?" I asked.

"That and my swinging Johnson," Lucky quipped.

"So you're going unarmed, then," Alex shot back.

Looking across our cache I selected a half-meter length of pipe. The solid feel of the metal in my hand was reassuring. I turned and took a look at the group of grim faced men and women huddled in the shadows behind me. There was a silent menace in their eyes. We were getting out of this hell-hole and woe be it to anyone who got in our way.

I turned to my team leaders and saw that they were ready. I had divided us into six groups, each with a specific task. There were two areas of the ship that we absolutely had to control if we were to succeed: the bridge and the engine room. Alex and I would lead a team to the bridge while Ian and Mark would secure the engine room. Three other groups would do general sweeps of each of the three decks. Chris, Ricky and Lucky would lead those teams. To protect our rear, Momma Mary and her group would hold the access ramp airlock.

The only thing left was to take out the guard at the foot of the ramp. Charging him would be suicide. One man with a plasma rifle could cut down our entire group before we got halfway to the ship. I was just about to call Ian over when Alex stood up.

"I've got this," she said as she started toward the solitary guard.

I grabbed her by the wrist. "No! I can send Ian to—"

She covered my hand with hers and gently removed my fingers. "I'll be fine. Just make sure everyone is ready to move." She grabbed the front of her clothes and ripped, exposing a large amount of skin. She winked, then started onto the open landing field. Using one hand to not quite hold the front of her clothes together, she started limping toward the pirate sentry.

I motioned to the team leaders to have their groups arm themselves. Everyone except for Momma Mary selected something from the pile. Somehow, Mary had managed to bring her lucky skillet with her. I had no doubt that in her hands the cast iron frying pan could deal out serious injury. Once armed, everyone grouped together with their leaders.

"Help! Help me, please!" Alex yelled as she approached the pirate ship.

My heart jumped into my throat when the guard swung on her with his weapon. From his expression he must have been surprised to have someone come up to him from that direction. But as she limped closer I could see his stance relaxing. Just as she was within a few meters of him, she stumbled and fell. She was really selling the helpless slave girl routine. I doubted that she had ever been clumsy enough to trip in her entire life.

The guard's rifle lowered as Alex slowly pushed herself to her knees. Judging by the way his eyes suddenly goggled she must be letting quite a bit of skin show as she got up. Shifting his rifle to one hand, he actually took a step forward and reached out to help her up. She moved so quickly in the next moment that I didn't see what she did. All I knew was that one moment the pirate was reaching out to her and in the next moment he was sprawled on the ground with his weapon now in her hands.

We charged the ship. In spite of our numbers we covered the distance like wraiths and soon we were swarming up the boarding ramp.

Alex fell into step beside me as I led the way aboard. Behind us I could hear each team split off and head in different directions as we went about taking the ship. Cross must have pulled his entire crew off the ship. We didn't encounter anyone until we reached the bridge. The sole crewman on duty there was so surprised that he never had time to seal it off. Our team swarmed inside just as he was trying to draw his pistol. Alex swung the plasma rifle at him and fired a single shot. A fist sized hole appeared in the pirate's middle as red gore splattered the bulkhead behind him and his body was hurled through the air.

Ignoring the body for now I posted guards at the bridge entrance while Alex moved to different duty stations and powered up the systems. Blue standby lights winked on across several consoles, but amber lights on others warned that those systems still needed to be brought on-line in the engine room. When Alex had done everything she could she tossed me her weapon and settled into place at the helm.

"Fuel reserve is nominal," she said glancing across a bank of indicators. "All propulsion systems appear to be in good shape. I'm bringing up life support up and securing all systems for space flight."

I took the captain's char as the different sweep teams started reporting in. Within a few minutes everyone had reported that their area was secured—everyone except for the team in the engine room. I was just about to send someone down to find out what was happening when Mark called the bridge. Like the bridge, there had been a single crewman left on duty there. He had heard them coming however and had barricaded himself behind some circuitry cabinets. From that position he had been able to hold off their entire team with his pistol until Ian managed to work around behind him and take him out. Even as Mark was giving me his report, amber lights around the bridge began switching over to green. Mark cut the connection then to help Ian power up the drive systems and I switched the intercom to the access ramp.

"Close it up, Momma!" I said. "We're getting ready to lift."

"You got it, honey!"

I stood and moved over to the helm to watch as Alex fired the belly thrusters to lift us into the air. Reaching over her shoulder I activated the main view screen mounted on the forward bulkhead. As the ship rose over the trees, the compound and Rabine's mansion came into view. From our vantage point we could see flashes of blaster fire and scattered explosions as the battle continued. Something about the way Alex's posture suddenly stiffened drew my attention. She was wearing an expression I had seen before.

"Hold us here for a moment," she said quietly, as she got up from the console. There was ice in her voice. "I want to send someone a farewell gift."

I took over her place at the controls as she moved to another station nearby. It wasn't one of the boards she had brought on-line earlier. From where I was sitting I couldn't see the console's surface as she activated it and began pressing switches, but I had a good idea what she was doing. After a few moments she paused and looked up at the main screen. The same hard expression was still on her face. It was the expression she always wore after Rabine summoned her to the mansion in the evening. On the screen a targeting reticle appeared and centered on the mansion. Without looking back down at her board she jabbed a control.

I watched as the ship's forward pulse blasters cut loose. Rabine's mansion may be shielded against small arms fire, but it was no match for the blaster cannons this ship carried. The side of the mansion facing us disappeared under that barrage and the entire thing began to collapse in a cloud of smoke and dust. Alex kept up the barrage for a long while. After some time she switched the cannon's aim to the compound. The targeting reticle swung to the new target and she again cut loose with the cannons.

When she finally ceased fire Rabine's property was hidden behind a thick cloud. As it slowly drifted away we saw that where the mansion and compound had once been there was now nothing but a pair of rubble strewn craters.
Chapter Eight

We brought the ship into a high orbit above the planet and powered down the engines to conserve fuel. I had asked Ian and Mark to give the ship's systems a quick once-over to be sure it was space worthy. Between Ian's engineering experience and Mark's electronics knowledge they should be able to identify any potential problems. I'd rather know about any problems now while we could still put down and try to make repairs than to be hit with a nasty surprise out in the interstellar void. As Alex and I finished locking the bridge systems in standby Ian called from the engine room. In spite of the pigsty conditions everywhere, he reported that the ship's systems were in surprisingly good order.

"Although I'd say that's more from design than any special care on the part of the crew," Ian continued. "By the way, did you know that this is a Gilead Fleet ship? SC-3000 class, I think, but definitely Fleet technology. There's no mistaking this equipment. I'm surprised it's not still in service."

Alex and I exchanged looks. We had just had the same conversation ourselves. Although someone had gone to great lengths to remove any identifying markings from the bridge stations there were certain details of the ship's construction and control layout that had led us to the same conclusion.

"As long as it'll take us out of this star-system," I said. "How long a trip do you think she can handle?"

"As long as our fuel lasts, I suppose. Maybe a dozen light-years, give or take. There are a number of systems out of adjustment so our fuel economy won't be optimal, but nothing that will keep us from pulling hyperlight speeds. There is one system that I want to take a look at pretty soon, though: the air system. Some idiot let the cytolichen tanks get infected. That's mostly what that god awful smell is. I'm going to have to shut the system down and clean it out completely. I think I can salvage enough healthy lichen to re-culture the exchange tanks, but it'll be three or four days before it can be ready to take over again. The reserve tanks are fully charged so we should be able to hold out that long."

"Thanks, Ian. I think everyone would appreciate that. Which just leaves us with the question of what course to set. Meet us in the main cargo bay."

"On our way."

I had asked everyone to assemble in the cargo bay because it was the only space on the ship large enough to accommodate all of us. There were a number of things we had to work out before we got under way and we needed to make these decisions soon.

Alex and I left the bridge and made our way quickly down the main stairwell from the command deck. Even before we exited the stairwell on C deck we could hear the excited murmuring coming from everyone waiting in the bay. As we turned into the starboard passageway we saw the other seven members of our group huddled together by the open bay doors. I had asked Chris and Lucky to check on something for me and I was expecting to meet them at the cargo bay entrance. They must have run into the others on the way. The group of them was standing in a tight circle talking animatedly to each other as they focused on something in Lucky's hands. As we approached, Lucky looked up and shot us that lopsided smile of his that said he had news.

"Catch." Lucky tossed something in my direction that I snatched out of the air. It was a packet of bills, Gilead currency in the amount of ten thousand Solars according to the band.

Bobby looked up at me and grinned like a kid at Christmas as he fingered the packet of golden bills he was holding. "Can you believe it? Lucky says there's _millions_ on board!"

I turned to Lucky. "The captain's safe?"

"Actually, no. We searched his quarters like you said, but the safe itself was empty."

I turned the bills over in my hand. Physical currency was rare these days since virtually all business was conducted with electronic funds transfers. The government maintained cash reserves, as did most of the larger banks, but the average person rarely handled actual money any more. "So where did you find this?"

"Cross had some storage containers in his cabin lined up to one side. I wasn't going to give them a second thought until I realized they were bolted to the deck and locked tight, so of course I had to know what was inside. Fortunately, I had borrowed the blaster pistol Ian liberated from that pirate in the engine room and, well, I guess they don't make locks like they used to. When we opened them we found each one packed tight with sealed bags of cash. Most of it is in Solars, although we did find a few other currencies as well."

I wasn't surprised that Cross favored Solars. Gilead had one of the strongest and most stable economies of any of the star nations, giving our currency a significant advantage on the international exchange. I had suspected that someone like Cross who regularly trafficked in illegal goods would have a cache of money aboard. In fact I was counting on his greed to bail us out of our current situation.

"How much do you think there is altogether?" I asked.

"This is just an estimate of course, but based on the size of the containers and the denominations we found, I'd say it was somewhere in the neighborhood of 20 million."

Knowing Lucky, I was willing to bet that his estimate was pretty much on the nose. I watched Bobby's eyes grow wider as he stared at the bills he was holding. It sounded like a lot of money but divided up among everyone aboard it would only amount to a little more than a hundred thousand apiece. While it was a significant sum, it was not enough to live on for long. If we pooled all of it together however, it would be enough for an idea I had in mind.

"I'm glad you're all here," I said, handing the money back to Lucky. "I have something that I want to run past you before we talk to the others. I have an idea about what we should do now that we have the means to get away from here."

"But, I mean, I thought we were going, you know, _home_ ," Chris said anxiously.

All he had talked about during our time on Rabine's plantation was how much he missed his family and wanted to go home. In particular I knew that he had a girlfriend he was pining for. Apparently they had been seeing each other for several years and had gotten quite serious. Before his arrest he had planned to propose to her as soon as they graduated. He had mapped out his entire future in his mind, right down to the three children they would have. Unfortunately, I had to be the one to make him understand how impossible that dream was now.

"I know how much you want to get back to your family," I said, trying to be as gentle as I could. "We all do. But that's the one thing we can't do." I watched his face drop at my words. Momma Mary reached up and rubbed his back with one hand.

"We may not be Rabine's slaves any more, but don't forget that to the authorities we're still convicted criminals. We'd be locked up as soon as we set foot on any planet in Gilead space. Simple things like retinal scans, voice and facial recognition software, DNA scans—any number of things that we take for granted could trigger an alert to the authorities. By just walking down the street you could be scanned by dozens of security sensors that we pass every day without thinking about it, have your image flagged by the local police database, and be arrested before you got two blocks."

My words were an unexpected blow to him and I could see the will drain out of him. His entire body seemed to deflate as I spoke. I hated to upset him but he had to accept the reality of our situation. We had escaped our fate as slaves but we were far from being truly free.

"There's supposed to be an underground in Gilead," Alex said. "I heard that they helped a number of people who were on King Sebastian's most wanted list to disappear. We could try to contact them."

A flicker of hope returned to Chris's eyes but I knew I had to dash his dreams again.

"We could try," I said slowly, "but I see a number of problems with that too. To begin with, we're not even sure where to start looking for them. We've been out of touch for a long time and a lot of things are probably different now. For all we know this underground group might not even exist any longer. If King Sebastian is as paranoid and ruthless as he's supposed to be, he would have made it a priority to root out and eliminate any such opposition as soon as they started causing him trouble. That's what I'd do in his place. Also, if the authorities catch us in possession of a stolen Gilead ship, which is what I'm sure this is, we'll be lucky to get off with only a life sentence. Even assuming that we could somehow manage to get back into Gilead space undetected and make contact with this underground, what kind of lives would we have to look forward to? We'd have to live on the run, outcasts on the fringes of society. I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder."

Alex gave me a long, thoughtful look before she slowly nodded her agreement.

"You may be right," Alex admitted, "at least for now, but keep the possibility open, Cordass. If we're ever going to get our former lives back I have a feeling that the underground is going to be our way back in."

With a ship full of frightened people who had just escaped a year's brutal captivity as slaves, I knew this was not the time to go looking for some mysterious, clandestine group that may or may not even exist. But I had also come to respect Alex's intuition. If she thought we should try to get into contact with this group there might be something to it.

"Fair enough," I said. "Once things have settled down we can look into finding out if the underground still exists. But for now I think we need to focus on the basics like finding a safe place for all of these people to call home."

"So what are we going to do?" Bobby asked.

"You're holding the answer in your hand," I said. Over the next couple of minutes I outlined the plan I had come up with.

"It could work," Ian said when I finished, his deep voice reverberating in the hallway even over the voices coming from the hold. "The ship's basically sound and it wouldn't take much to outfit it for our needs."

"Most of the others aren't spacers," Alex pointed out.

"True," I agreed. "But we have enough experienced hands for a skeleton crew and the others could learn."

"We're really not ever going home again, are we," Chris said softly.

I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Not now," I said. "It's just too dangerous for us and our families."

"I understand. It was a nice fantasy." Putting on a forced smile he looked up and slapped the bulkhead support beside him. "It could be worse. At least we're free of that sick bastard, Rabine."

"We shouldn't keep the others waiting," Alex said.

"You're right," I agreed. "Besides, this isn't something we can decide on our own. Everybody should have a say since it affects all of us."

I turned and led us into the bay. As soon as we entered, everyone started whistling and clapping. In moments the entire compartment was thundering with applause. It went on and on until I finally raised my hands. I had to wait for a while for the noise to quiet down.

"I guess it feels pretty good to finally be out of there," I said, bringing cheers and laughter from everyone. "I have a bit of news for those of you who haven't heard. It seems that in the confusion of our rather abrupt departure, Rabine's property somehow managed to get destroyed–his mansion, the compound, all of it has been completely leveled!" The cheering and applause was even louder than before.

When it finally quieted down I continued. "But we still have a problem. Even though we now have a way to escape this hell hole, we don't have anywhere to go. Back home we're convicted criminals. No legitimate government will offer us sanctuary. The bottom line is that we're people without a country." As the cold reality of our situation settled in I could feel the jubilant mood of a moment ago beginning to dissolve. A sea of worried faces looked up at me and I felt the weight of responsibility settle onto my shoulders. They were looking to me for answers.

"But we do have this ship," I continued. "Ian and Mark have checked it over and they tell me that its systems are in good shape. We figure that we have enough reserves to travel about a dozen light-years before we need to refuel, which is enough to get us away from the Argent cluster. The question of course is where do we go?"

Urgent whispering sprang up throughout the compartment. I could feel the anxiety beginning to build and knew that I had to cut it off now before the fear took hold.

"I want everyone to keep calm. We're going to survive this, I promise you. And I want you all to remember something. The situation you find yourself in is not your fault. None of you has done anything to justify what has happened to you. The only reason we are even in this situation in the first place is because our own government turned on us. We're not criminals!" At least they weren't. "It was a selfish and incompetent king who branded us outlaws. Our homes, our families, in fact our very lives, were stolen from us by a cowardly despot who has absolutely no regard for our rights! He has turned his back on us, on his responsibility as our king, and we owe him no allegiance!"

"What I'm proposing is that we let this ship be our home, our nation. There is enough space aboard for all of us to live comfortably. We can build new lives for ourselves as independent traders."

"Don't you mean pirates?" someone called out. "This is a pirate ship, isn't it?"

"It was a pirate ship," I said. "Now it's ours. No, I mean exactly what I said, independent traders not pirates, and _never_ slavers!" I took one of the packets of bills from Lucky and raised it over my head. It suddenly became very quiet.

"A search of the ship turned up a hoard of currency, enough to repair and provision the ship. We can turn it into as fine a trading vessel as anything in space. Then it's just a matter of deciding on a cargo to transport."

"What about Rabine's shipment?" someone called out. "Look at all of that stuff. It's got to be worth a fortune. Why don't we just sell that and make us all rich?"

I turned and walked to the stack of bags that was piled against the bulkhead behind me. It was as tall as I was and more than twice that in width. I pulled one of the bags off the top of the stack and turned back to face everyone. I held up my hands, balancing the drugs in one hand and the cash in the other.

"We could do that. These drugs are worth a lot of money, enough to make each of us quite wealthy." I dropped the bag onto the deck at my feet. It landed with a dull thud. "But is that really the direction you want to move in?

"I suppose what it comes down to is a matter of choice. For myself, I don't want to become a drug dealer. It's not that I'm a purist and I'm not naïve. I know that a number of you have gotten into the habit of chewing coca leaves to help you get through the day."

"Ye-ha!" came a shout.

I looked toward the source of that yell. "Yes, Eddie, I was thinking of you, actually."

Some good natured laughing erupted briefly.

"Rabine even allowed any of us who wanted to chew to do it. In fact, he encouraged it. Think about that. Rabine couldn't have cared less about us. To him we were nothing more than strong backs to do his grunt work. What he cared about was increasing productivity. He encouraged you to chew because it made you work faster, regardless of the consequences to your long term health. But his guards were forbidden to touch the stuff. How many of you remember Paco Robles?" At the mention of Robles's name the room grew quiet.

Robles was one of Rabine's guards who had been caught snorting cocaine behind the garage one day. Rabine became so enraged that he beat the man to a bloody pulp with his bare hands. Once Robles was sprawled in the mud at his feet Rabine had some of his men string him up by his wrists so he could go at him with a whip. For many long minutes Robles's screams could be heard echoing throughout the compound. Even after the screaming finally stopped, Rabine continued to whip the lifeless corpse until he was exhausted. He had beat him so long and so hard that by the time he was finished the flesh was hanging from his body in bloody, ragged strips. Rabine left the body hanging there for a week as a reminder. During that time carrion birds feasted freely on the corpse until it bore little resemblance to a human being. Eventually the grisly remains were taken down and discarded in the forest for scavengers to dispose of.

It was silent as I continued. "Like I said, think about it. Even the most notorious drug dealer in the quadrant knows better than to use his own product. Is this really something you want to help spread through the galaxy?

"Now I'd never try to tell any of you how to run your life, but I do believe deep down to the bottom of my soul that setting ourselves up as drug dealers is a bad move and I want nothing to do with it. But this isn't something I can decide for you. If some of you want to try selling the drugs I won't stop you, but I would ask that you do it away from the rest of us. I'm sure we can find somewhere to put you ashore with some seed money and as many of these as you want to take with you." I glanced down at the sack, nudged it with my foot, then looked back up.

"Or we can space the drugs and try to make a life for ourselves as inter-stellar merchants. But whatever we're going to do we should make a decision soon and get under way. Someone's going to get suspicious if we hang in orbit here for too long and we're not exactly in a position to be answering a lot of questions."

There was some discussion for a while but no one was able to come up with a better plan. As I looked around the bay, watching and listening to people making their points, I saw that we were very different people from the frightened and helpless prisoners the pirates had captured a year ago. Living as slaves had toughened us and made us all realists. Eventually everyone agreed that our best hope was the plan I had come up with to turn the ship into a trading vessel. We could never return to our homes and our former lives, but we would not give up. A vote was taken and the decision was unanimous. We would space the drugs and become a cargo hauler.

There was just one remaining detail to decide.

"Excuse me," Momma Mary called out once we had agreed on our main course of action. "But aren't you forgetting something?"

I frowned at her.

"Just exactly who did you have in mind for captain of this trade ship?"

That brought a round of laughter.

"I figured we would hold elections to—"

"Bull!" Mary said. "You know you're the best man for the job!"

"But he's just a kid!" a voice called out.

Mary spun on the crowd and leveled a laser stare in the direction the voice had come from. "If it hadn't been for this _kid_ , we'd all still be cowering in that rat infested barn Rabine had us living in. Most of you don't know it, but Pell was planning our escape from the very beginning. He refused to even consider any plan that didn't include helping every one of you to escape with us. We all owe him our lives." She turned back to me, hefting her skillet like a battle standard. "I don't know about anybody else, but I'll follow you clear across the galaxy, honey!"

Cheering went up throughout the hold. I felt the mantle of responsibility settle even heavier on me. Before I could say anything, Bobby and some of the others had lifted me up on their shoulders chanting, "Pell! Pell! Pell!" It didn't seem like I had any choice.

Just that quickly I was the captain of a trading ship, with the lives and welfare of a hundred and fifty people to be responsible for.
Chapter Nine

I tried to roll over to answer the intercom but there was an arm across my chest. Picking up the limp limb I kissed its palm. Alex 'mmmmed' and rolled away, taking her arm with her. I sat up and glanced at the clock. Oh-three-hundred. I started to reach for the comm but got distracted by the soft curves rising in the bed next to me. Alex was laying on her side with her back to me. Her hair (she had let it grow for me) was fanned out behind her, leaving the nape of her neck exposed. The familiar warm tingling bloomed in my stomach as I inhaled the scent of her hair. At this moment everything was perfect in my world.

The intercom buzzed again.

Ignoring the call I bent over and started kissing her neck. Her skin was soft and warm where my lips touched. She giggled. Then she placed her palm in my face and pushed me away.

"You'd better answer that," she said.

"Who says it's for me?"

"It's three in the morning. They're looking for the captain."

I snuggled down next to her and slid my hands around her waist. "Let's pretend we're not here."

She rolled over, planted a big kiss on my mouth and got up from the bed. "Answer the call," she said, heading for the 'fresher.

I watched her swaying hips as she padded across the room. Girls move so much more interestingly than men. (Is 'interestingly' even a word?) I reached for the comm panel above the headboard. It was the bridge.

"This is the Captain," I said, "I'm going to need an armed squad in my quarters right away. My security officer is trying to mutiny."

"Sorry to hear that, Captain," Chris' voice answered. "Do you want them in full riot gear or just standard sidearms?"

"Well, maybe I'll let it go for now. A good, solid spanking should whip her into shape."

"You wouldn't dare!" came from the refresher.

"What's up, Chris?" I asked, stifling a chuckle.

"Sorry to wake you, but we're getting a distress call from a nearby ship. They claim they were attacked by a pirate who came out of nowhere. They fought it off but took heavy damage. They say their reactor shielding is ruptured. And Cordass, their ID beacon says they're Gilead Fleet."

Out here? Of course, ID beacons could be faked. Our own ship carried a beacon that identified us as being registered out of New Bahama. But it wouldn't make any sense for someone to claim to be Fleet if they weren't.

"How far away is she?"

"Just under fifteen minutes at flank."

"Okay, Chris, set course for her. Have the full first watch report to duty stations and put a rescue team on standby. I also want to go weapons hot."

"Aye, sir."

"Expecting trouble?" Alex asked, leaning against the 'fresher door frame.

"Always. Somebody took on a Gilead Fleet ship and gave it a bloody nose."

"What's a Fleet ship doing way out here?"

"I don't know, but we're going to find out. Their reactor shielding is ruptured. I have a feeling we're going to be having guests."

I swung my feet to the deck and brought up the cabin lights. The captain's cabin was spacious with a rather large bed. The previous owner, Mercurio Cross, had installed the oversized bed and decorated the room in his own grotesquely flamboyant style. I had toned the space down considerably over the past two and a half years, changing virtually everything except for the bed—I liked all the room it gave us to roll around in on those nights when Alex stayed with me, which was most of the time these days.

Pushing myself to my feet I headed to the 'fresher. Alex moved aside as I approached but I snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her against me. The warmth of her body where it touched mine made my skin tingle. I kept the environmental system in my cabin set at a balmy 25 degrees C so we hardly ever slept with clothes on. The palm of my hand fit comfortably against the familiar curve of her cheek as I stroked her face. She smiled and covered my hand with hers.

"We should get dressed," she said. When I didn't move right away she pecked me lightly on the cheek and wiggled out of my arms. "Get dressed," she called over her shoulder as she started pulling on her uniform.

Ducking into the 'fresher I threw some water on my face and paused to stare at myself in the mirror. The face I had grown accustomed to over the past few years stared back at me. My face, I told myself. After all of this time the face in the mirror was still a stranger to me and I still couldn't remember anything about my past before the moment I woke up on that prison transport.

I found myself thinking about my relationship with Alex. Was it me not remembering who I was that was the invisible wall between us? Or was it something else? I relied on her for so much. She was my right arm, my inspiration. I trusted her with my life and I would give my life to protect her. Yet some deep instinct kept me from sharing this one thing with her--the fact that I had an empty hole where my memory should be. Did she suspect that I was keeping some secret from her? She had an uncanny perception about people and I often felt like she knew what was on my mind before I did. Was that why she wouldn't commit herself to me?

A movement in the mirror caught my eye and I watched as she bent to adjust one boot. I remembered the one and only time I had proposed to her. It was a little over a year ago, just after we had completed the final repairs and upgrades to the ship following a very successful run. The mood aboard ship had been festive. We had cleared a nice profit and had landed on Paradisio in the New Bahama star cluster for a couple of week's shore leave to celebrate.

It was warm in the open market near the main spaceport. The blue-white sun was high overhead as we wandered among the various stalls looking for nothing in particular. She was so beautiful with the sun shining on her hair which was just starting to reach her shoulders. She was laughing as she chatted about something I wasn't really paying attention to and it seemed like the perfect moment. Without thinking about it I acted on impulse. I spun her toward me and pressed my lips against hers in a long, deep kiss. I could tell I had caught her by surprise but she responded instantly, kissing me back fiercely and molding her body against mine.

" _Marry me!" I said when we finally broke for air._

For the briefest moment there had been a softness in her eyes that I had never seen before. In that instant I knew she was going to say yes.

Then the look was gone. She took my hands and held my eyes with hers. The smile she put on seemed forced.

" _You know we're not the type of people who get married," she said. "We talked about this ... before. You remember." That was the problem. I couldn't remember. "We both agreed, a long time ago, not to complicate things. I'm yours for as long as you want me. You know that. I'll always be here for you."_

She squeezed my hands briefly and turned away before I could say anything. But before she did I saw the way her eyes were shining. I pretended not to notice her quickly wiping her eyes when she thought I wasn't looking.

Alex straightened with her other boot in her hand and glanced back over her shoulder at me, her eyebrows arching up in a questioning look.

"Just taking a moment to admire the scenery," I said, leering at her butt.

She pursed her lips in a mocking scold.

"You better get your mind back on business."

"Oh, I mean business," I said, jauntily tossing my towel aside.

I moved to the closet and began pulling on my own uniform. I'd always been happy with my decision to insist on duty uniforms. Many independent ships didn't bother with them, but I found they gave us a sense of unity and pride. I believed in it so much that I outfitted the crew originally out of my own share of the profits from our first shipment. Once I saw how the crew carried themselves a little taller when they were in uniform I knew that I was right.

Our uniform was a simple jumpsuit with our ship's patch on the right shoulder, something similar to what any merchant crew might wear. Crew wore a plain uniform while officers had ship symbol tabs on the collars. The only difference between my uniform and those of the other officers were the four captain rings on my sleeves. I had decided to do away with shoulder boards or any other rank insignia. We weren't a military ship and I wanted to keep things simple.

Alex and I finished dressing in a few minutes and headed to the bridge. She was all business now, with her hair done up into a tight, efficient bun on the back of her head.

"Having Fleet personnel aboard could be awkward," Alex said as we made our way up the stairwell to the command deck.

"We'll burn that bridge when we get to it," I said. I knew what she meant. The ship was completely different from when we had first taken it from the pirates. Every surface gleamed and every system was properly repaired and operating at peak efficiency. We had made some minor superficial changes–a new color scheme, more comfortable bridge seating, and the like. But even without any Gilead military identification anywhere aboard, the ship practically screamed Fleet. They were bound to ask questions.

We arrived at the bridge quickly—the captain's quarters were located on A deck, near the main stairwell. As we entered I saw that Bobby was already at the helm, his hoverboard propped against the side of the console. Sometimes I wondered if he ever slept. He seemed to be constantly boarding through the corridors whenever he wasn't on duty. Yet there was no denying his talent as a pilot. He could be a little wild at the helm sometimes, but Bobby could make this ship do things I didn't think were even possible.

The only other person there was Chris, who had been the watch officer on duty. Since we had been at full stop for more than two days now there was no need for more than one person on the bridge to keep an eye on things. Chris stood up from the command chair as we entered.

"Quiet shift?" I asked as I sat down and checked the command board.

"Until we picked up that call," Chris said. He went to the weapons console and punched in the combination to unlock it. Normally the weapons station was not manned. We usually traveled with the defense systems off-line and the control board locked down. Since we carried quite a punch I didn't want any accidents. This time however I had a feeling that we might need to defend ourselves—and I always listen to my feelings. As Chris powered up the weapons systems, alert lights flashed on throughout the ship to let the crew know that our defensive status had changed.

While Chris brought our weapons on-line, Alex moved to the security station. From her post she could monitor all internal and external sensors.

"I'm not reading anyone in the area except for the fleet ship ahead," Alex said. "They're giving off a lot of radiation. Thermal signature is high and I'm reading a lot of ionization on their hull. It certainly looks like they were in a fight." She made a few adjustments as she studied her board. "But if they were attacked, where's the other ship?"

"That's what I'd like to know," I said. "Even at this range we should be able to see anything with enough teeth to hurt a Fleet ship. Could it be hiding behind something? They did say the attacker seemed to come out of nowhere."

"There's nothing around for a dozen light years," Alex reminded me. Our client had picked this location precisely because it was so isolated. We wouldn't normally be out here ourselves if we weren't waiting for him.

I started drumming absently on my chair arm with my fingers. The lack of a second ship was bothering me. I did a quick check of our fuel. We had a forty-seven percent reserve.

"Put up the stealth system," I said to Chris. I wanted to look the scene over before I committed our ship to anything and the stealth system would allow us to slip into the area undetected. The only down side to the system was that it required a hideous amount of energy to run. If we were to stay in stealth mode around the clock we could deplete our fuel in a matter of days. But we had enough reserve to take this short run without any problems.

Mark walked onto the bridge at that point and relieved Chris at the defense system console. A few moments later Patty Ruttle, the last of the first shift officers, appeared and hurried over to the comm board. Communications was another station that wasn't usually manned during a normal duty shift.

"Sorry, Captain," she said as she settled at her station.

"Its okay, Patty, we all just got here ourselves. By the way, how's Jeremy? I hope all this excitement didn't wake him up." Patty had the distinction of being mother to the first (and so far the only) child born aboard ship–fifteen month old Jeremy Carl Ruttle. Patty never said who the father was. It was her business and everyone respected her wishes. But little Jeremy never lacked for attention. He was like the ship's mascot. The entire crew doted on him.

"He was up anyway," Patty said. "I swear that boy doesn't stop for a minute. Momma said she'd watch him for me."

I chuckled. "That's good. I'm afraid I'm going to be keeping his mother busy for a little while. I need you to listen for any comm chatter in the area. As far as we know, there's only us and a single ship in distress ahead. I need to know if you pick up anything that might mean there's another ship out there."

"Is there a problem?" Patty asked.

"Somebody may have attacked that ship. If they're still around I want to know about it before they decide that we're worth a try, too."

"Yes, sir," she said, becoming very serious as she settled her headset in place.

Patty was a natural with the comm system. She had an ear that could pick out a signal in a storm of static. If someone were out there transmitting, she would hear it.

With all of the duty stations now manned, Chris moved to his post at the executive officer station. On his board he could monitor all bridge stations as well as the engines and environmental systems. His job was to keep an overview on all systems so I could concentrate on running the ship. As he settled into place I admired the smooth efficiency with which my people worked. We may not be Fleet, but I would put our crew up against any other in space.

It wasn't long before we had the Fleet ship in visual range. We were all struck silent by what we saw. The ship on our screen was horribly damaged. There was an ugly hull breach in the engineering section and numerous score marks along its battered hull. Someone had inflicted some pretty serious damage. But whoever had attacked them was gone. The comm channels remained clear and Alex couldn't detect anyone else in the area.

"I'm reading it as a patrol/reconnaissance class ship, Captain," Alex said, breaking the silence. "About half our length. She's spewing lethal levels of radiation from that hole in her hull. If we're going to approach we should do it from the other side."

Whatever had happened, this was a ship in serious trouble. "Deactivate the stealth system," I said to Mark. "Patty, see if you can raise them."

She opened the transmitter. "This is the _Prometheus_ to unidentified Gilead Fleet ship, respond please."

It took several long moments before we finally got a static filled reply, voice only. "This ... Captain Saha. Thanks for ans... our SOS. Our boards must be completely fried. We didn't even know ... there until you signaled."

"We can see that you've taken a lot of damage," I answered. "How can we help?"

"I'm afraid we've had it. Can ...ake my crew aboard your ship?"

"Certainly, Captain. Can you EVA? Your ship is tumbling end over end and has a slow rotation along the central axis. Matching with you isn't possible."

Even over the static filled comm I could hear the frustration in his voice. "I suppose we'll have to. ... got several injured crew who are ... need help getting suited up, but we'll manage."

"Excuse me, Captain," Bobby said. "I can mate us."

I looked up at the out of control ship on the main screen. Matching the tumbling I could see, but the only way to match that rotation along its axis would be to keep our ship moving in a spiral trajectory around the other ship while maintaining distance and speed precisely. Bobby was good, but I'd never heard of anyone even attempting anything like this before.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Positive. I'll just have to keep playing with the attitude control thrusters. We'll burn a lot of reaction fuel, but I can keep us mated long enough for them to get out."

I turned back to the comm. "Captain, stand by. We're going to try to mate with your main hatch."

"But from what ...scribed, that's impossible."

"You don't know my pilot. We won't be able to stay mated for long so I suggest that you have your crew standing by."

"Very well, Captain. And, thanks."

I turned back to Bobby. "Okay, you're on."

It was fascinating to watch Bobby at the helm. It was like the ship was an extension of him. Firing the thrusters he brought us around the crippled Fleet vessel until we were away from the rent in the hull that was spewing so much deadly radiation. He brought us right in to docking distance and quickly matched us to the other ship's velocity so that it seemed to be stationary relative to our position, but spinning. Once our velocities were matched he started us in a slow end over end tumble as well. When he was done it was the stars that seemed to be revolving as our two ships stood still. Now was the tricky part. Although our ships were now motionless relative to each other, there was still the rotation of the other ship along its long axis that had to be cancelled out.

On the main screen the Fleet ship slowly rotated, bringing its main hatch into view. As their hatch came into alignment with ours Bobby began the tricky job of sending us in a slow spiral around the other ship. Incredibly, after a few moments the other ship appeared to come to a dead stop as Bobby matched their motion. He double checked his instruments as he kept his hands on the controls. He would have to keep firing bursts from our thrusters every few seconds to keep us in this position relative to the other ship, something he could only do manually.

"Okay, that's got it," Bobby said, keeping his attention focused on his console. "Extend the docking sleeve."

As Chris extended the sleeve I stood up. "I'm going down to the gangway hatch. Tell Doc we've got some injured people coming aboard. And let me know if you detect any other ships in the area. We're a fat, sitting duck as long as our ships are mated."

Alex fell in beside me as I left the bridge. I noticed that she had armed herself with a needler. It was a standard shipboard weapon–effective against people but unlike a blaster it wouldn't penetrate the hull.

"Expecting trouble?" I asked.

"Always," she said as she checked her clip. "I just think it's prudent to have your security officer with you whenever a strange crew is coming aboard."

We hurried down two decks and strode quickly to the main airlock. Doc and the rescue team were already there, two of them in hazmat suits, along with a pair of security guards Alex had called for. Ricky, Alex's second in charge of security, nodded to us as we approached.

"Pressure's just coming up in the sleeve," Ricky said. He turned back to the airlock controls and we waited. A moment later the panel beeped to tell us that standard atmospheric pressure had been established. Ricky and the other guard took up positions on either side of the hatch as it opened. The rescue team jogged into the sleeve and hammered on the other ship's hatch. A moment later the hatch opened and the Fleet crew stumbled out along with a cloud of smoke. Several were being helped to walk by their crewmates. The captain was last, coughing as he half dragged a crewman with severe burns all down his left side. Altogether there were twenty three survivors, less than half the complement that should be aboard a ship of that size.

Doc immediately started tending to the survivors sprawling in the corridor. The worst cases he directed the rescue team to bring straight to the infirmary.

"Is that everyone?" I asked the captain. He was coughing so badly that he couldn't answer. I turned to the crewmen in hazmat suits and started to wave them onto the other ship to search when Captain Saha grabbed my arm.

"Don't bother," he rasped between coughs. "We already did a sweep. There's no one left ... alive."

"I understand. I'm sorry."

I had Ricky close the hatch. Bobby couldn't keep us in position forever. As soon as we were secured and had detached the sleeve from the other ship's hull I called the bridge and told him to move us away.

One of the rescue team was giving oxygen to the Fleet captain who was starting to breathe easier. He took a few last breaths then pushed the mask away and turned to me.

"Captain Arun Saha of the _GSS Pathfinder_ requesting permission to come aboard."

"We're not that formal around here, Captain," I said. "You and your men are welcome. I'm Cordass Pell, and this is my security officer, Alex Feign. Welcome aboard the _Prometheus_. It's going to be a little crowded but I think we can find places for you and your people."

"I'm grateful you were able to get us off. We couldn't have held out much longer. I'd also like to shake your helm officer's hand. Not many pilots could have done what he did."

Doc came over just then. "Excuse me, Captain, but I've got to get back to the infirmary. Most of the crew is okay except for some minor bruising and smoke inhalation, but there are a few with severe burns and one broken leg that I need to see to."

"Do what you can for them, Doc," I said as he turned away. I could tell by the look on Captain Saha's face that he was worried about his people. "He's an excellent doctor and we've got a fully equipped infirmary. Your crew is in good hands."

"Thank you again, Captain. I wonder if I could impose on you one more time. I need to report to my superiors."

"Of course, we'll take you to the bridge."

I told Ricky to find beds for the rest of the rescued crew then Alex and I led the way to the bridge. As we were turning away I noticed one of Saha's men eyeing Alex. I couldn't blame him, her uniform did fit well in all the right places.

"So, Captain, what was your ship doing way out here in the middle of nowhere?" I asked.

"Sorry, I can't talk about our mission," Saha answered. I had expected something like that. But as he spoke I noticed his hand pressing against his leg as if he were checking for something in his pocket.

" _Prometheus_ , eh?" Saha said, changing the subject. "Isn't he the fellow from Greek mythology who stole fire from the gods?"

"Exactly. He brought technology to men and in doing so he freed us."

Saha kept swiveling his head back and forth as we made our way through the ship.

"My compliments, Captain," Saha said. "You certainly run a well maintained and orderly ship. If I didn't know better I'd think I was on a Fleet vessel." I flicked Alex a look but she ignored me. "So, if you don't mind me asking, what are _you_ doing way out here?"

"We're a trade ship on our way make a delivery," I answered.

"Then you're with one of the combines."

"No. Actually, we're an independent ship."

"Ah, I see." The way he said it implied that he thought we were something else. Many smugglers, and worse, called themselves 'independent traders'.

When we arrived at the bridge Chris called me over. The Fleet ship was still leaking massive amounts of radiation. He'd had Mark put up the shields and they were blocking our exposure but he wanted to leave as soon as possible. I told him to back us away from the hazard area. When I turned back I found Captain Saha staring at the slowly receding image of his ship on the main screen.

"My god, look what they did to her," he said.

"I understand what it means to lose a ship, Captain," I said.

"She was a good ship. I wish I didn't have to leave her like that. I wasn't able get to the self destruct."

This time Alex did meet my eyes. Why did he seem so eager to destroy his ship?

"It is a navigation hazard," Mark agreed, drawing his own conclusions. "We can blow it for you if you want," he offered before I could stop him.

Saha looked at Mark, then to me. "You're _armed_?"

"We travel all over," I said. "Some places we go can be pretty rough." I made a mental note to talk to Mark later about keeping his mouth closed when we were around strange Fleet officers. "Captain Saha, this is Mark Sooth," I said, giving introductions, "our very helpful electronics tech and weapons officer."

"Well ... thank you," Captain Saha said. "If you can destroy her for me I would appreciate it. I'll rest easier knowing that she's not, um, a hazard to navigation as your officer pointed out. She's a military ship so her hull plating is pretty thick. Your best chance for a beam attack would be to try for that hole in the engineering section."

Saha stepped over to the weapons console as Mark prepared to fire on the derelict. Now his eyebrows knit in a frown.

"You're unusually well armed for a trading ship," Saha said looking over the console. "You even have combat shields."

"Like I said, we go to some pretty rough places," I said with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant.

All ships carried magnetic screens to guard against the occasional sheets of ionized radiation that stars gave off from time to time. Inhabited planets were protected from these random ion storms by the combination of their atmosphere and the natural magnetic field produced by the planet's core. But in an unprotected ship the crew would receive a fatal exposure in minutes without the protective bubble of a magnetic screen. Combat shields were an entirely different level of protection. Although they could do nothing against a missile or torpedo attack, they could deflect laser energy, at least for a time, giving the crew a chance to retaliate or withdraw. But combat shields were unusual on non military ships.

Then I saw his eyes lock onto the lower right section of the console. I had been hoping that he wouldn't recognize what those controls were for. Stealth generators weren't a normal part of even military defense systems.

When he looked up from the console Saha was wearing a stony expression. "Am I to assume that we are your prisoners... _Captain_?"

This wasn't going to be easy. "Of course not! Captain Saha, you're our guests. We're nothing more than what I already told you we were, a simple trade ship. If—"

Just then I felt something tugging at my pant leg. Little Jeremy had found his way to the bridge again. I bent down and picked up the precocious toddler. Ever since he was very young, Jeremy liked being on the bridge. He was fascinated by all of the blinking lights and displays. Now that he was mobile he had started showing up from time to time under his own power. I plopped him absently on my hip.

"Look, Captain," I said, "we put our own ship at risk to help you. I don't know what else we can do to reassure you, but I promise you we have no ulterior motives."

Jeremy started gnawing at one of the officer tabs on my collar. He was teething these days.

"Captain," I continued, "we brought you to the bridge so that you could contact your people. You can still do so, without any interference from us."

Saha didn't look quite convinced.

"There you are!" Momma Mary's voice called out behind me. She had just come onto the bridge carrying a tray loaded with steaming mugs of coffee and some sliced cake. She set the tray down and reached to take Jeremy.

"Sorry, Captain. He got away from me when I was on my way here. You're turning into a regular little escape artist," she scolded the toddler. Jeremy gurgled happily as she pulled his binky from an apron pocket and popped it in his mouth. Momma was the only member of the crew who didn't wear a regular uniform. Since she spent most of her time in the galley she figured she was basically on duty twenty-four hours a day and she was damned well going to be comfortable. She liked to say that her apron was her uniform.

"Momma, that wouldn't happen to be your famous banana bread, would it?" I asked.

"It sure is, honey. Can I get a piece for you and your friend?"

Balancing Jeremy on one ample hip, Mary grabbed two plates with her free hand. I accepted one and took a big bite as she held the other one out to Captain Saha.

Saha stood there for a moment, looking from me to Mary and back. I couldn't imagine what he was thinking. There I was with a drool stain spreading down my collar while next to me was Mary with a baby on her hip, wearing an outrageous flowered apron and holding out a plate of cake. After a moment a grin split his features and he started laughing. I felt myself relax. Mary looked confused.

When he caught his breath he took the plate from Mary and thanked her.

"I can see that I've been extremely rude to you and your crew, Captain," he said. "I hope you will accept my apology."

"Not at all, Captain," I said, grinning myself. "I can understand what this must have looked like."

"Uh, excuse me, Captain," Mark said. "What would you like me to do about that ship?" On his console the fire ready indicator was flashing.

I looked at Saha. "It's your ship, Captain."

Saha turned to give his ship one final look. We had pulled back from the stricken vessel and even on high magnification it was a small image on the screen. "I can't leave her like that. If you would, please."

I nodded. "You have permission to fire."

Without air molecules to refract the beam, the path of the laser was invisible, but a spot on the ship's hull near the engineering section instantly glowed white under the laser's power, showing that the beam had gone true. With no shields to absorb and deflect the beam the laser quickly cut a line through the hull of the tumbling ship. Moments later the beam struck something volatile in the engine room and the ship went up. We watched as a glittering ball of fire expanded where the Fleet ship had been seconds before.

"Should I lock down the weapons console, Captain?" Mark asked.

"Not yet," I said. "We still don't know what happened to the ship that attacked the _Pathfinder_. Captain Saha, did you happen to get a heading on the ship after you drove it off?"

"No, we didn't. In fact we had a lot of trouble tracking it at all, which is one of the reasons why I thought ..."

"I understand."

"Captain!" Patty called out. "I'm picking up a faint signal. It's like a focused beam transmission pointed away from us so I'm only catching a little signal spillage." She pressed the cups of her headset tighter to her ears. The bulky headset looked like something out of a history text. But the large ear coverings were not for reproducing sounds as much as they were needed to block out other noises. She frowned, listening intently as she delicately adjusted her controls.

"I ... it's gone." She slipped the phones off her head.

"Could you get a bearing on the source?" I asked. She rattled off a series of coordinates.

I turned to Alex who shook her head.

"I'm not picking up any ships along that bearing," she said, refocusing her scanners. "There is a pulsar in that general direction. Could that be what you were hearing?"

"No," Patty said. "It was definitely some kind of signal."

This whole situation was odd.

"Well, Captain," I said to our guest, "we brought you here to use the comm. Patty, please set Captain Saha up to make his call. We'll give you some privacy."

I pulled Alex and Chris aside.

"Thoughts?"

"You can't do that kind of damage to a Fleet ship, even a reconnaissance class ship, unless you've got some pretty heavy firepower," Alex said.

"But what happened to the other ship?" Chris said. "It should still be in range of our sensors."

"What if the ship took off directly on a bearing toward that pulsar?" I asked Alex. "Could the pulsar's EM bursts hide it from us?"

"Maybe, but they'd have to be pretty far away."

"And who would want to take on a Gilead Fleet ship, anyway?" Chris said. "Even way out here in the middle of nowhere, attacking a Fleet ship just isn't smart."

"No, it's not smart," I agreed. "In fact it's kind of reckless. Sound like anyone we know?"

"Heller," Alex said at once.

"We were supposed to meet him out here!" Chris said.

"Exactly," I said. "We've been cooling our heels here for more than two days waiting for him to show up. Then a Fleet ship is attacked for no apparent reason right in the same area. And I don't believe in coincidences."

"But do you really think he could do that kind of damage to a Fleet ship?" Chris asked.

"Maybe not with the ship he used to have, but the last time we spoke he was bragging to me about getting a new ship soon. I didn't pay him any mind because he's always making some wild claim or other, not to mention that I doubted he would actually be able to come up with the price for another ship."

"Assuming that he actually intended to pay for it," Alex said.

"Do you really think he'd do something like this?" Chris asked. "He's never tried anything with us."

"That's because he knew his ship was no match for ours," I said.

We had been doing business with Captain Heller off and on for more than a year. He claimed to be an independent trader, like us, and would sometimes order provisions through us since our ship pretty much followed standard trade routes. But there was something about him that I never completely trusted. He struck me as the type of person who was friendly only as long as he was getting something he wanted from the relationship, but who would turn on you in a second if the opportunity presented itself.

"Speaking of Captain Heller," Chris said, "what are we going to do about his shipment? We've got a lot of money tied up in that stuff in our hold that he never showed up for."

Our last contact with Heller had been a request for more than just supplies. This time he was looking for a list of expensive trade items. He claimed that he was opening a new market somewhere and needed us to pick up a portion of his trade goods because he was going to be busy elsewhere. Most of what he wanted we could find along our planned route so I had agreed. He was supposed to rendezvous with us out here in the interstellar void past the Delphinus cluster two days ago but he had never showed.

"We've given Captain Heller as much time as we're going to," I said. "We need supplies ourselves. I'll give him back his deposit if we ever run into him again, but I think we can sell off that cargo now."

"That's not going to be all that easy," Chris said. "Some of the things he asked us to get for him are banned in a lot of systems."

"Then we'll just have to take them someplace where they're not banned," I said. "Toula's not too far from here. We should be able to get rid of just about everything there."

Toula was renown for its very lax regulations. Virtually nothing was illegal there, as long as the governing council got its cut. The only things banned were actions that interfered with the council's ability to collect its percentage of any business activities. Not surprisingly it was also a popular port with pirates and smugglers.

Captain Saha finished his call just then. I sent Chris to quietly give our new destination to Bobby at the helm.

"My superiors wanted me to extend their thanks for your assistance," Saha said as he joined us.

"Not at all, Captain. Everyone knows what an SOS in deep space means."

"I was wondering, Captain, when you thought you might be able to get me and my crew to port?"

"That depends on where you want to go."

"There is a Fleet outpost not too far from here in the Onara system."

I frowned. "Onara is three weeks away at our best speed, and in the opposite direction from where we're headed." I knew the base he was talking about. Actually, we could reach it in just under four days at flank, but I didn't want him to know everything about us. Besides, the last place I wanted to go was to a Gilead military outpost.

"How about this, Captain. We have a large shipment to deliver and we're running low on fuel and supplies. I'm going to bring us to a port a few days from here where we can sell off our cargo and pick up what we need. After that we can bring you and your crew to Bricese where you can catch a civilian transport. You should be on your way in about twelve days, give or take."

Saha looked like he wanted to object, but he really had no choice. "That will be acceptable, Captain Pell."

We shook hands and I asked Alex to show him to his quarters. As they turned to leave, Saha returned his empty plate to Momma.

"Thank you, ma'am. That was truly delicious."

Mary's cheeks dimpled. "You're quite welcome, young man. You come and see Momma in the galley any time you're hungry and I'll whip you up something good."

"Nice guy," Mark commented after he was gone. "Just a little stiff."

"It's that Fleet training," Bobby said as he grabbed a slice of cake off of Mary's tray and crammed it into his mouth.

"I thought he was very polite," Mary said. "Better manners than some people around here."

"You're just saying that because he liked your banana cake," Bobby said around a mouthful of cake as he reached for still another piece.

"I see you're on your third slice," Mary said.

"Hey, I'm a growing boy!"

I tuned out their banter as I reviewed everything that had just happened. So far I had many more questions than answers. And although it seemed that none of this had anything to do with us I had a gut feeling that it was important. For the next twelve days or so Captain Saha and his crew would be our guests. I would see what I could learn from them. In the mean time, I had my own ship to think about.

I turned to Chris and had him call the third shift crew to the bridge. Now that we were under way we would go back on regular duty rotations, but with full shift crews. I wanted every station manned, especially the defense systems. Until I knew more about what was going on I wanted us to be ready for anything. There was more going on here than was apparent. And for some reason I had a feeling that the ship that had attacked the _Pathfinder_ and disappeared so mysteriously was the key to everything.
Chapter Ten

The sale of our cargo on Toula went even better than I had hoped. We were able to line up buyers for everything Heller had wanted us to get for him along with most of our own stock as well. We were even able to find the supplies we needed, all except for the radioactives for the main drive. The prices here were outrageous. After talking to Ian I decided to wait until we got to Bricese where prices were more reasonable. Besides, some of the more exotic items that we could only get at a place like Toula would easily cover the cost of fuel at another port and still leave us with a healthy profit.

Captain Saha had not been happy when he learned what our destination was, but having no say in the matter there was little he could do about it except complain. Which he did. Several times. Since we'd made port however most of his concerns seemed to have been put to rest. It was almost as if he had expected us to be fired on by some blood thirsty pirate as soon as we landed. But like any port, all weapon systems were required to be deactivated and locked down before a ship entered orbit. This was confirmed by the inspection team which boarded us as soon as we touched down–again just like any other port. The only difference was that Toula's inspection team didn't care about passports, cargo manifests or shipping documents. As long as we conducted our business openly on the comm-net the council would get its percentage and there wouldn't be any trouble.

Two and a half hours later, Captain Saha and I were standing in the shade of the _Prometheus_ as the loading crew used power-lifers to move shipping containers on and off the ship. I had asked him and his crew to change into our ship's uniform while we were here so they wouldn't draw attention. If it were known that we had a Fleet crew aboard our ship there would be unnecessary tension between us and the locals. I just wanted to complete our business and be on our way without any hassles.

Behind us, Lucky was standing in the middle of a flurry of activity at the foot of the boarding ramp directing the cargo handlers. With flatpad in hand he was sorting containers from the ship into discrete stacks for the other crews who were coming to collect them while also directing incoming cargo to the appropriate holds. Similar activity was taking place in many of the nearby berths as well and I spent a moment taking in the scene around us.

The spaceport at Toula was little more than a giant neocrete landing field. On the edge of the field nearest the city, the squat control tower which oversaw all takeoffs and landings stood amid a small cluster of support buildings. The remainder of the field was taken up by row after row of landing berths. Individual berths were simply open areas that were fenced off from each other to help control egress into each ship. At the gate to each berth was a comm-net board which allowed crews to post the inventory they had for sale and to search for any cargo they might be interested in. People and loaders were everywhere, moving along the wide aisles between the berths as they went about their business. It was a noisy, active place, full of energy. Toula always reminded me of a gigantic flea market.

Most of the ships around us were busy with cargos of their own, although a few were buttoned up and quiet. As I watched the activity around us I couldn't help noticing how disorganized some of the other ships seemed compared to the way Lucky ran things. We were fortunate to have him. Not only was he extremely organized, but he had a nose for locating hard to find items and for negotiating the best prices. We wouldn't have been nearly as profitable as we were if we didn't have him as our supply officer.

"I must say, Captain," Saha commented, drawing me out of my thoughts, "I'm surprised at how orderly things are here. I was expecting something quite different."

"Oh? In what way?"

"Well, Toula is a well known pirate stronghold after all. I suppose I pictured it being a bit less ... organized. You know, rougher around the edges."

"Actually, Toula isn't a 'pirate stronghold' at all," I said. "It's an open port and anyone can trade here. I'm sure some pirates conduct business here, but that's only because no one checks to see what anyone is selling. As long as you don't cause trouble and pay all your port fees, nobody really cares what you do. Of course it would be bad for business if people were stealing from each other and fighting all the time. One thing they do have here is a strong police force. Penalties are steep and crewmen are held accountable for whatever they do in town. But there's no jail. If you can't pay whatever penalties are assessed against you, and your captain won't cover it, you have to stay and work it off."

"But that's indentured servitude," Saha objected. "That's barbaric!"

I shrugged. "If you don't want to end up working your ass off here for the next few years you'll behave yourself. It might seem harsh but their system works. This is one of the most peaceful ports you'll find anywhere."

The Fleet captain considered this for a few moments. "How exactly is all of this managed? Who's in charge?"

"Well, there's no government in the traditional sense. This is the only city on the entire planet. Everything's run by a sort of a business coalition, known as the council. The council is made up of the owners of the most prominent local businesses: restaurants, casinos, brothels, hotels, banks, etcetera—everyone who has a vested interest in keeping the port operating. They collect a small percentage of all the trade at the port to cover their administrative costs. Since they're not trying to turn a big profit with the spaceport they're able to keep costs down. It's actually pretty clever on their part because after most ships finish their business their crews take shore leave in town. That's where they make their real money. There's virtually every kind of diversion you can imagine here. In fact, quite a number of ships put in here for the recreation alone. In many ways, Toula is basically just a resort town."

"It's not exactly like any resort town I ever heard of. Prostitution, gambling ... Wait ... Did you say they have a bank... _here_?"

"Absolutely. In fact several major banks have branches here. We have an account with Creighton & Ward ourselves." Creighton & Ward was arguably the largest financial services corporation in existence. With branches in every inhabited system and a well deserved reputation for discretion, they were ideal for us. "There's also a local bank, the Toula Exchange, but only ships without an account in another bank use them. They charge a high fee because their customers are transient, but you can't do anything on Toula without an account somewhere. The universe runs on financing, Captain, and a strong bank is how you protect your assets."

Saha shook his head. "It's hard to believe that all of this is managed by pirates."

"You've got to stop thinking of this as some kind of pirate base." Was he trying to get on my nerves? "Sure, there could be a number of pirate ships here right now, but mostly it's a lot of independents like us. Some of the larger trade combines also have regular runs here, although they don't advertise it." I pointed out a ship berthed nearby with a familiar salmon and blue emblem prominently displayed on its hull. "There's a ship from the Galapagos combine. They run food supplies here, mostly delicacies for the high end restaurants."

"I thought it was illegal for Gilead companies to do business on Toula," Saha said, staring at the Galapagos ship.

"It's illegal for ships _registered_ in Gilead to conduct business here. That's the main reason why most of the transport lines from your kingdom register their fleets in another nation--to get around Gilead's strict regulations. It has the most restrictive codes of any government. Their safety regulations alone make it economically unfeasible for most commercial lines to port out of Gilead. It would cost them a fortune to bring their ships into compliance."

"Maybe, but those are safety regulations you're talking about."

I laughed. "Captain, do you seriously think crews would ship out on a vessel that was truly unsafe? Nothing personal, Captain, but your kingdom has a history of catering to the whining majority. Your government goes out of its way to protect its citizens from everything under the sun, including themselves. If one ship has a problem, which unfortunately cost lives, instead of simply holding that ship or that company accountable for their own negligence, there's an immediate push for new legislation to make sure that such an accident can never happen again. And the safeguards they want to put in place are usually ridiculous examples of overkill. So in the end, all Gilead ended up doing was driving transport companies out of their systems.

"Take cruise lines, for instance. Did you know that not one single cruise line is registered in Gilead? Look it up sometime. Every one of them is ported out of somewhere else where the regulations are more relaxed, even when the parent corporation itself is based in Gilead. Yet when was the last time you heard of a major disaster aboard a cruise ship?"

"You make some interesting points, Captain," Saha admitted, "but I'm not sold. The situation here seems too delicately balanced."

"No more so than anywhere else. Economics is a game of constant adjustments between supply and demand. When you then add unnecessary government regulations on top of that, things can get pretty complicated. All of that's been done away with here. In fact, Toula is one of the most profitable places anywhere to do business, assuming you can find someone interested in your cargo. Prices are set between buyer and seller. If you don't like their price you don't do business with that person. The port only collects a flat percentage of your gross sales and that's it. There are no other taxes, no import duties, no merchant fees--none of that."

"And you can trade _anything_ here?"

"Sure. Our ship doesn't transport weapons or drugs, but that's our choice."

Lucky came over to me just then. The puckered smile he was wearing told me that he had good news to report.

"Excuse me, Captain, but I think I managed to find that item you wanted me to keep an eye out for."

I excused myself from Captain Saha and took Lucky aside. I had been looking for a very particular device for more than a year now and was anxious to get my hands on one.

"Their captain wants too much for it, if you ask me," Lucky said in a low voice. "But he won't budge on his price."

I looked at Lucky's pad. The price really was high.

"Have we ever done business with this captain before?" I asked. His name didn't look familiar to me, but I didn't handle every transaction personally either.

"We've dealt with him a few times in the past, small stuff mostly."

"Would you say he's honest?"

Lucky shrugged. "Honest enough, but a little greedy. His prices generally run higher than I think they should, but that's usually because he's selling unique stock. No competition."

"I'll trust your nose on this," I said. "Take Mark with you and have him look the unit over. If it's in good shape, give him what he's asking for it."

"Should I pay it out of ship's funds? Technically, it is medical equipment."

"No. We really don't have a need for something like this. I'm the one who wants it so I'll pay for it out of my account."

"That's an awful lot of money," Lucky said. "You know, Cordass, nobody would object to this coming out of ship's funds. We're pretty fat right now and it will have to be set up in the infirmary after all."

"It's okay. I'm the one who wants it so I'll pay for it."

Lucky shook his head. "Sometimes I think you're too damned honest."

I started to turn away when I noticed Lucky suddenly frown at his pad.

"Problem?"

"Not really," he said, swiping his finger across the screen to scroll through the list he had displayed. "Just a little discrepancy with inventory. The tally says we have more containers aboard than we should. Somebody probably just miscounted. If anyone were trying to rip us off they'd short us a container, not give us an extra one. I'll sort it out later."

He sketched a two fingered salute in my direction and sauntered off to finish supervising the last of the loading. The activity around the ship was beginning to quiet down. Most of the cargo we were taking aboard had already been loaded and the last stacks of outgoing containers had just been trucked away. I reached for the phone earpiece hooked to my belt and called the bridge. Now that our business was done I told Chris to pass the word along that anyone who wanted to could take twenty-four hours liberty. We still needed to top off the reaction fuel and air tanks, and Ian wanted to perform some routine maintenance now that the engines were powered down. We had time for a day of R&R.

Chris's voice could be heard on the ship wide PA through the open airlock as I rejoined Captain Saha.

"Excuse me, Captain Pell, but I thought I just heard your executive officer announce shore leave for your crew. I was under the impression that we would be leaving as soon as your business was complete."

"I know you're anxious to be on your way, Captain, but our engineer needs to do some maintenance that he can't do while the engines are powered up. We'll be ready to lift in another day." I understood that he wanted to get his crew back and make his report as soon as possible but his constant questions were beginning to annoy me. "Why don't you and your people take liberty while we're here. After what they've been through they probably need to unwind." And it will keep you out of my hair for a while.

"That's very kind of you, Captain, but I think it's best if my crew and I remain aboard."

"Suit yourself, but Toula is a unique experience."

Saha almost smiled. "No doubt, but I don't think my superiors would approve."

We stood talking quietly for several minutes while the loading crew finished its work. Soon groups of crewmen started wandering off the ship and heading toward town. Each group was laughing and talking animatedly among themselves. We had just completed a long run and everyone was looking forward to some time off. Bobby Dare and Patty Ruttle were in one of the first groups off the ship. They were with a group of about a dozen or so, each of whom was carrying a snow board. The mountains just north of the city boasted some of the best skiing in this sector. I didn't see Jeremy with them but with a ship full of "aunts" and "uncles" there was always someone willing to watch him.

"Captain!" Eddie Porter was waving at me as he came down the ramp. "A bunch of us are going to the Gypsy! Why don't you come along? I still want a chance to even the score from the last time we played pocket-ball."

"Sorry, Ed, not this time. I've got some things I need to finish up here before we lift."

"Aw, come on, Captain! You work too hard," Eddie said, stopping at the foot of the ramp. "Everybody needs to kick back from time to time. I'll tell you what, first round's on me. That's not an offer I make every day." He put on his best used hovercar salesman smile.

I laughed. Eddie was the ship's clown. "Maybe later, Eddie. Remember, we're lifting tomorrow at 1730 local. Don't make me send someone to bring you back like last time."

Eddie held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Aw, Captain, I swore off that stuff. Honest."

"Come on, Eddie!" one of his friends called from the cab idling just outside our bay.

With a wave he turned and jogged to the waiting taxi.

"Who's the Gypsy?" Captain Saha asked as their car pulled away.

"The Dancing Gypsy. It's a bar. Eddie likes to get, well, very relaxed when he's off duty. The last time we were here he took something called Green Dreamer. He was so zonked out of his skull my security officer had to send a couple of her people to find him and carry him back to the ship."

"You allow your crew to use drugs?" Saha asked. I could hear the disapproval in his voice.

"He was off duty," I answered, feeling myself becoming defensive.

Saha was staring at me in disbelief. "But drugs are..."

"What, _illegal_?" I snapped. I reigned in my temper. "Look, Captain, my crew has to report to duty on time and sober. What they do off duty is their own business. The way I see it, anyone over twenty-one is responsible for himself. It's not my job to oversee the morals of my crew. That's between them and their conscience."

"But, Captain Pell, you have to admit that drugs are dangerous."

"Of course they are. But so is a steak knife, if it's misused. Look, legislative history is still a required course at the academy, right? Remember when tobacco was legal back on Old Earth? Tobacco, one of the most addictive substances known to man, was a multi billion credit industry for centuries. Even after medical science had conclusively linked it to cancer and a list of other diseases, tobacco remained legal because people _wanted_ to smoke. In fact, the United States owed its early economic prosperity in large part to the tobacco trade."

"That's true, but _our_ society has advanced beyond theirs. That's why tobacco and other dangerous substances are banned today."

"Nonsense! We haven't advanced, we've gone backward. Let's take Gilead as an example. Your law enforcement agencies waste more than seventy percent of their resources trying to stop people from doing things they want to do. That includes all 'vice crimes', gambling and prostitution as well as drugs. Yet you're not making a dent in any of those. The drug industry alone generates more revenue annually than the top fifty most profitable international corporations _combined_. If you taxed and regulated them instead of trying to stamp them out you could generate enough revenue to not only cut your citizens' tax burden in half but you would also free up your law enforcement agencies to focus on doing their main job of protecting the public."

"I have to say I'm surprised by your attitude, Captain Pell, especially since you tell me that you won't trade drugs or weapons."

"I don't like the people you have do business with if you move drugs. Since drugs are illegal in just about every system, the people who handle them are by definition criminals. These are people who've decided for themselves to step over society's boundary line. Once they've made that decision they have only their own conscience to dictate how far they're willing to go–and a man without boundaries is dangerous. It's like when the United States tried prohibition in the early twentieth century. People drank anyway, only now the alcohol was supplied by criminals. And thanks to prohibition, the first large scale criminal organizations were able to take root and grow. Centuries later organized crime is still with us.

"As far as weapons are concerned, aside from dealing with the same sort of unsavory characters, I won't move them because they're indiscriminate. Weapon smugglers don't care who their weapons go to, but I do. I won't put a gun in the hands of someone who could turn it on an innocent citizen somewhere."

"Ah, but aren't drugs indiscriminate, too? You can't control who takes them. What about all of the young people who are tricked into trying street drugs every year and end up getting addicted? Isn't that worth fighting against?"

"To begin with, kids aren't 'tricked' into taking drugs by some shadowy figure in a dark alley. It's usually a friend who gives it to them the first time. But more importantly, aren't kids supposed to have parents? Society lets parents slide on too many things these days. If you have a child, _you_ should know where your child is, who he's with and what he's doing. 'I didn't know' shouldn't be an excuse."

"You sound like one of those Libertarians who think nothing should be illegal," Saha said. "Personally, I could never see putting something as dangerous as drugs within easy reach of children."

"As a matter of fact, Captain, I do _not_ think children should be allowed to use drugs. I don't think adults should use drugs either. But I also don't think that making them illegal is the answer. All that did was to drive them underground where criminals now control them at vastly inflated prices. Besides, it's been proven that it's much easier for kids to get drugs than it is for them to get alcohol _because_ they're illegal. Since alcohol is licensed and regulated, merchants don't sell to minors because they'll lose their liquor license. But drug dealers don't have any such worries. They're driven by one thing–the bottom line."

"That's true," Saha said, seizing an opening. "Drugs generate huge profits. You pointed that out yourself. That in itself is a drain on the resources of communities. Drugs are like a disease infecting our cities, turning decent neighborhoods into slums."

"Oh come on, Captain. You can't honestly believe that kids and the poor provide the hundreds of billions of Solars the drug trade annually generates! That money comes from middle and upper class people looking to party on the weekends."

Saha folded his arms and took a defiant stance. He was as stubborn as I was. The ironic thing was that essentially I agreed with him. No matter how you looked at it drugs were bad news. We just disagreed on the best way to address the problem.

"Alright, Captain," Saha said once he had marshaled this thoughts, "let's say for the sake of argument that in an ideal society we can keep drugs away from children. That still leaves us with the fact that drugs are addictive. If they were turned loose in society we'd have an epidemic. Addiction rates would skyrocket overnight. Are you saying that you want us to become a society of junkies?"

His words had touched a sensitive spot. All the anger that had been building up in my chest melted away. I turned to look across the nearby skyline, noticing how small it seemed. Toula wasn't quite large enough to be considered a major city, although it did cover almost a dozen square kilometers. It was more like a town, a fantasy town, all glitz and glitter, flashing lights and bright colors. It was an adult playground that never slept. A place where you could get anything you wanted, providing you could pay for it. But some things you paid for with more than money.

"Over the years that we've been together as a crew," I began, "our ship's had a number of crew members who've gotten themselves in trouble with drugs."

"You mean addicted," Saha said.

"Yes. Addicted. A couple of them were even hooked after a single experience. Their condition became obvious soon enough, even though most of them tried to hide it. The signs weren't hard to read. Fortunately, we have an excellent doctor. With Doc's help most of them were able to kick their habits."

"Just like that?"

"No, it took time and there were relapses, of course. But we have a very close knit crew and support is always there for anyone who needs it. In time everyone who discovered that they had a weakness for drugs was finally able to find the strength to stay away from them. Almost everyone."

Everyone except for Billy Smalls. Even now, thinking about him was like probing an old wound which had never completely healed.

"Billy just couldn't stop using. He was probably detoxed more than a dozen times and each time he went right back to it again. He couldn't help himself. He didn't want to stop. During off hours he was actually quite personable and everyone genuinely liked him. But then he started showing up for his duty shift high. And that I couldn't let go. At first he would simply draw a reprimand and lose his pay for that shift. Instead of tapering off it got worse. Eventually things got so bad that he had to be taken off the duty rotation completely. We tried everything, but Billy just wouldn't leave them alone. I was finally forced into one of the most difficult decisions I've ever had to make as captain. I gave him a choice. Either he stayed off the drugs or I'd have to put him ashore. He chose to leave the ship."

I paused to watch the flashing lights of the nearby town. Those lights and glitter could mesmerize, promising a fantasy world of never ending excitement. But it was all just smoke and mirrors, mere illusion. Toula was a place of appearance but no substance.

"What happened to him?" Saha asked.

"He's here. Somewhere," I said, gesturing toward the skyline.

"Here? You mean he's just ... out there on the streets somewhere?"

"You don't understand Toula. You can't live on the streets. They won't allow it. That's not the ... the image they want to portray. Let's say you enjoy yourself a little too much and wind up passed out in a gutter somewhere. All the police will do is take you back to wherever you're staying, and charge you a stiff fee for their services. But anyone without a hotel room or ship to go back to is escorted right out of town. There's supposed to be a few scattered pockets of homeless camping out beyond the town limits somewhere. Drug addicts and the mentally unstable. But the natural environment of the planet is harsh. Most don't last very long."

"You mean to tell me that you exiled one of your own crew here knowing that–"

"I didn't. Billy asked to be put ashore here. And I agreed with him. The last we heard he had a job as a kind of a handyman for one of the smaller hotels. He always was good with his hands. He makes enough to support his habit and the hotel lets him have a cot in a back room."

Even though I was gazing off into the distance I could feel Captain Saha's eyes boring into the back of my head.

"And this is the kind of life you want for your crewman?" he said, accusingly.

His words no longer upset me. I understood Captain Saha. He was a good man who had strong moral convictions. I admired that. Like so many others however he believed that his own personal moral standards should apply to everyone else as well.

"Do you have any children, Captain?" I asked.

"I'm not married. What has that got to do—"

"There's an expression people use that sums up the problem with modern society–'raising children'. We're not actually raising children. We're supposed to be raising adults. The idea is that we're supposed to be training our children to be responsible and independent so that they can function in adult society. Instead, our society is bending over backwards to try and sanitize the world so that nothing bad can ever happen. But we're just fooling ourselves.

"The universe is a vast and wondrous place. Life can be, and should be, a great adventure. But the universe isn't safe, and no amount of legislation is going to make it safe. We need to grow up and stop trying to make it into something it's not."

I turned and met the fleet captain's eyes. "No, this isn't the kind of life I want for Billy, or anyone else for that matter. Quite honestly, I worry about him. I think about him every time we come here. I know he's going to die young and I also know there's not a damned thing I can do about it. But he is taking responsibility for his life, such as it is. He knew what he was doing when he asked to come here. On any other world he'd be a homeless junkie living in a box, getting his meals from a soup kitchen and begging for change for his next fix or maybe stealing to support his habit. Here he has access to all the cheap drugs he wants, but in an environment where he has to be responsible for himself. Toula has no welfare program or homeless shelters. No government agency is going to manage your life for you and no soup kitchen is going to feed you if you aren't willing to work for the money to feed yourself. Here everyone has to have something to offer, some skill or service, if they're going to survive. Billy made his decision a long time ago, and out of friendship, out of love for him, I have to respect that decision."

For several long moments the Fleet captain was at a loss for words.

"Well, it's been an ... interesting discussion, Captain Pell. You've given me quite a lot to think about."

I turned away and started toward the boarding ramp. I didn't really give a damn what he thought. I'd had enough conversation.

"I still think you and your crew should take at least a few hours liberty," I called over my shoulder. "We're going to be shut up aboard ship for another week after we lift tomorrow."

"Thank you, but we'll be fine. By the way, you're quite certain that your ship will be leaving on schedule tomorrow afternoon. I really do need to get back as soon as possible."

I paused with one foot on the ramp and turned back. The man had a one track mind.

"Believe it or not, Captain, I am taking your situation very seriously. I have great respect for the Fleet and the work you do. But I also have my own ship to think about. In fact, before we rescued you and your men I had promised my crew two weeks liberty on our next stop. They've earned it. Yet because of your situation they're making due with only twenty-four hours. And I haven't had one complaint ... from them. I promise we will get you and your men on your way as soon as reasonably possible."

He opened his mouth to speak but I turned on my heel I made my way up into the ship.
Chapter Eleven

"Toula control, this is the _Prometheus_ requesting launch clearance."

I glanced around the bridge as Patty contacted the control tower. Everyone was focused and in good spirits after their brief holiday.

I looked at Chris. "Status?"

My first officer glanced across his board. "All moorings and external umbilicals are cleared. Ship operating on internal power. All external hatches secure. Hull integrity one hundred percent. Life support on-line. Artificial gravity engaged. Drive systems active and locked in stand-by mode. Fuel reserve at thirty-seven percent. Onboard control systems on-line." He closed a series of circuits and looked up at me. "The ship is space worthy, Captain."

"Thank you, Exec."

" _Prometheus_ from Toula control." The flight controller's voice sounded from the bridge speakers. "We have confirmation that your account is paid in full. You are authorized for departure. Your ascent vector has been cleared of all traffic. Safe journey."

"Thank you, control. _Prometheus_ out." Patty closed the frequency.

"She's all yours," I said to Bobby who was watching me over his shoulder. At my nod he grinned and swiveled around to his controls.

I could feel a faint vibration through the soles of my boots as he fired the belly thrusters. The ship's artificial gravity kept us from feeling any motion but on the screen the spaceport began to drop away beneath us. When we reached a safe altitude Bobby cut in the main thrusters, starting us forward and arcing us up away from the planet. We gradually picked up speed as the ground quickly fell away. A short time later we entered a cloud bank and the view was swallowed up by whiteness.

The bridge was quiet except for the electronic humming of the different control systems as everyone went about their various jobs. I checked our progress on my command board. The ship was flying true and steady. We would reach orbit in a few minutes. I glanced up at the main screen as we broke through the cloud layer. A sea of puffed cotton spread out before us reflecting the golden glow of the afternoon sun.

"Do we have that course for Bricese plotted, Bobby?" I asked. This was mainly for the benefit of Captain Saha who was seated in the conference alcove in the rear of the bridge.

"Yes, sir. Course plotted and ready to execute."

"Thank you. As soon as we're clear of the planet's gravity well–"

"Captain!" Lucky's voice shouted from the speaker on my board.

"What is it, Lucky?"

"I need you to come down to starboard cargo bay two now!" There was something in his voice that made me not ask any questions.

"On my way."

I was out of my seat and heading for the aft bridge exit immediately. Without waiting for orders Chris moved over to the command seat as Alex fell into step beside me. We hurried down the three decks as quickly as possible. When we turned into the C deck starboard corridor we saw Lucky standing by the open cargo bay. He stood frozen in place staring into the open doorway. His eyes were wide and his complexion was pale beneath a sheen of sweat. I had never seen him like this before. He seemed terrified.

"Lucky?"

"Cordass!" He jumped like he'd just been shocked and started speaking in a rush, almost tripping over his own words. "Do you remember that extra shipping container I told you about? The one I thought was just a miscount? I couldn't stop thinking about it so I went over my records again, but everything checked out. You know how careful I am with the manifest. There shouldn't be an extra container. So I decided to do a visual check. I started with the port side bays first. Jonesy was in charge over there–you know how he can be sometimes. But there was nothing wrong there. Then I thought–"

"Lucky! Slow down. What are you trying to tell me?"

"Slow down. Right." He took a deep, trembling breath. "I found that extra container," he said, nodding toward the hold.

One container had been pulled out into the open space in the center of the compartment. It was roughly the size of a deep footlocker and looked no different from any of a thousand other containers I had ever seen. Its latches had been opened and the lid raised and flipped back. I approached and cautiously looked inside. At first I didn't know what I was looking at. The only thing my mind registered was some sort of complex electronics within a tapering metal framework. There was a small box with a series of lights flashing on its face dangling from one end by a group of fiber-op cables. At the core of the entire thing was a metal and glass cylinder that looked like some sort of magnetic containment bottle. On one end of the bottle was a radiation warning label. That's when it all came together in my mind and my breath caught in my throat. I had seen something like this before. I pictured the entire thing not in a shipping container but encased in its normal housing–a blunt nosed cone.

"Somehow I don't think it's a new cappuccino machine," Lucky said.

"Good guess." What it was was an antimatter warhead.

Alex slowly circled the container, making a visual inspection of the warhead without touching anything.

"It looks like it's armed," she said, squatting down to study part of it more closely. "If I'm reading this correctly it's set to go off in just under two hours."

"Oh, crap!" Lucky said. "I had to go and open it!"

I grabbed him by the shoulders. "You didn't do it. It was already set to go off before it was even aboard. In fact, if you hadn't found it the ship would have blown when we were in deep space and we never would have known what happened." Spinning him around I directed him out of the bay. He needed something to do to keep him busy. "Go to the comm panel in the passageway and have Ian and Mark come down here right away. And tell them to bring their tool kits."

When he was gone I squatted down beside Alex.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"I think somebody doesn't like us," she said. Then she pointed out identification markings on part of the framework. "This is from a USG arsenal."

First a sub and now an antimatter warhead. These weren't things casually left around for just anyone to find. Gilead had a serious security problem. And at the moment that problem was threatening to kill everyone aboard our ship.

"Can you disarm it?" I asked her.

Alex shook her head. "Whoever did this jury rigged it in a way I've never seen. It might be booby trapped, too. If I start messing around in there I could set it off."

"They're on their way!" Lucky said, racing up behind us.

Standing up we backed away from the container.

"Do you have any idea how it got onboard?" I asked Lucky.

"It had to be with the stuff we picked up on Toula," he said. "But I can't tell which lot. It was labeled 'machine parts' and just kind of stuck in with the rest of the crates. Actually, that's what made me notice it. There was nothing else on it telling what it was. So I opened it to have a look." He seemed to be calming down.

"It's a good thing you did," I said.

"Cordass, why would anyone want to blow us up?"

"That's a good question."

Ian and Mark arrived at almost the same moment.

Mark's eyes went as round as Lucky's had been. "Is that a–"

"Yes," I said. "And I need you to tell me everything you can about it." We told them what little we knew and they cautiously approached the container to examine the bomb.

After a moment Ian whistled. "There's enough antimatter here to vaporize the ship."

"And you're right," Mark said as he carefully shifted a bundle of fiber-op cables. "It's been booby trapped, alright. It's going to be tricky figuring out which of these is the correct lead and which ones are blinds."

Ian called Mark's attention to something inside the unit. They leaned closer to continue their investigation. The two of them stayed hunched over the open container for several minutes speaking quietly to each other as they examined the bomb. Finally they stood up.

"Can it be disarmed?" I asked.

"That depends," Mark said.

"I was looking for something a little more concrete."

"It's like this, Captain," Ian said. "We know what to do. The problem is sorting through all those blind connections. If we cut the wrong lead we'll set it off. We can eliminate the false connections–one at a time–but it's going to take a while."

"And we might not be done by the time the timer runs out," Mark finished.

That was all I needed to hear. "Okay. Close it up. We're going to push it out the airlock."

"I'm afraid you can't do that," Ian said. "When the container was opened it activated a motion sensor. If we shift it around even slightly now it'll go off."

Someone really wanted us dead. "Then you're just going to have to disarm it," I said.

Mark and Ian looked at each other. Ian picked up his kit and nodded to his partner. They stepped over to the container and started spreading out the tools they would need. Alex, Lucky and I stood watching helplessly as they tried to decide where to begin. After a few moments they seemed to agree on the best approach and were carefully reaching into the crate with a probe when I heard someone enter the bay behind us.

"I wouldn't do that." It was Saha's voice.

The Fleet Captain walked over to the crate.

"Do you know what you have there?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, we do," I said. "And whoever left us this charming little gift has it set to go off in less than two hours. Now, if you'll excuse us, my men were just about to defuse it before it turns us all into a cloud of ionized atoms."

"Captain, bomb defusing is delicate work," Saha said. "No offense to your crewmen, but if they don't know what they're doing they could end up triggering it."

"We've already been over that, but we don't have another option."

"Maybe you do. One of my men is a munitions specialist. I could have him take a look at it."

Their asses were on the line too.

"Alright, Captain, but we need to move quickly."

Specialist Martinez arrived at the hold within a minute. He quickly confirmed everything we had learned about the bomb. Ian and Mark were kneeling beside him as he carefully probed inside the warhead, following his movements and asking occasional questions about what he was doing. After a while the three of them got very excited about something they discovered. Ian handed Martinez some items from the tools spread on the deck beside him and they lost themselves in their work for several tense minutes. Eventually they sat back on their heels. Martinez was holding a disconnected piece of the bomb in his hand.

"That's it," he said.

I could feel the tension in my stomach relax.

They stood. Martinez handed the box to his captain.

"This was wired into the firing circuit, sir," Martinez explained. "It overrode the safeties on the trigger mechanism and was acting as a timer. I've never seen a device like it before. It's like it was tailor made to interface with the warhead. Whoever did it knew exactly what he was doing."

Saha turned the device over in his hand then passed it to me.

"So it's safe now?" Lucky asked.

"Yes, sir," Martinez said. "The safeties are re-engaged. It's no more dangerous now than any other inactive warhead."

"Thank you," I said, extending my hand. Martinez hesitated then took it.

"Just doing my job, sir."

"You saved the ship. You saved all of us, and I won't forget it."

Martinez smiled self-consciously. "You're quite welcome, sir." He turned to his commanding officer. "Is that all, Captain?"

Saha nodded. "Yes. Thank you, Ensign. Good job."

Martinez tipped is head at us. "Sirs. Ma'am." His eyes remained fixed on Alex longer than necessary before he turned and walked out. I remembered then how he had stared at Alex just like that when he first came aboard. At the time I thought he was just appreciating her looks. This time it seemed like something else. It was almost like he thought he knew her from somewhere and was trying to place her.

"What do you want us to do with the warhead, Captain?" Ian asked.

"Secure it in the armory for now," I said after a moment.

Captain Saha watched as they latched the container and prepared to move it.

"I can't let you keep that warhead, Captain," Saha said. "That weapon is Gilead military property. I don't know how it got out here but I can't let it float around free."

My crew paused and looked at me, but I waved them back to what they were doing.

"Walk with me, Captain," I said.

We left the cargo bay at a casual stroll and started back toward the main stairwell, Alex on his left and me on the right.

"To begin with," I said, "the warhead isn't floating around free. We've got it and we're not going to let it fall into the hands of some maniac. I appreciate your situation, Captain, but you have to remember that you're not on a Fleet ship and we're far from Gilead space."

"Captain, I must protest your decision. That weapon is extremely dangerous. You have missiles, or possibly even torpedoes aboard this ship. Yes, I recognized the fire controls on your weapons board. That warhead could be adapted to fit one in a matter of minutes."

I cocked my head at him. "And you think I plan to use it?"

"I don't know what you want with such a weapon, but I do know that it is too dangerous to be left in the hands of ..."

"Yes?"

"... of any one man. The use of such a device normally requires the authorization of the King and can only be launched with the consent of both a ship's captain and his executive officer. To have such destructive force in the hands of one man is–"

"Frightening," I said. "Yes, I agree. But you're forgetting something. We didn't go searching for this weapon. It was placed aboard our ship by someone who already had access to it. Someone who was reckless enough to use it as a simple tool for murder. What if we hadn't left on schedule? If that bomb had gone off while we were still in port we'd have taken the spaceport and most of the city with us. If I were you, I'd be more concerned with finding that person than I was with trying to make me surrender a single warhead to you. Antimatter devices are frightening weapons, but hardly secret technology. All of the major interstellar powers have them and more and more of the smaller nations are developing them every day.

"What you should be asking yourself is how someone was able to get their hands on that weapon in the first place. Anyone who can casually lift an antimatter warhead from a Fleet arsenal is a threat not only to your nation, but to the stability of all inhabited space."

Saha narrowed his eyes at me for several moments. "This discussion isn't over, Captain."

"It is for now, Captain," I said.

With a curt nod he spun around and stalked away.

When he was gone I handed the device that Ensign Martinez had removed from the warhead to Alex. "Have Ian and Mark find out everything they can about that bomb. Somebody has a grudge against us and we need to figure out who it is before they get lucky."
Chapter Twelve

Third rotation was the graveyard shift. It stretched from 11 pm to 7 am. Most of the crew was asleep at this time and the ship was usually very quiet. Corridor lighting was even reduced during these hours, giving the entire ship a sense of day and night. I tended to walk the decks during third watch whenever I had something on my mind. It gave me a chance to be alone with my thoughts. I'd been taking a lot of late night walks since we had picked up the Fleet crew. And since leaving Toula three days ago I'd hardly slept at all. The bomb attack on our ship was still bothering me. It just didn't make any sense. An antimatter warhead was not something you could find just anyplace. Especially not one stolen from the most powerful nation in inhabited space. And it was ludicrous for someone to use such a weapon against us. It was like using a bazooka to wipe out an ant hill.

The more I thought about it the more I kept coming back to our passengers. Whatever their mission in this sector was it must have stirred up a real hornet's nest. And now we were right in the middle of it. The one thing that I couldn't understand was how anyone even knew the Fleet crew was with us. No one had been around when we rescued Saha and his men and no ships had been in scanner range during our entire journey to Toula.

I looked up then and realized that I was near my cabin. I thought about trying to get some rest but knew that I was still too wound up to sleep. Turning away from my door I headed to the main stairwell, climbed to the command deck and stepped onto the bridge. I had kept full crews on duty during each shift since leaving Toula and all the stations were manned. Mindy Preston, the command officer on duty, nodded to me when I entered. She didn't move to get up from the command chair at my appearance, however. The crew was used to my late night wanderings.

I wasn't surprised to find Alex manning the security station. She'd been getting as little sleep as I was recently. Since leaving Toula she had been reviewing the dockside security camera recordings in an attempt to find out how the bomb had been smuggled aboard. So far she hadn't learned anything.

I wandered around the bridge for a while looking at system read-outs that I wasn't really paying attention to. I exchanged a few smiles and friendly words with the crew as I moved from station to station, my thoughts churning. Everything was quiet and all systems were operating smoothly.

I had just decided to return to my cabin and try to force myself to get a few hours rack time when an urgent buzzing sounded. Although my mind was light-years away I immediately recognized the collision alert warning.

"Torpedo closing from astern!" Alex called out. Torpedoes were cloaked missiles. They were fast and could only be tracked by their wake. This made them difficult to detect until just before they reached their target.

"Evasive maneuvering!" Mindy called out. "Release chaff!"

The helm officer immediately slammed the ship hard to port. In that moment I was thankful that I had been running emergency drills over the past few days.

"Chaff released!" the weapons officer said. Chaff was simply ionized metal fragments released in a sudden cloud behind the ship. The reflective particles would scatter the torpedo's sensor readings and make it lose its lock on us–hopefully.

"Torpedo's trajectory is unchanged," Alex announced after a moment. "It's going to miss."

I imagined the deadly cylinder streaking past our hull and heading off into space.

"Picking up sensor scans from the weapon now," Alex said as she watched her board. "It's trying to reacquire us." Although torpedoes had a limited range this one probably had enough fuel to make one more attempt.

"Activate stealth system," I said, taking over the command seat from Mindy. I was tempted to put up our shields too but knew that the energy signature would draw the torpedo to us like a magnet.

"Stealth system engaged," the weapons officer said. We were now invisible to its scans. I was starting to relax slightly when there was a deep electronic humming from all of the control systems. We had been flashed! A flash pulse generated a sympathetic 'echo' in any operating electronic systems within range of its flash. By flashing us the other ship had made us visible to the torpedo despite our stealth system. Although it wouldn't give the weapon a perfect lock it would give it a general idea of where we were. And we were a pretty big target.

"Torpedo is turning," Alex said, "and closing."

"Launch countermeasures," I ordered.

"Countermeasures away," the weapons officer said.

A pair of decoy drones detached from the stern and began giving off false signals.

"Evasive, forty degrees starboard, positive pitch fifteen degrees," I ordered.

The helmsman immediately began to change our heading. "Coming about forty degrees starboard, fifteen degrees positive pitch."

For several tense moments we all held our breaths as we waited to see if the countermeasures would work.

"It's going after the countermeasures," Alex said. A moment later the ship trembled slightly in the shockwave from the nearby explosion.

"That was close," Mindy said, her fingers clamped to the arm of the command chair in a vise grip.

"Too close," I agreed. "Where the hell did that torpedo come from?"

"There's still nothing on scanners," Alex said. There was only one possible answer. We were being shadowed by another sub. We needed to lose it while we were under cover of our stealth system.

I turned to the helm. "Come about to a heading of–"

Before I could finish the collision alert began buzzing again.

"Two more torpedoes closing from starboard! Impact in ten seconds!" Alex called out.

Damn! "Release countermeasures! Evasive port!" The weapons were vectoring in from the wrong angle for chaff.

The helmsman threw us into another hard turn.

"One torpedo is going after the countermeasures," Alex said. "The other is still closing. Impact in four seconds."

"All ahead flank!"

Seconds later the ship lurched violently as the torpedo struck. The emergency claxon sounded.

"Damage report!"

"Impact was on ... C deck, aft starboard quarter," Alex said as she checked across her board. "Airtight doors are sealed. No loss of internal pressure. It looks like we were hit in one of the small cargo bays." With any luck the only thing we lost was part of our shipment.

I jabbed at a switch on my board to cut off the screaming claxon.

"Begin active scanning," I said. "And flash the area. We have to find that other ship!" The enemy already knew where we were so sending out flash pulses couldn't expose us any more than we already were.

I turned to Mindy, who was standing beside the command chair. "Get down to C deck and give me an eyeball on the damage. I want to know just how bad it is."

"Yes, sir." She hurried for the exit and almost ran into Chris who was rushing onto the bridge.

"What's happening?" he asked.

"There's a sub out there taking pot shots at us," I told him.

As Chris took over the XO station I swiveled to Alex. "Tell me you've got something."

Alex was frowning at her screens. "There's nothing showing on any of my scanners. We're not getting any flash returns either."

Flashing the area should have given us the other ship's position. Unless...

"The bastard's hiding in our baffles," I said. There was a distortion area directly behind every ship that was caused by the wake of its own drive system. This was the one blind spot to its scanners. If a skillful pilot could keep his ship in this area it would be invisible to the ship it was following.

Bobby, Mark and Patty came hustling onto the bridge one after the other just then and rushed to take over their stations. Although all of the bridge officers from all shifts were competent I was relieved to see my first shift crew at their stations. They were first shift for a reason.

"Drop us out of hyperspace then give me a random vector change," I said to Bobby as he assumed the helm.

On the main screen there was a flash of light as we returned to normal space. The stars, which had been streaking toward us as elongated needles at super light speeds, returned to their normal appearance as fixed pin-points. A moment later they began to slide away to port as Bobby quickly changed our heading.

"I've got that damage report, Captain," Chris said. "Mindy says the torpedo holed us in starboard cargo bay one. The compartment's been depressurized and power is out in three surrounding sections, but there doesn't seem to be damage to any inhabited compartments." We'd been lucky.

"Get a damage control team down there and keep me advised," I said. I looked anxiously at Alex. "Anything?"

"Nothing yet ... wait ... I'm reading an energy surge like a ship just dropped to sublight. I'm not picking anything up on scanners. They must be stealthed. Another surge now ... Weapons fire. One, no, two more torpedoes have been launched."

"At us?"

"No. Torpedo wakes are vectoring along our downjump trajectory. They're heading away from us."

"What's the status of our stealth system?" I asked Mark.

He studied his board carefully. "Everything looks good, Captain. System is on-line and operating normally. They shouldn't be able to see us."

"Captain," Alex called, "they're flashing the area."

There was a tense silence on the bridge for a few moments but there was no tell tale hum from our electronic systems.

"Have they spotted us?"

"I can't tell," Alex said. "We're pretty far away. They may not be able to get a return signal at this ... Just a second. I'm picking up what appears to be maneuvering thrusters. They're coming about." She adjusted her scanners. "I don't think they could have gotten a clear return at this range but they might have gotten a weak signal. Enough to give them a rough bearing."

"Should I prepare to return fire, Captain?" Mark asked. I could hear the tension in his voice.

I considered our options. As good as my crew was we weren't a military ship. We'd been damaged and had no idea who we were fighting. If we turned to fight we would have to reorient the ship to bring our tubes to bear on the other sub and they would very likely pick up the power surge from our maneuvering thrusters. And even if we did decide to fight we only had the handful of torpedoes that we had found aboard when we captured the ship from the pirates years ago. With a total of only six torpedoes, three for the forward tubes and three for the rear, there was little chance of us defeating the other sub in a standing fight.

"No," I said. I turned toward Chris. "Cut power to all ship systems except stealth emitters. Shut us down."

Chris' fingers raced across his board as he cut power throughout the ship. Around the bridge one system after another went dark. Moments later the main lights shut off as dim emergency lighting glowed on. Even the soft whispering of the air circulation system died away. In moments the only sound was the sound of our breathing.

I turned to Alex. "What are you picking up on passive scan?"

"They're heading in our direction," she said, watching a single, dimly glowing screen. "They're continuing to flash." The screen she was watching pulsed regularly in response to the electronic signals from the other ship. Such a small surge was easily blanketed by our stealth system, but we could track them by their pulse emissions.

"They're closing. Five hundred meters ... Four hundred ... Three hundred. Ship approaching our starboard beam. Two hundred fifty meters ... Two twenty ..." Around the bridge all eyes were staring at the starboard bulkhead as if we could see the ship passing close by us if we just stared hard enough. "... Two twenty ... Two hundred forty ... Two hundred sixty. Ship is moving off. Now three hundred meters. They're continuing to move away. Four hundred meters."

I sat back in my seat and drew a deep breath. It looked like we were going to get out of this one. But even as I was relieved at our narrow escape I was angry with myself for not anticipating the attack. Whoever had smuggled the bomb aboard our ship must have noticed that it didn't blow when it was supposed to. They must have been shadowing us since we left Toula, trying to decide what to do until they eventually just took matters in their own hands and attacked us directly. This was the second time that they had nearly succeeded in destroying our ship. I didn't intend to give them another opportunity.

"Keep all systems powered down until you hear from me," I said to Chris as I got to my feet. "We're going to play dead until they leave the area. Alex, I want you to keep an eye on that son of a bitch who's tracking us. Send for me if he comes back this way."

"Where will you be?" she asked.

"In my cabin. I need to have a talk with one of our passengers."

* * *

Captain Saha was already awake when the crewman summoned him to my cabin. He seemed a little confused about why he was here as he was directed to take a seat facing my desk. After he was seated I sent the crewman to wait in the hall and spent the next few moments organizing my thoughts before I spoke. I finally decided on the direct approach.

"I want to know why there have been two attacks on my ship in the past several days."

"I'm not sure I understand what–"

I hammered the desk with my fist. "Don't play stupid with me, Captain! Your ship was attacked by someone who clearly wanted you dead. Then, after we rescue your crew, not one but two attempts are made on my ship. I need to know exactly what I'm up against or none of us is going to come out of this alive."

We locked eyes for several moments.

"You owe me, Captain," I said, holding my anger in check.

Saha was silent for a long time as he weighed something in his mind.

"Alright, Captain," he said finally. "I can tell you this much. I'm carrying information vital to the national security of Gilead."

"That doesn't carry much weight with me, Captain. My crew and I aren't exactly fans of your King."

"I understand. Let's just say that I am working for the best interests of the people of Gilead, not necessarily the King. In fact, if my information is correct, the security of all human inhabited space could be at risk. How long can an independent trade ship like yours survive if interstellar war breaks out, Captain? As I see it you have as much reason as I do to see that I get my information back as quickly as possible."

"That's all well and good, Captain, but that doesn't help me a whole lot with our current situation. I need to know who is trying to destroy my ship."

"I can't tell you that specifically because I don't know who's out there."

"What can you tell me about them?"

Saha thought for a moment. "They're the type of people who can remove an antimatter warhead from a Fleet arsenal and who have no scruples against using such a device. They're powerful, they have an agenda and they won't let anyone stand in their way.

"Captain Pell, the information I have could deal a serious blow to the plans of ... these people. They obviously attacked your ship to keep me from getting this information back to my superiors. They aren't going to stop until they're sure that threat is erased. Beyond that I can't really tell you anything more."

"You've told me enough, Captain," I said as I finally understood exactly how much trouble we were in. "You've told me that this is now a marked ship. The people coming after you don't know how much my crew and I know. For all they know we could be working with you. Their best option is to destroy this ship and everyone aboard. Even if we manage to get you directly to a Gilead controlled port there's still a good chance they'll try to destroy this ship anyway to eliminate us as a potential threat. From the moment we answered your distress call our fate was sealed."

"I don't know what to say," Saha said quietly.

Frustration finally boiled over inside me. "You can tell me that the information you have is really as important as you say it is! You can tell me that I'm not risking the lives of my crew for nothing! You can tell me that for once the bad guys aren't going to win!"

Saha sat there looking uncomfortable.

I pulled my anger back under control. "Thank you, Captain. That's all."

He slowly got to his feet. The Fleet officer opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it.

As soon as the door was closed again I dropped my head into my hands. I was tired. Too much had happened too quickly. I needed time to digest everything I'd learned so I could plan what I was going to do. If Saha's information was as important as he said it was then he needed to get it back to his command as soon as possible. The people looking for us obviously felt it was dangerous to them. They were ready to kill to keep him from finishing his mission. One thing was clear. With this faceless enemy hunting us it wouldn't be smart to put into an open port like Bricese. We'd be a sitting duck. Then there was the problem of Saha and his crew trying to make their way via commercial transportation. Could I really leave them so vulnerable now that I knew what they were up against? What alternatives did I have?

I was too tired to make any of these decisions now. I needed time, a chance to think.

I pushed myself to my feet. Closing my eyes I took a deep breath in through my nose and stretched my arms high above my head then slowly exhaled through my mouth and brought my hands down before me, the palms pressed lightly together. It was a relaxation technique I had learned ... somewhere. I lifted my chin and pulled my shoulders back. I couldn't let the crew see me rattled. There was an enemy ship out there looking for us and they needed to see me unfazed. I had to appear calm and certain.

Even if I was actually scared shitless.
Chapter Thirteen

The sub continued to look for us for more than a day. For the first few hours its crew followed a spiral search pattern as they continued flashing the area. When that didn't work they tried a new tactic. They stopped flashing and moved around under cover of their stealth field and flashed areas at random as they tried to flush us out. After several more hours they gave up on this as well. Finally in frustration they began sweeping the area with their laser cannon. The beam lanced again and again through the space where our downjump vector would have taken us. Then they beamed the area where they had first detected us before we went silent. Since we had been adrift for many hours by then however, our momentum had carried us far from where we had been. They never even got within ten kilometers of our position. Eventually they gave up on this tactic as well. It was shortly after that when Alex reported the distant energy surge of a ship jumping to light speed.

When they were gone I had life support and a few other important systems brought back on-line. Under the cover of our stealth system they shouldn't be able to detect us even with flash pulses unless they were right on top of us. The air had gotten pretty thin and hot by then. In a few more hours oxygen levels would have been critically low. The tension level dropped noticeably when the soft whisper of flowing air returned. We still had to work in the dim glow of the emergency lighting because I kept the main systems shut down while the repair crews went to work on fixing the damage the torpedo had caused. I didn't trust that the other sub was truly gone. They could downjump out of our limited scanning range and circle back on sublight drive. I wasn't going to get caught by surprise again.

The report from the repair crew was encouraging. Aside from the damage to that one cargo bay the ship was sound. A power conduit for the starboard passageway on C deck and the external loading door to cargo bay one were the worst of the damage. A day and a half later the hull had been patched and the cargo hold re-pressurized. The bay door wouldn't work until we could get to a proper space dock but that wasn't a big problem. As long as the hull was pressure tight we could get back under way. With the most serious damage repaired the crew began working on the severed power conduit. Ian estimated that they would be finished in a couple of hours. The only thing I had to do now was decide where we were going.

Once Ian had given me his report I left the cargo bay. He didn't need me looking over his shoulder while he and his people worked. I stepped out into the dim passageway and started back toward the main stairwell. My footsteps echoed quietly from the walls as I went. By ship's time it was morning but the passageways were unusually quiet. Although normal duty shifts continued, ever since the last attack few of the crew ventured into the passageways if they didn't have to. Even Bobby had stopped his usual hover-boarding through the ship. If people were about they tended to speak in low voices, as if fearful that our unseen foe might overhear us.

In the first several hours following the departure of the enemy sub, the few crew members I had encountered all stopped to thank me for saving the ship. A version of our encounter had spread through the crew which made it seem like I had somehow masterfully outwitted the enemy. No matter how I tried to down play my role however I was greeted with hearty handshakes and claps on the shoulder from the men and kisses and hugs from the women. (Actually, that part I didn't mind so much.) Alex encouraged me to simply accept the crew's gratitude. It was in fact my quick actions which had saved the ship, she said. Besides, a crew needed to have faith in the ability of their captain. Let them think of me as their hero, she insisted. It was good for morale.

Unfortunately, I didn't feel like much of a hero. I knew I had blundered into that attack and it was only by pure luck that we had escaped. If I had been thinking I would have realized that whoever had planted that bomb aboard our ship would come after us again. I should have expected a follow up attack and had the ship's stealth system up. Instead I had blithely continued on course for our next port as if nothing were wrong. I didn't care what Alex said, I knew it was my fault.

I pulled my mind back to my surroundings as I stepped onto B deck. I had planned to continue up two more levels to the command deck and return to the bridge but something had made me stop here instead. B deck was quiet like the rest of the ship. There was no one about as I turned toward the port side corridor. The deep shadows cast by the emergency lighting strips running along the base of the walls lent the ship a somber, surrealistic feel as I walked. When I looked up a few moments later I found myself in front of the infirmary. A talk with Doc was probably just what I needed. I knew he was an early riser so I wouldn't be disturbing him. He also had a collection of some of the finest liquors aboard ship.

I knocked and slid the door open. With main power off doors had to be opened by hand.

"Doc?"

Although the overhead lighting was off like the rest of the ship, I noticed that most of the medical equipment was powered up. Then I remembered that once the enemy sub had left I'd had power restored to the infirmary systems so Doc could treat the crew members who had been banged around during the attack. A few people had suffered broken bones which needed to be reknit and he needed power to his equipment to help them. The beds were all empty now however and the room silent.

Doc stepped out of his office. "Cordass! Come in, Captain. How are the repairs going?"

"Good. Ian should have everything up and running in a couple of hours."

"That's good news. It'll be a relief to have the lights back on again." Doc gave me one of his scrutinizing looks. "When was the last time you got any sleep?"

"I'll sleep when the ship is repaired and we're back under way," I said, dismissing the matter with a wave. We'd had this conversation before. Doc was always telling me I was pushing myself too hard. I turned and started wandering around the infirmary.

"Have you learned anything else about the ship that attacked us?" he asked.

"No, but my gut is telling me we haven't seen the last of them. I tell you, Doc, there's something going on here. I can feel it."

"You mean other than the fact that someone's been trying to kill us?"

"You have a gift for the obvious."

Doc chuckled and sat down at the semi-circular console at one end of the room. From there he could monitor the status of each patient in the room. Of course now each of the read-outs was dark. "You told me that Captain Saha is carrying some kind of intelligence information."

"I know, but it's more than that. There's something else going on, something in the shadows that I can't quite get a fix on." I looked back as I heard a soft clinking. Doc had set out a pair of tiny glasses and was pouring a small amount of amber liquid into them.

"Isn't it a little early for that?" I asked, even though I had been hoping he would have something to help calm my nerves.

"Doctor's orders. I'm prescribing a mild sedative for a young captain with 'I've got too much on my mind to get enough sleep for my own good' –itis.

I picked up one of the small aperitif glasses and swirled it slowly. The drink had a faint, nutty aroma. I took a sip and felt the liquid describe a warm path down to my stomach where it settled and radiated heat.

"This is better than that other stuff you had," I said.

"That was brandy. This is a liqueur. It's sweeter."

I took a bigger sip and felt myself beginning to relax.

"You said you thought there was something else going on," Doc said.

"Right. It's like there's some ... outside force at work influencing everything that's been happening."

"And you don't like feeling manipulated, like you're not in control of the situation."

I raised an eyebrow at Doc. He was digging around inside my head. "I thought you said you weren't going to do that anymore."

He shrugged and took a swallow from his glass. "You brought it up. So, you were saying?"

"Look, I'm not going to talk to you if you're just going to keep reading meanings into everything I say."

He chuckled again. "Okay. No more psychoanalysis. I promise. Just plain talk."

"Good. Besides, you wouldn't like what you found if you kept poking around the dark recesses of my mind, anyway," I said, draining my glass. I was feeling very relaxed now.

I looked around for a place to sit and noticed a new addition to the infirmary. Off to one side was a padded chair which was incorporated into a complex machine. It took me a moment to recognize it as the device I had asked Lucky to find for me, and another moment to realize that it was active.

"When was this installed?"

"Ian put it in just before we left Toula. It's a self contained unit. All he had to do was basically just hook it up to a power supply."

I walked over to the device and ran my hand along the edge of the control console. This could be exactly what I needed.

"Does it work?" I asked.

"Mark checked it over and said all the diagnostics reported normal but I haven't had a chance to use it. We haven't had any brain trauma cases so–"

"I want you to use it on me," I said.

"Cordass, I don't understand."

"I want you to use it on me," I repeated, holding his eyes. "Look, Doc, this is confidential, doctor patient privilege."

"Of course, but can you tell me _why_ you want me to use a neural assayer on you?"

"I've ... um ... been having some memory problems. One of the guards on the prison transport from Haven clubbed me in the head and ever since then there are ... parts of my earlier memories that I can't recall."

"I see," Doc said, putting on his concerned parent expression. He stood and came over to stand next to me. It still amazed me that anyone could have found this gentle man guilty of assisted murder. "Any other symptoms? Headaches? Vision problems?"

"No, just difficulty remembering some things from my past."

"I see." Doc folded his arms and looked from me to the assayer and back. His expression shifted to his professional look. "Captain, I've never actually used this type of machine before."

"Are you saying that you can't operate it?"

"I don't know. There's a help menu and the operator interface seems simple enough..."

"But...?"

"Dammit, Cordass! This is your brain we're talking about! If I go poking around in there without knowing what I'm doing I could cause some kind of damage!"

I simply looked at him. Doc was one of the most careful people I knew. I trusted him to stop if anything started to go wrong.

When I didn't say anything he knew I was serious. His expression shifted to his angry parent look. "I'm not joking, Cordass! Your brain is nothing to fool around with."

I placed a hand on his shoulder. I loved this guy. "I'm serious too. And I trust you with my life. I know you wouldn't do anything to harm me. But Doc, I need to know what's behind that wall in my mind. And I need you to help me."

Doc looked at me for a long time. "At the first sign of trouble I'm going to terminate the procedure."

"Agreed."

He set down his glass and held his hands out flat, checking them. They were perfectly steady.

"Have a seat," he said.

I climbed into the padded chair and he lowered a transparent dome over my head.

When he was satisfied that it was adjusted properly he moved to the operator console and switched on the unit. It hummed slightly and I could feel a faint tingling along my scalp.

"Just try and relax," he said.

I settled my head back and closed my eyes.

"I'm going to start with a basic neural scan," he said. "I need to calibrate the unit for your particular neural pattern."

The room was quiet for a while as he operated the controls and studied the read-outs. I could feel myself relaxing even more as the warmth of the liqueur spread. I must have been more tired that I realized because soon I felt myself starting to drift off.

"There doesn't seem to be any physical damage," Doc's voice said a while later from somewhere behind me. "Suppose we take a look at the inter-neuron synapse activity."

"Ummm," I said. I could feel myself floating in that hazy semi-conscious state just before drifting off to sleep...

* * *

"Cordass? Can you hear me?"

I forced my eyes open. Doc was bent over me with a concerned look.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

I started to sit up and a sudden dizziness swept over me. Doc grabbed my arm and steadied me.

"Just take it slow," he said.

I looked around the room. I was seeing everything with an odd, double vision. It was like two different people were looking out through my eyes at the same time. Then I remembered where I was and why I was there. And...

My memories came flooding back.

All of them.

"How are you feeling?" Doc asked.

I looked up at my friend and smiled.

"Great," I said.

He looked relieved. He picked up a glass and handed it to me. Just water this time. I drained it quickly. I must have been dehydrated.

I thanked him and pushed myself to my feet. The earlier dizziness was gone. Turning slowly I looked around the room. I knew exactly where I was, yet it was as if I was also seeing everything for the first time. It was an odd feeling. I patted Doc's hand. He was still holding my arm to steady me.

"I'm fine, Doc. Really."

He let go and stepped back. "What do you remember?"

"I'm not sure," I said. Although my memory had been completely restored I wasn't yet ready to tell anyone. "I guess I'll have to wait and see."

Doc studied me without saying anything. I knew that look.

"What did you find?" I asked him.

"Well, there was no physical damage to your brain. But I did find certain areas of your memory which had been ... inhibited. I'm no neurophysiologist, but it almost looked as if select areas of your memory had been blocked."

"What do you mean, blocked?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "The machine was able to identify a number of areas where the normal connections between the neurons had been interrupted. All of your memories were there, you just couldn't consciously access them. Oddly enough, the machine had a built in protocol to reverse that type of condition. Once I told it to repair the damage it simply went about removing the blocks. Are you sure you don't notice anything different?"

"Not really," I lied. "It was never really a big problem, just from time to time I'd realize that I'd forgotten something I used to know. Hopefully that won't be a problem anymore."

Doc was still studying me. I could tell he suspected I was holding something back.

"Well, let me know if there are any side effects. I'm still not sure what the machine did to you exactly."

"Don't worry, Doc. I feel fine." I yawned. "Actually, I do feel a little sleepy. I think I'll go back to my cabin and catch a few hours rack time."

"That's probably a good idea."

"Thanks again, Doc. I'll let you know if I suddenly start remembering things."

I left the infirmary and headed back to the stairwell. As I went I traded greetings with the crew members I passed in the corridor. First shift, by far the busiest shift in the rotation, was coming on duty soon and people were getting ready to start their day. I made my way up to A deck and went directly to my cabin. Walking to the 'fresher I looked at myself in the mirror. I turned my head slowly left and right as I studied my reflection. The overall shape and basic bone structure was the same, but that was all. I was wearing someone else's face. Except for the eyes. Those were my eyes. Whoever had done the surgery was good. There were no scars visible anywhere.

Okay, I knew who I was and who I was supposed to be, but that left me with new questions. The last thing I remembered before waking up on that prison transport nearly four years ago was being in one of the hidden interrogation rooms beneath the capitol on Haven. One of Sebastian's goons had been working me over, trying to soften me up. And he hadn't been gentle about it. The Duke wanted my passwords to a number of secure files in the main database that I refused to give him. I had been deeply hypno-conditioned and their attempts to get the information through chemical means hadn't worked so they resorted to trying to beat it out of me.

I remembered swimming back to consciousness briefly when Sebastian and another man I couldn't see were in the room. Sebastian actually sounded upset that I had been treated so roughly. The other man's voice however was perfectly calm and emotionless. Although I never saw his face I could hear him clearly. Whoever he was he was cold and calculating. I was no more than a factor in their plans and they needed me dealt with quickly. If they couldn't beat the information they wanted from me they would have to find another way. I passed out again at that point and didn't expect to ever wake up again.

But someone had surgically altered my face, capped my memory and dumped me on that prison transport as Cordass Pell. Sebastian probably figured that I'd be safely out of the way in a maximum security prison with a wiped memory. I was going to see to it that he found out just how wrong he was.
Chapter Fourteen

Captain Saha was looking decidedly uncomfortable as he once again sat facing me across the desk in my cabin. Behind him, Alex was standing quietly off to one side waiting for my signal. As she stood poised to act on my order I thought about how much I had come to rely on her. She was more than my security officer. More than my lover. She had become a part of me. It had been difficult for me not to tell her about the return of my memory. Normally I shared everything with her and I didn't like keeping this secret. Of course, she never knew that I had lost my memory in the first place. As far as she knew I was Cordass Pell, her long time smuggling partner who had recently become something more. Now that my memory had been restored, part of me wanted to drop everything and run away with her to live out our lives in quiet anonymity on some remote little world. As I thought back over the last two and a half years I realized that they had been the happiest of my entire life. I didn't know what I would do without her, yet I also knew that once she found out who I really was I would lose her.

But there was more at stake than just what I wanted. If Saha's information was as important as I suspected it was, I had to help him deliver it as quickly as possible. I had a sworn duty to protect the people of Gilead and I could not cast aside that responsibility for the sake of my own personal happiness. I had already ordered our heading changed and we were now on course for the Fleet outpost in the Onara system. Our best speed would bring us there in just under three days. Continuing to Bricese had made no sense since that was where the enemy expected us to go. They may not be able to track us directly with our stealth system engaged but if they had an idea of what our destination was they could scan for our hyperspace wake. Yet Onara was also a gamble. Being the only Fleet outpost in this sector it was also a logical destination for us. But because it was a military garrison, the outpost at Onara was also a much better place to hold off an attacking ship. It would be suicide for the enemy sub to try and attack us once we were docked at the base. We just had to get there ahead of them.

There was a third choice, however, a choice I was coming to believe was our only real option. I could bring Captain Saha directly to Fleet headquarters in the Gilead capital. It would stretch our fuel reserves to the limit but we could just make it. However, I wasn't convinced that I knew enough to put my crew at risk by taking us into Gilead space. I had made a promise to the men and women aboard the _Prometheus_ as well and I did not want to expose them to a dangerous situation without a damned good reason. The problem was that I didn't know if I had a good enough reason. Saha's story seemed credible, but there were too many gaps in what I knew. I was tired of operating in the dark and needed to know what he knew. One way or another I was going to find out exactly what was going on.

The Fleet Captain sat patiently waiting for me to speak. I took my time, studying the man before me. Uniform adjusted just so, shoulders back, freshly shaven and hair neatly combed, he was like a recruitment poster for the Fleet. But more than that he was a good officer, a credit to his training. He would wait for me to speak to see what this meeting was all about before committing himself to anything.

"I called you here, Captain, because I wanted to tell you that I've changed our course. We are currently headed for the Fleet outpost in the Onara system."

Surprise registered on his face. "Thank you, Captain Pell."

"The ship tracking us gave me little choice. But that isn't your ultimate destination, is it. To complete your mission you need to return to Fleet headquarters. Given our current position, if we change course for the Argo system we could reach the Gilead capitol in about nine days." From the corner of my eyes I saw the surprised look flash across Alex's features. I hadn't briefed her on what I planned to discuss with the Fleet captain. "But if I'm going to risk my ship and crew by heading into Gilead space, I need to know more about your mission. I need to know exactly what my crew will be risking their freedom and possibly even their lives for."

"Captain Pell, I've come to believe that you are an honorable man. But as I've already said, the information I have is classified. I really can't reveal any more than what I've already told you."

"I respect your integrity, Captain," I said as I flicked a glance at Alex. She was standing with her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to spring into action. "Is that your final word?"

"I'm afraid it has to be, Captain. I'm sure you understand."

"I do, Captain. I hope you understand why I had to ask." I tapped the desk twice with my first two fingers–the signal we had arranged. Alex flowed silently forward from her place against the wall behind him.

"Of course, Captain I–!"

He was cut off in mid sentence as her arm snaked around his neck in a choke hold. Saha's eyes went wide as his hands instinctively clawed at the arm across his throat. Gurgling sounds escaped from his mouth as Alex cut off his breathing. Seated as he was with her behind him he was effectively immobilized. While she held him securely I hurried around the desk and dug into his pockets. It took me only a moment to find the finger drive.

Once I had the drive she released him. She moved aside quickly, staying in his range of vision so that he could see the needler she was holding on him. Saha didn't try to get up.

"My first impression of you was right after all," Saha said between gasps. "You are nothing more than a pirate!"

I ignored him as I returned to my seat and activated the computer terminal. The transparent, flat rectangle of the screen unfolded from the top of the desk as the keyboard glowed into existence in its surface before me.

"That won't do you any good," Saha said, rubbing his throat. "That stick is specially encrypted. You'll never be able to open any of its files."

As soon as the system was up I plugged the finger drive into the special security port on the side of the screen. The captain was correct, the stick was indeed encrypted. All sensitive Fleet information was protected by such encoding to prevent unauthorized persons from viewing them. The drives provided two levels of security. The first level involved hardware. A Fleet finger drive could only be accessed using a Fleet computer. Since this was a stolen Fleet ship, however, the drive was able to be accessed by my desk terminal. The second level was the correct password. I did not know the file password Saha had encoded on the drive and I knew he would never voluntarily give that information to me. But above the regular user passwords were override codes, something Captain Saha probably had no idea even existed. These high level passwords were given only to a very select group of people. Mine would allow me to access any Fleet computer system or finger drive–if my password were still active.

At the prompt I typed in a long list of symbols. A moment later the screen cleared and I was looking at the text of Saha's report. I quickly scrolled through the information.

"A total of six subs have gone missing over the past several years," I said aloud as I skimmed through the data.

Saha's jaw dropped. "How did you...? That's not possible!"

I continued to ignore him as I looked through his report. "All of the missing ships were decommissioned shortly before turning up missing. ... Now this is interesting. According to their service logs each ship should have had several more years of active use. And each of the missing ships was apparently stolen from a Fleet scrapyard."

Saha surged to his feet. "Captain Pell, I really must protest–!"

"Sit down." Alex had taken a single step forward and leveled her needler at his chest. There was no mistaking the steel in her voice. Saha read the unwavering resolve in her eyes and slowly sat down.

I skimmed through more of the report. A large part of it was devoted to a comparison between the dates and times of the ship thefts and pirate attacks. I flipped past several pages and found a graph that compared the rise in incidents of pirate activity and the corresponding thefts of Fleet ships. The conclusion was obvious. Somehow military equipment was being funneled into the hands of these outlaws. I felt my heartbeat increase as the implications became clear. Only someone in the highest levels of the Fleet could arrange something like this. I jumped ahead, skipping to his summary and conclusions. I had to read the last paragraph twice to be certain I had understood it correctly.

When I was done I sat back and looked up at the captain. I had to fight down my rising anger to keep my voice level. "So, you think King Sebastian is involved in this sale of Fleet equipment to pirates."

Saha glared at me. "I will not discuss classified information with you."

"You don't have to, Captain, I can read it for myself. I just need some clarification on a few points. To begin with, I don't see anything here about the money that must have changed hands. You've got records of deposits into a private account apparently owned by Sebastian but nothing else. No information on payments to intermediaries or bribes to Fleet personnel. It seems odd to me that you would have such detailed information on the King but no one else. I would think that Sebastian could have covered his tracks better than this."

"Like you said, Captain, you can read the data for yourself. Draw your own conclusions."

"I don't understand something, Cordass," Alex said. "Why would the King be involved in something like this? Surely not for the money. The Royal Family is incredibly wealthy."

"On paper, yes, but the Royal Family doesn't have access to unlimited private funds. They are allotted an annual stipend by the government which the King is supposed to live on. Oh, technically he can take money from the national treasury whenever he pleases, but any monies the King accesses is a matter of public record. If he wanted to fund some major project without the public knowing about it he would need a private source. The question is, what does he want the money for?"

I scrolled backward through the report to a part I had skimmed over before. "In your report you talk about rumors of a clandestine pirate fleet being formed somewhere in the outer sectors. That's what you were investigating when we found you, isn't it. Were you able to confirm the rumors?"

"Why don't you tell me, Captain. After all, this is one of the stolen Fleet subs we're aboard right now, isn't it. Don't bother denying it!"

"I don't deny it, Captain. We realized this was a Fleet ship shortly after we took possession of it. But you should know that we captured this ship from a crew of pirates. Since we've had it, it has been our home and cargo hauler. Nothing more."

"That's easy to say, Captain."

I sighed. "Look Captain, you've been with us for more than a week now. You've seen how we live and do business. Do you truly believe you're aboard a pirate ship? Draw your own conclusions." I didn't really have the patience for this right now. Unplugging the finger drive I tossed it back to Saha. "Now that I know what you're carrying I think it's more important than ever for you to get your report back to your superiors as soon as possible. I'll be taking you directly to Haven, Captain Saha. I've decided that your mission is worth the risk."

Saha sat there with the drive clenched tightly in his fist, uncertain what to think.

"You're dismissed, Captain."

Alex lowered her needler. Saha kept an eye on her as he got to his feet and turned to leave. When he was gone Alex came around the desk next to me and looked at the screen.

"If what Captain Saha suspects is true," she said, "how can we be sure that it's safe for him to make his report? If the corruption is as widespread as it seems he might be sticking his head in a noose by revealing what he knows."

"I don't think so. Somebody already suspected what was going on. Saha was simply sent out to gather evidence. His report is coded for a specific person: Rear Admiral Ulysses Magnus. I'm guessing that Admiral Magnus isn't working within the normal chain of command on this. As long as Captain Saha can get his report directly to him I'm sure everything will be fine."

"I hope you're right. That's an awfully big gamble to take, but I've always been able to depend on your hunches before." She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

What I couldn't tell her was that I knew Admiral Magnus personally. I had served under him for several years when he was a battleship captain. Captain Magnus was one of the finest, most honorable men I had ever known. I would stake my life that he was not involved in whatever was going on within the Fleet. In fact, I was staking all of our lives on it.

"I'm going to need to meet with all of the department heads on the bridge in about ten minutes," I said. "Can you take care of arranging that for me please?"

"Of course," Alex said as she headed for the door. Her hand hesitated just as she was reaching for the switch and she turned to look back at me.

"Cordass? How did you get around the security block on Saha's finger drive?"

There was so much I wanted to tell her, that I needed to tell her, but now was not the time. "When this is all over, I promise I'll tell you everything. For now, just trust that I know what I'm doing."

She gave me a piercing look. "I always trust you, Cordass. And I always will, no matter what."

* * *

I paused to let what I just told them sink in. I had finished briefing the department chiefs on what we had learned from Captain Saha. We were all crowded into the small conference area at the back of the bridge. The only sound was the various electronic humming noises from the different consoles.

"I think we need to help the captain get his report back to his superiors as soon as possible," I said.

"Absolutely!" Bobby said. "If that bastard, Sebastian, is behind this I want to help him get what's coming to him!"

"That will be up to the courts," I said. "All we can do is help Captain Saha get back safely to make his report."

"We're with you, Captain," Chris said to a general murmuring of agreement and head nodding.

"You understand that's going to mean taking the Prometheus into Gilead space." I watched the understanding register on their faces as they realized the extent of the danger we would be exposing ourselves to. "In fact, the best chance Saha has of completing his mission is for us to get him to Haven itself so he can make contact with the officer who sent him. Since we don't know the full extent of the corruption we can't risk someone intercepting him before he has a chance to deliver his report."

A few of them began exchanging nervous glances.

"Excuse me, Cordass," Lucky said, "but given our status as convicts and all, not to mention this ship we're flying, do you really think that's a smart idea?"

"As a matter of fact, no. But I believe it's necessary."

"If you really think that's what we have to do then we're behind you, Cordass," Bobby said. One by one each of the others nodded their assent as well. "Should I set course for the Argo system?"

"Thank you, but not yet. First I need each of you to talk to the people in your departments. All of them. I will not take anyone with us who does not want to take the risk. If I'm not mistaken our course should take us past the Rana star cluster. Anyone who does not want to make the trip will be put ashore there until we return. On the table in front of each of you are flatpads with the rosters of everyone in your sections. I'd like you to speak to each of them personally and find out what they want to do. Anyone who chooses to stay behind should be packed and ready to leave in thirty six hours."

* * *

Less than an hour later I had a pile of blank flatpads on the conference table in front of me. No one had chosen to stay behind.

"It's like this, Cordass," Chris said as he and the other department heads gathered once more in the small conference nook. "If you think we need to do this then the rest of the crew is behind you. You've been a good captain. We know what's at stake and we trust your judgement."

I looked around and caught Alex's eye. She nodded.

"I'm touched by the faith you have in me."

I hoped none of us would live to regret it.

"Bobby, set course for the Argo system, best possible speed."
Chapter Fifteen

"I'm not picking up anything on short range scan," Alex said as she studied her console. Ship sensors functioned in three modes. A focused scan directed a narrow sensor beam at a specific target and could give finely detailed information about whatever it was focused on. It could tell you the color of a person's eyes, his body temperature and even how fast his heart was beating from a distance of up to a thousand kilometers. Next was a short range scan which provided a three hundred and sixty degree view around a ship. The amount of detail it provided was not the quite as good as a focused scan, but a short range scan could localize the relative position of anything within a hundred thousand kilometer spherical radius. Then there was a long range scan. This type of scan reached across distances measured in light hours. Although it had the lowest resolution of all types of scans, a long range scan could 'see' across an entire star system and identify planets, asteroids and even objects as small as individual ships. Since sensor technology operated on hyperspace frequencies it also meant that real time information was relayed to the system, which was extremely useful for inter stellar navigation–or planning military strategy.

I watched as Alex ran a complete short range sweep a second time. We had to be sure there were no other ships in our vicinity before we went to long range scan. The power needed to send a long range signal would make us stand out on the screen of any ship nearby as clearly as if we had sent out a flash pulse, even if we were running with our stealth system active. Satisfied that there was nothing in our immediate area, Alex changed the sensor settings.

"Going to long range scan."

We were holding position just beyond the three light minute distance outside the Argo star system. Any closer and we would be within their territorial limits. We had been able to stay outside of Gilead space for most of the journey and away from the regular transit lanes which had helped us to avoid contact with other ships. On the few occasions when we had to pass through an occupied system we'd engaged the stealth system and gone undetected. But even this infrequent use of the stealth system had depleted our fuel. We were now down to less than five percent reserve. Unless we could replenish our store of radioactives we would not be leaving this system. I decided to worry about that later.

"There's a lot of activity in-system," Alex said. "The normal Coast Guard presence has been doubled. I'm also reading two groups of larger vessels patrolling the system. Their ID beacons read as Gilead Fleet. From their power signatures I'd say they were battle groups."

Everyone paused in whatever they were doing and gave Alex their attention. Battle groups meant serious business.

"Give me a tactical view of the system," I said.

The main screen switched to an 'overhead' computer generated view of the planetary system ahead of us, showing each of the seven planets and their orbital tracks around the central star. A single icon at the bottom of the screen indicated our position. Dozens of other icons wove their way through the system, each of these marked as Coast Guard patrol cutters. And making their way slowly around the system were two, tightly packed clusters of icons. While their ID beacons identified them as belonging to the Fleet, they provided no other information about the vessels. We could only judge their identities based on our scans of their overall size and power plant signatures. As I studied the sensor data about those clustered ships I could tell that Alex was right on the nose with her assessment. These were definitely battle groups.

Battle groups were general purpose combat forces composed of ships with complementary abilities. They carried enough muscle to support most offensive or defensive tactical situations, with each class of ship filling a specific combat niche. Each battle group was centered around a carrier which, in addition to its own staggering firepower, had the ability to launch twelve complete fighter squadrons. Each carrier in turn was supported by a pair of long range missile cruisers, four destroyers, two attack subs and six battle frigates. The ships we were tracking fit those profiles perfectly.

A single battle group was more than enough to protect a star system from any threat short of a full scale invasion force but apparently King Sebastian was taking no chances. Prior to the pirate attack on our prison shuttle three and half years ago, the only active patrols in the system had been carried out by the Coast Guard, and those in far less numbers. Now it looked like Sebastian was expecting war.

There was no sound on the bridge aside from the humming of the control consoles as everyone stared at the display. I flicked a glance at Captain Saha who was standing beside my command seat. He had gotten over his anger with me, for the most part, and we had been civil toward each other during the journey. I studied him briefly from the corner of my eyes as he stood watching the screen but I couldn't quite read his expression. If I had to guess I would have said that he was as surprised as the rest of us at the show of military might.

"Well, we wouldn't want it to be too easy now, would we," Bobby said in an exasperated tone, breaking the silence.

I pulled my attention back to the screen and the lethal obstacle course between us and our goal. The one thing this wasn't going to be was easy.

"Any indication that we've been scanned?" I asked Alex. We had been running with our own ID beacon switched off since Toula and all non essential systems were either shut down or dampened. Even without the stealth system engaged, our ablative coating would make us pretty difficult to spot on a long range scan, especially while we were sitting still.

"Not yet, but there's a Coast Guard cutter heading this way. It seems to be following a normal patrol pattern, but it'll be close enough to pick us up on a short range scan within the next twenty minutes."

I studied the screen for another few moments. There were no good options. Settling myself back into my seat I took one final look at the fuel level. If we were careful, and lucky, we might have just enough of a reserve to make it.

I filled my voice with all of the calm certainty I wasn't feeling and committed our future to the fates. "Viewer ahead, normal magnification. Engage stealth system. Take us in, slow ahead."

"Stealth system engaged," Mark said and nodded to Bobby.

Bobby turned to his console and reached for the controls. "Ahead dead sl–"

At that instant every electronic system on the bridge reverberated with a sudden, deep hum. We'd been flashed by a ship that was impossibly close by.

"Torpedo astern!" Alex shouted over the receding hum.

"Evasive!" I shouted to Bobby, but his hands were already racing across the controls even as I gave the command. I felt the deck vibrate as the engines went to emergency full power and the alert claxon blasted. On the main screen the stars began to slide aside as the ship struggled to turn and accelerate away, but we were coming from a dead stop and I knew it wouldn't be enough. I slapped open the ship wide comm.

"All hands brace for impact!"

I barely managed to give the warning when a brilliant explosion blossomed on the main screen. The ship shuddered violently, nearly throwing me out of my seat as half of the bridge crew went flying. Main lighting flickered then stabilized.

"Damage report!" I called as I pushed myself back over my armrest.

Chris clawed his way up from the floor and tried to make sense of his board. I could see warning lights flashing across the face of his console as different systems reported their status.

"Impact to A deck, sections five and six! Emergency doors are sealed!"

A cold fist squeezed my stomach. The torpedo had struck the ship just forward of the command deck 'sail'. Whoever had fired on us had tried to target the bridge. It was only due to Bobby's quick reflexes that we had avoided having the ship's command center torn away. But that didn't mean we had gotten off lightly.

The brilliant explosion which would have blinded naked eyes had caused the main screen to blank momentarily. As it cleared I caught a brief image of something spinning away from the ship–a body, arms and legs pinwheeling limply. I clamped down hard on my feelings even as the horror started to register in my mind. I would grieve later, if there was a later.

"Main power is still on-line," Chris reported as he sorted through the system displays on his board. "Life support and drive systems are intact. Power loss on A deck forward of–"

"Intermittent sensor contact astern!" Alex called out.

I spun to Mark. "Can you get a weapon lock?"

Mark was frowning at his console as he tried to lock on to the signal. "No! It's too faint!" He met my eyes. "It has to be another sub!"

The bastard who had attacked us near Toula was back. I knew in my gut it was him. Somehow he had trailed us across six sectors and into Gilead space. I also knew that the torpedo hit we took would have us lit up on his weapons board like a flare at night, giving him an exact fix on our position–and he was closing in for the kill. If I didn't do something in the next few seconds he was going to send another one right up our ass and finish us. Fortunately I had been keeping all weapon systems on standby alert.

"Fire aft torpedo!" We probably wouldn't hit him but I'd bet we could make him move.

Mark stabbed at his console. "Torpedo away!"

"Getting another sensor return now," Alex reported almost at once. "It's reading like a sub-light turn."

"The torpedo?"

Alex studied her screen and shook her head. "Clean miss."

The first of the three torpedoes we had for the rear tube was gone. I turned back to Mark. "Flash the area! And be ready to shoot again, we'll only get one chance at this!"

The low pitched electronic hum reverberated through the bridge. Mark was watching his console intently. Suddenly his fingers began punching instructions into the targeting system.

"Getting a return signal... The other ship is moving off at a high acceleration. I don't know if the computer can get a firing solution before–"

"Take your best guess and fire!"

Mark input a few last instructions and loosed the weapon.

"Torpedo is tracking," Mark said as he studied his screen. Several tense seconds ticked away. "Another miss." Two torpedoes down.

"Take us to a new heading," I said to Bobby. "If he's going to come after us again let him search for us." On the main screen the stars began to slide away to starboard, but slowly, too slowly.

"The helm is ... sluggish," Bobby reported as he struggled with the controls. "It feels like we're swimming through syrup."

That wasn't good. I turned to my Exec. "Chris, get a report from the repair team as soon as they've assessed the damage. I need to know exactly how badly that son of a bitch hurt us."

"On it."

"Captain," Patty called, "that Coast Guard cutter is broadcasting a request for our identification. They must have scanned the explosion." She paused and pressed one hand to her earphone as she listened to something on the comm set. "They just beamed a hyperchannel signal toward one of the battle groups. It was a coded transmission but if I were them I'd be calling for help."

A few moments later Alex confirmed her suspicion. "A pair of frigates from the nearest battle group just went hyperlight. Their vector will bring them right to us."

Damn. "How long?"

"Their current rate of acceleration will put them here in about ... eight minutes."

"Then we have exactly that long to blow that son of a bitch who's been hunting us!" I growled through clenched teeth.

"But we can't track him unless we send out flash pulses," Chris said. "Given the shape we're in it'd be suicide to advertise our location like that. We'd never be able to move away before he ranged us and sent torpedoes screaming back at us."

"Then we're just going to have to bring him to us on our terms," I said. I opened an intercom to engineering. Ian answered at once. "Ian, can you rig a remote detonator for that antimatter warhead we have in storage?"

"Aye, sir!"

"Do it and move the weapon to port cargo bay two. You have five minutes." I closed the circuit and turned back to Chris. "Stand by to open the outer door on port bay two."

"Very clever, Captain," Saha said. "But how are you going to lure him into your trap?"

I allowed a brief, wolfish grin to curl my lips. "Blood in the water, Captain." I turned to Mark. "I need you to reduce the output on one of the decoy countermeasures to a bare squeak. I want it to read like the engines have taken damage and our drive signature is leaking out through the stealth system. Can you do that?"

The whole purpose of a decoy countermeasure was for it to send out a powerful electronic signal, in effect screaming its head off to attract the attention of an incoming missile or torpedo. They weren't designed to do what I needed one to do. But if anyone could make it work, it was Mark.

Mark sat tugging his lip for a moment, his eyes unfocused and staring. "I think so. I'll have to adjust the field coil to–"

"Good. Don't waste time explaining it to me. Get it done and let me know when you're ready."

"Yes, sir!" He was out of his seat and off the bridge like a shot.

"Now we go fishing," I said to Captain Saha who was regarding me with a mixed expression of confusion and respect.

"I've got that updated damage report, Captain," Chris said. There was something in his voice that made me turn and look at him. "The torpedo tore a five meter hole in our hull across dorsal sections five and six. Power is out in all starboard compartments on A deck forward of those sections. There was also damage to a control relay node. The repair team thinks they can patch in a work around in a few minutes but until they do there's going to be a delay in helm response."

"But there's no damage to the drive system itself."

"No, sir." He was having trouble meeting my eyes.

"Chris?"

He shot a quick glance at the comm station then stepped over to my chair and lowered his voice. I could hear the anguish in it as he spoke.

"Initial reports place fourteen people in the affected sections before the emergency bulkhead doors closed. Most of them were off duty crew in their quarters. Some of them might still be alive if they were in their cabins with the doors closed. We won't know for certain until we can restore power..."

"And?"

"Cordass ... Momma Mary was in the galley getting lunch ready. And the last anyone knew she was baby-sitting Jeremy."

The bottom fell out of my stomach. The galley _was_ section five. Anyone who was in there when the ship was holed... In my mind's eye I recalled the image I had seen of the limp figure pinwheeling away from the ship.

I struggled to keep myself from looking in Patty's direction. "This stays between us for now. Let me know as soon as we get confirmation on exactly who's missing." Chris nodded and returned to his post.

Something hard formed deep in my gut. Raw, ugly hatred seethed within me. I clenched the arms of my seat like I was trying to crush them with my bare hands. The commander of that sub had better hope that I only blew his ship. If I ever got my hands on him...

"Captain!" Patty said. "We're being hailed by the approaching frigates. Well, not us, exactly, but they're broadcasting to the 'unidentified sub' and ordering us to disengage our stealth system." A red flag immediately went up in my mind. They had come to the conclusion awfully quickly that there was a sub here. So far all they knew for certain was that there had been some type of explosion in the area. That shouldn't have led them to jump to the conclusion that there was a sub here–unless they were expecting one for some reason.

"No reply," I said. "Maintain communications silence, but keep listening and let me know if they have anything else to say."

"Yes, sir."

Patty slid her headset back into place as she turned back to her board. I found myself studying her profile as she worked. Her nose, the curve of her forehead–so much like her son. I realized that I was looking forward to the upcoming fight with much more anticipation than I was to having to give her the news that her son had been killed.

Things settled down to tense waiting for the next few minutes. The frigates stopped transmitting their demands for us to reveal ourselves and started scanning in our direction. At their current distance they couldn't pick us up with their sensors, let alone while we were running with our stealth system engaged. But they weren't my main concern. We had to take out that sub hunting us before it put another torpedo in our hull.

The waiting was beginning to get to me when Mark finally returned to the bridge. "The countermeasure is ready to go," he announced with a self assured smile as he resumed his station. "They'll think we're trying to limp away with a ruptured resonance chamber."

"Put yourself down for a bonus," I told him.

Ian hurried onto the bridge a moment later. He moved to my board and pointed to a pair of lit control studs. "The warhead is all set. Once the weapon is away from the ship press this switch to arm it and this one to detonate it. We need to be at least ten kilometers away if we don't want to be caught in the blast ourselves."

I glanced at the clock on my board. It was just then coming up on five minutes since the frigates had been dispatched our way. "Mr. Brunner, there are times when I really think we underestimate you."

Ian quirked an eyebrow at me. "Someone has to pull our asses out of the fire at times like this." Without waiting for a response Ian turned and strode from the bridge.

I looked at Mark. "To make this convincing we're going to have to fake a compartment rupture. Set our last aft torpedo for minimum yield and disengage its drive system. I don't want that sub to pick up its wake signature."

Mark adjusted some settings on his board. "Done."

"Fire."

Mark fired the weapon and the induction rings in the aft tube pushed the torpedo out of the ship. We were now defenseless from the rear. If this didn't work and that sub crept up behind us again we would have no way to strike back.

I kept an eye on the chronometer, counting down the seconds to minimum safe distance as the weapon drifted away from our ship under its own momentum.

"Detonate torpedo. Open cargo bay door."

The explosive decompression in the bay would blow the antimatter warhead out of the ship along with the cargo in the bay. Port bay two was where we carried most of our spare parts and electronic trade goods. The enemy sub should read it as debris from a hull rupture.

I pressed the first switch on my board and activated the warhead. "Launch countermeasure." Mark tapped the flashing switch on his board and nodded to me. "Okay, Bobby, take us out of the area quietly."

"Yes, sir, slow ahead," Bobby said as he got us under way at a crawl.

The frigates would be here in two minutes.

"Anything on sensors?"

Alex watched her board. "I'm only picking up our 'debris' field and the decoy."

"Distance from decoy?"

"Four kilometers and increasing."

Seconds ticked slowly away as we waited. Behind us the debris field gradually spread out as the decoy moved further away.

"Decoy now at twelve kilometers," Alex reported. "Debris field seven kilometers astern." She suddenly frowned at her screen. I knew that look.

"Alex, talk to me."

"One piece of 'debris' just made a sudden change in its trajectory. As if–" she locked eyes with me, "–as if it just bounced off of something."

Like the hull of a stealthed ship nosing its way through the debris field. If he was tracking us instead of the decoy...

"Flash the area!" I ordered.

A moment later the familiar deep hum resonated from our control systems.

"Contact dead astern!" Alex said. "Return profile suggests ship is reorienting to bear on our position!"

I jammed my finger on the detonate switch and a mule kicked me in the small of my back, hurtling me out of my seat. Around me I heard shouts from all corners of the bridge as control consoles blew out in crackling displays of electrical fireworks. The last thing I saw just before the main lighting went out was the opposite bulkhead rushing toward me.
Chapter Sixteen

I smashed into the bulkhead and rebounded with such force that I was momentarily stunned. Fortunately, I had been able to get my hands up in time to protect my head from most of the shock or I would have suffered a concussion at least. As it was the left side of my face felt like a cheese grater had been used on it and my left shoulder ached like someone had tried to yank it out of the socket.

As my body floated limply away from the bulkhead I caught scattered images of different parts of the bridge as various control consoles continued to short out in bursts of brilliant electrical fireworks, freezing different areas in brief, surrealistic snapshots. After a few moments the shorting stopped, leaving the room in an inky silence. The harsh glare of the bright electrical bursts were still visible to my eyes as negative images on my retinas, but that was all I could see. The bridge was pitch black. With the ship having been caught in the EM wash of the antimatter explosion even auxiliary power was out.

I shook my head in an attempt to clear it and spread my arms and legs out as much as possible to slow my uncontrolled, weightless tumbling. It was the standard response to sudden gravity failure. I'd have to wait until one of my limbs touched something solid then pull myself down. As I spun slowly across the room I began to hear groans and muted curses coming from the rest of the bridge crew. Then my hand brushed against something and I felt about until I managed to find a secure hand hold.

"Find something to grab onto and report your status," I called into the darkness. One by one the crew answered, their voices coming to me from different parts of the darkness.

"Okay, everybody, we're going to need to get our systems up and running as soon as possible," I said. I had no idea how badly we'd been damaged but I knew I needed to get my people focused on something. "Does anyone know where they are?"

"I ... I can't feel anything!" Patty said, panic creeping into her voice. "I'm free floating!"

"Remember your emergency training," I said. "Spread your arms and legs and tumble until you can grab something. Every surface has handholds. You'll be able to stop yourself soon."

As I spoke I was pulling myself along by my hands, feeling the surface I had latched onto. It took me some time but I finally recognized the auxiliary systems monitor station. That would put me behind the command seat and off to the left. A mental image of the bridge snapped into focus in my mind. I knew where I was. As the rest of the bridge crew reported their status I worked to pull myself toward the command seat.

"Chris?" I called into the pervasive blackness.

"Here," his voice called back. "I'm okay, but I'm not sure where I am."

"Well, I'm at the auxiliary control station and you're off to my left. That would put you near environmental control or maybe engineering sub-systems monitoring."

"Right."

I heard him starting to work his way around the room.

I was searching along the front edge of the console I was holding onto for the emergency compartment and the portable flashlight that should be there when the dim amber glow of emergency lighting came on. The dim light cast deep shadows throughout the room but at least we could see. I reoriented myself and pushed off toward the command chair. Grabbing the seat as I sailed over it, I pulled myself down and buckled the restraint harness.

" _Bridge!"_ Ian's voice was faint and filled with static over the intercom.

"This is the bridge. What's your status?"

" _I've got us running on batteries for now. Every circuit breaker on the ship seems to have been tripped. What the hell happened?"_

"We were caught in the wake of the antimatter warhead detonation. How long before we have main power back on-line?"

" _You need to give me a few minutes, Captain. It's a mess down here. When the blast hit us everything shut down cold–the engines, the reactor, everything. We're going to start resetting the breakers and then we'll try bringing the reactor on-line. After that we can start bringing the systems back up one at a time, at least those systems that didn't get completely fried from the overload."_

"I need eyes, Ian. I need to see what's going on out there as soon as possible."

" _I'll do the best I can. Engine room out."_

"Captain!" It was Patty. She had managed to grab onto an overhead support stanchion and was floating near the ceiling over her station. "I need to go check on Jeremy!"

Damn. "Okay. Try to get to me and I'll pull you down."

She managed to pull herself along the shadowy recesses of the ceiling until I could reach her ankle. I tugged her down to me and she latched onto the arm of my chair.

"Thanks, Cordass, I'll only be a couple of–"

"Patty. There's something I need to tell you." As she met my eyes I could see the fear rising in hers. There was no easy way to do this. I took both of her hands in mine. "Patty, that torpedo we took opened sections five and six to space." Her eyes grew wide as the implications became clear.

"The galley ... isn't it in ...?"

"Section five. We think Momma was in there ... with Jeremy. Right now they're both listed as missing. We'll know more as soon as we can get a crew into that area of the ship to search."

Her face screwed up into a look of tortured anguish as fat, tear globules floated away from the corners of her eyes.

"I'm so sorry."

Her mouth fell open and I could feel her hands beginning to tremble in mine. I grabbed her, hugging her to me as sobs wracked her body. We stayed that way for some time with me cradling her head against my shoulder as she wept and clung to me. There were a hundred things I should be doing right now to get the ship up and running, but at this moment this is what Patty needed. Simple, human contact. If we couldn't be there for each other then what were we fighting so hard to live for?

After a while her sobbing softened.

"I'm sorry," she said into my shoulder, trying to bring herself back under control.

"There is nothing to be sorry about, Patty." I wanted to say more, to tell her it would be okay, but I didn't lie to my people. Her son was gone and all the wishing in the universe wouldn't change that.

She timidly pulled away from me, wiping her eyes. Looking at the shoulder of my uniform where she'd been crying, she reached out and tried to brush the damp spot away.

"Sorry."

"If you don't stop apologizing I'm going to put you on regen tank maintenance duty for a month."

She managed a faint smile.

"Why don't you go to your cabin? I can have someone else cover your station."

"If it's alright with you, I'd rather stay here. I don't want to be alone in our cabin... with his things." She screwed her eyes closed as tears started flowing again.

"Excuse me, Captain Pell." Captain Saha had made his way to the other side of my chair. "Why don't I have your comm officer come and sit with me in the conference alcove for a while."

"Thank you, Captain."

Captain Saha gently guided her toward the alcove, moving gracefully from handhold to handhold as he spoke softly to her. I could see that she was in good hands. Now to see to the rest of the crew.

"Okay, people, let's give our systems a quick once over so that when Ian gets the power back on we can get our stations up and running again as quickly as possible."

For the next several minutes everyone was busy checking over their consoles. Aside from the primary breaker boards in the engine room, each bridge console had its own circuit breakers which had to be reset. After that it was a matter of opening access panels and searching for any visible signs of damage. Without power to the consoles there was little that we could do besides an eyeball inspection but a number of suspect components were identified and replacements slotted into place.

It seemed like hours, although I knew it couldn't have been more than ten minutes, before main lighting finally came back on. A few moments later the gravity warning chime warbled and weight gradually increased to a standard G. One by one the bridge systems came back up. Alex's security board was the one exception. When she tried to power up her console several breakers popped open. Dropping to her knees she pulled off the main access panel and started tracing the circuits again. Now that the power was back on she would be able to find the problem quickly.

Around the bridge the various consoles and displays glowed back to life and soon the room was alive with the soft humming and electronic pings of the different control systems. On the far wall the main screen snapped on, its default setting showing us a normal forward view. We weren't alone. Directly in front of us were two Fleet ships, but not the frigates I was expecting. These were destroyers.

"Give me a slow one hundred and eighty degree pan around the ship," I said to Bobby.

As the view swung through its arc I could see the rest of the battle group. We were surrounded.

"We're being hailed, Captain," said Reese Lassen who had been called to the bridge to take over at communications.

"On speaker."

"–sors show that you have reestablished at least partial main power aboard your ship. I repeat, you are ordered to heave to and prepare to be boarded. Acknowledge."

"Not very friendly of them," I commented to no one in particular. "Open my mike on the same frequency, Reese." The microphone indicator on my board glowed on. "Fleet vessel, this is Captain Pell of the independent trade ship _Prometheus_. We appreciate your offer of assistance, but the last time we checked this was interstellar space. You don't have any authority out here."

There was a brief pause before a new voice came over the system. It was a voice that I had not heard in many years. "This is Rear Admiral Ulysses Magnus commanding the Gilead battle group _Venture_. I don't know who you the hell are, mister, but I'm not going to sit out here and debate legalities with someone who in all likelihood is a pirate! Your ship is running without an ID beacon on the border of our capital system and in the immediate vicinity of the detonation of a powerful antimatter device. You had damned well better comply or we'll blow your ship right out of space! This is your only warning."

"I've got power for shields, Captain," Mark said, reaching for a control stud. "Should I put them up?"

I placed my hand over the pick-up. "No! Stand down. No shields and no power to any of the weapon systems."

I knew Magnus and I knew that he wouldn't open fire on a ship that was not directly threatening his people, no matter what he was saying. But that didn't mean he was a fool. I also knew he would have every weapon in his battle group trained on us. If it looked like we were going to put up a fight he wouldn't hesitate to order his ships to open fire. The hell they could rain down on us with their combined might would blast through our shields like they weren't even there.

I uncovered the pick-up. "Since you put it that way, I'll be happy to consider your request, but may I at least see who it is I'm talking to?"

"We're getting a visual signal, Captain," Reese reported a moment later.

"Put it on the main screen."

The wall sized screen changed to show the bridge of the Fleet carrier, a space many times the size of our bridge. Admiral Magnus looked very much like I remembered him. There was a touch more grey in his hair but the familiar, unwavering steel was still reflected in his eyes as he leaned forward, resting his palms on the edge of his board.

"Well, Captain? You have your face to face. Now I expect you to prepare to receive the boarding party we'll be sending over to you."

"Ah, Admiral, it's a pleasure to meet you. We can discuss your request to send a team aboard our ship in a moment. But first there's someone here I want you to see." Glancing back over my shoulder I motioned Captain Saha forward. As he stepped up beside my command chair I saw the surprise register in Magnus' eyes. "You see, Admiral, the reason we're here in the first place is because we're bringing some of your people home. We rescued Captain Saha and his crew after they were attacked by pirates. In fact, I suspect that the ship which attacked the _Pathfinder_ was the same ship that followed us here and tried to blow us just before the arrival of your battle group. I'm afraid, however, that we were forced to destroy them so there's not much left for you to inspect."

"Admiral," Saha said to the screen, "Captain Pell is telling the truth. His people did indeed rescue us following an unprovoked attack on our ship and he was in the process of returning us to Fleet headquarters when his ship was attacked."

"I see," Magnus said, giving Saha a piercing look. I knew he had a thousand questions for his officer, but both he and Captain Saha were far too disciplined to hold an open discussion on an unsecured comm channel. Instead he turned back to me. "The Fleet is of course grateful for any assistance you and your crew may have rendered to our people, Captain."

"Quite unnecessary, Admiral. You don't ignore an SOS in deep space. Anyone else would have done the same thing."

"I'm not so sure about that, Captain," the Admiral said as he tried to size me up in light of what he had just heard.

"Well, in any event, you're welcome. Now, about your people coming aboard our ship, I have a counter proposal. I'd like to escort Captain Saha to your ship myself. My security officer and I can run him over to you in our skiff. It will give us a chance to speak in person." And there are several things I need to talk to you about, I thought to myself.

"Very well, Captain. We'll receive you in starboard docking bay seven. Magnus out."

I unbuckled my harness and the straps retracted themselves into the chair. "Chris, I'm leaving you in command. Unless you actually come under attack I want you to keep the shields down and all weapons systems off-line. Your first priority is this ship. Get those repairs under way and find out the status of everyone aboard."

"Yes, sir. When do you expect to be back?"

My eye fell on Alex as she finished securing her station. A strand of hair got in her way and she absently tucked it behind an ear. It was one of those unconscious gestures people develop, one that I was going to miss.

"That's a good question," I said as I pushed myself to my feet.

The skiff bay was just forward of the bridge. I led the way with Alex and Captain Saha close behind. We passed quickly through the brief connecting passage and moved into the bay. The skiff sat quietly to one side. Its door was open, revealing the dark interior, and its external umbilicus lines were attached to the receiving junctions near the small craft's stern. As I disconnected the umbilicus lines, Alex went to the equipment locker and belted on a blaster pistol.

"You realize they're going to disarm you before they let us come aboard," I said.

"And I'll surrender it to them when they ask for it. But as long as I'm in charge of your safety I'm not letting you go anywhere without an armed escort." Slapping the charge clip home, she holstered the gun and climbed aboard the skiff.

I noticed Captain Saha following our little exchange. "She tastes my food for me, too," I commented over my shoulder as I climbed in after her. From the look on his face he wasn't sure if he should take me seriously or not.

Alex powered up the skiff's systems and ran through a quick pre flight check as the atmosphere was evacuated from the bay. The bridge cleared us and we were ready to launch. As the bay door retracted and we nosed out of the bay, I could see the hole torn into the hull ahead of us. In the wash of the skiff's running lights I looked down into the wreckage of what had been the galley. No one could have been in there and survived.

The unsettling view disappeared as Alex rolled us and pointed the small ship toward the waiting carrier. It was huge, looming over the closer ships of the battle group, even though it was more than a kilometer away. We accelerated toward the Admiral's flagship and the Prometheus fell quickly behind us. Our flight path took us past one of the battle group's destroyers. It hung above us, an ominous grey synthesteel hulk bristling with weapon emplacements, reminding us just how many guns we were under.

The carrier grew as we approached, gradually filling the forward viewport. It was like flying toward a cliff of solid metal. Guided by the docking control officer, Alex brought us quickly to starboard docking port seven. Although the smallest of the starboard docking ports, the bay could easily have accommodated a ship twice the size of our skiff with room to spare. As soon at the bay was pressurized a squad of Marines jogged up to our hatch.

Captain Saha stepped into the bay first, followed by Alex and then me. One of the Marines glanced at the pistol on her hip and stepped smartly in front of Alex, his rifle angled across his chest at port arms, barring her way.

"I'll need to hold onto your weapon, ma'am," the soldier said. Alex unbuckled her belt and handed it to him. Her point was made. With a crisp nod the Marine stepped smartly back into line. We proceeded down the center of a double line of very alert soldiers. One by one we were directed through a security archway which scanned us for any concealed weapons. On the other side of the arch we were greeted by one of Admiral Magnus' officers. He introduced himself as Lieutenant Commander Marsh and had us follow him. Two of the Marines who had met our skiff detatched themselves from the rest of their unit and followed at a polite but no nonsense distance.

It took us quite a few minutes to make our way through the huge ship. The trek through the seemingly endless passageways and up numerous decks via obscure stairwells soon had me appreciating Bobby's hoverboard. I had never actually been aboard a carrier before, but I had seen specs. We were headed for the flag officer's quarters midway between the command sail and the forecastle. The carrier's captain ran the ship, but the admiral coordinated and directed the battle group.

At one point our route brought us past one of the vast hangars which took up much of the ship's space. We were led through a narrow passageway with wide observations windows on both sides which looked down onto several rows of fighter craft. Decks below I could see work crews scurrying like ants around the sleek and lethal looking craft as they kept them in readiness for quick deployment.

We followed this passageway for perhaps a hundred meters before Commander Marsh led us up yet another set of stairs and turned into a wide passageway. If my memory of the ship's layout was correct we were now in the part of the ship known as broadway, the main passageway that ran the length of the ship from bow to stern. The passageway was much wider than any of the others we had passed through and had a higher concentration of traffic as well. Although it was fairly crowded we passed easily through the throng as the various crewmen stepped aside to let the Lieutenant Commander pass.

Eventually we turned into a side corridor and stopped outside the door to the Admiral's personal cabin. Another pair of Marine guards was posted outside of the Admiral's door, although these two were only armed with needlers.

Marsh directed us to take a seat on the narrow bench across from the Admiral's quarters while he showed Captain Saha inside. The Marines who had accompanied us from the docking bay took up positions at either end of the bench. From their postures they seemed ready to wait there indefinitely. And having served with Marines in the past I knew that's exactly what they were prepared to do. Until they received new orders, or unless we tried something stupid, they would not move from those spots.

Marsh reappeared almost at once and told us that the Admiral would speak to us as soon as he was finished with Captain Saha. He told us to make ourselves comfortable then headed off down the corridor, turning into the bustling activity that was broadway and disappeared.

Having some idea what the Admiral needed to discuss with Captain Saha I knew we would be in for a long wait. I was right. It was more than an hour before the door to the Admiral's cabin opened again and Captain Saha gestured us in. The pair of Marines I had begun to think of as our personal escort followed us.

The Admiral's quarters were laid out similarly to mine, although on a grander scale. We entered into a small outer office with a desk behind which the Admiral sat. His actual living space would be through the doorway off to the right. Saha directed us to a pair of chairs facing the desk. We took our seats and waited as the Admiral finished reading something on one of several flat pads spread across the large desk. After a moment he picked up a stylus and began making some handwritten notes on the pad's screen.

"I'm not sure what I should with you," Magnus said as he wrote. "According to Captain Saha, your actions led to the rescue of twenty-three Fleet personnel. For that I am personally grateful." I found myself absently watching his hand move as he spoke, the large academy ring on the middle finger of his right hand bobbled in the light as he scribbled his notes. "He also tells me that you've had access to some highly sensitive information regarding our national security." He glanced up at us briefly, letting me see his displeasure. I could imagine what Saha had told him about that incident. After a moment he looked back down and resumed his writing. "The prudent thing for me to do would be to impound your ship and take you and your crew into custody."

"Admiral," Alex said suddenly. "I believe I know your maiden aunt."

If I hadn't been looking at his hand at that exact moment I wouldn't have noticed the momentary hesitation in his writing.

"Oh? And how is dear old Agatha?"

"Not Agatha, sir, her sister, Christie. She's fine, except for a touch of the flu."

"She never did like to cover up in bad weather."

"No, only when it's sunny."

I quirked an eyebrow at Alex, but she ignored me.

Magnus continued writing for a few moments then put the stylus down and pushed the pad aside. Looking up he motioned to the Marines behind us.

"You two wait outside," he ordered. As the Marines left the cabin he fixed Alex with a long, hard look. As soon as the cabin door closed he reached down behind his desk and came up with a blaster pistol which he placed on the edge of his desk.

"Captain, I want you to cover these two. If either of them makes a sudden move you are to shoot them."

Saha picked up the weapon and took a step aside to have a clear field of fire on both of us.

I was confused. "Just a second, Admiral, we didn't come here to–"

"Captain Pell, shut up." Magnus said. He hadn't taken his eyes off of Alex. He reached for a small control panel on the corner of his desk and pressed a stud. "This room is now shielded. No one can hear what we're saying. Well, young lady? Would you like to explain yourself?"

"Your ring, sir. You're wearing it on your middle finger, not your ring finger."

Magnus nodded. "That's how you knew to give the recognition code. Go on."

Alex glanced up at Captain Saha.

"The Captain is one of us," Magnus said. "I recruited him personally a number of years ago. Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of him."

Us?

She seemed to be weighing something briefly before she spoke. "Very well, Admiral. We need your help. The man you see sitting before you is actually Jason Raynor, the true King of Gilead."
Chapter Seventeen

"That's quite some claim," the Admiral said calmly. "But why should I believe something so preposterous? You see, I knew King Jason personally. He served under me for more than three years when he was the Crown Prince. I also attended his funeral. I saw the body." He looked at me. "I think I would know the King if he were sitting in front of me."

"I understand how this sounds, sir, but his face was surgically altered. And until a few days ago his memory had been blocked and he didn't even know who he was himself."

Now I was confused. "How long have you known?" I asked her.

"I first suspected your memory had come back when you were able to get around Captain Saha's encrypted finger drive," Alex answered with a self-conscious smile. "The newly installed neural assayer in the middle of sick bay was also a bit of a give-away." She sobered and it seemed like I caught a trace of sadness in her eyes. "Sire, forgive me, but I've always known who you were. It was my job to protect you."

"Protect me? What are you talking about? Sebastian dumped me on that prison transport with a new face and a wiped memory to get me out of the way. How could you have known?"

"Actually, Your Majesty, Duke Sebastian knew nothing about it. We blocked your memory and had your face changed to get you away from him. We learned about your abduction a few hours after Sebastian's phony attack on your motorcade. We knew that once the Duke had your security passcodes he was going to have you killed, so we put together a plan to get you off planet without arousing his suspicion. The plan was to alter your appearance so we could switch you with one of the prisoners being sent out to Demerl. That part went fine. A body with your general build was surgically altered to look like you and the switch was made. All we had to do then was slip you in with the prisoners being sent off planet and let the Royal Department of Corrections transport you for us. But there was another problem we hadn't planned for. Sebastian's interrogator had beaten you so savagely that you'd suffered severe brain trauma. You'd suffered multiple concussions and were delirious, Sire. Even after the doctors had reduced the swelling in your brain we were afraid that you would say something while you were unconscious to give yourself away. We were working on a tight schedule so we had your memory capped as a last resort. I was brought on board to go with you to Demerl and watch over you until our escape could be arranged. Then the pirate attack complicated everything."

I stared at her for a moment as my mind whirled. Too much information was coming at me too quickly to process it all. "Who the hell is we?"

"The Diadem Order, Sire, or at least my father's cell. He recruited me into their service a few years before you assumed the throne. I've been his personal agent since then, keeping an eye on you for him."

I looked at Alex as if seeing her for the first time. Suddenly, I had a brief memory flash. In my mind I was seeing her in a uniform of some kind. Fleet? No a ... Marine uniform. Her hair was short, like it was when we first met aboard the prison transport, but it was definitely her. Yet I couldn't recall where it was that I had seen her. Then a second image popped into my head. This time I saw her dressed in a dark suit and sitting at a desk watching a bank of monitor screens. But again I couldn't quite place the memory.

"Your father had you keeping an eye on me? Who is your father? For that matter, who are you?"

"My real name is Morgana. I am the daughter of Morgan Ardent, your father's foreign policy advisor."

Morgan had not only been my father's foreign policy advisor but was also a close personal friend. As a child he was always 'Uncle Morgan' to me whenever he came to visit. And during those early visits he'd always had a girl with him. She was a few years older than I was but that didn't stop us from running around the capital grounds together and getting into mischief. I remembered her as a bundle of energy, all long, skinny limbs and scabbed knees. Then one day she wasn't there anymore.

"We used to play together as children," I said.

"A few times," Alex–Morgana–admitted, "before I went to live with my mother."

"So that's what happened to you. But, why did Morgan want you to keep an eye on me?"

"As you know, the circumstances of your parents' death were always suspicious."

"I saw the findings of the investigators," I said. "According to the flight data recorder, the crash was due to pilot error."

"I know about that report, but my father never believed it. And neither do I. Not just anyone can be cleared as a pilot for _Space Fleet One_. Not only does he have to pass an extremely thorough background check, but anyone who is going to be the personal pilot for the King has to have top notch flying skills. The pilot flying your parents that day was Captain Mitchell Davis. I've gone through his records. He was a decorated veteran of two combat tours, and had been the academy's top flight instructor for several years before being given that assignment. He was the best of the best. He was too good a pilot to have made the mistakes the recorder says he made one right after the other to cause that crash."

"So you think the flight data was tampered with. Conspiracy theorists have been saying that for years."

"I'm no conspiracy theorist. I prefer to deal with facts. And I don't know what actually happened that day. What I do know is that your parents' deaths on the way to that international peace conference were just a little too convenient for certain parties, your uncle Sebastian chief among them. The death of Gilead's monarchs at that time nearly ignited an interstellar war. Your uncle used that emergency to quickly step in and grab control as Regent in your stead."

"There was no other choice," I pointed out. "By law I couldn't assume the throne until my twenty-first birthday." The idea was that any younger than this and a monarch would not have enough life experience to govern effectively, despite being groomed for this very purpose since birth. It was just too much power in one person's hands. At the time I resented the law which had made me wait to claim my inheritance, although now I had to admit that I not only understood the rationale, but agreed with it. I was only seventeen when my parents died and would not have been ready to rule the nation. As it was I wasn't sure I had been ready at twenty-one.

"Sebastian's regency was the only logical alternative," I said, but the words sounded hollow even to me.

"Like I said, very convenient."

She was giving me a lot to think about. Whatever was going on, Sebastian was certainly involved. But had he really had a hand in the death of my parents? Conflicting emotions began tugging at me. Recalling the death of my parents was like opening an old wound. A deep wound. It brought back much of the grief I had felt at the time. But the thought that Sebastian may have in fact orchestrated their murder was causing a burning hatred to bubble up inside me. Since I had gotten my memory back the one thing I was focused on seeing through was Sebastian's arrest for treason. If it were true that he had actually had my parents killed I was going to personally extract my revenge from his flesh.

"If you will forgive me for interrupting what is proving to be a very fascinating little exchange," Admiral Magnus said, "you still haven't given me any proof to support your claim."

Alex met his gaze squarely. "You have the means to confirm what I'm telling you." She glanced at the bulkhead to his left and the device set into it.

Magnus nodded. "Yes, but I wanted to see if you would be willing to suggest it."

The machine she had indicated was a biometric scanner. It sampled five different sources of data from a subject and cross-referenced them. If the person's data were stored in its memory files his identity would be proven beyond any doubt. I started to rise to my feet but the Admiral waved me back down.

"I'd like the lady to go first," Magnus said, studying Morgana's face. "I've never met Minister Ardent, but there is something very familiar about you."

Morgana allowed a trace of a smile to touch her lips. Standing up slowly she walked over to the machine under the watchful gaze of Captain Saha and placed her hand on the black scanning plate, activating the device. The screen glowed to life at her touch as the first of the scans began. The touch plate read the triple combination of her palm print, the vascular pattern in her hand and her bio-electric pattern, each of which is unique to every person. Then a light shone briefly in her eyes, scanning the retinal blood vessel patterns. The final clearance required her to say her name aloud so the machine could match her voice print.

"Morgana Tricia Ardent-Mitchell," she said.

A moment later the data screen flashed: Identity confirmed–M. Tricia Mitchell. Military record available.

Magnus frowned at her. "Tricia ... _Mitchell_?"

"My mother's maiden name, sir. My father thought it was better to keep our family connection hidden."

As Magnus stared at her recognition slowly dawned on him. "Didn't they used to call you, 'Tizzy'?"

"Yes, sir. I served under your command when you were captain of the _GSS Javelin_."

That's where I had seen her, in the corridor outside the auxiliary control room. Even in standard fatigues she was striking. But I never saw her on the ship again after that and I never knew who she was. Nor was it surprising that Magnus didn't remember her at first either. Aboard ship it was standard practice for the Marine units to remain isolated from the regular Fleet crew. Although Captain Magnus had known everyone under his direct command on sight, it was possible for him not to have ever seen any number of the Marines stationed aboard his ship. Although a basic personnel file on each one was part of the ship's database, the records weren't anything to make someone stand out as a three dimensional person in the reader's mind. This made the Marines something apart from the regular crew, which was part of their function as elite combat troops. The other part was their constant readiness to be deployed into situations that would give most combat veterans pause. Since Marines were expected to be ready to be dropped into a fire fight at a moment's notice, their 'free time' was structured. A Marine posted aboard a Fleet ship did two things when he wasn't on duty: maintain his equipment and train. This kept them far too busy to interact with the general crew. Contact was not actually forbidden, it just didn't happen often. But I also knew Magnus. He would have had his ear to the ground and he would have known everything he could about every one of them.

"Tizzy Mitchell," Magnus said thoughtfully. "You were one of Major Koster's top people, the one they said could shoot the eye out of a mouse at a hundred meters."

"Some of the men liked to exaggerate, sir."

"Well, your CO certainly wasn't someone who gave compliments lightly, and he had nothing but good things to say about you. You were one of the few people he didn't rotate off the ship after the usual six month tour. In fact, as I recall you were with us for several years, right up until ..."

"Until Prince Jason resigned his commission to assume the throne. Yes, sir. The Prince had been an officer aboard your ship for several years by then. I was kept aboard so that I could watch over him. More of my father's influence, sir."

"Maybe so, but Major Koster would not have kept you on for tour after tour if you couldn't pull your weight and then some." The Admiral glanced at the computer screen on his desk where he had just called up her file. "Your file says you resigned your commission right after that. Then your record just dead ends."

"I was recruited by a federal agency. It was a position that required a high level security clearance. You wouldn't have access to those files, sir."

The image of her in the dark suit came back to me then. "You went to work for the Protective Service Agency," I said, suddenly placing the other memory I had of her. The PSA was the agency charged with protecting the Royal Family and senior members of the federal government. I had seen her manning one of the many security monitoring stations in the capitol but had never made the connection.

"That's right, Sire. My father wanted me close to you because he suspected that Duke Sebastian was planning something."

"But you were never part of my personal security detail."

"No, Sire. That would have been too obvious."

I paused for a moment to digest what I was hearing. Uncle Morgan had been having his daughter keep tabs on me for several years because he suspected there was a plot against me, and for all that time not only did I have no idea that I was being watched over, I had never even heard of this group he was supposed to be a part of.

"This Diadem Order that Morgan recruited you into, what is it exactly?"

"Actually," Admiral Magnus said at that point, "before we continue along this line, I'd like to confirm your identity."

"Admiral, you've seen my file," Morgana said. "You know I'm telling the truth."

"In fact I do believe you, Miss. Mitchell. I believe that you believe this man to be King Jason. But before we reveal anything more in his presence I need to establish his identity to my satisfaction." He turned to me, looking me up and down. "Please step up to the scanner, sir."

Following Morgana's example, I stood slowly and walked over to the biometric scanner. I placed my palm on the reader plate, felt the warm tingling in my hand as the scanner collected its data, waited for the light to shine into my eyes, and said aloud: "Jason Asche Raynor."

Moments later the screen displayed: Identity confirmed–Jason Asche Raynor. Royal Family.

I turned and arched an eyebrow at the Admiral. He rose to his feet and stepped from behind his desk. Walking up to me he spent several moments searching my face for some trace of the man he had known.

"You've changed," he said finally. Then, glancing at Captain Saha, he motioned for him to lower his weapon. "Put that away, Captain. You're holding a gun on your King."

I felt a knot that I hadn't even realized was there beginning to untie itself in my gut and a smile slowly unfolded across my face.

"It's good to see you again, Admiral," I said, extending my hand.

Magnus took my hand, squeezing it warmly as he returned my smile. "And you, Your Highness. I was beginning to give up hope that our nation would ever recover from your loss."

"Don't you mean from King Sebastian's tender care? Yes, there's a lot that needs being put right. But first, tell me about this mysterious organization of yours that no one seems to know even exists."

Magnus gestured me back to my seat. Perching himself on the edge of his desk he folded his arms and stared into the distance as he marshaled his thoughts.

"I don't even know everything about it. Very few people do, aside from those who actually run it. That's part of what helps us maintain our secrecy. You see, we're organized into cells. Information is passed up the line through contacts known to the cell leaders and instructions are passed back down the same way. Most of us only know the members of our own cells."

"Cells? Information passing up and down a chain of command? It sounds like a military organization."

"I suppose that's natural, considering that the majority of our members are recruited from within the Fleet. As far as what the Order itself is, well, quite simply we exist to protect the Royal Family. Since the first days of the nation we have stood quietly in the shadows keeping a watchful eye over the King and his family."

"What about the Protective Service Agency? Aren't you just duplicating their efforts, or are they all members of the Order as well?"

"Not as many as you would think. As far as I know, very few Order members are actually part of the PSA." He shot Morgana a quick look. "Of course, our people are placed in all branches of the government for any number of reasons. But, to use Miss. Mitchell's words, that would be too obvious. Don't misunderstand me, Sire, the Service is very good at what it does, but everyone knows about them. Our strength comes from the fact that we operate clandestinely. No one knows we exist."

"So you're telling me that this Order of yours has been around for hundreds of years and no one in the Royal Family has ever known it even existed?"

Amusement twinkled in the Admiral's eyes. In that moment I was a junior officer under his command again, learning once more from a leader experienced not only in military matters but in life. "No, Your Highness, every reigning monarch since the founding of the nation has been informed of our existence, once he or she has ascended to the throne. In fact our authority extends from the very first of the Gileadean Kings, Arturo the first. He was the one who established our group as the last line of protection for his family and their descendants. When we join the Order, each of us is shown the original charter bearing King Arturo's signature so that we understand that we are not some rogue entity beholden to no authority. We exist to serve the Royal Family and each of us swears an oath to give our lives if necessary in that cause. Unfortunately, we were not able to reveal ourselves to you because the Duke moved against you so quickly after you were crowned."

I had been King for less than a month before I'd been abducted. There had been a brilliant explosion ahead of my motorcade one day, bringing the procession to an abrupt stop. A second explosion moments later sent my own car spinning into the air and then everything went black. The next thing I remembered was waking up in that underground holding cell and having Sebastian's man working me over for my security codes. He was a sadistic little bastard who enjoyed his work and who I'd love to meet one on one again when my hands weren't tied. While I knew that my uncle had disagreed with many of the reforms I had started making once I ascended to the throne, I never suspected he would try to depose me. It didn't seem like him. But I had seen several changes under his regency that I didn't like and I knew I needed to move quickly to turn things around as soon as I was crowned. One of the things in particular that I knew was making my uncle uneasy was the way many of my proposed changes would undercut the power of the Nobility. I must have scared him more than I realized. Or maybe I had started to get too close to his dealings with the pirates.

Then something occurred to me. "King Arturo is one of the most thoroughly researched historical figures of our nation. Nowhere in any of the laws enacted under his rule is there any record that he organized a group of personal bodyguards."

Each member of the Royal Family spent a good deal of our education becoming well versed with the legislative history of each monarch who had ever reigned. King Arturo was a personal favorite of mine and I knew virtually everything there was to know about him, or at least I thought I did.

Magnus' lips twitched into a half smile. "Actually, there is an obscure decree by the King establishing 'An order to provide for the protection of the Royal Family'. The exact month, day and year of this proclamation can be found in the historical records of the time, but as with so many 'small' items it was overshadowed by larger issues of the day. To most people it is just one obscure proclamation amid a mountain of bills and legislative changes during the formative years of the nation. Most historians who even know about it believe it to be an early reference to the Protective Service Agency, but the Service was not actually put into place for almost another two years." His smile broadened into a grin. "Hidden in plain sight. The very fact that it appears so plainly among hundreds of other seemingly minor bits of legislation was the perfect way to keep it secret. And we have kept that secret for more than two hundred years. A secret it has been an honor to protect."

I sat for a moment absorbing what I had heard, then looked up to find Magnus studying me.

"I don't have the words to even begin to express my thanks," I said. Magnus started to say something but I waved him back. "I do have to thank you, admiral. All of you." I looked at Morgana and she lowered her gaze. "So many of you have given so much of yourselves in ways that I can never repay."

"Your Majesty, with all due respect, you will never have to thank any member of the Order," Magnus said. "Gilead has only been able to become the great nation that it is today because of your family. None of the other star kingdoms have a system of representative government like ours. We, the people, elect our leaders from within our own ranks. Those leaders, responsible to the demands of the citizens, truly run the nation. On those – infrequent – occasions when a Gileadean King has stepped in to impose his will, it has always been to address a problem that an overburdened system is unable to correct within the strict boundaries of the law. In contrast, many of the other stellar monarchs are tyrants who look upon their citizens as little more than serfs.

"But the Raynors have always valued the basic human dignity all people have a right to. And more than that, you don't put yourselves up on a pedestal. By your own laws, a member of the Royal Family must also serve a minimum two year tour of military duty before he can be crowned as monarch. During that tour you take no special privileges and are sworn to follow the orders of superior officers, whether commoner or Noble. You serve alongside your own subjects as one of us, literally putting your lives on the line for the sake of a principle. Such a gesture inspires loyalty, Sire, the kind of loyalty that cannot be bought."

The Admiral's words touched me. I recalled how my father had once tried to explain to me that we had no right to rule if we were not willing to put our own lives on the line for the nation. I hadn't fully understood what he was trying to tell me then, but Magnus' words brought that meaning home to me in a way I had not been ready to understand at the time. What father had meant was that our willingness to risk our own safety made us more worthy to rule in the eyes of the people. Because, ultimately, it is the people who allow a leader to rule. Even the most oppressive dictator cannot remain in power without a cadre of men willing to carry out his orders. But the services of such men is only bought with power and privilege. And such rulers invariably sow the seeds of their own undoing, for in creating a class of elite who enjoy the privileges of society which are wrested from the hands of the oppressed, they cause deep resentment among the populace. Ultimately, that resentment will spread throughout their society like a cancer, bringing social decay, economic disaster, and ultimately, rebellion.

But Arturo had understood that no leader rules without the will of the people. That lesson had been handed down from King to King for more than two hundred years. In fact, the members of the Royal Family had it impressed upon us from a very early age that we were ultimately accountable to our subjects.

But it seemed that not all members of the Royal Family shared that philosophy.

"And King Sebastian?" I said, fixing Magnus with a look. "Has he inspired the same loyalty?"

A weaker man might have looked uncomfortable. Magnus met my eyes levelly as he answered. "Until a few minutes ago I would have truthfully told anyone who asked me that my allegiance was to my King and country. As the crowned monarch, I would have given my life in the service of King Sebastian." A sudden hardness came into his eyes then. "However, should a King prove himself to be an enemy of the nation it would be my sworn duty to see him removed from power."

"So you sent Captain Saha to find evidence to use against him."

Magnus nodded. "If it could be shown that the King were involved in high treason, the Senate could remove him from the throne. Rumors had been circulating throughout the Order since before you assumed the throne that there was some connection between the pirates and Duke Sebastian, but there was no hard evidence. Then, a few years ago, we got our first solid lead.

"I actually came across the first evidence of a link between your uncle and the pirates through chance. Shortly after you resigned your commission, I was promoted to Admiral and assigned to Fleet operations. As with so many things it all started with what appeared to be a minor clerical error. My office couldn't account for a ship that had supposedly been decommissioned. It was a relatively young ship with no serious damage which would have necessitated it being taken out of service. That was slightly unusual in itself, but what we couldn't explain was why it was not in the scrap yard it had been assigned to. A little digging turned up paperwork which showed that it was supposed to have been disassembled and destroyed. The problem was that the breaker yard which was listed as having handled the job had been shut down for repairs during the time the ship was supposed to have been scrapped.

"That started me digging around further and I began to notice that a number of relatively young ships had been decommissioned early over the past several years, ships whose service logs showed that they should still have been in active service for many more years. Something didn't seem right and I started quietly reaching out to people I knew who might have answers. Eventually I learned that shortly after he assumed the regency, Duke Sebastian had begun a program to overhaul the fleet by phasing out certain classes of ships and replacing them with newer ones."

The other shoe dropped. "Let me guess. He was phasing out subs."

"Yes. Of course, this in itself meant nothing. If the Regent wanted to upgrade the Fleet with newer ships it was his prerogative to do so. The problem was that I couldn't account for what had happened to any of the ships that had been taken out of service. Some of them had records showing them scrapped by plants which had been shut down at the time. Others had supposedly been disassembled by plants which had been engaged in servicing other ships at the same time, which is clearly impossible. Still other ships were simply found to be missing from their assigned slots in Fleet scrap yards.

"When I correlated the data and noticed that pirate activity began to escalate in direct relation to the numbers of missing Fleet ships, the Order felt that we had to do something. If the King were truly behind this plot we needed to find evidence we could present to the Senate. Several ideas were proposed to ferret out this link, one of which was to send people out to search for answers. There may have been other attempts to discover the details of Sebastian's treasonous activities but I only know about the operation I was in charge of."

Evidence that Sebastian was perpetuating the sale of military technology to pirates who were then using them to strike against our own ships would indeed be enough to have him removed from power. In theory. But everyone in the room knew that it would not be as easy as that. Sebastian would have insulated himself with as many staunch supporters as possible. No matter how strong a case the Order managed to assemble against Sebastian, the most probable outcome of such an accusation would be civil war. Just imagining the numbers of innocent people who would lose their lives because of the selfish desires of one man was turning my stomach.

"I assume that my uncle is not aware of the existence of the Order," I said, my mind branching off onto another track.

"No, Sire."

While I was relieved that Sebastian did not know about the Order, I was starting to worry about just who was in control of this force. Magnus must have read something in my expression.

"Please understand, Sire, the Order did not come to this decision lightly. It is clearly spelled out in the articles establishing the Order that our purpose is to protect and preserve the Royal Family, not necessarily to support the ambitions of any one person. We would, every one of us, still carry out our mandate to protect the King to our best ability, no matter what his policies. But we are not obligated to reveal our presence to him if it is determined that his actions are against the best interests of the nation."

The Admiral's words reminded me of a famous legal case from Old Earth I had once studied. It concerned a store owner who was accused of distributing pornographic materials. The lawyer for the defendant tried to pin down the judge in the case by asking him to define what he meant by pornography. From the bench the judge replied: 'I can't define pornography, but I know it when I see it.' His statement had turned their legal system on its ear. In the end, after years of lawsuits, countersuits and appeals, it was determined that no one should have the authority to arbitrarily decide the standards of behavior for the general public.

"And who decides what is in the best interests of the nation, Admiral?"

Magnus nodded slowly, like a master teacher acknowledging the achievement of a student. "And so we arrive at the crux of the problem. Normally, legally, it is the right of the King to decide what is best for the nation. But what is our responsibility when that King is engaged in treason? That very point has been at issue since Sebastian came to power. There are many in the Order who believe that it is our duty to reveal ourselves to King Sebastian. If we continue to function without the knowledge of the King, who are we serving? But our charter also mandates that the Order conduct a thorough investigation of the King once he assumes the throne. King Arturo established the Order to not only protect the Royal Family but also to serve as a safety measure to ensure that whoever sits on the throne is truly acting in the nation's best interest. That final decision we will leave to the courts. Our function is to utilize our extensive contacts to investigate every aspect of the King's background, and when necessary to gather evidence of any wrongdoing. Something no one else can do."

"And now that Captain Saha has brought you that evidence, what will the Order do?"

"The one thing we will not do is stage a military coup. The only person who has the authority to command a mobilization of the Order is the reigning King. The information we have gathered will be channeled to the appropriate people within the government who will put it before the Senate. The nation, the people must decide for themselves what to do. But, we have been presented with an unusual situation. You have been returned to us, Sire. As King you can command the Order into action." Magnus sat studying me, waiting for my response.

It was tempting. To march into the capitol in command of my own private army and remove Sebastian from the throne at gun point had a very real appeal. But I dismissed the idea even as I considered it. It was not a civil war I was after. I needed to have Sebastian removed publicly and peacefully. And above all, it had to be done in such a way that would have the support of the people.

"No, Admiral, I think your first idea was the best one. I think you should arrest me."
Chapter Eighteen

It was a beautiful day for an execution. No doubt the King had ordered climate control to arrange perfect weather for the occasion. The capture of the leader of the pirate ring which had been attacking Gilead shipping over the past several years was big news. Sebastian would try to get as much mileage out of my arrest as he could. He always had needed to be the center of attention. That was fine with me. Let him bask in the glory of the moment. The wider the news reached the better.

By the time Admiral Magnus's battle group entered orbit around Haven, every news service in the nation was carrying the story. Regular programming had been preempted so that my trial could be transmitted live to every system in the nation. The verdict was a foregone conclusion and most people were more interested in the sentence that was certain to be carried out than in the court proceedings. After all of the people who had been murdered or carried off by the pirates, the public wanted their pound of flesh.

News ships buzzed around our formation like a swarm of flies around a rotting carcass. The cluster of ships was so tight that there had been several minor collisions and even one serious enough to require a rescue team from the nearest orbiting platform to be called in to tractor a ship to space dock before their air bled away into space.

The circus atmosphere only increased when my shuttle left the Admiral's flagship and started down toward the capitol. Although we started out with an escort of six long range fighters and a patrol cruiser, we quickly picked up an entourage of trailing media ships that made it seem more like a parade than a military formation. By the time the shuttle touched down on the capitol grounds the air above the city was congested with hundreds of ships all vying for the best camera angles. The media was hoping for a show and I didn't plan on disappointing them.

As I stepped into the sunlight I squinted up at the ships buzzing above, allowing the news crews to get a shot of me. My face itched like mad. Over the past few hours I had undergone follicle stimulation treatments which had caused me to sprout a wild beard under a tangled mop of hair which hung in my eyes. Between that and the soot which had been strategically smudged on the exposed portions of my face I should be unrecognizable. From somewhere the Admiral had dug up a stained and tattered pressure suit that I had changed into. The oversized suit hung like a sack on me, adding to my disheveled appearance. I was manacled of course, my hands secured behind my back, and once more I had the weight of an obedience collar around my neck. I truly looked like some wild thing which had been dragged kicking and screaming into custody.

A nudge in my back started me down the access ramp. Two squads of Marines flanked me as I made my way along the crushed stone path that led through the wide, manicured lawns toward the capitol dome. In contrast to my own seedy appearance my Marine guard was decked out for the occasion in full dress blues. The formal uniform of the Marine Corps was a carryover from pre-spaceflight days. Festooned with large brass buttons, bold leg piping and completed with high peaked, white caps and sabers hanging at their sides, my guard detail made an impressive sight. But as formally impressive as they appeared, these were veteran soldiers, battle hardened, trained to respond instantly to any threat with death. Even their sabers, although mainly ceremonial, were real and as deadly in their hands as the blaster rifles each one of them carried.

It didn't take us long to cover the distance from the landing pad to the capitol. Admiral Magnus was at the head of our procession, his stride confident and purposeful. The capitol grounds had been cleared for our arrival and only roving patrols of military police officers were in sight. A squad of capitol security officers, outfitted in riot gear, was posted at the building entrance. They pulled themselves to attention at our approach. The Admiral acknowledged them with a brief nod and only someone paying close attention would have noticed the barely perceptible nod their commander gave in return.

Although the capitol grounds had been cleared, as we moved into the main foyer of the capitol building itself, the din of hundreds of people reached my ears. A cordon of police officers maintained an open path from the entrance to the senate chambers. Beyond the stern faced officers hundreds of people attempted to press in on us from both sides. Cameras and microphones were thrust in my direction as each reporter tried to get my attention. For a moment it seemed as if the police were about to be overwhelmed by the crowd.

Without turning, Admiral Magnus held up one finger. Instantly, my Marine guard readied their rifles, shifting the weapons smoothly from their shoulders into port arms position and as a unit snapped off the safeties. The sound of several dozen safeties clicking from safe to active mode caused everyone to stop. The entire crowd took a step back. These were Marines and their impassive expressions were a clear message that they would brook no interference.

Admiral Magnus never hesitated. He continued toward the entrance to the Senate chamber unhurried and unconcerned about the mob surrounding us. Ahead, a pair of dark suited Protective Service agents pulled open the heavy doors to the chamber, holding them wide for us to enter.

I hadn't seen the Senate this full since my coronation. Every seat on the floor was filled and the overhead galleries were overflowing. People were standing as many as five deep along every available wall space. Interspersed throughout the crowd were dozens of capitol police officers and Protective Service agents, each watching the crowd with hard eyes. Unlike the foyer however, the Senate chamber was virtually silent. The low murmuring which had been buzzing through the room when the doors first opened faded away at our entrance. With one exception. Seated atop the tall dais at the head of the room, King Sebastian was carrying on an active conversation with one of his advisors.

The throne Sebastian was sitting in was different from the seat which used to occupy that place. The artistically carved chair which had stood atop the dais since the kingdom had been founded had been replaced with an immense golden throne that overwhelmed the room with its gaudy magnificence. It appeared to be molded from solid gold inlayed with platinum and jewels and padded in rich, crushed velvet. Its intricately patterned back rose to nearly twice the height of a standing man. The throne was bathed in a cleverly concealed, subtly muted spotlight which drew your eye instinctively to it, making it the center of attention.

Sebastian seemed quite at home. He was resplendent in a pure white, military cut uniform adorned with excessive amounts of gold buttons and braiding and included his own white scabbarded saber. Around his shoulders he wore a fur trimmed cape of royal purple and perched on his head was the Starcrown, the symbol of our family's authority for centuries. The left breast of his uniform was crowded with row upon row of medals and ribbons. I had to suppress a smile at that sight because as far as I knew the only award he had ever 'earned' from his time in the military was a good conduct medal upon his discharge. Even that had been a joke at the time because his conduct had been anything but good in the service. But a member of the Royal Family could not be discharged from service to the kingdom without some commendation being bestowed.

I wondered where he had gotten the other awards, most of which I didn't recognize. Then my eye fell on one I did recognize–fencing champion. Unlike the good conduct medal, this one I did not doubt he had earned. Sebastian had been fascinated with swordplay since he was a boy. Having trained with the best instructors in the kingdom from a young age, Sebastian had quickly established his reputation as one of the top fencers in the entire Fleet during his brief enlistment. His aggressive style and the fact that he was a member of the Royal Family whom no one would dare injure enabled him to dominate any opponent. Dozens of officers bore scars as a result of their matches with him since he had made it a point to mark anyone he competed against. Only once in his entire time on the team had an opponent gotten through his guard and nicked him on the shoulder. That opponent had paid for this with a week's stay in the base infirmary after Sebastian had nearly taken his arm off in retaliation. It was a story he liked to tell in social situations, a way of bragging about his prowess. I wondered idly if that was what he was doing now.

While everyone else followed our procession down the center aisle, Sebastian ignored our presence and continued to talk and laugh with his advisor. I recognized the fellow immediately: Hamilton Fiske. He'd been a freshman Senator when I assumed the throne. I had never liked him. He was the sort who made me want to count my fingers after shaking hands with him. He was an opportunist, plain and simple. His only concern was for his own political advancement, with the wishes of his constituents something he bothered with only when it coincided with his own agenda. He did have a talent for ass kissing however and would go to any lengths to ingratiate himself with anyone who could be helpful to his upward climb. His belly crawling had obviously caught the attention of Sebastian who liked to surround himself with fawning toadies.

Admiral Magnus stopped before the Speaker's podium at the foot of the King's dais. The Marine guard split into two columns which separated and continued around either side of the wide podium to take up flanking positions on both sides of the dais alongside the King's personal Protective Service detail. Two of the Marines remained with me, stopping me a few paces behind where the Admiral stood.

Sebastian continued his private conversation for a while, pointedly ignoring us as he talked at length and laughed at his own jokes. Eventually he dismissed Fiske with a gesture. The Senator paused briefly to look down his nose at me before scurrying away. Resettling himself in the thick padding of his throne, Sebastian finally condescended to notice us.

"Welcome home, Admiral! We understand that you have information of some consequence to report."

"I do, Your Highness. I have brought before you someone who I think Your Majesty will be interested in meeting."

Sebastian threw his head back and laughed. "Well said, Admiral! We are indeed very interested in meeting this rascal." His smile faded and a hard edge entered his voice. "And then he shall learn how We deal with those who dare to raise their hand against Our ships. Bring him forward so that We may examine this nuisance."

A hand on each shoulder directed me closer to the podium. Sebastian leaned forward and looked down at me from his position towering over the rest of the floor. I met his gaze and waited. After a while, when I did not break eye contact and look away, he narrowed his eyes and rose to his feet. Settling his cape around his shoulders, he came slowly down the dais steps, stepped around the podium and faced me. Sebastian sneered as he looked me up and down, then slowly walked a circle around me.

" _This_ is the scourge of the space lanes? This pathetic excuse for a man? Take him away, Admiral. We have changed Our mind. We have no wish to waste Our time on this bit of human refuse. Take him away and hand him over to the courts. Let justice be done to him."

Spinning on his heel he headed back to the dais.

I took a step forward. "I invoke the right of recognition!"

Sebastian froze as if he'd been shot. When he turned back to me a vicious smile curled his lips.

"You sorry fool. You hear a word and you seek to make yourself seem important in Our presence. Yet you do not know what you are saying. The right of recognition can only be invoked by a member of the Royal Family."

"I know exactly what I'm saying. Before you, before those assembled here and before all those witnessing these events across the kingdom, I claim kinship to the crown and demand the right of recognition."

A low buzzing rippled through the crowd.

Sebastian glared at me. I had claimed kinship to the Royal Family in front of the entire kingdom. He was now obligated to hear my claim.

"Very well, my clever little friend. But understand what your cleverness has bought you. Falsely claiming kinship to the Royal Family is treason. And treason is punishable under the old penalties. Once We have disproved your ridiculous claim you will be taken from Our presence to a place of execution where you will be hanged by the neck until you are dead!"

Spinning around, Sebastian stormed to the top of the dais and threw himself down onto the throne. At his gesture the Speaker of the Senate stood to addressed me. Barbara Fine was a Senator from a small system on the border of the kingdom. She had won her seat following the murder of her husband in a violent robbery. She had used the event to push through a series of reforms in the criminal statutes and eventually her popularity led to her being elected to the Senate. I was happy to see that her dedication had won her such support and acceptance among her fellow Senators as well. The kingdom was lucky to have politicians of her caliber.

"Approach and identify yourself," she told me.

Set into the front of the speaker's podium was a biometric scanner. One of my marine guards unlocked my cuffs. Rubbing the circulation back into my wrists I stepped up to the device and placed my hand on the scanner plate. The familiar warm tingling began at my touch. When the light probing my eyes faded away I looked up at Sebastian. Holding his gaze I spoke in a voice loud enough to carry to where he was sitting, "Jason Asche Raynor."

Sebastian surged to his feet as the computerized voice said: "Identity confirmed. Jason Asche Raynor. Royal Family."

The crowd exploded.

"Impossible!" Sebastian yelled.

"Why, uncle? Because you thought one of your thugs had killed me during his overly zealous interrogation?"

"Jason Raynor is dead!"

Oddly, I felt a sensation of calmness settling over me. The nervous tension which had been building in my chest ever since I'd landed in the shuttle evaporated like the tenuous wisps of a dream. For the first time in years, I was at peace.

I folded my arms and looked up at Sebastian, watching as he struggled to come to grips with the unexpected turn of events. He had been outmaneuvered and there was nothing he could do about it.

"It is over, uncle," I said. "They know. The entire kingdom knows."

Rage contorted his features. His fingers gripped the arms of his throne with white knuckled fury as if he were refusing to relinquish his hold on the kingdom.

"We don't know how you managed to fool the scanner but this plot will not succeed! Take this pretender from Our presence at once!"

I glanced at the pair of Marines flanking me. They stepped back, holding their weapons at the ready but made no move to grab me. Admiral Magnus had been very particular when he selected the Marines for the detail that accompanied us to the capitol. These were his men, each one a member of the Diadem Order. They knew who I was and what was at stake.

I watched the color drain from Sebastian's face when the Marines failed to respond to his order.

"Your Highness," Admiral Magnus said, "given the importance of what is happening here, perhaps it would be wise to–"

"Treason!" Sebastian screamed, his voice pitched high with panic. He jabbed an accusing finger at Magnus. "You are in this with him! We have long had Our doubts about your loyalty, Admiral, and today you have shown yourself for the traitor you are! Admiral Magnus is to be arrested along with this upstart pretender at once!"

For a second time Sebastian's orders went unanswered. Around the chamber the dozens of police officers and Protective Service agents stood unmoving at their posts. A day earlier, Admiral Magnus had sent instructions to the Order. Using its influence the Order had rearranged duty assignments to assure that each of the officers and Protective Service agents assigned to the capitol today were Order members.

"Treason!" Sebastian shrieked. "You are all in this together! But you haven't gotten to my personal security detail. These men are loyal to _me_ ..." His words dropped off as he turned to the Protective Service agents flanking his throne only to find that each of them had been disarmed by the Marines who had taken up positions beside them.

Sebastian shrank back into the cushions of his throne as the reality of his situation sank in, his eyes darting furtively around the room.

"Uncle, this is pointless. This entire matter can be resolved very easily through a simple DNA test."

"And have more of your treasonous friends tamper with the results? We think not!" He seemed to draw in upon himself as he sat huddled there, looking like a trapped animal. But an animal is at its most dangerous when it is backed into a corner.

Even as this thought was going through my mind I saw a sudden change come over him. Sebastian set his mouth in a hard line as fury blazed behind his eyes. Surging to his feet he threw off his cape and drew his saber.

"This farce has gone on long enough! We will tend to you Ourself!" He began advancing down the stairs toward me, the point of his saber aimed at my heart. "No one is to interfere! This is between this impostor and Us!"

I took an involuntary step back, instinctively looking for a way out. I had made it clear to Magnus that no one was to move against Sebastian no matter what he did. That would be the fastest way to plunge the nation into civil war. This must not be seen as a military takeover of the government. I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of that order however as I watched my uncle advancing toward me with murder written on his features. Then suddenly, something hard was pressed into my palm. Looking down I found myself gripping the hilt of a saber. One of the Marines had given me his weapon.

"Good luck, Sire."

Before I could reply I heard an enraged shout. It was like the bellow of a charging animal, all hatred and fury without reason. I spun around and saw Sebastian charging at me in a blind rage. I swung my saber up barely in time to parry a blow that would have split my skull. The force of that blow was so powerful that I was forced back several paces. Sebastian pressed his attack, swinging again and again, forcing me to give ground before the fury of his assault.

Like all members of the Royal Family I had taken instruction in fencing as a youth. But I had never been as devoted to its study as was my uncle. Although fairly proficient with a sword I knew that I was no match for Sebastian, even now that he was years past his prime.

As he pressed his attack I scrambled backward, dodging and parrying his slashes as I worked to keep my flesh off the point of his blade. Sebastian broke off his attack then, a cruel smile curling his lips.

"What's wrong, Your Highness? You seem to be having some trouble. Our nephew, Our true nephew, was an accomplished swordsman, like all members of Our Family. Or didn't you realize that when you thought up this little charade? He would be able to offer Us a true challenge, not the pathetic flailing about you are exhibiting."

Sebastian punctuated his words with a sudden attack. Again I gave ground as I dodged and parried. And once again his attack failed to penetrate my defenses.

"You cannot evade me forever!"

I ignored his taunting and circled left to avoid being driven into a corner. Although I knew Sebastian outclassed me, I was not quite as helpless as I appeared. One of my earliest instructors had driven home the point that charging in to attack is a quick way to get killed. He was always cautioning me to take the first moments of an encounter to assess an opponent. Time and again he told me to spend the beginning moments of an encounter to learn an opponent's strengths and weaknesses in order to find a way through his guard. As a young man I had been amused that he had treated fencing as if it were actual life and death combat when to me it was mere exercise and sport. I wasn't smiling now.

"We are growing weary of this challengeless sport," Sebastian said. "It is time to put an end to this farce."

Once again he pressed the fight. As before, he began with an overhead slashing attack. But I had started to learn how he fought and I was ready. His blade moved through a broad figure eight, cutting at me first from the left then the right. Then he switched to a series of quick, lunging thrusts. It was a classic series of attack moves, not especially creative, but flawlessly executed. And fast! I hadn't expected him to be so fast. Sebastian was in his mid-fifties yet he moved like a man half his age. He had the strength of a younger man as well. My wrist and arm were already beginning to ache from absorbing the impact of his strikes.

And he kept coming. This time he did not pause in his attack. He continued to press me, forcing me back, waiting for me to make a fatal mistake. It was inevitable. I could not continue to fight a defensive battle for long.

Then an opening came unexpectedly. He had raised his tip a little too much, allowing me inside his guard. I moved to take advantage of the sudden opportunity and realized at the last moment that it had been a trick. Our blades clashed and locked. Pressing forward I slid my saber along his blade until we were locked guard to guard. My arm was trembling from the effort to maintain pressure against his blade. We were virtually nose to nose, neither of us willing to give ground.

Then suddenly, Sebastian relaxed his wrist and stepped back, disengaging his blade. Caught unprepared I lurched forward half a step, but it was enough. I saw his hand flash forward from the corner of my vision. Pain exploded in my mouth in a rush of salty warmth as he clubbed me with his hilt guard. I stumbled backward, tripped over a chair and went down hard, striking my head on the floor.

Stars swam through my vision as I tried to get back to my feet but my head was stuffed with cotton and I couldn't make my limbs obey me. I was aware of a commotion in front of me and realized that the chair I had fallen over had been kicked aside. I could sense Sebastian advancing on me and knew that I had only seconds to get up or I would be spit like a roast. I managed to get my feet underneath me and lurched up from the floor. But I was still disoriented, my head spinning.

I stumbled backward and was only prevented from falling again by slamming into the Speaker's podium. I struggled to bring the saber up to protect myself, a feeble effort that I knew was useless. There was a blur of steel and a sudden flash of pain in my wrist as my blade was batted aside. I groaned at the throbbing pain but somehow managed to keep a grip on the saber. The pain actually helped to clear my head. I looked up as Sebastian advanced on me, his sword arm drawing back to deliver a finishing blow. Death was in his eyes. He was going to drive his saber straight through my chest.

Fear pumped adrenalin through my system. Everything suddenly snapped into clear focus. I watched as Sebastian drove forward, saw the point of his blade blur toward me in slow motion. I threw myself aside at the last instant, felt the shock of the blade thudding into the podium at the exact spot where I had been barely a moment before.

Furious, Sebastian went to withdraw his saber. His arm jerked and stopped–his blade was stuck!

I only had a moment. Ignoring the pain in my wrist I raised my saber and lunged. Sebastian gasped as the tip of my blade pierced his side. Releasing his grip on his saber he staggered back, pulling himself off of the merciless steel penetrating his body. Blood flowed freely through his fingers as he pressed his hands to his side. A dark stain spread from his side and ran down his leg, painting a garish, crimson streak on the pristine whiteness of his uniform.

His mouth worked silently for a moment as his eyes blazed hate at me. Bearing his teeth he released his side with one hand and took a step toward me, reaching for my throat with blood soaked fingers as if he were going to strangle me. He stumbled, swayed, and sank to his knees. His eyes lost their focus and rolled up into his head as he pitched over onto his face.

I climbed to my feet, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and wiped a smear of blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. The room was silent. I looked down at Sebastian's limp form at my feet and the swiftly growing puddle beneath him.

"We need a doctor!" I shouted.

As much as I would have liked for him to hemorrhage his life away there on the floor of the Senate chamber, I knew I could not let him die. This moment was a critical turning point and I had to handle it very carefully. The future of the kingdom was balanced on the edge of my sword. A wrong move could plunge us into a war that could ultimately destroy the nation. I would not let that happen.

It took a moment for people to react. In seconds police officers and dark suited Protective Service agents started swarming to the floor of the chamber. I surrendered my saber to the first police officer to reach me and turned to the Speaker of the Senate who had crouched down behind the podium during the fighting.

"Madam Speaker."

Barbra poked her head up, then slowly rose to her feet.

"Yes, sir ... Sire?"

"I believe that still remains to be determined," I said. "In the meanwhile I am surrendering myself to your custody until my identity is confirmed."

"But the scanner–"

"There must be no doubt," I said. "The people must _know_ that I am who I claim to be. You need to arrange for DNA testing to establish my claim. The kingdom has been through enough turmoil. I want there to be no doubt in anyone's mind that I have indeed returned."

She studied my face for several long moments.

"It really is you, isn't it, Sire."

I simply smiled in response and waited. She drew herself up and smoothed the lines of her tastefully conservative pants suit. The experienced politician was back in control of herself.

Behind me a medical team had arrived and moved Sebastian onto a gurney. The doctors were working furiously to stabilize him as they rushed him off to the nearby medical center. Once the frantic activity of the medical team had moved out of the room, Senator Fine switched on the podium microphone.

"The room will please come to order," she said calmly, her aplomb completely restored. "The Senate is still in session."

Slowly people began returning to their seats. Barbra waited until everyone had settled themselves before she continued.

"In light of today's developments, I am ordering the prisoner to be placed in protective custody until proper DNA testing can be performed to establish his identity. For the time being, I am directing that he be placed in one of the senate VIP apartments under house arrest." A subtle movement of her hand shut off the audio pick-up. "Will that be sufficient, Sire?"

"I won't cause any trouble. I promise."

She gave me a quick nod and pointed to a nearby uniformed officer.

"This way please, Sire," the officer said.

Every eye and camera lens followed me as I was escorted from the room. As soon as I stepped through the side entrance doorway I heard the room erupt behind me. The din followed me all the way down the hallway into the VIP wing. Over it all I heard the Speaker's voice calling again and again for order.
Chapter Nineteen

I was left alone for nearly an hour. A medical team appeared at the suite shortly after I first arrived. They took a small blood sample, swabbed the inside of my cheek for skin cells and even took a few hairs before they locked me in again. I used the time since then to shower and change. When I emerged from the shower I found that the suite had been supplied with an assortment of clothing in my size. I selected a simple pair of charcoal slacks, a plain top and a pair of black shoes. When I was first brought before the Senate it was important for me to give the appearance of a wild, desperate criminal. Sebastian had to be off guard for my maneuver. Now that my identity had been revealed I wanted to look the part when I returned.

Apart from cleaning away any dirt on my face I had also washed and combed my tangled mop of hair. I dared not shave or get a haircut as my new face would only serve to confuse matters. Admiral Magnus assured me that the Order had surgeons standing by to restore my face–the same ones who had originally altered my appearance. When I appeared in public after today it would be with the same face that people remembered.

After cleaning up I sat flipping through the local net stations, following the news coverage of the day's events. Most of the stations were trying to stay neutral about whether they believed I was who I claimed to be or not. I personally found their interviews with various Senators to be especially interesting. A recess had been called to await the results of the DNA tests and the reporters had descended on the Senators like a coven of ravenous vampires. Senators I remembered as being fair and honest, while remaining carefully neutral in their responses, also seemed cautiously optimistic, hinting that changes would be coming to the kingdom as a result of the day's events. It was mainly the hopeful looks in their eyes that told me what they were thinking. They were right. There were indeed changes coming.

More interesting than this however were the statements from those Senators I knew to be in Sebastian's back pocket. Like rats deserting a sinking ship they were each trying to distance themselves from Sebastian's policies. But no matter what they claimed, their actions over the past few years were on record. I planned to carefully review what each of my politicians had been doing during my absence. Those who had fallen in line with Sebastian's policies were going to receive my special attention.

One channel I came across was broadcasting a replay of the sword fight on the floor of the Senate chamber. I made myself watch it through once, then changed the channel when they announced that they would be running the recording again. I had been there and felt no need to relive events which had almost ended my life. The knock on the suite door came as I was wondering who would actually want to watch that fight over and over again. Then I thought about all of the people who had been suffering under Sebastian's rule and I understood the appeal.

Switching off the screen I looked up to see Admiral Magnus standing in the doorway.

"Your Majesty," he said, bowing formally to me. "Your presence is requested in the Senate hall."

I got to my feet as he stepped aside and gestured toward the door. The Marines who had come with us from the shuttle were with him, drawn up into two lines in the corridor. But this time they were not a prisoner escort.

"Your honor guard, Sire," Magnus announced.

I allowed myself a half smile. "I take it the DNA tests were favorable."

Now it was the Admiral's turn to smile. " _Two_ independent teams of doctors tested each sample twice. There is absolutely no question about Your Majesty's identity."

"And how are they taking the news?" I asked, tipping my head in the direction of the Senate chamber.

"For the most part quite well, although there seems to be a little bit of tension in certain quarters."

"No doubt," I chuckled. "Some of them are going to have a lot of explaining to do over the next few days. Come on, Admiral. Let's go watch the show."

I strode into the corridor and Magnus fell into step one pace behind my right shoulder. As we started between the facing rows of Marines they snapped to attention and saluted smartly. Emotion rose in my throat as I returned the gesture. As a unit they turned and fell into step behind us.

* * *

Everything came to a halt the moment we appeared in the doorway to the Senate chamber. I paused, taking in the room in a slow pan, and everyone surged to their feet, staring at me expectantly. I waited for a few moments, sensing the tension build, then started across the floor. I was halfway to the dais when the clapping began. Looking toward the Speaker's podium I saw Senator Fine beaming in my direction, applauding enthusiastically. In moments the others joined in as well.

I ascended the dais to thunderous applause. When I reached the throne I found that someone had placed the Starcrown on its seat. Picking up the crown I turned and faced the room, allowing the applause to continue as Admiral Magnus took up position two steps below me and the Marines arranged themselves in a protective semi-circle at the foot of the dais. When I finally raised my hand for their attention the applause stopped as abruptly as if a switch had been thrown.

I swept my gaze around the room a second time before seating myself on the throne. The air was thick with tension by this point. I took a moment to settle back into the cushions and propped one foot up on the ornate little foot stool on the edge of the dais, the Starcrown dangling loosely in one hand.

The years spent under Sebastian's tight fisted reign had made an impact. I could almost taste the fear in the air. Everyone was waiting to see what I was going to do.

When I assumed the throne nearly four years ago I had generally been regarded as a well meaning but naive ruler. As I looked back now I had to admit that it was not a wholly unjustified opinion. As soon as I came into power I proposed sweeping reforms in a system I had seen as being unnecessarily burdened by bureaucracy. And I had been naive enough to actually believe that I could convince politicians of the logic of my position through reason. What I hadn't taken into account was that the power elite wanted the system to remain the way it was. The system had been perverted under Sebastian's regency so that it was never intended to service the general public. It favored those who had the money and thereby the political clout.

But I was not the same inexperienced monarch I had been years before. Then I had been reluctant to directly impose my will on the political process, preferring to try and persuade the Senate with the soundness of my logic. I had been too concerned with alienating segments of the population if I forced through unpopular changes, even if I knew they were best for the kingdom in the long run. As a result I often ended up letting the more tenacious Senators back me down from my positions.

They would find it much more difficult to simply pat me on the head and send me on my way now, however.

When I judged that I had let the tension level build enough I motioned for everyone to be seated and addressed the room.

"As of this moment, I am restoring all laws to what they were before _Duke_ Sebastian took power. This government exists to serve the people and the days of special privileges for certain, favored groups are over. I will also be conducting investigations into the activities of the members of the legislature. Anyone who has lived up to their responsibilities and acted in the best interests of the people will have nothing to fear. Those who have taken advantage of my absence however will be held accountable for their actions."

I paused, watching the reaction on everyone's face, especially those Senators I suspected of being Sebastian's cronies. Their reactions ranged from anger to barely contained panic. One Senator however seemed completely unfazed by my statements.

"Sire, may I speak?" It was Fiske. Without waiting to be formally recognized he stood and began talking. "Perhaps Your Majesty is unaware of the many changes that have taken place during your absence. Laws were enacted to address a number of serious situations that arose across the kingdom during that time. To change these laws now would undo all of the progress that has been made. May I suggest–"

"No," I said, cutting him off.

"Sire?"

"No, you may not suggest anything. You are not King here."

You could have heard a pin drop. Anyone with half a brain would have stopped there.

"Your Highness, please understand that I am only speaking out of a sincere desire to assist with guiding you in making the best possible decisions for the kingdom. After all, you have been away from the political scene on Haven for several years. Surely you must understand the value of advice from experienced councilors who are familiar with the current political situation."

If nothing else the man did have brass.

"Are you offering your services in such a capacity?"

"Well, I was considered one of King Sebastian's most valued advisors."

He couldn't possibly be this stupid. "It may have escaped your notice, Senator, but claiming close association with my uncle is not the best way to garner favor with me."

"Sire, I must protest. My actions have always been guided by what is in the best interests of the kingdom and its people." He actually managed to put a touch of indignation into his voice.

"I see. Let's examine your service to the kingdom then, shall we?"

I pulled out the small data pad I had picked up in the VIP suite. Using my security codes I had accessed the Senate records for the past several years and downloaded the files for a number of Senators I wanted to take a close look at. Fiske had been at the top of my list. Although I hadn't had the time to do an in depth review of his record, the cursory overview I had done called a few note worthy items to my attention.

"To begin with, Senator," I said, scrolling through the file, "I see that you have a very poor attendance record. According to this you've been present for less than ten percent of the legislative sessions over the past few years."

Fiske waved aside my comment. "Sire, no one actually attends every session."

"I don't know, Senator. If someone on your own staff had this poor an attendance record I have no doubt that you would take great exception to such excessive absences. After all you are paying them to show up to work. Just like the citizens of our kingdom, specifically the people of your star-system, are paying you to represent their interests in the Senate. They–"

"Be reasonable, Sire. Some of the most important work we do is conducted outside of the Senate chamber. Many sessions have nothing to do with the interests of my home system and it would be a waste of my time to attend those."

His condescending tone was beginning to wear on my patience. The unfortunate truth was that many Senators shared Fiske's opinion. Although his attendance record was one of the worst in the senate, far too many Senators seemed to treat their obligation as a part time commitment at best. The rest of the time they either spent attending fund raisers hosted by well heeled supporters or enjoying all expense paid retreats arranged by one influential lobby group or another. This was one of the things I intended to change.

"Not good enough, Senator. Many of your colleagues have managed to find the time in their schedules to be present greater than ninety percent of the time. And by the way, stop interrupting me. Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's rude?

"To be completely fair, however," I continued without giving him a chance to respond, "I do see that you managed to be present for every session where an increase in senatorial salaries was up for vote, which you also supported in each case, I might add. I find that especially interesting considering that you twice voted against wage increases for other government employees, including–"

"This is preposterous! There is a recession in our kingdom and the expenditure could not be justified."

It was time to yank his leash. I turned to Admiral Magnus. "Admiral, if the Senator speaks out of turn one more time you are instructed to gag him."

Fiske looked like he was about to object but quickly changed his mind as he met the Admiral's unflinching gaze.

I returned my attention to the pad. "I see that you were also one of the main architects of the change in the law empowering the police to stop and question citizens without probable cause. You also had a hand in the changes giving law enforcement agencies the right to enter private property without a warrant and seize whatever they decided was evidence of a crime. Oh, and I also see that you supported the law enabling authorities to listen in on private calls and e-mails, again without the need of a court order." I paused, looking expectantly at Senator Fiske. He opened his mouth to respond but snapped it shut after a quick glance at Magnus.

"That's okay, Senator. I would very much like to hear your explanation, since you seem to feel that many of the basic tenets of our Constitution can be casually set aside at a whim."

Fiske took a moment to collect himself. "What Your Majesty has to understand," he began, speaking as if he were addressing a moderately slow child, "is that our nation has come under attack over the past few years. Enemies of our way of life have carried out acts of piracy and terrorism against our nation and its people. Those changes in the laws you are referring to were necessary to enable us to root out sources of corruption within our society. Your Highness may not be aware of the facts but crime has been reduced to virtually zero as a result of those changes." Along with individual freedom, I thought. "These measures may seem extreme to you but they have proven to be most effective. Besides, anyone who is innocent of any wrongdoing has nothing to fear."

The bastard was trying to use my own words against me.

I thought back to the crew of the _Prometheus_ , average men and women who had tried to live decent, law abiding lives, yet who had been railroaded by Sebastian's draconian policies. I wondered how many others throughout the kingdom were in similar predicaments.

"So what you're saying then, Senator, is that the situation facing the country justifies such extreme measures."

"Precisely! A strong, effective leader knows when to act to protect the interests of his people." You could hear the smug, self assurance in his voice.

I brought the Starcrown into my lap and spent several moments turning it slowly in my hands as I studied it.

"So you want a decisive leader. Someone who will use his authority to act."

I stopped fidgeting with the crown, raised it and placed it on my head. Looking down at Fiske I met his eyes, seeing in him the embodiment of everything that was wrong with the kingdom.

"So be it. I hereby declare you an enemy of the state, Senator."

"Now wait a minute, you–"

"I find you negligent in your duties as an elected representative of the people. I furthermore find your actions over the past years to be both criminal and malicious."

"But you can't–"

"Wrong, senator! I can. Bind him."

Magnus had two of his men cuff Fiske's hands behind his back. Glancing to my left I indicated a section of the wall beside the dais.

"Stand him at that wall and detail a firing squad."

"B ... but ... I didn't ... you can't ..." Fiske sputtered.

Magnus looked up at me. "Sire ..." I could see in his eyes that he was wondering what kind of monster he had helped put on the throne.

"That is an _order_ , Admiral," I said calmly.

Acknowledging my command with a nod, Magnus motioned to the Marines flanking the Senator and they began dragging him to the wall. Anyone who was nearby scrambled to clear the area.

Fisk was struggling frantically against the Marines holding him.

"No! You can't do this!" he screamed. He dug in his heels, back-peddled and squirmed with all of his might, but the soldiers continued to drag him as if he were a recalcitrant child. Soon he gave up his struggling and slumped down in their grip. His knees collapsed and he was dragged whimpering the last few meters.

When they reached the wall, the Marines turned him around and stood him in place. Fiske looked up at me and pleaded, tears streaming down his face, "Please don't do this!"

The Marines who had dragged him into place joined four others the Admiral had selected for the firing squad and unslung their weapons. The senator's eyes went wide at the sight of the six, stern faced marines facing him. A dark stain appeared in his crotch and spread down his leg as his bladder cut loose. He started trembling all over.

"Please," he begged.

Magnus stepped up beside his men.

"Ready!"

The Marines flicked off their safeties.

"Please!"

"Aim!"

Six rifle stocks were raised to shoulders and six red dots appeared on the Senator's chest as the Marines sighted in on their target.

"NOOO!"

"Hold!" I called.

The Marines lowered their weapons.

I rose to my feet and descended the dais steps. Senator Fiske collapsed to his knees as I approached, blubbering as he knelt in a puddle of his own urine.

"Is this truly what you want, Senator? A ruler who perverts the law to suit his own purposes?" I pulled the crown from my head and held it in front of his face. "This does not make me above the law. Yes, I have the power to act outside of the scope of the established laws, but that is not the freedom you conceive it to be. It is a _responsibility_ more profound than you can possibly imagine!"

Fiske looked up at me and spoke through trembling lips. "Do you mean ... you're not going to ... to ..."

"No, senator. I'm not going to have you executed, no matter how much you make my skin crawl."

"Thank you, Sire!" he said, bowing his head and groveling at my feet.

"Don't thank me," I said, stepping back. "If it were up to me you would be stripped of your office and barred from ever holding any political position again. But you were elected to your seat by the people of your system, God help them, and I will leave your fate to your constituents." I looked at Magnus. "Release him." I saw mingled relief and respect in the Admiral's eyes as he ordered one of his men to unlock the cuffs.

Turning away I made my way back up the dais stairs. I could feel my hands trembling with pent up energy, yet I felt tired, drained as if I had just completed a marathon. Pausing beside the throne I calmed the trembling, replaced the crown on my head and lowered myself back onto the throne. The crown was a dead weight on my head, heavy with the weight of responsibility. I took several moments to organize my thoughts. There was so much that I wanted to say. That I needed to say. But my thoughts refused to fall into order. Try as I might I could not seem to focus.

Then a movement at the back of the room drew my attention. Alex–Morgana–had entered the senate chamber. Our eyes met and she smiled, giving me the same slight nod she always did to tell me I had her support.

I immediately felt lighter. I sat up straighter, my thoughts suddenly clear. With her in my corner I could do anything. I knew what I had to say.

"Our kingdom has seen much turmoil of the past few years," I began. "Duke Sebastian's treachery and paranoia has turned our nation into a police state, a place where civil liberties were nonexistent and citizens lived in fear of their own law enforcement agents. Terrorists are committing acts of piracy against our people and playing havoc with interstellar shipping. As a result, our economy has slipped into a severe recession." I paused, my eyes studying the faces looking up at me.

"We have a lot of work to do.

"Over the next several days I will personally be reviewing all of the legislative changes promulgated under Duke Sebastian, with the objective of maintaining the fundamental civil rights promised to the people in our Constitution. We cannot fight the evils of the enemies arrayed against us by adopting their methods. I will not allow anyone or anything to pervert the very foundations of what we are. If we change the core of our society then the enemy has already won. We must fiercely hold on to our principles and bring the fight to these enemies. We must root them out wherever they are hiding and show them that they will not be allowed to visit their violence on us with impunity.

"And root them out we will. Information has come to my attention which I believe will have a profound impact in our fight against the pirate activity plaguing our shipping. Make no mistake, we are going to put an end to this menace in the inter-stellar lanes and we are going to fix the problems within our society. And this is how we are going to begin..."

I spoke for almost another half an hour. The details of what I said weren't important. What was important was that the people saw that I was determined to return the kingdom to a nation where individual rights were respected under the law. That they saw how determined I was to put an end to the pirate menace. That they saw how determined I was to repair the economy and bring and end to the recession.

After years of abuse under Sebastian, I needed to impress upon the people that there was a strong, competent hand on the tiller. Judging by the expressions on the faces of many of the Senators facing me my message got through.

Change was coming.
Chapter Twenty

"We're approaching the Gnosis star-system, Captain," Bobby announced from the helm. "ETA five minutes."

On the main screen the doppler shifted stars were sliding past as long needles of light while the navigation system counted down the time until we would drop out of hyperspace, our arrival synchronized with the other ships in our group.

"Thanks, Bobby. Standard approach when we drop to sublight."

"You got it. I mean, yes, sir. Standard approach punched in." After years of casual camaraderie aboard ship, Bobby was struggling to be more formal toward me even though I kept telling him that he needn't bother. All the members of our original crew had a special relationship with me and they were allowed liberties that others didn't have. What we'd been through together had formed a bond between us that went far beyond duty and status. We were more than friends, more than family. In fact, now that I had been returned to the throne I needed people around me who felt free to speak openly with me, without reservation. Off duty they were some of the only people who addressed me by name. With all that had happened since my return to power I needed the support of friends even more than ever and I guarded those relationships jealously.

Two months had passed since I made my highly publicized return as King. During that time I had made numerous changes in the legislature and yet had barely scratched the surface of what still needed to be done. While the public at large seemed happy with the progress I was making, many of those in positions of power were less than thrilled with what I was doing.

A number of Senators were up for investigation by the Senate Ethics Committee, Hamilton Fiske chief among them. Each of them had pled innocence, claiming merely to have been following the instructions of then King Sebastian. My own legal advisors told me that we were facing an uphill battle. Unless I was going to step in personally and direct guilty findings, many of those who had been instrumental in carrying out Sebastian's reign of terror were likely going to be acquitted of any serious wrongdoing. So far the investigations had only turned up irregularities in the use of campaign funds by some of the more cavalier minded of the Duke's cronies, but these were minor charges against bit players. The big fish, Sebastian's true lieutenants, had been very careful to stay within the boundaries of the laws at the time. I knew who all the players were and what their roles had been, but according to the law there was little they could be held accountable for. It was infuriating to think that these vultures were going to get off scot free.

But while I was reluctant to direct the verdicts of the Ethics Committee, I did have the authority to act within the scope of the laws as they existed. Using my veto power I'd had every single one of them removed from the committees they sat on. Not surprisingly, all of them had been on one or another of the Appropriations sub committees. These committees had jurisdiction over the way funds were spent by the Senate, covering such things as Energy and Transportation, National Security and the Armed Services. They were the twelve most powerful and influential committees in the Senate, and absolutely the last places I wanted such people. They could keep their Senate seats for now but their teeth had been pulled. Given the current political climate I wasn't concerned that my vetoes would be overturned. I was slowly reclaiming control of the legislature.

I had also restored the fundamental civil rights of the people throughout the nation. My subjects could once again move freely through the streets and relax in the security of their homes without fear of harassment by the police. Even now, months later, a chill went up my spine whenever I thought about what Sebastian had done. In a scant few years my uncle had become the most ruthless of despots. He had given the police complete freedom to do virtually whatever they pleased and had even used the military to back up their actions whenever a segment of the population objected to governmental injustices. File footage I had seen of a few of the 'police actions' he had authorized the military to perform still haunted me. On more than one occasion soldiers had actually opened fire on crowds of citizens who were merely demonstrating against harsh and unfair policies. The images of broken and bloodied bodies sprawled in the streets of cities across the nation kept me up at night.

What my uncle could possibly have been thinking was beyond me. In spite of his many faults, I would never in a thousand years have believed Sebastian capable of such vicious brutality. But whatever demons were driving him would remain a mystery, at least for the present. Less than forty-eight hours after he had been operated on at the Sonnefeld Royal Medical Center, Sebastian had escaped from custody. A highly trained assault team had struck the center and removed him from the intensive care ward in the middle of the night. The group had acted with surgical precision, their plan so well coordinated that some form of inside help was a certainty. Exactly how they had managed the feat was a mystery since Sebastian had been in no condition to contact anyone and had been kept in strict isolation with around the clock guards. As it was, a number of good people had been killed during the assault on the hospital–more blood on Sebastian's hands. The Duke was now a wanted fugitive. Yet in spite of an ongoing nationwide manhunt, no trace of my uncle could be found. He had vanished like a shadow in the night.

Even so, the repercussions of his time in power were still being felt. Like any deep wound, the healing process was slow. In spite of a massive good will campaign, relationships between the police and the general public were severely strained. For their own protection police officers across the kingdom had to go about their patrols in groups. Although there had been some incidents of assaults on police officers, and even one instance in which an entire community had actually charged a precinct en masse, for the most part there was little overt violence. But it was going to take a long time before the public regained trust in their police. Yet one more problem on the pile of things I needed to address.

On a positive note was the overhaul of the _Prometheus_. For sentimental reasons I had decided to keep the ship as my own, personal vessel, and had ordered it not only repaired but had all of its systems updated as well. From the outside it looked the same as it always had. Apart from repairing any structural damage, I had left the outer hull unchanged. It was my plan to keep it as something I could use for occasional, private jaunts away from the pressures of the capitol. The ship's comfortably used appearance would not make it stand out as anything special, allowing me to come and go without attracting attention.

Since I was taking personal possession of the ship, I had divided its assessed value among the crew, gifting each of them with a handsome payment. Most of them had accepted the money gladly and had gone off to retire in comfort, grateful to 'Captain Pell' for his final, generous gift. Since King Jason had dismissed their convictions, most of the crew had chosen to return to their families and former lives. None of them knew my true identity and I had felt it was safer all around to keep them out of the loop. I still corresponded with many of them from time to time, but always as Cordass Pell from an e-mail address that I maintained for my alter ego.

A few of the crew had opted to stay with the ship however. With no strong family connections to hold them, those who decided to remain simply wanted to put out to space again and continue to lead the bohemian lifestyle we had created for ourselves as independent traders. I had a strong sympathy for their wishes since a part of me also shared their desire. After giving the matter a lot of thought I had decided to let those who wanted to stay with me know the truth. Most of them accepted my true identity readily enough after the initial shock had worn off. After the time we had spent together it made no difference to them if I were the King of Gilead or an outlaw smuggler. I was their captain, the person who had guided their lives for several years, and they were content to continue under my command. Each had been sworn to secrecy under the National Security Act and they formed the nucleus of the crew that now manned the ship. The balance of the crew were volunteers from all branches of the military and a variety of government agencies who had been recommended to me by Admiral Magnus. And each was also a member of the Diadem Order.

After several weeks in a repair dock, the ship was finally space worthy. Although I had been tied up with things at the capitol, the crew had taken the _Prometheus_ out on several short, shake down runs since then. They reported that the ship was operating better than ever and, like me, they had been itching to take it out on a long distance cruise when this opportunity presented itself.

At my direction, Admiral Magnus had continued looking into the disappearance of Fleet ships. No longer hampered by having to conduct his investigations covertly, Magnus had put together a group of the most talented analysts he could find. His hand-picked staff had been searching through mountains of records for any irregularities ever since. They eventually came across a puzzling series of orders which had been issued over the past several weeks. A large number of recently decommissioned ships had suddenly been transferred to the remote Gnosis scrap yard. What first made the series of orders send up red flags for the Admiral and his staff was that each of these ships were ones whose service records gave no reason for them to have been decommissioned in the first place. Just like the ships which had already gone missing, the service logs of these ships showed that they should still be in active use. When they investigated further it was revealed that in every case the transfer orders for these ships had been forged. Someone wanted these ships assembled at the Gnosis facility for a reason, someone who had the ability to access secure military databases and generate false orders. I sensed Sebastian's hand at work and was worried about what his end game might be.

As soon as the Admiral informed me of his discovery I ordered ships sent out to the area to investigate. I also used it as an excuse to get away from the pressures of the crown for a while and insisted on traveling to the Gnosis system personally. When he saw that he was not going to persuade me away from this course of action, Magnus increased the size of the force he was sending from a reconnaissance task force composed of one cruiser with a pair of destroyer escorts to a full battle group.

Now, surrounded by the protective firepower of that battle group, the _Prometheus_ was rapidly approaching the Gnosis star-system on its first long distance cruise since its refit. Throughout the entire six plus hour, high-velocity cruise the ship had performed flawlessly.

Pulling my thoughts back to the present I glanced at my command board and saw that we were coming up on the one minute mark.

"Signal yellow alert," I said, turning to the tactical station. "Charge all weapon systems and defense grids."

"Yellow alert, aye, Captain," Mark answered as he reached for a bank of switches on his console. Amber alert status lights began flashing on bulkheads throughout the ship.

I swiveled back the other way toward the security officer's station.

"Long range scan," I ordered.

"Scan initiated," Morgana said as she studied her screens. "Nothing in sensor range other than the scrap yard ahead. The system appears to be quiet."

Gnosis was an uninhabited system. Its star was a variable O class blue dwarf which gave off a high amount of ultraviolet radiation and too little heat to support life on its terrestrial planets. It was also far from the normal transport routes, with its only inherent value being the rich mineral deposits on its inner planets. But with an unstable star that gave off intense bursts of dangerous, ionized radiation, no companies were interested in investing the capital necessary to properly shield a mining operation here. Remote and uninhabited, it seemed like the perfect location to base a facility to warehouse ships that had come to the end of their usefulness. Placed in orbit around the system's largest gas giant, whose magnetic field helped to protect it from the star's radiation bursts, the Fleet scrap yard was the only thing located in this forlorn system.

"Second scan also negative," Morgana said as she refocused the ship's sensors. "I'm still getting no readings from the scrap yard."

I allowed myself a few stolen moments to study her profile as she worked. With the revelation of her true identity my worst fear had not been realized. I had not lost the one person who had become the most important thing in my universe. But I wasn't sure what the future held for us either. Over the past couple of months I had been so involved with trying to get a handle on the mess Sebastian had made of things that I'd had little time for anything else. We did manage to steal a few hours together here and there, knew that our feelings for each other had not changed, but hadn't been able to come to a decision about where our relationship was headed.

Morgana was still reluctant to formalize our relationship. She seemed to feel that she had somehow tricked me into developing feelings for her since I had been handicapped at the time by my memory block. No matter how strongly I tried to convince her she was wrong she continued to insist that we take things slowly. In the back of my mind I suspected that what was actually bothering her were the social implications of the King having a relationship with a commoner—as if that would make any difference to me. Unfortunately, with everything else that was going on right now I didn't have the time to focus on trying to change her mind. I put it down as yet one more thing on my long to do list.

At that moment the navigation warning chime beeped.

"Dropping to sublight in four seconds," Bobby announced. "Three, two, one, now."

The main screen gave a flash and the stars returned to their fixed positions. An indistinct mass appeared in the distance ahead of us on the main screen. The Gnosis scrap yard was laid out in the shape of a spoked wheel. The administration center was at the hub of the wheel with the decommissioned ships arranged in concentric rings around it.

I glanced over at the communications officer. "Are you getting anything, Tom?"

Tom Joiner slid the headphones down to his neck and shook his head. "No, Sire. All frequencies have been silent since we lost contact with them."

Damn.

An hour before our arrival all communication with the facility had been cut. We were in the middle of informing the administrator of our pending arrival when her transmitter went dead. The signal had just stopped abruptly in mid sentence. Tom hadn't been able to even find a carrier wave to show that the transmitter was still operating. Nothing. It was as if the station were suddenly no longer there.

That was when I ordered the fleet to increase speed. We'd been red-lining it for the past hour, finally arriving just over half an hour earlier than originally planned. That whole time my gut was twisted in knots as a voice whispered to me that we were too late.

"Try the laser," I instructed Tom. We were close enough now to attempt to reach them with a communication laser. It was old technology, like flashing Morse code with a search light from the deck of an antique sailing ship, but it was the last option available to us. The technology was simple enough, only requiring that we have a clear line of sight to the receiver in order to make contact, but if there was anyone at the station they should hear us.

Tom made a few adjustments on his board to switch to the laser system.

"Gnosis ship yard, this is _Space Fleet One_ on final approach. Come in please." The entire bridge crew held their breath as we waited for a response. "This is _Space Fleet One_ calling Gnosis ship yard. Please acknowledge."

It was still strange to me to hear Tom's rich baritone coming from the comm station. Patty had been among those who had decided to leave the ship. After the death of her son she'd been an emotional wreck. She said she needed to be far away from everything that reminded her of what had happened. I didn't blame her.

I worried about her in the weeks following our return to Gilead until an idea came to me. I had some of my people comb through the foster care system and find Momma Mary's grandchildren. Then, in the guise of Cordass Pell, I contacted Patty and asked her to help me with a small problem. I told her that I had been contacted by the foster care system in an effort to reunite Mary's grandchildren with a family member. With their grandmother now dead, the system was looking for any other known relatives to place the children with or they would be made wards of the state and put up for adoption. Since I knew that she and Momma had been close, I asked her if Mary had ever mentioned any other relative whose name I could give to the system.

As I had hoped, Patty's maternal instincts kicked in and she immediately volunteered to adopt the children. I pulled a few strings behind the scenes and within a few days the kids were placed with her on a trial basis. The last time she e-mailed her former captain, she was excited about how well things were going between her and the boys. It seemed that these two damaged families were going to be able to help each other heal.

"No response, Sire," Tom said, calling me back to the present. He had been trying for over a minute with no success.

"Signal the rest of the group," I said. "Tell them to set up a defensive perimeter. I'm taking us in to have a look. Slow ahead, Bobby. Take us to the administration center."

The administration center was essentially a series of joined habitat modules perched atop a power plant. Records showed that there was a regular staff of seven assigned to the station. Someone should have responded to our hails.

Bobby started us forward and brought the ship up over the 'top' of the yard. Although there was no true up or down in space, the yard was laid out along the plane of galactic ecliptic with up being to the galactic north. Soon we were passing over the outer rings of the yard, cruising above the dull, synthesteel husks of ships sent here to their final port.

Ahead, the small habitat station that served as the administrative center of the yard came into view. Something about the station struck me as odd as we approached, but it was several moments before I realized what was bothering me. There were no strobing marker lights, no illuminated port holes, no signs of life whatsoever.

"Are you scanning anything?" I asked Morgana.

She probed the station with several focused sensor sweeps and frowned.

"I'm not picking up any energy signals. Power is down in the entire station. Negative life readings as well. I'm not even getting an ambient thermal signature. The entire station is ... dead."

Everyone looked up at the main screen as we drew close enough to see surface features. The bridge suddenly felt several degrees colder when I got a good look at the hull. I balled my hands into fists and pounded the armrests of my seat. The station had been breached by laser fire. Although this was a Fleet installation, the station itself had been unarmed. The people posted here never had a chance. Explosive decompression from the numerous cuts in the hull would have evacuated the atmosphere from the station in moments. As far as I could tell whoever had done this had methodically pierced each individual habitat module, including the power plant, to ensure that no one would be left to report what had happened here.

"Where were those ships put," I asked when I finally found my voice.

Morgana pulled the information up on her board. "According to yard records, all of the ships were assigned to the same section of D ring. That would be... eighteen hundred meters off our starboard bow, bearing oh-eight-six, relative."

Moments later Bobby was firing the reverse thrusters to bring us to a stop.

"Captain..." Bobby said as he goggled at the screen.

Where there should have been nearly twenty ships there was only an empty space. In my mind I went over the list of ships Admiral Magnus's analysts had tracked here: twelve aurora class attack subs, two long range missile cruisers and four destroyers. Every one of them was gone.

# # #

Jon Gerrard's

Second book in the Starcrown Chronicles:

Scourge

Jason Raynor's adventures continue

as he seeks answers to the secret behind the pirate menace.

Read on for a preview of Chapter One

The interstellar commercial transport _Dawn Star_ had been plying the space lanes for more than six years since she and her sister ship, the _Evening Star_ , had first been put into service. While she could no longer be considered new she was still a relatively young ship, especially by today's standards. Because of the heavy tolls the shipping industry was taking as a result of the increasing pirate activity, transport companies were keeping ships in service for longer and longer periods of time. Quite simply, the profits were not there to purchase new ships.

But Captain Ernesto Chavez was not complaining. His ship was one of the youngest in the company's fleet. Six years was more than enough time to work through any break-in problems, not that there had been many. Built by the renown multinational ship builder Empyrean Technologies, the _Dawn Star_ had proven herself to be sound. Over the past few years she had logged more light-years than many ships twice her age without any major problems. She was comfortably broken in like a favorite pair of shoes. In fact that's how the captain liked to think of her: comfortable. And like a favorite pair of shoes she had adapted to suit her user's needs. Right now for Captain Chavez that meant his chair on the bridge. One thing he insisted on was that no one but him sat in that chair. Over the years the padding had formed to the contours of his body until it fit, well, like an old shoe.

Settling back into his seat the captain sipped his morning mug of coffee and scratched at his ample stomach which hung over his belt. On the bridge with him were his first officer, Sasha Goodkin, and the helmsman, Anton Kozlov. Kozlov was young, barely nineteen. This was his first time aboard the _Dawn_. Like most of the crew he was newly hired by the company at a salary far less than what the former, more experienced helmsman had been paid. Cutbacks had forced the ship's owner, the Star Transportation Combine, to reduce personnel to skeleton crews throughout their fleet.

"Easy money, eh, Sasha?" the captain said to his first officer. Unlike the young helmsman, the first officer had been with the company for many years, having worked her way up from assistant navigator, a position which no longer existed.

"If you say so, Ernie," she answered. The first officer couldn't disagree with the captain more.

"Oh, come on, Sasha, we're getting pay and a half plus an on time bonus for a short hop. Surely you're not going to tell me you object to getting paid extra to do what we would normally be doing anyway?"

"Of course not," Sasha said as she studied the sensor display. "I'd just like to get back in one piece to be able to spend it."

Chavez laughed. "You worry too much. There hasn't been any pirate activity in this sector for more than nine months."

That's because the company usually sends out convoys of ships, Sasha thought, but kept her comments to herself. In her mind the captain was foolish not to worry about being targeted. They were alone on this trip, easy pickings for any pirate who came along. That was why she was keeping an eye on the sensors. They were away from the usual shipping lanes so there shouldn't be anyone else around. If they did pick up a ship with their sensors she planned to make sure they gave it a wide berth, even if it meant sacrificing their quick delivery bonus. Their engines were in good shape and she was confident that they could stay ahead of any ship that did try to run them down, at least long enough to reach port. The trick was to pick them up on long range scan while they were still far enough away to make a run for it.

In a gesture of acknowledgment of the potential danger, the company was allowing them to carry sidearms for the first time. Captain Chavez wore his like a badge of honor, although Sasha doubted if he even knew how to fire it. This was assuming of course that he could draw the pistol with his holster obstructed as it was by his prodigious belly. Kozlov on the other hand seemed nervous about having his strapped on. Sasha hoped the kid didn't try to draw it. He'd likely shoot himself in the foot. As for herself, Sasha had her's securely locked in her cabin safe. She figured that if armed pirates ever did board the ship she wanted to give them as little reason as possible to want to shoot her.

Satisfied that there was nothing in range of their sensors, she began a quick review of the other boards to check on the ship's status. Picking up a stylus she did a quick walk across the bridge, checking off items on her flatpad. All systems were running smoothly. Once she finished she gave the pad to the captain for his review and signature and went back to the sensor console to run another scan.

Normally she wouldn't bother running scans every few minutes. The system could be set to scan automatically and alert them if anything turned up in scan range. Then again, normally they were part of a convoy cruising the regular shipping lanes. Two or three ships traveling together were too much for a pirate ship to swallow. For over a year now the company had been sending its ships out in convoys. So far that tactic had kept away pirate attacks but it had other impacts on the business as well. Shipping costs had gone up dramatically since transports were deadheading for one or more legs of each trip. But whether they were carrying cargo or not those ships still burned fuel and still had crews aboard that needed to eat and breathe. To help offset these costs, in addition to raising transportation fees and laying off a sizable percentage of their work force, the company had also cut salaries across the board by twenty-five percent.

Sasha had a mortgage and a daughter entering college. The cut in salary had really hurt, but she figured she was better off than everybody who had lost their jobs. That was why she agreed to do this run when Chavez told her what the company was offering. She wasn't as impressed as he seemed to be about being paid one and a half times the normal rate. She had done the math and calculated that since they had already reduced her salary by twenty-five percent, the 'incentive pay' as they were calling it amounted to only slightly more than what her old salary used to be. But meager as it was it was extra money she could not afford to pass up. She just kept praying that no pirates happened across them while they were out here.

When her second scan also turned up nothing she started to relax. They were more than half way through the trip and would be off loading their cargo in another thirty-nine hours, when they would pick up their bonuses. It did seem a little odd to her that there was such a fuss being made over mining equipment, which is what their cargo consisted of. A company called Intrepid Enterprises had apparently discovered extensive mineral deposits on the moon of a gas giant in a remote star system. They were willing to pay above the usual rate to have the equipment shipped to them as quickly as possible. Sasha could only suppose they must have come across some pretty valuable ores. Maybe Intrepid Enterprises would pick them up as a regular client and contract with them to ship the ore back to one of the refining platforms. Regular trips would mean the company would be sending convoys, not single ships, out this way. That would be fine with Sasha. It was creepy being out here all alone.

She had just set the system to automatic scan and was about to turn away when she thought she saw something on the screen. She stopped and stared hard, waiting to see if it would return. A few moments later it was there again. It was almost like the wake effect of a ship moving at high speed, but the sensors weren't reading any ships anywhere near them.

"Ernie, come take a look at this," she called to the captain without taking her eyes off the screen.

Captain Chavez heaved himself out of his chair to waddle over to the sensor console.

"Have you got something?" he asked, and took a long pull on his coffee.

"It comes and goes. It's almost like–there!" Sasha said when the strange return appeared briefly again.

Chavez had never seen anything like it. He tapped the display with his fingers. "Glitch?"

"I don't think so," Sasha said. "Whatever it is its close. Let me try a short range scan. It'll give better resolution." She switched the sensors to short range. At first the screen remained blank, then there was a faint return. "It seems to be coming from astern."

Neither Ernie nor Sasha had any military experience. They had no idea that what they were tracking was an incoming torpedo, an electronically stealthed missile that was locked onto their ship.

"That's the damnedest thing I ever saw," Chavez said when the signal popped up briefly again and faded almost at once. He tried to adjust the sensor resolution but couldn't get a better image. He quit fiddling with the controls after a moment, shrugged and turned back to his seat to focus on his unfinished coffee. "Make a note to have maintenance look at it. It's probably just a ghost image."

"I don't think so Ernie," Sasha said as she watched the image pop up onto the screen again. "It doesn't look like any kind of false sensor reflection I've ever seen. I think there's something out there."

"Come on, Sasha, if there was something out there the collision alert would have–"

At that moment the shrill warbling of the collision alert claxon sounded on the bridge. Captain Chavez started and dropped his coffee, staring open mouthed at his first officer.

Sasha reacted to the warning claxon immediately, but it was already too late.

"Evasive starboard!" she yelled to the helmsman.

Kozlov had nearly jumped out of his boots at the sound of the alarm claxon. He stood frozen with panic for several seconds until the first officer's words finally worked their way into his consciousness. Looking down he grabbed the pilot wheel and tried to steer the ship to starboard but the yoke wouldn't budge.

"I ... I can't! It won't move!" he cried out.

Sasha sprang toward him. "The autopilot! Disengage the auto–"

Before she could reach him they felt the ship shudder violently around them. Warning lights began blinking from several of the consoles as the main viewscreen flashed, showing their sudden return to normal space. A quick glance across the engine monitor board showed that their drive system had failed.

Captain Chavez jabbed at the intercom. "Engine room, come in!"

He was answered only by static.

* * *

The pirate sub _Wraith_ disengaged its stealth system as it neared the crippled transport. The torpedo had done its work and knocked out the ship's engines, forcing it to drop out of hyperspace. As the sub approached the helpless ship a signal jammer was activated to prevent the crew from calling for help. This was not the first time the pirates had taken down a transport and the crew moved with experienced efficiency. The sub pulled alongside the transport and fired a series of magnetic grapple lines. There was a brief electrical display along the grapple lines, like lightning strikes in space, as the static charges of the ships hulls were cancelled out. Then the sub began winching the two ships together. Even though the pirate ship was nearly a hundred and fifty meters in length the transport was half again as long. But the pirates knew that the ship's holds were only partially filled. What she was carrying would easily fit in their own cargo spaces.

A docking sleeve extended from the pirate ship as the two vessels drew closer. As soon as the ships were locked together and the docking sleeve sealed against the transport's port side cargo hatch, a team of pirates wearing protective space armor took up positions in the sleeve. Precisely placed, shaped charges blew the outer hatch on the transport and the raiders swarmed into the ship.

* * *

On the bridge of the _Dawn Star_ , Captain Chavez was starting to panic. He still couldn't raise the engine room and a few minutes ago they had felt a second explosion vibrate through the ship. The sensors showed that a ship had grappled onto their port hull–a ship that appeared out of nowhere when there had been nothing within range of their sensors only moments before.

"Engine room, answer! This is the bridge! What is going on down there?" Chavez yelled into the intercom.

The young helmsman, Koslov, stood frozen at his post, his hands gripping the manual steering yoke in a death grip. His entire frame was trembling as he stood with his eyes staring blindly ahead, sweat beading his forehead.

"Engine room, come in!" Chavez tried again.

"They're not going to answer, Ernie," Sasha said, not bothering to hide the contempt in her voice. She had been following the pirates' actions as best as she could using the ship's sensors. She knew that they had locked onto their hull and were probably already aboard. It was only a matter of time before the raiders made their way to the bridge.

Her mind raced through possibilities. Staying to face the invaders was her least favorite option. From what little she did know about how they operated, the pirates never left any living crew aboard the ships they attacked. The stories she'd heard were that the crew was either murdered to a man or missing whenever a hijacked ship was found. Neither of these choices were appealing to her. In seconds she'd made up her mind. This was a big ship. There were dozens of places she could hole up until the pirates finished ransacking the transport and left. If the rumors were to be believed the pirates didn't scuttle the ships they victimized so she should be able to survive until the ship was discovered. It was as if they left the derelict hulks adrift on purpose to unnerve the public. If that was their aim it was working.

Having made her decision, Sasha spun around and hurried toward the exit.

Chavez looked up as she rushed across the bridge. "Where are you going?" he asked his first officer.

"Anywhere but here," she answered without breaking stride.

A moment later she hit the hatch control and froze in the doorway as the door slid aside. From the far end of the corridor that led to the bridge she heard the heavy tread of booted feet approaching. Bulky shadows played on the distant bulkhead where the passageway came to a T intersection. She was too late.

She started backing onto the bridge as the armored figures appeared at the end of the corridor and turned toward her.

"Sasha, what is it?" Chavez said when he saw her expression.

Sasha didn't answer. She just kept backing into the bridge, her eyes locked on the advancing figures. After a moment Chavez could hear the approaching footfalls as well. Springing up from his seat he started toward the hatch as he reached for the holstered laser pistol at his belt. He fumbled with the holster for a moment then reached across with his free hand to hold his belly out of the way so he could draw his weapon. A moment later the first of the pirates reached the bridge. At the same instant Captain Chavez managed to free his pistol.

"What is the meaning of this illegal boarding of my ship?" Chavez demanded as he looked into the mirrored visor of the pirate's armored suit.

Although the transport captain hadn't even aimed his weapon, as soon as the pirate saw the pistol in his hand he reacted. Swinging his blaster rifle up in a practiced arc he squeezed off a single shot directly into the captain's face. A small hole appeared in his forehead while the entire back of his skull was blown away in a cone of spraying gore. His body jerked once, then he toppled like a statue, an expression of surprise frozen on his features.

The pirate took in the scene on the bridge quickly as the other three men in his team entered behind him and spread out. Apart from the body on the floor there was only the woman backed up against a console and the skinny youth standing frozen in front of the helm.

"Who's in charge here?" the pirate demanded, his voice projecting from the suit's external speaker.

Sasha glanced from Chavez's corpse to the rifle in the pirate's hands and answered without hesitation, "You are."

Several minutes later Sasha found herself and the terrified helmsman being prodded into line with the rest of the ship's crew in the corridor outside the main cargo hold. The massive doors to the hold had been opened and row after row of stacked shipping containers could be seen within the cavernous space.

Of the total compliment of twelve crew members aboard, only nine were present, and one of them was wounded. Perkins, the engineer, had been shot in the leg and was sitting on the deck. The missing three crew members, including the captain, had been killed by the pirates when they took the ship.

The pirate who had shot the captain appeared to be the leader of the boarding party. He gave a series of orders to his men and turned back to the prisoners as half of the raiders jogged into the hold to inventory the cargo. At a motion from the leader, one of his men set an oversized case down on the deck and opened it. Taking out several obedience collars he began locking the metal rings around the necks of the prisoners while the rest of the pirates covered them with their blaster rifles. When the pirate with the collars reached the wounded man, the leader stopped him.

Perkins had been hit in the thigh and a fist sized chunk of flesh had been blasted away. A tourniquet above the wound had stopped the bleeding but his pants leg was thick with blood and he couldn't stand. The pirate leader gave the leg a casual kick, sending the engineer into a fit of writhing and groaning. Without a moment's hesitation the pirate lowered the muzzle of his weapon and fired a quick burst into the man's chest. Perkins spasmed as the shots ripped through his body, then slumped down against the base of the bulkhead, blood running from his sagging mouth and mixing with what was pooling on the deck beneath him.

The transport crew huddled together at the sight of the casual murder of their shipmate. They stared in wide eyed horror at the pirate leader who stood to one side and watched in an almost bored posture as his man continued fitting the rest of them with the electronic collars. Once each of them had been fitted with a collar the leader slung his rifle on his shoulder, reached up and removed his helmet.

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen, you're going to get in there and start transferring your cargo to our ship," the pirate ordered. "And keep in mind that I'm on a tight schedule. Don't make me late."

Even using the power loaders it took the crew more than three hours to offload the cargo under the watchful eyes of the pirates. When the last of the shipping containers was finally secured aboard the pirate's ship the exhausted transport crew was directed into a smaller hold aboard the sub and locked in. Healthy slaves were worth as much as twenty thousand Solars each. That translated into about a hundred and sixty thousand for the transport crew alone. The money they would get for the prisoners on top of what the organization had promised them for delivering the transport's cargo amounted to quite a tidy sum. Not bad for a few hours work.

As soon as the prisoners were secured the pirates sealed their airlock and cast off from the ravaged transport, leaving the empty hulk to drift through the interstellar void. Minutes later the pirate sub _Wraith_ activated its stealth system and disappeared.

About the author

Jon Gerrard is the co-author of two previous books: Tae Kwon Do and Blackbelt Tae Kwon Do, written with his friends the Park brothers who were involved with the selection and training of the U.S. Tae Kwon Do Olympic team. For their efforts they received the prestigious Books for the Teenage List award given the by New York Public Library. Mr. Gerrard holds an undergraduate degree in psychology from Princeton University and a master's degree in education from Lehman College. He is currently working as a teacher in New York where he lives with his wife and two daughters. When he isn't conducting martial arts classes from his home on Long Island, Jon enjoys skiing, scuba diving and riding his motorcycle. This is his first novel.

Shadowplay:

Book One of the Starcrown Chronicles

by Jon Gerrard

Copyright 2012 Jon Gerrard

Smashwords Edition

Cover by Dane Low
