

## Copyright Information

Copyright © 2014 by J.S. Wayne; Foreword Copyright © 2017 by J.S. Wayne

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the publisher, addressed "Attention: Permissions Coordinator," at the address below.

Semper Press  
semperpress@gmail.com

Printed in the United States of America

Publisher's Cataloging-in-Publication data  
Wayne, J.S.  
Dusk / J.S. Wayne  
978-0-9834834-3-4  
1. Science Fiction —Futuristic. 2. Romance —Erotic. 3. Romance —-Menage.

Second Edition

14 13 12 11 10 / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

## Dusk

J.S. Wayne

Three people. Two worlds. One love. One galactic threat.

On the remote border world of Dusk, the Dusk Diplomatic Corps serves their planet as diplomats and aristocrats. A bombshell lands on the Corps when Terra sends a request for negotiations to begin mining the planet's most vital resource: magickstone, a uniquely rare element that allows those exposed to it to use magick and to live an unusually prolonged and vital life. Olivia Gunnarson and her lover, Merrick Grissom, believe Terra's real reason for wanting to mine magickstone is their desire for a new and devastating weapon of galactic conquest.

On Terra, Marine Corps Colonel Pedro Silva is dispatched as part of the Terran diplomatic team to serve as a military attaché. En route, he is advised of the unthinkable: The sitting head of the DDC, Ambassador Nils Trelawney, has been assassinated. A new and untested diplomat, Olivia Gunnarson, has been tasked to take his place. What Pete doesn't count on is that the outwardly demure ambassador possesses a wild streak... and her bodyguard-lover will do anything to keep his charge safe and happy. But with an assassin in the shadows and diplomatic relations between Dusk and Terra in jeopardy, will a love affair save them or destroy them all?

## Contents

Preface

Dedications

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Epilogue

J.S. Wayne

Other Books by J.S. Wayne

## Preface

In the spring of either 1983 or 1984, my grandparents came to visit, as they sometimes did. On this particular visit, they brought something which would wind up changing my life: a complete 10-volume collection of _The Young Folks' Shelf of Books_ which had belonged to my father as a kid.

As a child, I was a bit...odd. I ran and played with other kids, even though I couldn't have cared less about sports. I did modestly well in school. I played with _Transformers,_ Legos and toy cars, like most boys my age. But my first love and chief pleasure was building myself a nest in my closet, the only place my siblings were unlikely to bother me, and post up for the day reading.

These books redoubled my passion for reading. Greek myths, epic poems such as _Beowulf, Roland and Oliver_ and _The Chronicle of El Cid,_ stories like _The Forging of the Sampo_ and fairy tales like _Bluebeard_ and _Beauty and the Beast_ filled my days. Although I had some trouble with many of the more exotic words at first, the stories and the characters peopling them became somehow more real to me than the kids I saw every day at school.

This left me in an interesting double bind. Most of the kids my age were struggling through _Dick and Jane_ and _Boris the Bear._ I didn't feel like I could talk with them about the deeper nuances of courtly love, the ideals of knighthood, the proclivities and whims of the gods of ancient Greece. When I tried, I got met with blank stares and, "Yeah, cool. Hey, what did you think about Thundercats today?" And I retreated to my closet redoubt to do battle with Grendel, to meet a cherished enemy on the field of battle and test my flashing sword and commitment against his own, to climb Mt. Olympus and peer into the very throne room of the gods as they rewarded and punished at their will.

Time marches on, and soon I found myself wandering the halls of science fiction, adult thrillers and romance, assisted by the school library and my mother's own collection. I discovered Dean R. Koontz, Victoria Holt, Bettina Krahn and John Sandford about the same time as Stan Lee, Robert A. Heinlein, Diane Duane, Ursula K. LeGuin and Anne McCaffrey. As my inner reality expanded to accommodate cap troopers, teleportation, comic-book heroines and the idea the occult could both be real and exist in the world I inhabited, so too my external world became preoccupied with the mystery and magic of women.

Fast-forward to the end of 2013. I had achieved one of my lifetime dreams: becoming a published author. I was in college, pulling a grueling class schedule and a nightmarish publication schedule...and I was well and truly stuck for what to write about next. Every time I opened a blank document, a swell of impostor syndrome greeted me. I was a fake, a phony, unworthy of calling myself a writer! I had no ideas, no idea where to get ideas and no clue what to do next.

Then inspiration hit.

I put up a contest on my old blog as a Christmas present to my readers.

I ran through a number of possible combinations of people, places and topics, drawing heavily on tropes I'd found in my readings over upwards of thirty years. Then I set up a SurveyMonkey poll and threw open the doors, inviting readers to vote on their favorites.

And I waited, biting my nails up to the elbows as I hoped for responses.

To my surprise and delight, readers responded in numbers I never expected. The winning combination was:

  * An MFM menage romance

  * In the future

  * With magick

  * Evil noblepeople

  * And aliens

Out of the six people who voted for this particular combination, I then had to declare a winner. So, out came my trusty ten-sided dice. (Yes, I'm a tabletop gamer too.) A double elimination later, I emailed the winner, Cassie Reed, sat back, lit a cigarette...

And the shakes hit.

How the actual fuck was I going to put all these things together?

Knowing I'd given myself a ludicrously tight deadline, the only answer I could give was, "Well, Jack...you'd better figure it out."

And I did. I wrote through the night and into the next day. I wrote between classes. I wrote every spare minute I could beg, borrow or steal. Time dropped away as I researched intragalactic distances, the latest theories on how FTL (faster than light) travel could be achieved and plate tectonics theories.

And one month later, I delivered the first draft to Cassie.

_Dusk_ was originally envisioned and written as a single novel. When I pitched it to Changeling Press, they were excited about it...but wanted to split it up into three distinct parts.

Now, let me say a word about Changeling. As of this writing, they are a great house to write for. The editorial staff is top-notch and the management takes their contracts seriously. I had very few serious disagreements with them during my time there, and I would recommend them without hesitation to just about anyone who's looking for a place where they, and their work, will be taken seriously and treated professionally.

But I felt breaking _Dusk_ up was a mistake.

_Dusk_ was released over the course of four months, starting in April and ending in August of 2014 as _Dusk, Dusk: Darkness Rising_ and _Dusk: Tides of Astaroth._ This serialization was wonderful in one aspect, because it kept readers interested and looking for the next installment. On the other hand, I couldn't help but feel it lessened the impact of the story for the readers. As a reader myself, I would have been most unhappy having to wait to learn what happened next. But the contracts were signed and I owed books, so I decided to go for it.

_Dusk_ did okay in its serial incarnation. To date, it is my single bestselling work of my career. But I felt, and reader feedback confirmed, that I had made a rather serious misstep not sticking to my guns and releasing it as a single volume.

In May, my contracts with Changeling were all expired or set to expire. Now I found myself confronted with a choice: did I stay or did I go? I had a bird in the hand, so to speak. On the other side of the coin, I felt _Dusk_ could and should have done better than it had, and this was an opportunity for me to release it as I meant it to be read. So, with excitement of what lay ahead mingled with reluctance born of pure terror that I had missed my chance, I parted ways with Changeling and committed to blazing my own trail.

What you now hold in your hand, gentle reader, is the culmination of thirty years of dedicated reading and writing. It is a labor of love, and a work of art in the fullest sense of the word. I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to entertain, thrill and excite you, gentle reader. Please know I do not take this opportunity lightly, and that I am thrilled to welcome you into my world!

J.S. Wayne

Portland, Oregon

August 2017

## Dedications

Every genre author owes a debt of gratitude to its founders. In this case, I am deeply indebted to Robert Heinlein, David Drake, Isaac Asimov, and Diane Duane, among others, for their pioneering efforts in the realm of science fiction.

I also wish to thank the real Kase J. Reed, without whose suggestions this work would not have been possible, and who bravely allowed me to use her as a character in this book. I hope you did not find your trust misplaced, Kase!

This dedication would not be complete without a shout-out to the women who have chosen to share my life and encouraged me to bring my work back out into the public eye. Being with a writer is not always easy, and being with a writer with my unique proclivities sets the difficulty to God Mode at times. I am so very grateful to each of you, and I love you all more deeply than I can possibly express.

As always, I wish to thank the readers who continuously inspire and challenge me to keep coming up with new stories for your pleasure. A writer's lot is often a lonely one, but knowing you're out there makes my profession much more pleasurable than it might otherwise be.

And finally, to the women of House Unicron, past and present: Skwirly, Sparrow, Kitten, Dolphin, Otter, Firefly and Mouse. All of you helped to make me and my House what we are today, through so many twists and turns. Some of us still feel the love. Some do not. Regardless, I thank you, one and all, and most especially those who have stayed the longest and served me and House Unicron best.

Nobilitas servitio penitus perfectam caritatem et fidem et fiduciam.

## Chapter One

In the dry code parlance of the Planetary Exploration and Knowledge Repository, the tiny, unassuming world some fifteen parsecs from the galactic rim was known as TMA-L-24381. "T" designated one of the thirty-six spokes into which the first astrogators had divided the galaxy, breaking it into arcs ten degrees wide. "M" indicated the planet's status as a world capable of sustaining both human life and Terran flora and fauna, within limits. "A" described the planet's approximate location within the galaxy on the X-Y axis, while the -L denoted its location on the Z axis. The first numerical indicator described the type of star around which the planet orbited, in this case a huge, hot blue giant. The remaining numbers detailed the planet's size, about 1.25 times that of Mars; its composition, primarily carbon and rare earth elements; in what order the planet had been located within sector TA and cataloged for future reference; and the number of satellites, in TMA-L-24381's case, only one.

To its inhabitants, TMA-L-24381 was known simply as Dusk.

* * *

Olivia Gunnarson folded her arms behind her back and stared out the synthetic sapphire viewport at the jagged fangs of relatively young rock comprising the moonscape around the planetary south polar city of Galacia. In the warm, faded lavender light of the eternal dusk for which the planet had been named, the city's lights shimmered and winked from the valley floor to heights nearly equaling her own aerie's vantage point. A subtle blue glow on the southwest horizon heralded Astaroth's incipient rising, lending a steely sheen to the city's polished metal and natural obsidian towers.

Beyond the city, the dark gray and black stone spires of Dusk reared all around. With the mastery of gravitational repulsion had come freedom from the credit-devouring, time-consuming process of constructing terrestrial roadways beyond the city itself, as the entire population shifted from the clumsy, heavy-wheeled groundbound transports they had arrived on-planet with to hovercars. Even so, navigating over and around the needles of rock could be a hair-raising experience that most Dusk natives preferred to avoid. This made for a brisk transit economy.

To a native-born Terran, Dusk would look as inhospitable as the gaping, hungry gates of Hades itself. Olivia had seen vids of how Terrans believed the mythic home of sinful souls might appear, and there wasn't much to choose between Dusk and the nightmarish visions they conveyed to tri-vid in an apparent bid to scare the living hell out of themselves and others. The only functional difference between one and the other to judge from the Terrans' dismal imaginings of the netherworld was that Dusk had a moon where Hades, being reputedly under the ground, did not.

She shrugged. Her family lineage traced back well beyond the first settlement of Dusk by the generational colony ships that struck out toward the galactic rim, to when humans were first perfecting the art of water-based navigation and set forth in craft made of an exotic material called "wood." There was no such thing on Dusk, although by repute the material was so common on Earth as to be nearly devoid of value. Likewise, the first colonists of Dusk had largely left the superstitions and myths of Earth behind in a bid to create a new world. The spirit of adventure lived in her veins as surely as it had in a twelfth-century Viking berserker who landed on the shores of Greenland with conquest, treasure, and rape in mind. The sole difference between Olivia and her allegedly bloodthirsty forebear was that she would gladly forego the rape.

For bloodlust and ruthlessness, Olivia could match her ancient kinsman and then some when necessary.

Tilting her head, she turned to consider the small potted succulent on the windowsill. Like all the native-bred Dusk plants, it had evolved to thrive in the low light and high heat of the planet. It produced fine, tough fibers that could be woven into anything from lingerie to body armor, and was frequently used as a resilient outer coating for the treads of minecrawlers and the exteriors of hovercars. To Olivia's mind, the healing properties of this particular plant's gluey sap made it even more valuable: as a little girl, the powerful regenerative stimulant had saved her life more than once when her blossoming power had overridden both her control and common sense.

"We've been through a lot together, haven't we, Dudley?" She patted the plant's clay pot fondly.

Dudley emitted a wave of floral contentment, scenting the air with a spicy, pleasant whiff of cinnamon and peppers, underlain with a more exotic fragrance unknown anywhere but here.

Her lips curved up for a second, then fell again as she peered at the double-faced digital chronometer. The top readout showed the local time on Dusk, 28:47:13, and the date, 10 July 2845. The bottom readout gave the same information for Earth, in Terra Mean Time: 06:09:29, two months and four days earlier. Her typical bemusement at the ludicrously short Terran day and the paradoxically long Terran year shriveled as she realized her woolgathering had put her behind schedule.

"Damn. I'm going to be late."

Waving a hand at the recessed door of the wardrobe while she muttered a sibilant phrase, she caused the panel to slide silently to one side. Within hung a neatly arrayed series of similar items of clothing woven from the excrescences of Dusk fluteworms. The fabric was as light and soft as a sleeping lover's breath against her skin, but capable of stopping even the most brutishly overpowered hand-fired chemical projectile and utterly immune to incineration or the strongest acids humans had yet managed to discover.

She chose one in a shade of blue-black that precisely matched the color of Astaroth's reflected sunlight. The complicated assortment of straps would cover everything that needed covering while still allowing her extremities freedom of motion and her skin the ability to breathe. The temperature on Dusk rarely dipped below thirty-two degrees, making any more than the absolute minimum clothing an exercise in torture. While she had other, more "formal" attire available, she generally refused to wear it for anything less than the most solemn _affaires d'état_. Tonight's informal debriefing of the Dusk Diplomatic Corps did not qualify. Most of the men would be in the shortest short pants or breechclouts that propriety and their individual builds would permit, while only the oldest and least attractive women would cover their bodies any more than utterly necessary.

One corner of her mouth turned up as she wondered what Hui Sin Ling would wear tonight. The woman had been blessed with a body that commanded every eye to look, and no sense of modesty to balance her sensual magnetism. At the last convocation, she had showed up with the tiniest of pasted nipple shields and a tiny strip of cloth held on with adhesive to cover her crotch. Ambassador Nils Trelawney, the head of the DDC, had finally directed her to leave and come back when she was "decently attired," as her charms were "distracting" the members from their rightful business.

From the smug smile on Ling's lips, she had already guessed for herself that what was distracting Trelawney was not her charms, as he so delicately put it, but his aging manhood's firm reaction to them. Olivia barely kept from laughing out loud at Trelawney, settling for exchanging a conspiratorial glance dancing on the verge of a giggling fit with Ling before the other woman ducked out.

With quick, practiced motions she stepped into the complex web of deep indigo straps and set about arranging them over the essentials. A rebellious voice in the back of her mind whispered she could do worse than getting "sick" and calling Merrick to go beachcombing.

She shook her head emphatically as she pulled the straps taut over her thighs, covering her mound to the minimum standard public decency required. Even a junior member of the DDC enjoyed a level of prestige and social cache largely denied to the general population. As tempting as the idea of ditching the meeting in favor of finding a secluded cove on the Galacian coast and allowing Merrick to ravish her was, her sense of duty would not be denied. Besides, it would set a poor precedent and make a commentary on her reliability and capability that she was utterly unwilling to permit.

Seconds later, she finished dressing. Fishing in one of the recessed drawers, she withdrew a sheath bearing a slender curved blade and clipped it to the equatorial band about her waist. The satisfying weight of the short sword and the way the hilt curved toward her hand brought another smile to her face. Then she picked up her tiara from the bedside table and placed it around her head so the faceted, polished chip of dark blue stone set in the center lay directly between and above her eyes, in the tiny cleft in her skull she shared with all humans. The titanium tiara snugged about her temples readily, holding as securely as a limpet-worm attached to a hurczek lizard. The key difference between the native parasite and the magickstone was that the limpet-worm would inevitably destroy its host while the tiara aided its owner by permitting access to the secret areas of the brain humankind had never adequately plumbed. It was this unique property of the stone, known in scientific parlance as gallartium, which gave it its common name: magickstone.

Not everyone wore their magickstone in the same place. Some people preferred a pendant about the neck, depending from a slender yet strong chain. Some preferred a ring, or a bracelet. One brash young fellow of her acquaintance, with rather a larger credit balance than intelligence, had set his magickstones into wristlets that covered fully half his forearm. He felt the bracers made him appear more menacing. She just thought they made him look callow and ludicrous.

One last item remained. From the closet, she prized out the butter-soft silk boots that matched her current attire, such as it was. She stepped into the left boot and then twisted the tiny stud on the side that cinched the footwear around her calf. Olivia repeated the process with the other boot with dispatch and made the tiny twirling twitch with her fingers that would shut the closet door again.

"Mirror," she said aloud.

Obediently the door brightened and turned silver and reflective. She considered her image in the shiny surface for a moment critically and gave a small nod of approval. Turning away, she picked up the small satchel containing her credit chit and identification and clipped it to her belt. With a final glance at the chronometer, she turned and hurried out of the room. The door whispered closed in response to her silent mental command.

* * *

Minutes later, she stood in front of another set of doors, elaborately emblazoned with the stylized phoenix emblem of the Dusk Diplomatic Corps and a number of scenes abstracted from its history. Even through the sound-baffled metal structures, she could hear the thumping and scraping as the members took their chairs. As fast as she'd hurried down from the top levels of the Aerie to the DDC chambers, she had still managed to be several minutes late.

She winced. That meant she had missed the opening oath and invocation, the gossip session beforehand, and the chance to finalize her plans with Merrick on top of it all. Even better, she'd just set herself up for a truly epic ass-reaming if Ambassador Trelawney was in a bad mood.

She swallowed and squared her shoulders. If the ambassador were in a bad mood, delay would do nothing to sweeten his temper. Better by far to get in and get it over with before she caused an even greater disruption.

With a muttered word that resonated through the magickstone at her brow on the same frequency as the doors, she commanded them to open. They opened noiselessly, allowing her just enough room to step in. Another mutter sent them shut again as quietly as they'd opened.

"So good of you to join us, Ambassador," a stentorian voice with a crisp Scots accent echoed coldly through the high-ceilinged chamber.

Every eye in the room turned toward her.

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut for a second, biting back a curse. She thought about voicing a protest, or at least an excuse, but checked the impulse. One of the first things a junior ambassador learned was that one never offered excuses. One could be late, or even absent, one could behave in a disgraceful manner, one could even commit cold-blooded murder in the Terran Council Chambers. What one never, ever did under _any_ circumstances was offer excuses.

"Thank you for your gracious welcome, Ambassador Trelawney. Please accept my sincere apologies for my tardiness."

The rote response had the desired effect. Instead of pressing the issue, Trelawney nodded at her. "I trust you are well, Olivia?"

"I am, Ambassador."

Although in the chamber everyone present was at least nominally on equal footing, by unspoken mutual accord the senior ambassador was always granted a measure of deference by his juniors that just missed overshooting into the realm of derision. Olivia's answer, devoid of emotion or anything that might even remotely suggest sarcasm, further served to defuse the situation.

"Excellent. If you will take your place, we have already dispensed with the formalities to discuss the most pressing business before us."

It was Trelawney's way of saying that although Olivia's tardiness had been noted, he had no intention of taking her further to task. She relaxed subtly under the implied forgiveness. Trelawney, as a consummate diplomat, had made his point while still cutting her an appropriate level of slack. She shuddered to think how much worse it could have been had she been half a minute later, but hurried to her seat with as much decorum and dignity as her furiously flushing cheeks would permit.

As she folded into the chair, made from the leather of a native lizard, Trelawney stood.

"We have had a request from Terra."

Murmurs immediately broke out through the chamber. Over the last six hundred years, Terra had treated Dusk as the red-headed stepchild of the Interstellar Confederacy. With its relatively isolated location and its utter lack of military usefulness, Dusk was hardly a favored trade partner. The planet's only exports of any real value were industrial-grade diamonds, of which Dusk had rather more than its fair share by mass, and various medicinal and fabric plants like Dudley's extended family. While tourists often came to marvel at the sight of Galacia's galaxy-famous black sand beaches and the (to them) unsettling appearance of Astaroth over the ocean, relatively few humans chose to make Dusk a home.

"What kind of request?" Merrick asked Trelawney, his generous mouth and narrow cheeks drawing down into a frown. He turned to his left and offered Olivia an abbreviated but lustful once-over, clearly appreciating her choice of attire, before he turned his full attention back to Trelawney. "Terra hasn't wanted much of anything to do with us in eight generations. What's changed?"

Trelawney's mouth twisted as if he'd just regurgitated a bit of stomach acid. The visage thus created had the disconcerting effect of adding two decades and a legion of wrinkles to his already roughened leather catcher's mask of a face.

"It seems Terra wants to look into extracting gallartium for commercial usage, and has requested an embassy to discuss possible terms."

If the Ambassador had lobbed an armed plasma grenade onto the teal diamond surface of the table, he could not have garnered a more immediate or negative reaction.

"That's absurd!" Ling snapped. "Gallartium is only practical on Dusk because of its concentration."

"A known factor," Ingrid Roberts seconded. She waved a dark mahogany hand in the air indolently. "While magickstone is quite costly and highly prized on Terra, there's no way they could extract enough of it to use it commercially. It's far too dense to mine easily and the matrix is too unstable for safe transport. What possible value could it have to Terra?"

"They are experimenting with it as a palliative treatment," Trelawney replied, his expression neutral.

A sea of blank faces stared back at him. Olivia imagined her own visage was frozen in the same confused mask as everyone else's.

"A therapy to enhance lifespan," he clarified.

"Don't they know it doesn't work that way?" Clarence Granger demanded. He stood, running an agitated hand through his close-cropped salt and pepper beard. "Magickstone only enhances human lifespan when humans are exposed to it at high levels for decades. Short of hauling Dusk to Terra's orbit, which would be impractical to put it mildly, there is no way to mine out a sufficient quantity to make it an effective treatment."

As the lead physician in Galacia, Granger would know better than anyone how magickstone affected human physiology. The discovery of the life-extending properties of the precious ore had made Dusk a Mecca for people seeking healing generations before, until they learned that they would have to live on Dusk for the rest of their natural lives to maybe have a chance at attaining the extended lifespan magickstone permitted. It was far more likely that their children or grandchildren would get the benefits than they themselves would, making the pilgrimage across thousands of light-years of alternately empty and fairly hazardous space not worth the expense or the time for most people. Granger's cultured voice crackled with ironic irritation that Terra would even consider such a foolish idea.

"Can they synthesize it? Is that why they want magickstone?" Merrick drawled. He flexed his muscular arms idly as he spoke. An errant lock of dark hair fell over one eyebrow, lending him a rakish look that made Olivia's mouth water.

_God, I want him right now_! A low pulse of heat at her center echoed the mental complaint with a physical twinge.

"While they may be able to duplicate the physical properties of gallartium, at least to a degree, there is no indication that they have the technology to replicate the _radiation_ it emits. That is the ultimate source of its power," Roberts observed, tugging on a few strands of brilliant silver hair.

Olivia pressed her lips together as she considered the problem. It seemed to her that something was being omitted from the discussion, something more sinister. The stated purpose of Terra wanting to extract gallartium at the cost of billions of credits, when one considered transport, cost of mining and wages, cost of refinement, and the scale of time involved in moving millions of tonnes of magickstone matrix across slightly less than sixteen thousand light-years seemed a little too convenient.

The original settlers of Dusk had left Terra and its war-torn patchwork of squabbling nations for a hope of a better life on another world where political ideology and racial identity took a distant backseat to the sheer necessity of survival. On Dusk, distinctions of race, ethnicity, religion, and all the other reasons Terrans found or manufactured to ravage and destroy each other paled into insignificance. Olivia wondered darkly what the real purpose of the request was, since according to the hyperspatial commcasts not much had changed in several hundred years. History suggested if Terra wanted magickstone, there could be only one real reason for it.

She stood and squared her shoulders in anticipation of the wave of dissent to follow.

"It occurs to me," she said slowly, "that Terra's actual reason for this sudden request has nothing to do with their stated purpose. Lifespan enhancement is all very well and good, but as Dr. Granger pointed out, there is no practical way to expose a Terran to enough gallartium to ensure increased longevity such as we enjoy."

Trelawney frowned, tugging on his sharp, clean-shaven chin. "Then what _is_ their actual purpose, Ambassador?"

For answer, Olivia muttered a sequence of nonsense sounds and stabbed her finger at the writing stylus in front of her position at the table. It rose into the air, twirled sharply, and began describing an elaborate aerial pattern over the gleaming surface.

" _That_ is what they really want, Ambassador, honored members." There was no deference in Olivia's tone now, only fact. If the other members wanted to believe she was a paranoid fool, then so be it.

"They want access to a new weapon, one powered by magick."

Silence fell in a leaden cloak over the chamber. Olivia waved her hand in a gesture of negation.

The stylus fell to the azure surface of the table. In the sudden hush, the chiming echoes of the impact rang off the ribbed metal vaults supporting the plastiglas of the clear ceiling with a clear, piercing tone.

Olivia took her seat again.

Pandemonium erupted.

## Chapter Two

"About _face_!"

The detail of Marines took one step forward and pivoted, everyone in the formation keeping precise dress and cover with those around them as they executed the close-order drill maneuver with flawless precision. The leather-faced sergeant, her face tanned to the consistency of a dried apple by years of unshielded exposure to the light of a thousand stars, brought her right hand crisply up her torso in the ancient Terran hand salute. The slight divot between her middle and index finger seated against the slightly curved brim of her peaked dress cap.

"Sir, Platoon Six One Zero all present and accounted for, sir!"

Captain Pedro "Pete" Silva returned the salute with the same "snap and pop" as the sergeant. "You may dismiss the platoon, First Sergeant Wynn."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Wynn barked. She stepped forward two exact paces and performed another about face so she faced the formation.

"Platoon, dis- _miss_!"

The formation fragmented into clusters of Marines in dress uniforms heading in all different directions, chatting and whooping excitedly. Pete allowed himself a small smile. They had earned the right to be excited, after thirteen weeks of hell on earth in training. The latest crop of basic trainees had largely been everything a commanding officer could ask for: hard-working, tough, and committed, but far from stupid.

He thought back to his own training and the illiterate, sadistic fuckheads who had made him and his platoon into Marines. If someone had offered him ten million credits and all the women from Terra to Taurus, he wouldn't have cared to relive the experience. Even so, he had to admit the lessons he'd learned from the brutal bastards had stood him in good stead.

"A fine batch of new devil dogs, wouldn't you say, Captain?" asked a low, quiet voice from behind him.

He twitched a little, as much at the ancient nickname for Marines as the fact he'd been so lost in his reverie he hadn't heard the telltale scuffs of polished dress shoes on the parade deck. The familiar voice put him at ease, but he still hated being caught unaware. _Clumsy, Silva_! He scolded himself. _Daydreaming's a fine way to get yourself killed. You're getting sloppy_ ...

He turned and saluted the newcomer.

"Good morning, General."

"How's tricks, Pete?" General Fritz Neville returned the salute casually.

"Good, General. We're off for a week. Good thing for First Sergeant Wynn... I'm pretty sure she's going stir-crazy."

"Think we need to reassign her for a while?" Neville asked the question slowly, as if pondering each syllable before letting it out of his hard-lipped mouth.

Pete shook his head. "No, sir. She's got this, but you and I both know she'd be happier in a line company."

Neville nodded pensively. "After that clusterfuck on Regina IV —"

"Don't remind me." Pete shuddered.

The general didn't correct his slip of military manners, whether because he had always expressed a somewhat paternal affection for the junior officer or because he was thinking the same dark thoughts every Marine in the galaxy had anytime the Regina IV massacre came up in conversation.

Among Marines, the debacle could be safely discussed. Any civilian or newsie brought it up in the presence of devil dogs at great personal peril.

Instead he nodded thoughtfully.

"You're free for the day, right?"

"Yes, sir," Pete replied dutifully.

"Well, how about you come to my office?"

Although phrased as an invitation, Pete knew the "suggestion" was really an order.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"How do you take your whiskey?"

"Neat, please."

Although it was technically the middle of the duty day, the end of a training cycle was always considered a special time for not only the new Marines, but their chains of command. Moreover, no one in their right mind would tell a lieutenant general that he couldn't have a drink whenever he damned well pleased, and if he decided to entertain a junior officer in his Table of Organization, that was entirely his right. Because of that, and because Pete could hold his liquor just as well as any other leatherneck, he didn't think twice about having a friendly snort with his Regimental CO.

Neville poured a generous jigger of top-shelf Canadian whiskey from a delicately shaped spiraling carafe into a tumbler of Plutonian ice crystal. The golden liquid and the smoky gray facets of the glass made a visually pleasing composition, and something about ice crystal enhanced the flavor of just about anything poured into it, drawing out its essential essence and making it somehow more robust. Because of this unique property, Plutonian ice crystal was extraordinarily expensive and well out of the budget of even a lieutenant general.

The set had been a gift from the Chancellor of Sigma Phi VII, as a thank-you for quelling a corporate uprising that had threatened to hurl the planet into civil war. Pete had heard the story more than once, but it always enthralled him. Neville had put down the nascent coup without a single shot fired or a drop of blood spilled, omitting the broken nose he'd given the head of the Takamura Conglomerate as the general helped him on his way to unconsciousness. The story was both damn funny when Neville told it and a powerful reminder that while physical power won battles, intelligence could stop a war before it ever started.

It was a lesson Pete had taken to heart.

Neville finished pouring his own drink and placed both tumblers neatly on a tray of Peruvian silver. He hailed from Rigel II, a small planet where the natives were unusually paranoid about assassination thanks to a series of unfortunate attempts on their leaders' lives shortly after the first humans made planetfall. As a result, Rigelians tended to allow the guest to choose which glass they would drink from, eliminating doubts about the host's sincerity. While Pete found the ritual unnecessary for a number of reasons, he still respected the general enough not to give him too much grief about the precaution.

Pete chose the nearer one and lifted his glass. "To our new Marines."

" _Zum Wohl_!" Neville responded.

" _Salud_."

The two Marines clinked their tumblers together and sipped. Pete smiled as the mellow bite of the oak-aged whiskey hit his tongue, aided by the ice crystal. He swallowed gingerly, and the whiskey warmed his gullet as it traveled down into his gut.

"God, that's good," he sighed with satisfaction. "What is it?"

Neville smiled, one eye fluttering closed and flickering back open again in the barest ghost of a wink. "It's a trade secret, is what it is. A certain lady of my acquaintance in Vancouver sent me a case of it for my birthday."

"Happy birthday to you," Pete joshed.

Neville smiled around a derisive snort and took a good-sized slug of his drink. He closed his eyes appreciatively, apparently enjoying the whiskey as much as Pete did.

For a few minutes the men sat in silence, studying the ever-dwindling contents of their tumblers. Finally, Neville spoke.

"As much as I wish I could say this is a social call, Pete, we do have business to discuss."

Something in his voice set the hair on Pete's neck on end. Neville's tone was reluctant, and Pete knew from long experience when a senior officer started a conversation that way, said officer had something to convey that the junior officer was going to actively hate. Usually it served as a prelude to a world-class ass-reaming the general didn't want to give, but had been compelled to by Above. That didn't seem to fit here. If the general had wanted to rack his ass, he would hardly have given Pete a drink of whiskey worth forty credits if it was worth an ancient American penny.

"What's on your mind?"

Neville depressed a control stud on his desk. Three things happened simultaneously. The heavy blinds on the airy windows locked down, the lights dimmed, and a holovid cutaway view of the Milky Way flickered into view above the desk's faux slate surface. He took another sip, the lines of his face suddenly haggard and sinister-looking in the blue nimbus from the holo field, and grimaced as if the whiskey had soured in the glass.

_Although_ , Pete thought, _if anything soured the whiskey, it's probably planning how to deliver whatever shit sandwich he's about to hand me and not the sauce itself_.

Neville touched another control stud and the holo seemed to swoop in on itself, zeroing in on one of the galactic arms. Pete knew astrogators who could name the different galactic arms by a dozen celestial landmarks, but he'd never much cared to learn. Since astrogation wasn't his headache, it was all the same to him. He just needed to know where to go and what to shoot at when he arrived.

A blue-green point of light flared to life, pulsing gently about halfway down the arm.

"You are here," Neville remarked with a chuckle. Pete laughed along with him at the old astrogation joke. A tri-dee representation of the galaxy was fine as it went, but "here" today could mean "a hundred thousand fucking klicks elsewhere" next week. To compound the problem, to get anywhere, one also had to account for not simply one's current position in three-dimensional space, but also the projected location of the destination, which had a nasty habit of changing. Then factor in several hundred or thousand meteors, asteroids, dust clouds, moons, planets, and other navigational hazards lying in wait between "here" and "there," and the ballistic irregularities of any number of gravitational phenomena, and one began to see the magnitude and shape of the problem. The earliest forms of astrogation had often been described by frustrated or pissed-off explorers as trying to shoot a moving target the size of the head of a pin with a BB gun in a shooting gallery with all the lights off on a dark night while some ass-clown randomly flung variously sized rocks at the shooter.

As the art and science of navigating among the stars improved, such dangers and difficulties were greatly reduced, but even the best and most accurate models could not fully account for every possible navigational hazard. Mastering the theoretical underpinnings of superluminal travel had also reduced the dangers in one direction, allowing ships to "sidestep" most ordinary physical threats, but increased them in another. Many ships had been lost, costing trillions of Terran credits and tens of thousands of human lives, as inexperienced or unwary navigational staff or faulty astrogation programs sent experimental ship designs into newly formed wormholes, black holes, or gravitational anomalies.

There were a million different ways space could kill a person without even trying, and none of them were as cute and cuddly as lions, tigers, or bears.

It was just one of the many reasons Pete despised space travel. Unlike many Marines of his acquaintance, who viewed interstellar and transgalactic travel as about as out of the ordinary as blowing one's nose, Pete hated being shipboard for long periods of time. He had never managed to shake the "drops" caused by low- and null-gravity conditions, giving him a distinct feeling of kinship with seasick Marines throughout history. The galactic rim, even at ten thousand _c_ , was over a week away from Terra's current position, and that was under full power using the Alcubierre-Fermi drive, the fastest superluminal engine ever conceived by man.

His stomach writhed uneasily at the very thought.

Neville touched another stud, and a deep indigo star near the rim in the "southward" adjacent arm and somewhat "down" from Terra's represented position began to glow. "You will be _there_."

"Assuming we don't get scattered into our component neutrinos by a drunken navigator," Pete quipped. Neville shot him a faintly reproachful look, but made no further comment. He turned back to the holo.

"This is Dusk."

Pete nodded. "Okay..."

"We are interested in Dusk for possible military applications beyond the body armor we typically wear."

Pete raised his eyebrows with a snicker. Anything of military interest that far out in the middle of galactic goddamn Siberia had to be important indeed. "Let me guess. It's a superweapon that turns all our potential enemies into fuzzy bunny rabbits."

"That's not funny, Captain." Neville's authoritative tone stopped Pete's cackle dead in its tracks. "I cannot tell you what the mission parameters are at this time. What I can tell you is that we want someone on-scene who can help negotiate for the materials we require and analyze them for their military usefulness. I personally picked you for this mission, Pete."

His stomach lurched as if the floor had suddenly given way beneath his chair. "Why me?"

Neville took another long swallow of his drink, a mannerism Pete recognized as the general getting ready to issue a commandment from on high that was not at all to his taste. He'd give the order, but he would stall as long as he could beforehand.

"Because you have a cool head and understand that an itchy trigger finger creates more problems than it solves. You and I have talked before about this, Pete. You understand diplomacy better than most devil dogs, and you're willing to explore other options before you start anything."

Neville touched the first stud again, and the holo faded away. Warm Terran sunlight flooded the room. Pete blinked against the sudden brilliance and sipped at his drink.

"You'll be attached to Ambassador Al-Aziz's party as a military adjutant. This posting comes with a brevet increase in rank and pay. If the negotiations are successful, you'll be confirmed at the higher rank as a permanent instatement."

Pete's eyebrows shot up.

"Just how high are we talking, here?"

Neville's voice was smooth enough to make silk feel bad about itself.

"Colonel."

Pete choked on his drink.

## Chapter Three

Olivia groaned theatrically as she ambled out of the DDC chamber.

"God, I thought they'd _never_ shut up."

Up ahead, at a food vendor just down the corridor, her friend Kase Reed reclined against the countertop, flirting with the adolescent selling the Dusk version of Russian cuisine. Unlike Olivia, she had opted for a far more conservative outfit of a bright teal cropped top that showed off her cleavage to its best possible advantage and a pair of shorts that rode high enough on her thighs to give the hems altitude sickness.

Kase flicked her blonde hair in a coquettish gesture. The move apparently brought Olivia into her line of sight, because the other woman straightened and waved urgently.

_Thank God_ , she thought. _I'm famished_.

Kase's narrow face broke into a broad smile as Olivia drew closer.

"Olivia!"

She vaulted off the stool and hurled herself into a bone-crushing embrace. Olivia grunted, patting the shorter woman's back gently at first, then urgently.

"Can't... breathe..." she panted.

"Oh!" Kase backed off a step, her signature smile firmly in place. "How was the meeting?"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Oh, _please_ , get me started on _that_ ," she said sarcastically, making a "blah blah blah" gesture with one hand. "It's just like going to the beach, except without sand, water, or fun."

Kase mimicked her gesture with the opposite hand. "Yeah, and you love having power and knowing all the state secrets. I wish I could be in there. Stupid no-telepaths rule," she spat, thrusting out her lip in a theatrical pout.

"You'd be bored to tears in ten minutes, and you know it."

"Not if I got to sit next to Merrick."

Olivia laughed. "Merrick's hotter than noon, there's no denying that, but he's still not enough of a consolation prize to make a DDC meeting entertaining."

Now it was Kase's turn to roll her eyes, and she did it with such fervor Olivia entertained a brief spark of alarm that she might injure something.

" _Suuuuuuure_ ," she retorted, drawing the word out until it had about fifteen syllables. "Because you don't _ever_ pass the time thinking about what's under Merrick's breechclout and when he's going to use it on you next."

Olivia reached out and swatted Kase's shoulder.

"You're terrible."

"You hungry?" Kase jerked a thumb at the volcanic-complected teenager behind the counter.

"You buying?"

Kase laughed. "I got you this time. I owe you for the Rigelian sapphire brandy you gave me for my birthday."

Olivia snorted. "As if a couple of salmon blini would make us square on that score. Do you have any idea what that bottle _cost_?"

Her friend giggled, a distinct twinkle of devilry blinking to life in her eye. "No, and you're not going to tell me, because I'm not rude enough to ask the price of a gift and you're not gauche enough to tell me." She stuck her tongue out and wrinkled her nose in one of the pugnaciously cute expressions she was famous throughout Galacia for.

"Oooh!" Olivia swatted Kase on the shoulder again as she sat down. "Two salmon _blini_ and a large _medovukah_ to drink, with a small salad." She turned to face the boy directly. "Please," she added sweetly.

The kid behind the counter didn't move. His jaw appeared to be locked about halfway open, and his eyes had taken on a distinctly glazed sheen. She raised up a little, and the kid's eyes moved precisely the same amount.

For a brief moment, Olivia toyed with the idea of being offended. On the other hand, she remembered being, what? Seventeen, maybe eighteen Dusk years old, when the mysteries of the opposite sex had conspired with her own rampaging hormones to make her very curious indeed. It was just possible... no, _more_ than possible, she admitted, flinching away from an embarrassing memory, that she had stared at older men as avidly and lasciviously as the kid now stared at her.

"See anything you like?" she asked gently.

"Uh-huh," the kid said, his lips turning up into a dreamy smile.

"Jeffrey!" a voice from the kitchen snapped. "Are those paying customers?"

The kid shook as if awakening from a pleasant dream into a nightmare, his smile vanishing like a _hrunczek_ lizard under a rock. "Oh, er, sorry, ma'am. What would you like?"

She smiled and repeated the order, giving no indication of her annoyance. Just because she understood the kid's predicament didn't mean she had any interest in being mentally undressed by a boy who probably hadn't even grown a proper pubic bush yet. The only person she enjoyed being visually undressed by was Merrick, and he was unavailable, taking a meeting with a couple of the other junior ambassadors over some trivial matter of protocol.

The thought of Merrick's hazel eyes heating as he gazed upon her exposed skin brought a light flush of heat to her face. She wanted a lot more than his eyes. She wanted his big hands and warm, soft tongue, and most of all, his long, thick, hard...

"Olivia!"

She jolted back to the here and now to see Kase staring at her, one hand propping up her chin in a slightly belligerent manner.

"How was your nap?"

Olivia winked. "You should have been there."

"Uh-huh," Kase huffed. "Look at you, getting all starry-eyed like a teenage girl."

She debated whether to make it worse by telling Kase just _how_ good her imaginings had been, before deciding not to. After all, Kase, like half the women in the city, got warm at the thought of Merrick's form. Aside from possibly angering her by dangling the fact of Merrick's attachment to Olivia in her face or embarrassing herself by describing intimate details that were certainly not fit conversation for a public corridor, there was nothing to be gained by it.

"What can I say?" She shrugged. "Merrick's the only man I want looking at me like that."

Kase gave her a long once-over. "Which is why you dress with such modesty and delicacy." She put on a horrific mockery of an accent from the southern zone of Terra's northwestern continent, undoubtedly something she'd seen in an old bi-vee from Terra. "Whah, ah do decleh you look jes' lahk a virgin on her weddin' not!"

As if the conversation needed any assistance getting any more awkward, the kid chose that moment to return with her drink. He froze, roughly two paces from the counter, his face blazing redder than the sign above his head.

"Um... your order will be right out, ma'am," he stuttered, quickly setting the beverage down. With a grimace, he turned on his heel and fled.

From the back, she heard him say, "I'm taking a break, Ivan. Can you get the lady's order out?"

The lower growl from the owner escaped her, but the kid protested angrily, "I am _not_! I'm just... look, I need a _break_ , okay?" His voice cracked and wandered over three different pitches.

Olivia raised an eyebrow and glanced at Kase, whose face had gone from pale silk to violent magenta. She tried, with limited success, to choke off a snicker.

"What? What did he say?"

Kase just shook her head and clamped her hands over her mouth. Her eyes bulged as if she was in the throes of a seizure, and her shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"What's so funny?" Olivia demanded.

A male voice with a thick Russian accent spoke from the kitchen. "I tell him if he want to go jerk off, he do that on his time, not mine."

Olivia flinched. Suddenly she wasn't hungry anymore.

"I hef your food for you in a minute, _da_?"

" _Da_ ," she agreed weakly.

Kase grinned at her impishly. "Sorry you asked?"

For answer, Olivia shook her head with a groan and shifted her chair a few inches to one side. The ventilator return mounted in the ceiling blew a steady stream of cooled air downward, and aside from mussing her hair, it also chilled her skin unpleasantly. Finding a happy medium between too cool and too warm, she settled in.

"Here is your blini, miss."

The potbellied, dark-haired and dark-eyed man of Russian stock set a plate in front of her with two of the paper-thin pastries. He said nothing more, but waited expectantly. She took the hint and picked up one of the blini. Biting into it, she chewed thoughtfully and then nodded. The spiced "salmon" was prepared perfectly. She swallowed.

"This is very good," she reported.

The man nodded, the hint of a smile gracing his dour features. "I am glad you approve, miss. If you need anything more, just call."

She assured him she would, and was rewarded with another smile as he turned away.

Much of the ethnic cuisine available for sale in the food vendors slanted heavily toward Russian, Mexican, Spanish, and Italian dishes, along with traditional fare from the northwest continent. Although the initial settlers had been a fairly mixed bag of ethnicities and cultures, these particular strains and national origins had been particularly well represented. As humans tend to do, when they arrived on Dusk, they sought out things that reminded them of home, dismissing utterly little things like accuracy in naming them. The "salmon" in her blini, for example, was actually the steamed, flaky white flesh of a small ground-roving lizard. She had eaten Terran salmon before and the fish tasted nothing at all like its Dusk counterpart, but she supposed to homesick settlers who were unlikely ever to set foot on their homeworld again it was close enough for comfort's sake.

Kase studied her. "So, what's the latest intrigue in the DDC?"

There was nothing confidential in the briefing material. If there had been, Trelawney would have made certain everyone knew it before he proceeded. In quick, concise sentences she described the substance of the meeting.

Of course, Kase could have just plucked the information right out of her head, had she wished. That ability had firmly shut the door on any hope she had of joining the DDC. Diplomats from other worlds would never have tolerated such a huge edge in negotiations if _they_ did not control it, and the multiplicity of dangers perceived and real involved in having someone who could hear the thoughts of another person as clearly as if the person had shouted would create a hazardously unstable base for diplomacy.

However, even if Olivia hadn't been extensively trained in how to thwart such psionic snooping, it would no more occur to Kase to invade her friend's privacy that way than it would for her to whip out a blaster and shoot Olivia. It simply contradicted everything in her nature.

Kase's eyes went wide. "So... what are they going to do?"

Olivia shook her head. "I don't know. No one seems to want to believe me, but I really think I'm right about this."

"But how would they use it as a weapon?"

She shrugged. "I have no idea, Kase. I wish I did. The only things I can think of..." she trailed off with a shudder. "Well, let's just say I can't think of anything cheerful they might do with it."

Kase's eyes widened even more in response to the sudden onslaught of Olivia's negative emotions. Mental blocks, no matter how rigorous or well-maintained, didn't count for much when one was all but screaming their emotions to the entire immediate universe. "Um, sweetie," she gasped, her voice pained, "do you think you can calm down a little?"

Olivia cursed and whispered a calming nonsense rhyme. After a few moments, the anxious anger abated, leaving only a tense calm in its place.

"Sorry about that," she murmured.

Kase smiled. "No problem. Happens all the time." Olivia knew her friend well enough to know she wasn't exaggerating.

"So, tell me what you have planned with Merrick tonight!" Kase urged.

* * *

Merrick smiled at her, showing off the dimples in his cheeks. "Well, what'd you expect? You basically threw a baby nuclear bomb onto the table and dared everyone not to freak out about it."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, because apparently I was the only one in that chamber who could see what Terra's up to." She grabbed Merrick's hand. "You believe me, right?"

His grin faded a little, but his nod was firm. "It... I don't like to admit it, Liv, but it makes sense to me. Terra already gets all the projectile-resistant fabric it needs at bargain credits, and there's nothing else here with true military applications. But —"

"But how would they use magick in a military situation?" Olivia finished. She'd already considered that, but none of the scenarios she came up with were cheerful ones.

Merrick stood silently for a moment, frowning as he mulled over the implications. The sorrowful shake of his head told her he had come to much the same frightening conclusions she had.

"I hope it doesn't come to that, but this is a negotiation, not a command. Terra couldn't order us even if they wanted to." Merrick turned toward her and wrapped his arms around her.

Despite herself, she relaxed into his warm, powerful embrace. She breathed in the light scent of his preferred aftershave and the slight spicy note of his sweat. His chest featured only a light tuft of hair right over his breastbone, leading down a fine, soft treasure trail that arrowed under his breechclout. With an appreciative purr, she pressed her lips to one firm pectoral, just above the nipple, and let her tongue flick out to taste his masculine flavor.

He gasped slightly and pulled her closer. His hands closed around her buttocks, cradling her in a grip as sturdy and unbreakable as carbonized titasteel as he lifted her up to press against his groin.

"I wanted you so badly the entire time we were in there," he informed her huskily, dropping his lips to hers.

She started to reply, but before she could, he invaded her mouth with his tongue. It was a shamelessly barbaric male kiss, the kind that no woman has ever needed interpreted since the dawn of the species. That kiss spelled out "MINE" in letters of flame as he teased her tongue with his.

Olivia squeaked at his possessive turn, but then melted against him, molding her body to his as best she could. Sometimes she hated Merrick's territoriality, but in the right mood she found it quite arousing. Between her fear of what the Terrans were really after and her need for comfort, right now she was perfectly willing to let his inner Neanderthal have his way with her.

Her crotch met the bulge between his thighs, sending a silent scream of need through her entire body as he pulled her closer yet. Even through his breechclout and her attire the hard ridge of his erection stroked at her needy center, coaxing soft waves of damp desire from her.

She wanted desperately to peel off the scanty strands of fabric and take him right here and now, and to hell with who might see it.

As if reading her mind, he kissed her once more with lavish craving and then pulled away.

"We can do better than up against the 'car," he said with a wink.

"Oh... okay." She tried to stop it, but felt her lower lip pooch out into a tiny pout nevertheless.

He pressed his palm to the entry plate. The hatch slid silently forward to allow access to the pilot compartment. This model was designed to carry only two people, but it did so in unquestionable luxury.

With a gallant gesture, he suggested she should enter first. She scrambled over the side, leaving her backside exposed and vulnerable for a crucial second. A stinging, playful smack on her rump brought her head up sharply.

"Hey!"

"Sorry." He laughed with all the impish sincerity of a toddler caught noshing on forbidden snacks between meals. "But it's all your fault, you know."

She glanced back at him, raising her eyebrows.

"Oh, really?"

"If your ass wasn't so sexy, I wouldn't want to touch it."

She groaned, considering all the delectable ways he had touched her ass in the past. Another throb of heat shivered deliciously through her lower body.

"So where are we going?" she asked breathlessly.

"Away from it all," Merrick assured her as she sank into the soft, cream-colored leather of the cabin. Once she was secured, he leapt the side like a great cat bounding at its prey and landed precisely in the pilot's seat. In seconds the repulsor-mag engines whirred as they came online and the canopy slid closed with a faint, sturdy clicking sound.

She didn't question his intentions. Olivia had known Merrick since their youngest school days, and the two had alternately driven each other crazy and away in the way of all young children with an attraction to each other and an aversion to cooties. Between the birthday parties, the summertime camping trips, and the press of education together, she had learned there was one immutable fact in the universe.

Wherever she went, whatever she did, she could trust Merrick with her life.

He glanced over at her, his eyes glinting purple with the reflected glow of the holo displays. "We're not going far. I found a new spot the other day I think you'll appreciate." He glanced down, moving his hand so close to her own she could feel the warmth of his skin. Stroking his finger over a smooth metal control in the center console caused the lid to pop up unexpectedly.

She peered inside and saw a green glass bottle reclining wrapped in a soft chamois towel.

"What is it?"

He grinned again. "It's Merlot, imported from Terra. I thought we could have a toast and forget about work for a while."

"Mmm..."

* * *

Nils Trelawney was not a man at peace.

As he left the DDC assembly chamber, his stomach knotted painfully. Of all the delegates, he had not expected Olivia to react so violently to the idea, never mind impugning the intentions of the Terrans in this matter. The difficulty lay in the fact that he could hardly outright gainsay her, because whether she or anyone else realized it, she was precisely correct in her assumption that the given reason was a smoke screen.

He hurried through the corridors, muttering greetings and trying to project an air of rushed, distracted introspection to fend off unnecessary conversation. There was only one person on Dusk he trusted to advise him in how best to deal with this matter.

Carefully, he avoided even thinking the name. Long-term exposure to magickstone had different effects for every person, and enhanced psionic capabilities such as the ability to overhear one's thoughts were not unknown. Despite the fact he had been carefully trained in the skill of mental shielding, it would only take a single unguarded moment to compromise himself and his lover.

His heart felt oddly heavy in his chest, not in an emotional way, but as if his body was trying to warn him something was wrong and getting worse. He grimaced and massaged his left pectoral, trying to ease a cramp far beneath the surface of his skin. At the pace he was setting, it was no surprise at all that his lungs labored to extract enough oxygen from the air or that his temples pounded with the first twinges of a migraine. If all went well, his confidante would make him feel much, _much_ better in only a very little time.

Despite his cardiopulmonary misgivings, parts nearer the equator twitched eagerly at the thought of what such "therapy" might entail.

At the door to his quarters, he touched the sequence of controls that unlocked the portal. It slid into the wall with a faint hiss, allowing him to peer into the darkness beyond.

In the silvery light from the corridor, he could just make out a form reclining on the bed. He smiled and stepped inside. The portal closed behind him, and he absently waved it locked.

"I am not at all pleased, Nils."

He frowned. Of all the greetings he had anticipated, this was the one he'd most hoped he _wouldn't_ receive.

"She's too smart," the voice continued, muffled by a combination of the soft bedding and the fact the speaker's face was turned away from him.

He didn't need to ask who "she" was.

"What did you expect?" he demanded, his tone crackling with exasperation. "The story is too simple, too pat. Even a child of any intelligence whatsoever would suspect it, as I warned you previously."

"So you did." The figure turned toward him, evident only because of the rustling of bedclothes and because the light, chiming voice became clearer. "It's not your fault, I suppose. We should have listened to you."

"They do raise valid objections," Trelawney noted. "We discussed the problem of moving that much matrix off-world before."

"Let us worry about that, Nils," the voice cooed reassuringly. "You have a headache, don't you?"

He nodded ruefully. "Yeah, I sure the hell do."

"Then come over here and let me make you feel better."

With a smile he shucked off his black breechclout and let it fall to the floor. His servant, Sean, could see to it in the morning. For now he wanted the comfort of warm, soft heat, wet lips, and a loving touch.

As he eased onto the bed, his chest seized again. A low cry of distress whistled from his throat.

"Your chest hurts."

It wasn't a question. He gasped for breath as he nodded.

"I've enjoyed being your lover, Nils... but the time has come when I need a man who can attend to details properly. Olivia is a serious threat, protégé or not. If she derails this deal, we all can expect to have a lot to answer for both here and on Terra." A warm hand glided up his back, pausing at the base of his skull.

"Farewell, lover."

A sharp impact exploded between the top vertebra of his neck and the bottom of his skull. He had just enough time to register the sensation before his vision went white.

_What the hell_?

As the incandescent detonation before his eyes faded to black, he heard his lover whisper, "I am sorry. Goodbye, Ambassador."

Then all pain, all feeling, all thought deserted him.

Peace descended at last on a curtain of perfect night.

* * *

The assassin emerged from the trance state shaking and feeling as if a few meals too many had been missed. Maintaining a convincing illusion through the use of telepathy and utilizing a weapon when necessary with telekinesis was a thoroughly exhausting exercise, but it did demonstrate one's control and mastery of the magickal arts.

It was a pity that Trelawney had to die, and even more so that it had been impossible to commit the act in person. The lack of DNA or other physical evidence, however, made missing out on the small satisfaction of physically carrying out the execution a trade-off that was well worth the sacrifice.

The assassin stretched, smiling despite the hunger pangs clawing at a desperately empty stomach. _And so the dominos fall_ ...

## Chapter Four

Merrick guided the hovercar down onto a small flat space between spires with a delicate touch. At the last moment, he pulled up slightly. The 'car touched down as light as puffblossom dust on the sandy surface.

"Are we here?"

He grinned. "We are."

Popping the center console again, he pulled out the bottle of wine and two goblets constructed of smoked extruded plas, as well as an antique corkscrew. The same wine was available for much fewer credits in a vacutop bottle, but Merrick respected tradition, even if the simple addition of an old-style cork jacked up the price of the wine by twenty credits. Besides, he didn't mind spending the extra on Olivia.

She clambered out of the cabin and landed on her feet in perfect silence. The only sounds were the whispering of the light breeze off the Boreal Ocean and the soft susurrus of the waves meeting the shore.

Merrick studied her as she peered around, delighted at the isolated spot. Her enthusiasm was written in every angle of her body, and she threw her arms up in pure exultation. The long, lean lines of her form, typical of humans born and raised in lower-than-Terra gravity, painted an enticing picture, all deep, soft shadows and delicate, swooping curves.

Astaroth burst over the top of the spire, its deep indigo light limning her body as if kissing her skin.

His thirst for wine abruptly abated. He sought other, more nourishing fare.

He opened his mouth to say as much, but Olivia wheeled and ran toward the isolated beach, apparently for the sheer pleasure of it. With a chuckle he hurried after her, lugging the wine and its various accoutrements as he went.

She ducked behind a smaller tower of rock and disappeared, outpacing him neatly. He snickered at the childish game.

"You want to play? I'm up for it," he called.

The only response was her faint, bubbling laughter.

Thirty seconds later he pounded around the base of the tower, aiming in the direction he had last seen her heading. To his consternation, the beach appeared utterly deserted.

_Thwap_!

A dark something that seemed to be made of silk and possessed of a wholly improbable number of tentacles wrapped around his head, blinding and disorienting him. He reached up to pry off the entangling object, but with only one free hand he managed only to get himself further trapped.

Deliberately he set down the wine and accessories, determined to work through the problem slowly and methodically. He took a deep, calming breath, and drew in with it a familiar scent that drew moisture into his mouth and blood into his cock. Then he tugged at the obscuring cloth.

A soft hand reached into his loincloth and slid over his hardening shaft, derailing his concentration. He gasped as the hand cupped him, gliding over the engorged head in a way that made his toes curl.

The hot breeze tickled his skin as Olivia undid his loincloth, leaving him as nude as she was, clad in only boots. Compared to the moist, soft heat that enveloped his cock a moment later, the wind was no more than a spring zephyr.

Olivia swirled her tongue over the head of his cock, provoking another sharp inhalation of pleasure and need from him. Then she began to kiss her way down the shaft with wet little love-pecks, each new contact stiffening his flesh even more.

"Do you want me?"

"Yes." He growled low from the pit of his stomach, his voice thick with lust.

He finally managed to detach her clothing from his head and tossed it aside. Without any warning, he pounced atop her lightly, driving her back and down into the soft sand. She whimpered as he straddled her, eyes huge and shining by Astaroth's light.

He paused to think back and make sure he'd taken his contraceptive earlier in the evening. On Dusk, ensuring one's partner could not accidentally get pregnant or wind up with a disease was very much the man's problem. This principle of male responsibility was so much a part of the culture of Dusk that it was even encoded into law and the educational system, with boys receiving their first contraceptives around age thirteen to get them in the habit of taking it long before they were ready to begin having sex. Of course, the pills also had the advantage of boosting their metabolism and increasing lean muscle mass without the problematic physical and psychological side effects of anabolic steroids.

In his mind's eye he saw the small blister pack with its red pill, the container of water, and the pill going down just before he left for the meeting.

Satisfied that he had attended to the business end of pleasure, he kissed Olivia deeply.

"Yes, I want you."

She wriggled her hips under him suggestively.

"How do you want me?"

For answer he teased and kissed his way down her body, avoiding her breasts and the sensitive erogenous zones under her ribs and just above her thighs. "I want you wet, and aching, and hot, and begging for me," he said, punctuating each adjective with another flick of his tongue over her skin. The little vixen had put on something that tasted very like vanilla in preparation for something of this sort, and the scent and taste of her sent his raging hormones into hyperdrive.

She sighed. "I'm so wet, Merrick. I want you so much."

"I love you, Olivia," he whispered. Without preamble, he stabbed his tongue deep into her pussy.

Olivia squealed. "I love you too!" she cried as she began to writhe in earnest under his lingual lash. She spread her legs as wide as she could so he would have ready access, hooking her slender ankles over his shoulders. He cupped his hands around her buttocks and pulled her in firmly, bathing himself in her delicate floral scent and light, salty flavor as he flicked his tongue over the recesses and crevices he knew gave her the most pleasure.

She opened to him fully as he ravished her flesh, crying out with unfettered delight as he located the perfect places to coerce more sensation from what he knew to be her already screaming nerve endings. Her cries built to a scream of pleasure as she climaxed, rewarding his eager mouth with a flood of nectar. He lapped it up avidly, trying to make sure his tongue touched as much of her as he could manage at once. The sensation must have been too much for Olivia, because she tangled her fingers behind his head and snapped her hips back and forth against his face. With another crystal-shattering shriek she exploded again, the spasms more powerful against his lips.

After a long moment, she pulled away. Pushing him onto his back, she straddled him. He groaned as she buried his rigid cock inside her. Her muscles cinched tight around him like a vise lined with warm, wet satin as she began to ride his cock the same way she'd fucked his face moments before. She moved gingerly at first, but quickly gained altitude and force as she crashed down onto him over and over again, adjusting slightly so a precise point inside her body scraped over the head of his cock, sending galvanic shocks of pleasure from his cock through his entire body.

As her erotic assault became more heated, he reached behind her, finding the spot on each hip where his hands rested most naturally. Taking a firm but gentle grip on the tailor-made handholds, he thrust upward, meeting her downward stroke and sending her back up his length again. The delightful, moist impact took his breath away for a half-second, just long enough for him to hit the warm sand beneath him and rebound. Again and again he collided into her, willing himself to become part of her, to mold himself around and inside her until they became one inseparable being breathing through two mouths and living with two wildly pumping hearts. With every stroke her downward strokes became more savage and animal, and he met her measure for measure, leaving behind the civilized human being to crawl into the refuge of the wild, determined craving to mate.

She threw her head back as she slammed down into the cradle of his hips one last time. With a long, low groan she came, baptizing his groin with her cleansing liquid fire. The spasms of her pussy against the head of his cock ignited his own crisis and he pressed against her once more as he erupted deep in her wetness. Her pussy twitched and clinched his length, demanding every drop of his come without mercy or thought.

Olivia gave one more triumphant cry as he shot into her and then seemed to melt in the afterglow, wilting gracefully onto his chest so her full breasts and erect nipples crushed softly against his skin. She pressed her lips to his, feeding him the soft salt flavor of the fine droplets of ocean spray mingled with the sharper, more immediate taste of her passion-sweat. He found, to his surprise, that he enjoyed the mixture immensely, and opened his lips wider to better savor this unexpected delight. Her tongue met his in luxuriant, leisurely warfare, and her hips lapped against his like wavelets on a placid, welcoming shore.

After an interminable time he felt himself grow hard within her tight sheath again, his balls complaining but his shaft determined to plunder her once more. As he thickened and swelled within the soft confines of her body, she sighed into his mouth.

Slowly, as if the movement caused her the same pain as losing a leg, she pulled away from his lips, leaving her hands resting lightly on his shoulders.

"More?"

For answer, he thrust upward again.

Olivia cried out in renewed ecstasy.

* * *

"Here are your orders. You are not to open them until we are out of Sol system."

Lieutenant (junior grade) Sadaaqi spoke letter-perfect English, spiced with the lilting desert accent of his native land. The man's swarthy skin flushed slightly above his dark, bushy beard. Pete got the distinct impression the other man would have given up his shot at Paradise to satisfy his curiosity about why this junior Marine officer had been dispatched out to the Rim.

To be honest, he would have liked more information about that himself. Neville had abruptly ended the interview, saying he had other business to attend to. The only thing the tight-lipped bastard would tell him was that he'd get full mission details on shipboard.

He grunted noncommittal thanks at the executive officer of the _Fallujah_ and turned away, then turned back. "How long will it be until we hit Dusk?"

"We expect to make planetfall in thirteen days, three hours, twenty-six minutes, forty-one seconds."

Pete raised an eyebrow. "Think you could be a little more vague?" he joked.

The Iraqi native's face betrayed no emotion beyond a little more darkening of his complexion. "No, Captain. I do not," he retorted stiffly.

"Okay. Sorry I asked. Look, which way's my stateroom?"

Sadaaqi relaxed minutely. Most Naval types wouldn't even have noticed the difference. "Your stateroom is two decks up, one corridor to the right, at the end of the corridor. We have given you diplomatic quarters, so you will have absolute privacy. Our orders are not to disturb you in any way until Ambassador Al-Aziz joins us on Unicron III. You may take meals in your stateroom or in the crew dining facility, whichever strikes your fancy. We have a senior warrant officer standing by with orders to accommodate you when necessary and leave you alone otherwise. You need only to input this code —" A slip of paper appeared in Sadaaqi's dark hand with the suddenness of a meteor strike. He shoved it at Pete briskly. Somehow, he managed to cling to the paper without fumbling it. " —And Warrant Kozlowski will see to your needs."

Pete nodded approval. "Can you let Kozlowski know I'd like a couple of steaks in my stateroom? I have orders to read."

The other officer stiffened, his face pinching in on itself as if a particularly severe cramp had just gripped his guts. "I'm afraid that won't be possible, Captain. You see, I have sealed orders of my own to read. Just input the code and your request will route directly to Kozlowski."

Pete grunted. "Okay. How long before we clear Sol?"

"We will pass beyond the outer orbit of Pluto in approximately three hours. I would suggest you try to get a nap." Without another word, the XO turned on his heel in an about-face that would put most Devil Dogs to shame and marched away from the airlock. The double doors leading away from the shuttle bay whooshed closed behind him.

With a grumbled oath, Pete followed.

* * *

"Okay, was it one up and two over, or _two_ up and _one_ over?"

Forty-five minutes after Pete had left the shuttle bay, he was well and truly lost. The _Fallujah's_ corridor-marking system was laid out solely in Arabic, which Silva had never learned to read, not that it would have done him any good anyway. If the Fallujah was going to be a permanent billet, he'd have loaded the schematics and studied them for a half-hour or so before the shuttle raised, but since it wasn't, he hadn't bothered. He'd asked a number of enlisted types in Naval black, but all of them seemed surprised even to see a Marine on board. Not a single one of them had a clue (or so they claimed) as to where his assigned quarters were or how he should get there.

A couple of times, he'd thought he heard the squids break into snickering fits as soon as they were around the corner. The last time, he'd considered chasing them down and chewing wholesale ass, but decided there was no profit in pissing off people he'd have to be locked in this tin can with for the best part of two weeks. Instead he ambled around, looking for a corridor that looked like it might be the right one.

If the _Fallujah_ had been a proper frigate or drop ship, Pete would have known more or less exactly where to go. Combat ships were laid out on a common hull design with minor cosmetic differences to allow for their unique battle support roles. The _Fallujah_ , being a diplomatic packet ship, was constructed along entirely different lines intended to grant it superior speed and maneuverability at superluminal velocities without compromising the delicate balance of the Alcubierre-Fermi drive fields.

He should have known better, and his frustration only grew with every step he took.

Finally, he found a commpad on a facing wall near one of the lifts. Consulting the paper, he entered the six-digit call code. The pad gave two sharp pings. A broad-faced, good-natured-looking man with thinning brown hair and hound dog eyes peered out of the screen at him. His Naval black uniform was so crisply pressed Pete could imagine cutting himself on one of the seams.

"Senior Warrant Officer Kozlowski, sir. How can I help you?"

"Warrant, this is Captain Silva."

"Yes, sir. I can see that." Neither Kozlowski's voice nor face gave any indication of anything but the most perfect military neutrality.

"Warrant, do you know where I'm at?"

Kozlowski looked down for a second, and then back up. "If I had to guess, Captain, I'd say you're _lost_. You're one deck down and to the left from where you should be, if you're looking for your quarters, sir."

Pete bit back a surly reply and tried his damnedest to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. "Well, if you're not too busy, Warrant, would you shoot a line and take me in tow?" He thought briefly about asking Kozlowski for those steaks, but decided against it.

"Yes, sir. Will the captain be wanting food in his quarters, sir?"

_Solves that problem_.

"Very much, Warrant." He detailed what sounded best to him.

"Very good, sir. Stay right where you are and I'll be up to collect you in a few moments."

Without another word, the warrant broke the connection.

Just for contrariness' sake, Pete moved five feet to the left and two feet backward.

" _Collect_ me," he muttered. "Collect _this_ , squid."

Five interminable minutes later, the lift doors whooshed open, revealing Kozlowski in the flesh. He bore a huge plastic tray covered with a clear dome in his Kodiak bear-sized arms. Compared to the hulking warrant officer, the tray looked absolutely tiny.

"Captain Silva, I'm Senior Warrant Kozlowski." He nodded to the tray. "I'd offer to shake hands, sir, but..."

Pete smiled as graciously as he could manage. "That's fine, Warrant. If you can just get me where I'm supposed to be, I'd appreciate it."

The warrant officer grinned. "Glad to, sir. Follow me."

It turned out that from the lift, Pete had only been about two hundred meters from his assigned quarters the whole time. Kozlowski trotted down the hall, apparently willing to let the senior officer make conversation or not as he saw fit. Given Pete's level of irritation, he decided not to try. As the warrant turned a sharp corner, Pete heard a cheerful voice.

"Hey, Mr. Kozlowski! Up for a game tonight?"

"No, thanks," Kozlowski said. "I lost the last fifty credits I had to you cretins last time we played."

"Well, it would help if you weren't such a shit poker player, Mr. Kozlowski."

Pete rounded the corner and found a fresh-faced Navy kid facing Kozlowski down. Kozlowski looked embarrassed. "There's an officer on deck, Hudson."

The kid glanced Pete's way and stiffened to what passed for attention in the Navy. "Good afternoon, sir," he barked.

"As you were," Pete said quickly.

The kid slunk away without another word, nodding to Pete as he passed. Pete eyeballed Kozlowski's back. "Isn't playing for money against regs?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir. I never heard anyone say anything about playing for money. If that happened on _this_ ship, I'd have the perpetrators disciplined. Rigidly." He paused at a blank door and raised an eyebrow at Pete.

Pete smiled. "Uh-huh."

"Here are your quarters, sir." Kozlowski waved at the palm scanner by the door. "It's already keyed to your 'print, sir. Until this ship reaches Dusk, you're the only one who can enter it."

His eyebrows shot heavenward. "The only one?"

"As in the only one, Captain. Not even the Skipper can get in here without your say-so."

The elaborate precautions made Pete a little uneasy. The last time he'd dealt with anything on the order of this cloak-and-dagger affair, a lot of good Marines had died over a few credits' worth of uranium ore on a backwater planet most of Terra couldn't locate if they had God Himself pointing the way. His neck prickled at the distinctly uncomfortable memory.

He supposed it always would.

Stepping around Kozlowski, he pressed his palm to the reader. It glowed a cold blue for a moment, then flashed a friendly green. The door slid into the wall, allowing him access to his quarters.

_Apparently diplomats live well_ , he thought enviously. One whole wall of the suite opened out onto an expansive starscape. As he watched, the lower curve of the immense bulge of Jupiter slid by in the upper half of the wall. Tearing his eyes away from the gas giant, he took stock of his surroundings.

The bed was about the size of a California king, covered with a comforter in a busy silver pattern. Directly across from that, a small alcove contained a desk with a built-in reading light and a holo panel. On the left of the desk were two sliding doors that he guessed led into a closet. On the right was another door. He nodded at it and shot Kozlowski a quizzical look.

"The head, Captain."

"Got it. Always good to know where you're going to piss," he said in a feeble attempt at humor.

"Yes, sir." Kozlowski's face might as well have belonged to a sculpture. "Where should I put your food?"

Pete looked around and saw a small table near the bed. "It'll be fine there, Warrant."

"Sir." Without ceremony or wasted motion, the beefy man placed the tray on the table.

"Will the Captain be needing anything else, sir?"

He shook his head, then checked himself. "Actually one thing, and then you're dismissed, Kozlowski. You can tell me what your function is on this mission. There's no way you would have been assigned to me just to make sure I get whatever I want to eat."

Kozlowski's face went perfectly blank. "They didn't, sir, but I'm not at liberty to disclose that right now. It should be in your orders. Otherwise, I'll explain when we arrive at Dusk."

Pete frowned, but didn't force the issue. "Okay, Kozlowski. What time's breakfast?"

"Breakfast is available any time you'd like, Captain. The galley on board sets a pretty good table, if I say so myself."

"Very well, Kozlowski. Dismissed."

"Sir."

For a large man, the warrant officer moved quickly and silently. Pete didn't even hear the door close as he left.

With a sigh, he moved the small table closer to the desk and commanded it on. Once the display was up and running, he ordered, "Display all known information about planet Dusk."

He popped the cover off the tray and was rewarded with a faceful of fragrant steam from the two large T-bone steaks, just cooked enough to be able to say they had been, the mashed potatoes covered in Cheddar cheese and sour cream, green beans, and two large dinner rolls. In one corner a thick tube rode, clipped to the tray. He picked it up and twisted the top. It immediately frosted and came away from the body. Tipping the cylinder up produced a stream of reddish-brown liquid that flowed into the chilled tumbler. He took a small sip, then a more robust one.

"Fresh-brewed iced tea. Well, I'll be damned." He chuckled.

"Your information is ready," came a pleasant, soft feminine voice from behind him.

He jerked slightly and turned as fast as he dared without slopping tea all over the floor. The holoscreen bore the same information in a flowing, liquid script.

"Your information is ready," the holo said again.

"Display," he commanded, seating himself. As he located knife, fork, and napkin, the screen filled with information on Dusk.

"Readout," he added, cutting into a tender, juicy piece of prime Terran ribeye, listening intently as the computer read out pertinent information about Dusk's location, history, and important laws.

When the cool, feminine voice completed the readout, Pete murmured, "Hmm. Display off."

As the holoscreen's glow faded from the room, he pushed the demolished tray away and withdrew the small envelope. Breaking the seal with his thumbnail, he peered inside, then turned the envelope upside down so the contents tumbled into his palm.

A small strip of red plas emblazoned with black lettering and two tiny silver eagles glinted up at him.

The eagles, ancient symbols of a colonel's rank, jarred him, even though he'd been expecting them.

The red plas strip, on the other hand, scared the hell out of him. Only orders that were so confidential the bearer would be required to commit suicide if necessary to keep them secure were marked that way.

_What the_ fuck _have I gotten myself into now_?

Resignedly, he fed the strip into the holoscreen's data slot.

## Chapter Five

Merrick guided the 'car into the docking facility on manual control. Despite the half a bottle of Merlot he'd drunk with Olivia, his hands were sure and steady on the controls as he nosed the 'car toward his slot and brought it down. The landing was so precise and light that Olivia had to do a double-take to verify they had in fact stopped.

"I had a wonderful time, Merrick," Olivia said, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. He still tasted of sea salt, and she smiled as she realized that she would forevermore associate that flavor with Merrick turning her senses inside out on the beach. She shivered deliciously, wondering how soon they could return for an encore performance.

"I did too, sweetheart," he assured her. His hazel eyes danced in the dim light of the control panel. "I wish we could do that every day."

She laughed. "You're insatiable."

"Only for you." He winked.

The canopy slid open and locked back, allowing her to exit. She was so lost in admiring the view of Merrick's tight buttocks as he swung out of his seat that it took her a moment to realize she was being hailed.

" —via! Oh, God, Olivia!"

She turned to see Hui Sin Ling hurrying toward the 'car, her face so white she looked like she'd just been doused with flour. "Ling! What's wrong?"

"It's... it's Ambassador Trelawney!" Ling skidded to a stop less than a handspan away. "I think he's... he's..."

Her eyes overflowed with tears. Reflexively, Olivia put her arms around the other woman.

"He's what, Ling?" The bottom dropped out of Olivia's stomach.

Ling twined herself around Olivia like a limpet, her sobs so powerful they set Olivia's teeth rocking. Olivia could only make out the word "dead" through the other woman's wails.

"Dead? Ambassador Trelawney's dead? How do you know?"

Ling only sobbed all the harder, any attempt at speech blocked by her jerky inhalations and warbling cries.

Over Ling's shoulder, Olivia speared Merrick with a glance. "Go check on the Ambassador. I'll stay here and try to calm Ling down."

Merrick didn't ask any questions. His chiseled jaw tightened, but he only turned and loped away toward the corridor that led to the DDC lift to the top of the Aerie.

Once Merrick was safely away, Olivia guided Ling to the floor. Despite the fact Ling probably outmassed Olivia by thirty kilos, she followed Olivia's guidance without protest or question. Olivia held her close and stroked her silky hair until the woman's sobs faded to mild hiccups, and then asked again.

"What makes you think he's dead?"

Ling met her eyes with her own fiery onyx stare. "I went to his quarters," she said slowly, as if weighing each word before allowing it past her lips, "to drop off some data that had come in about the new Terran envoy and his staff. When I hailed him and got no answer, I went into his room." She squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment as if warding off a sight too horrible for human imagination to encompass. "I found him on the floor, the sheets of the bed rumpled. There was... Olivia, there was so much blood..."

Tears streaked her face all over again as a fresh torrent of hysteria swept her. Olivia shushed and comforted her as best she could, while her mind raced like a lake-rat caught in a box.

Trelawney had been alive only three hours earlier. Anyone else who had left the Aerie would most likely be clear. The navigational systems on Merrick's 'car would clearly show where he had been and for how long, and the security surveillance in the docking area would show him and Olivia getting into the car and leaving. They were in the clear if Ling was right. But that raised another, more frightening question.

Who had killed the Ambassador? More importantly, who would take his place in the negotiations with Terra?

She felt her mouth tightening. There was no way this could have been a coincidence. Someone wanted the senior, most experienced interplanetary diplomat Dusk could muster out of the way. But what could have been so urgent about the negotiations that the killer decided the only way to sideline Trelawney effectively was to murder him?

Her stomach dropped even lower as she added up the facts over and over again. They all added up to a most unpleasant sum.

Someone in the DDC, or closely connected to or working with the DDC, had assassinated Ambassador Trelawney.

While Ling sobbed into her shoulder, Olivia's mind raced. She played and replayed the scene in the DDC chambers earlier that day, trying to pinpoint the source of her sudden unease. Someone had said something that hinted this might happen during the explosion of fury that followed her pronouncement that Terra could only want to make magickstone a weapon, but she couldn't quite tease it out from the firestorm of yelling and cursing that had surrounded it. Even if she could, it was equally likely that her recollection was faulty and she hadn't really heard what she thought she had.

But then, she couldn't be sure she'd heard anything at all. It was entirely possible she was working herself up over nothing.

She looked up as Merrick rushed back into the docking area. His usually cheerful face was frozen into an expression as grim as a newly minted corpse.

"Ling was right," he snarled, running a hand through his hair in agitated anger. "The Ambassador is dead."

* * *

Two hours later, the DDC reconvened for a... Olivia wasn't entirely sure what to call it. It wasn't properly a wake, although a distinct funereal pall coated the room like a coat of oil, muting the whispers and occasional sobs of the assembled diplomats. It couldn't have been called a council of war, despite the angry faces that shone out here and there among the mourning and the confusion. It certainly wasn't a celebration; not a single person recounted a humorous story about Trelawney or attempted to assay even the weakest joke.

Galacia City Security had blocked off the entire corridor leading to Trelawney's quarters. No one was permitted in or out of the zone while the security officers cataloged the scene and interviewed anyone who might have seen or heard anything at all amiss. This effectively left about a tenth of the DDC temporarily homeless. Some speculated in hushed tones about where they were to sleep tonight, while others muttered angrily about the inconvenience. Still others considered the future pensively or wolfishly, wondering who would assume Trelawney's leading spot on the DDC and how the diplomatic policies of Dusk might change as a consequence.

Drinks appeared, guided along on antigrav carts by liveried servicepeople: with alcohol for those who fancied a nip, sparkling water or fruit juice for those who did not. Olivia noted without a shred of surprise that the whiskey, vodka, and wine went far faster than the non-alcoholic beverages. She picked up a pair of glasses containing fruit juice and passed one to Merrick.

Dr. Granger spoke from behind her. "May I have a word, Olivia?"

She turned to see Granger looking as solemn and severe as his friendly face could manage. "Of course." She glanced at Merrick.

Before she could say anything, Granger pressed on. "You don't need to leave, Merrick. What I have to say concerns both of you."

Merrick's eyebrows jumped a little, but otherwise he gave no indication of surprise.

"Some of the other members and I have been talking, Olivia. We know that you and Merrick are virtually the only ones in the Corps who could not have had anything to do with Ambassador Trelawney's death. I know myself to be innocent, but proving such a thing will take precious time the Corps can ill afford right now."

Olivia frowned, wondering what Granger could possibly be driving at. She raised her glass and sipped at the light pink liquid within to conceal her confusion.

He caught the look and hurried on. "I, and many of the others, wish to nominate _you_ as the new Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary from Dusk to the Interstellar Confederacy."

This bombshell caught her in mid-swallow, and she inhaled the sweet, acidic juice. Immediately she began to cough and sputter uncontrollably. Merrick pounded her back gently, trying to help her evacuate the juice from her lungs. Granger knelt in front of her, taking her hands and holding them tightly so she would not try to straighten prematurely.

After what felt like half of eternity but was really probably less than a minute, she finally took a clear breath and pulled her hands away. Standing erect, she took another, more judicious swallow of the contents of her glass.

Merrick glared at Granger. "So was your plan to nominate and assassinate her all in one move?"

Granger gazed back, completely unruffled. "Hardly. A dead ambassador is of no use to us. However, we need someone who is willing to take the lead in the negotiations with Terra concerning the magickstone. We believe that you are the most qualified person to do so."

She raised an eyebrow. "But I've never even been to Terra. I would have said you or Ingrid would be a better candidate."

"You are not under any obligation to accept the nomination, Olivia. You need only consider it. We believe you have the energy and idealism of youth, which in this case would be assets we can hardly afford to do without. Ingrid and I both know how we would respond to the Terrans. Both of us would tell them, in no uncertain terms, to piss off. You, on the other hand, have a cooler and more strategically-oriented head. We trust you to make the best possible decision."

She made a noncommittal gesture with her head. "And what part does Merrick have to play in this?"

Granger met her eyes, as if willing her to see the sincerity and truth of what he was telling her.

"We believe Merrick could best serve as your personal security. After all, he has every reason not to want your lovely body damaged —"

"Careful," Merrick growled.

" —and is the person most ideally placed to help keep you alive," Granger plodded on as if Merrick hadn't spoken. "It is hardly the perfect solution, but perfection does not exist. We must deal only with what is. In this event, I think you and Merrick together make a very dangerous combination, fully capable of fighting off an attacker while still possessing enough sense to make the right decisions for all parties concerned."

Olivia nodded slowly. "I don't entirely know that I like it, but put that way, it seems I have no choice. But who will vote for me?"

Granger stepped back three paces and raised his voice so it cut through the fog of grief and anxiety cloaking the room.

"Fellow diplomats!" he cried. "I call for an immediate vote to determine the next Ambassador to the Interstellar Confederacy. I name Olivia Gunnarson as my candidate! Who will second my vote?"

With suspicious speed, Ingrid, Ling, Merrick, and half a dozen others cried, "Aye!"

"Will anyone else stand forward to be considered?" Granger's body language suggested he was willing to entertain alternate suggestions, but the look on his face and the way he bit off the words indicated dire straits ahead for anyone who dared to take up the challenge.

No one moved.

"Then I put it to a vote, here and now. All in favor?"

The room erupted into a wall of sound as dozens of lungs shouted, "Aye!"

"Do I hear anyone against?"

Now the members hesitated, each looking at the other to see if anyone dared speak. Olivia could almost hear their thoughts: Whoever the new Ambassador was, he or she would certainly be the assassin's next target, assuming that Trelawney had in fact been murdered because of what he knew about the gallartium negotiations and not because he had run afoul of someone for more personal reasons. Everyone there would have given their eyeteeth for the opportunity Olivia had just been handed by acclamation, but none of them was willing to purchase that opportunity or the power that came with it at the possible expense of a vastly abbreviated lifespan.

Granger waited for an interminable count of ten and then nodded.

"Very well. Then, fellow diplomats, it is my great pleasure to introduce you all to Her Excellency, The Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to the Interstellar Confederacy, Olivia Gunnarson!"

Every person in the chamber burst into applause.

Olivia wanted nothing more than to grasp Merrick by the nearest protruding part she could grab and run. Everything was moving far too fast, from just another day of deliberations to the murder of her friend and mentor to acceding to the pinnacle of power on Dusk. No one outranked her now; even the Governor of Galacia, the closest thing to an absolute monarch the planet boasted, could look at her only as an equal.

_What the hell do I do now_? she thought frantically, looking around at the familiar faces bearing markedly _unfamiliar_ expressions that plainly said they expected her to command them.

She held up her hands for silence. As if a switch had been flicked, she received it.

"Everyone, take your seats," she ordered. "We have much to consider."

* * *

Olivia sagged against the wall of her room, pressing her hands against her eyes. Merrick sat on the bed, watching her as closely as he might a man juggling live, armed plasma grenades.

"Oh, God. Merrick, what am I going to do?"

He smiled. "You're going to do your absolute best and make them proud they decided to give you the chance."

She looked anything but reassured. "Merrick, I want to do the right thing, but every instinct I have is screaming at me to just walk away from this, tell Terra we're not interested, and let it be."

He longed to go to her and comfort her, but he knew Olivia well enough to know she wouldn't appreciate the attempt right now. If she had her way about it, Merrick would discreetly exit the room and only return when she had herself back under control. Of course, as her bodyguard, Merrick was required to consider her safety first and her wishes second. It ran completely counter to his more amorous instincts where she was concerned, but he knew as well as anyone the potential danger she was in.

_Time to start thinking like a bodyguard, Merrick_.

Galacia City Security had released the scene and removed Trelawney's body for a deep-tissue scan. The cause of death had been determined to be a stab wound to the top of the neck, directly between the Atlas vertebra and the base of the skull. According to the medic who had recorded the injury, Trelawney would have been killed instantly.

"Probably didn't even feel it, the poor bastard," the medic said quietly as he shuffled past, guiding the antigrav sled on which Trelawney's shrouded form reclined. Olivia stifled a sob, huddling into Merrick like a small animal seeking security and warmth. He held her as long as she needed, and then she moved away to talk to the chief of security.

"Did they find anything on the security monitors?"

Olivia shook her head, her mouth puckering into a thoughtful pout. "No. Major Latimore says the only anomalies were Trelawney's door opening and closing by itself about a half hour apart. Maintenance is going to give it a once-over. It seems he complained about his door self-activating a couple of times in the last few weeks, but all diagnostics come up empty. There's no indication of anything wrong. The only print scanned was Trelawney's, but..." She trailed off.

"But he couldn't exactly have stabbed himself in the back of the neck, right?"

Olivia shivered. "Exactly."

"So if he didn't, then who did?"

She sagged to the floor, scooting up against the corner as if she needed the comfort of two solid walls at her back. "I don't know. Everyone who had a motive didn't have any opportunity, and everyone who had opportunity had no motive."

Merrick frowned. "Okay, so let's stop looking at who could have killed him. Instead, we need to ask why." He shook his head and amended the statement. "Allow me to rephrase. I need to ask why. You need to get briefed on the complete details of the Terran request."

She frowned. "How am I supposed to do that?"

He smiled. "You're now the ambassador. The ambassador's files are all yours to peruse. You have to call City Security and get a one-time emergency override. Once you're in, you can change the code to whatever you want it to be. Then the files are yours and completely secure."

"And what are you going to do, while I'm educating myself on everything there is to know about our diplomatic status with Terra?"

Pushing off the bed, he walked over to her and tousled her hair. He knelt beside her so his lips just brushed her ear and whispered, "I'm going to be as close as your own shadow until you go to bed."

"And then?" He distinctly heard the note of anxiety beneath the words.

"And then I'm going to be even closer, if you'll let me."

Olivia turned and rewarded him with a brisk peck on the lips.

"Better let me work, then," she said, pushing herself to her feet with only her legs. "Do you know the code for Security?"

He nodded. "Two six three oh four."

* * *

She blinked at his nonchalant reply. "Is that the emergency or non-emergency number?" Even as she asked, she flinched at the stupid question. To reach Security in an emergency, one had only to enter the same number three times or input the sequence 12345. This made it much more simple to summon help quickly when it was needed, without forcing panicked people to try to remember a complicated contact code. "Never mind. Non-emergency."

She picked out the code and was surprised when her holoscreen lit up with the visage of Major Latimore himself. "Oh, I'm sorry to trouble you, Major. I need a one-time emergency override passcode for Ambassador Trelawney's files."

Latimore smiled. "No trouble, Ambassador. I knew I'd be getting this call sooner or later, so I instructed the computers to auto-route any call from your code directly to me. Cuts down on the chances of anyone overhearing. Is that Merrick I see lurking in the background?" he asked, moving his head as if trying to peer around her.

She nodded. "It is. He is now my official bodyguard, by proclamation of the DDC. He's assured me he won't be any further from me than my own shadow."

The security chief raised his eyebrows and brought one hand up to stroke at his close-cropped goatee. "Really? Then you feel secure with me reading off this code with him present, correct?"

"I do, Major. I accept full responsibility."

"Very good, Ambassador. Sorry about that." He chuckled, lapsing back into his more relaxed but still polite persona. "Protocol, you see. Keeps my ass off the hot seat as much as possible."

She smiled. "Understood, Major. So what's the code?"

"Alpha Seven Delta Four Eta Eight Sigma Three Chi Nine Zero."

She read back the code dutifully for verification. He nodded.

"That's the one. It's good for fifteen minutes, after which you will be locked out of the files for thirty-six hours. If you want to read it back again, I'll understand."

She did so and he once again agreed she had it right. "If you need anything further, Ambassador, please don't hesitate to ask."

"I won't," Olivia assured him. They chatted politely for a moment, and then she disconnected. Merrick watched her carefully as she entered the passcode. The screen flickered for a moment, and then lit up with the legend, "Welcome, Ambassador Trelawney."

Olivia sighed sadly. "I guess this means I really am the Ambassador now."

Merrick couldn't think of anything to say to that.

He wasn't even sure there was anything _to_ say to that.

* * *

Elsewhere in Galacia, the assassin watched as the passcode flickered into ghostly life. The lag on the new ambassador's communications was a handicap, but not an obstacle.

Touching a control stud launched the worm that would allow unrestricted access to Olivia's computer and any files she viewed. While there would be a slight delay, one could learn much just by watching and listening. There was no need for more intrusive measures.

Yet.

The holoscreen abruptly flickered to life again. The pale text against the blue backdrop read, "Welcome, Ambassador Trelawney."

The assassin clenched a fist in triumph. Once everything that needed to be known was known, Olivia would become dispensable. Her bodyguard might prove problematic, but even the most alert and ferocious watchdog had to sleep sometime.

For now knowledge, not action, was the key to power.

Settling into the comfortable _hruczek_ -leather chair, the unseen voyeur propped chin on hands and studied the holoscreen intently, eyes flicking over the lines of text as they appeared. Speed-reading was a useful hobby, but occasionally annoying: the visible screen was consumed quickly, necessitating a wait while the next screen was brought up. The worm made it possible to assume full control of the system and analyze the data at will, but that was much too dangerous for this early phase of the proceedings.

If there was anything the assassin understood it was the value of patience.

The next screen appeared with agonizing slowness.

"Interesting," the assassin muttered, eyes darting over a key point in the text. "Very interesting indeed."

It seemed that dispatching Trelawney had not been as necessary as initially thought. _Unfortunate. He was a talented lover. I suppose one really can teach an old dog new tricks_ ...

But there would be other lovers in due course. For now, the task was to watch, wait, and learn.

A task the assassin was uniquely well-suited to.

## Chapter Six

" _Captain Silva, you have a superluminal communication. Captain Silva, you have a superluminal communication_."

Pete snarled and pulled the covers over his ears, turning pointedly away from the strident voice of the holoscreen. He had only managed about half an hour's sleep, after being all up until nearly dawn by his internal clock. Between pacing about, digesting his orders, and trying to learn everything there was to know about Dusk, he was in no shape to take a faster-than-light call. The only reason someone would go to the trouble and expense of tightbeaming the call instead of sending an electronic message was if something truly dire had occurred.

That thought brought him fully awake and more than slightly pissed-off. What the hell was he doing gallivanting out toward the Rim? He didn't have any business running an op like this!

"Captain Silva —"

"Patch it through, voice only."

The holoscreen gave a shrill electronic bleat and then a familiar male voice barked, "Silva! Are you there?"

"Yes, General, I'm here."

"Did I wake you?"

"No, sir," he lied, glad Neville couldn't see his sleep-drawn features.

"Good. We have the kind of fucking mess that can end careers on our hands."

_Oh, that's just what I needed to hear at oh Christ thirty in the morning_ , Silva groused. Aloud he said, "What's that? Did someone die?"

"That's not at all funny, Colonel," Neville snapped. "As it happens, yes, the Dusk ambassador was assassinated about four hours ago, Dusk time."

He glanced at the chronometer. According to the readout, when the ambassador snuffed it he'd been doing his fifth set of sit-ups, trying to get his mind off this grotesque situation.

"Have they named a replacement?"

"That's the other reason I'm calling. The new ambassador is a woman named Olivia Gunnarson. I'm sending everything we know about her to you now. She'll be the one you'll work with the most often, so I expect you to do whatever it takes to keep the ambassador happy, pliant, and willing to conduct business with us. Is that understood, Colonel?"

_She's probably a hundred and eighty-three, weighs in at four hundred kilos, and has skin like a Rigelian sand worm_ , Pete thought. _Just what I want to get tangled up with_. "Of course, General. I will accommodate the ambassador in every possible way."

"See that you do," Neville huffed. "This fucking sideshow has already gotten out of hand and the curtain just went up on it. I'd better not hear reports of any waves from Dusk, Silva." The warning tone of the general's voice all but shouted that if there was so much as one ripple, Pete could expect to spend the rest of his short-lived Marine career cleaning latrines with his own toothbrush.

"Heard, understood, and acknowledged, General. Will there be anything else?"

Neville paused. "No. Just get this done without any more what-the-fuckery for me to have to clean up after, explain, or otherwise deal with."

"I will, sir."

Silence fell over the room. After about fifteen seconds, the holoscreen said, "Communication has been terminated."

He grunted. "Display electronic message from General Neville, Fritz O., to Colonel Silva, Pedro A."

The screen lit up again with a standard electronic dossier. He leaned forward, studying the tri-vid image with interest.

The young woman on the screen stared out with a severe expression. Although her hair was pulled tightly back, the clean, noble lines of her face and her particle-beam eyes appealed to him greatly. He treated himself to a brief fantasy of "working closely" with the new ambassador, and found to his delight that he wasn't the least bit disgusted at the thought.

He scanned her CV, noting interests, hobbies, and education. From the look of her file, she had been groomed for the position her entire life. Even better, she was a member of the Dusk Citizens' Militia, which meant she was trained in keeping herself and others alive by making those who wanted to change that state of affairs dead.

According to the file Olivia Gunnarson was twenty-eight Terran years old, but had been elected to the top slot utterly unopposed. This told Silva she was either extremely popular or overwhelmingly unpopular, either well-loved or a marked woman. She was reported to have a love interest named Merrick Joyner, another man on the DDC, but this last bit was noted as "speculation based on best information."

_In other words_ , thought Pete, _we don't fucking know, but you're going to find out_. He rolled his eyes. If she did have a lover, persuading her by means of humanity's oldest method was going to be difficult, but not impossible.

For a Marine, _nothing_ was impossible.

He realized he hadn't thought to ask Neville about Kozlowski. For some reason, the large warrant officer still troubled him. Kozlowski's determination that Pete call him for whatever he needed suggested he was being politely and unofficially encouraged to stay in his quarters and not mingle, not ask questions, not do anything that might lead to him learning something.

The feeling this realization aroused in him was one he disliked intensely. It reminded him a little too clearly of the briefings he'd received just before arrival on Regina IV. Those briefings had been a complete and utter joke, and he'd lost too many good people because of them.

_Not this time_.

Since he was awake anyway, he dialed the code that linked him to Kozlowski. To his surprise, the warrant officer looked just as fresh and crisp as he had the day before.

"Can I help you, Colonel?" Kozlowski asked without even glancing at the screen.

The hair on the back of Pete's neck stood up. He hadn't left his quarters since he finally got here, afraid of getting lost all over again and subjecting himself to further embarrassment. As a result, there was no reason for Kozlowski to know that he'd just been promoted unless his orders told him so. If that was the case, the warrant officer had just become less of a valet and more of a warden.

"Breakfast," Pete said. "And I want to know exactly what you know."

"I can help you with breakfast, but not the other, Colonel," Kozlowski replied, this time looking directly out from the holoscreen.

"And why is that, exactly?"

Kozlowski glanced up and to the right nervously. "Because my orders say you don't have a need to know them, Colonel. You may lodge a complaint with General Neville if you wish, but I doubt it will do you much good. My orders bear his thumbprint and specifically contain the line, and I quote, 'If Colonel Silva presses you about why you're assigned to him, you are to tell him it's none of his damned business.' So, it's none of your damned business. Sir."

"I don't like being stonewalled, Warrant."

"That's not my call, Colonel. You're more than welcome to take it up with General Neville, but I can't do or tell you anything more than I already have. All you need to know is I'm here to make your life go more smoothly."

He nodded sullenly. "Am I confined to quarters?"

Kozlowski's face rearranged itself into an expression of genuine-looking surprise. "No, sir! Why would the colonel think that?"

Pete scowled. "Because the colonel thinks he's getting mushroomed by the people he's counting on to watch his back."

"Mushroomed, sir?"

"Kept in the dark and fed bullshit."

"If you want bullshit for breakfast, sir, I'll see what the cook can do. My understanding is the galley's serving up omelets today."

Pete suppressed the urge to bite the warrant officer's head off. If the general was determined to keep him out of the loop, there wasn't much he could do about it except accept that he'd come as close to being a senior field-grade officer as he ever would. If he were lucky, he'd just wind up busting out as a private. If the mission went south and he was unlucky, he could be looking at ten to twenty years on Luna converting big rocks into gravel for export to Terra. Plum assignments like this had a nasty way of blowing up in Marines' faces, thoroughly destroying their careers. Taking off the warrant's head wouldn't help, and might actually sabotage any chance he had of seeing this mission through to a successful conclusion.

Damned if he could see how that was going to happen, though.

"Never mind, Warrant. Fifteen minutes."

"Sir."

The screen went blank again.

Pete flicked some cold water on his face and then hurried to the closet. Quickly he donned a duty blouse, cargo pants, and boots. Then he slathered on beard-repressing gel and waited for it to sink into his skin.

Just because he felt like roadkill didn't mean he had to look like it in front of someone below him in pay grade.

* * *

Pete tugged at the collar of his dress blue jacket. The eagles at his shoulders still looked strange, alien, gleaming silver from their lofty perch. He felt strangely out of place, as if someone had swapped out his uniform with the pips that denoted his real rank for a joke. Like most small details, that one tiny addition made a great deal of difference. It made him feel odd, like a kid playing dress-up with his dad's suit.

In the past two weeks, he'd been forced to deal with a lot of things he didn't like. This was just one more, he reflected ruefully.

Tugging the patent-leather belt at his waist, he pulled the buckle to the regulation attitude, straddling his "gig line." The ceremonial saber hanging at his right hip formed a comforting counterbalance to the holstered sidearm on his left. Both weapons looked archaic, befitting the history and tradition of every element of the uniform from the bird, ball, and hook emblems at his throat to the "hash marks" denoting his years of service down the sleeves to the blood stripes running vertically down each leg of his pants.

Neither was.

The saber, although it was almost a precise replica of the Mameluke sword that had famously been awarded to First Lieutenant Presley O'Bannon during the First Barbary War over a millennium previously, carried a cutting edge that would have given the ancient Devil Dogs an unquestionable advantage over any opponent. The edge, contained in a magnetic flux field, was actually a fine line of plasma, roughly one-third as hot as the surface of Sol. The sidearm, on the other hand, had been cunningly crafted to look like an ancient Colt Model 1911. In actuality, it was a modern and utterly lethal plasma blaster, containing one hundred charges in the drop magazine within the grip. Although he wore the weapons secured with their straps to demonstrate peaceable intent, he could have either clear of its case and ready to go in less than half a second with either hand and you call it.

Despite the resplendence of the gleaming black shoes, belt, and brim of his cap, he felt far less snappy than his outward demeanor suggested. There were so many ways he could fail at this mission, so many things that could go horribly wrong that had absolutely nothing to do with him, or that had everything to do with him.

Part of the problem was a natural antipathy between himself and Ambassador Al-Aziz. The ambassador was unhappy that Pete was coming along for the ride, while Pete was disgusted by Al-Aziz's idea of diplomacy. "If they do not give us the gallartium," he had declared more than once, "we will simply take it."

Pete had made the mistake of observing that one diplomatic away party, even accompanied by a Marine colonel and his retinue, was unlikely to make much of a dent in Dusk's forces if they decided they really didn't care to play ball. Al-Aziz simply fixed him with his burning anthracite eyes, beetled his bushy black brows at Pete, and said, "Then it is your job to make sure we _do_ make a dent."

Pete didn't pretend to be a world-class negotiator, but Muhamed Quadri Al-Aziz was about the last person he'd have chosen to head up a negotiation. Not only did Al-Aziz hold to a very rigid and largely discredited interpretation of the Qu'ran, which said that women were to be seen and not heard, but he was generally boorish and impatient, both dangerous traits in a diplomat. Knowing the new senior ambassador for Dusk was a woman, Pete couldn't help but anticipate stormy weather ahead for the negotiations.

_Oh, well. If Al-Aziz screws this up, it's not on me. I just have to keep his sorry ass alive; I don't have to like him or invite him over to watch powered armor combat. Of course, it would be nice if he'd make my job a little easier by behaving like a proper diplomat instead of an argument for mind-washing_.

He sighed again and put on his best poker face. Dealing with Marine DIs had given him one of the best around. There was nothing quite like having a guy twice your mass and half again your height screaming obscenities about you, your mother, your intelligence, and the likelihood that someone in your family tree had sexual relations with an orangutan while repeatedly driving elbows and knees into your gut to keep you from showing any kind of emotion, ever. In private, Pete didn't bother with the act. In public, especially in the company he was about to be keeping, the act might very well save his career, if not his life.

"Colonel, the shuttle to the surface is ready."

Just the idea of riding down to the planet's surface on a shuttle instead of being fired from the ship like a sentient bullet was enough to give Pete mental whiplash. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd taken the more leisurely method of transport rather than needing to be on the ground with a heavy weapons team ten minutes ago.

_Gunny Larsen eyed him as he clawed his way out of the drop pod. "You okay, Captain?_ "

" _I got this, Gunny. Sitrep_?"

" _We have local hostiles inbound. Guess they saw us coming down_."

" _Backup_?"

_Larsen snorted. "Not fucking likely, Cap. We're about as alone as we can get out here. Nearest Marine detachment is three hundred klicks away. By the time they can drop their cocks and get over here, it'll be all over but the shouting_."

_He didn't add, "One way or the other." There was no need to. Pete got the message loud and clear_.

_Pete grimaced. "Okay, Gunny. Let's get dug in. Weapons crew ready_?"

_Larsen smiled. "Yup. Had 'em laced up for the last fifteen minutes_."

" _Good to go_."

Larsen's leathery, tough face faded from Pete's sight. Like so many other devil dogs who'd had the misfortune to wind up on that Christ-forsaken planet, Gunny Larsen now existed only as a handful of rags and a memory Pete would never fully be rid of.

He shook himself as if flinging away fleas. Larsen had known the risks, just like they all had. He went down doing what Marines were supposed to do: taking the fight to the enemy.

"Colonel?"

Pete jumped.

"You coming, sir?"

He turned to see Kozlowski looming in the doorway. As much as he hated to show alarm in front of friends, he hated it double in front of someone he couldn't be entirely sure of. Kozlowski had never been anything but exactly what a good warrant officer ought, but he gave Pete an itch between his shoulder blades he could never quite scratch. Pete had learned the hard way to pay attention to that itch. It was usually a hint that someone nearby was thinking about sticking a knife there. The fact the warrant officer had opened his door, when he'd specifically said only Pete himself could do that, set off a dull warning chime in the back of Pete's skull.

There was no doubt about it: Kozlowski bore close watching.

"Yes, Warrant. I'm ready."

"Very good, sir."

At the shuttle, Al-Aziz waited impatiently, his traditional robes swirling about his legs. As he caught sight of Pete and Kozlowski, he stopped and drew himself to his full height.

"So good of you to join us, Colonel. Perhaps next time you will do me the courtesy of actually being on time."

_Go fuck yourself_ , Pete thought. Aloud he said, "I'm sorry, Ambassador. I had to send a communication."

Al-Aziz's hawkish face sharpened at the word "communication." "Would you care to share the contents of this communication?"

"I was sending a final report to General Neville. I don't know how many chances there will be planetside."

Al-Aziz harrumphed. "And you did not see fit to clear the content of your message with me prior to sending it?"

Pete bridled a little. "With all due respect, Ambassador, while I am attached to your diplomatic team, I am not a part of your chain of command. My superior officer is General Fritz O. Neville, not you, sir. If you have a problem with that, feel free to take it up with him." With an uneasy twinge of memory, he recalled Kozlowski saying something virtually identical to him almost two weeks prior. "I will not allow you to speak to me in such a disrespectful fashion, Ambassador. We are both professionals, and I suggest we put aside any personal animosity for the duration. If you cannot do that, I wish you luck in the negotiations. I'll head back to my stateroom."

Pete saluted crisply and turned to walk away.

"Stop!"

He turned back to see Al-Aziz looking shaken for the first time since Pete met him.

"Colonel, I beg your pardon. My nerves are... how do you say? Shot. Yes, my nerves are shot over these negotiations. I intended no disrespect to you or your service, and I hope you will forgive my inexcusable rudeness."

For a second, Pete considered letting the ambassador grovel a little more. There was only so much anyone could be expected to take, and Pete had already had a bellyful of His Excellency and his belligerence. A lesson in humility might do him some good.

_Yeah, and it might land you in the brig_.

_True, but_ ...

But nothing. Just because he's an unprofessional jackass doesn't mean you have to be.

"I accept, Ambassador." He gave Al-Aziz the look he'd rehearsed so often in the mirror, the one that froze the marrow of skylarking cadets and overreaching senior officers alike. "But I sincerely hope you'll keep your nerves where they won't impact these negotiations. Otherwise, I'll have no choice but to inform General Neville and ensure he knows that any lapses in diplomacy are to be laid at your door, not mine."

Al-Aziz's upper lip twitched as if he had caught the odor of something dead and rotting. "I will be sure to bear that in mind, Colonel." He made no effort to disguise the undercurrent of threat roughening the bottoms of his words. "And rest assured I will advise your superiors of your assistance with this endeavor."

_I'll just bet you will_.

"Shall we?" Kozlowski asked, gesturing toward the shuttle.

## Chapter Seven

Olivia slipped the crisp silver robe over her head. It whispered into place precisely as she might have wished, drawing just enough attention to her cleavage without showing so much as to offend propriety and hugging her hips in a way that flattered her body without being gauche.

The clothiers who attended to the formal wardrobes of the DDC members had been working night and day for a week to produce a number of dresses, robes, and suits suitable for any and all occasions. Although it was unlikely she would need such a trousseau again anytime soon, having such a formidable wardrobe made her feel a little more controlled. She tried very hard not to think of how much the elaborate creations cost. While Dusk was far from a poor planet, she could think of far better places for that many credits to go than draping her gangly form.

Poor Merrick looked even less comfortable than she felt. He wore a coat and pants of breathable black Dusk silk, with an iridescent high-collared shirt of the same material. Under the jacket he wore a holster in which rode his blaster. If misery could be said to have a face, Merrick's would have fit the bill perfectly.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Yes. After I undo this button." He reached for the large jeweled stud at the top of his throat.

"Don't you dare! Martine spent a full day getting that shirt right, and you'll just spoil the line of the collar if you undo the button," she scolded.

"And of course you're just loving your attire," he sniped right back.

She glanced in the mirror. He had a point. Although the silk was as light and airy as any fabric anywhere in the galaxy she'd seen, she would still far rather meet the shuttle in her usual attire than this... this... this ludicrous robe. Seeing herself in such finery drove home the point all over again that she was really the one expected to navigate the rocky waters of the negotiations and carry the day for Dusk.

_Will this_ ever _seem real_?

With a grimace, she turned from the mirror to Merrick. "Shall we?" she asked, offering her arm.

He took it without a word, threading her arm through and under his in a way that left his hand ready to whip down toward his blaster.

_Poor Merrick. He really does look quite handsome. I just wish that his devotion to me didn't drive him to take such risks on my behalf. Bad enough I'm in the line of fire without pulling him in after me_.

He turned toward her just before they reached the door, his eyes smoldering as his gaze roamed over her face. "You look beautiful, Olivia. I love you."

She leaned in for a kiss, careful not to get carried away lest she smudge her lip color. Merrick was having none of that, and pulled her tightly against him so she could feel the ridged bulge of his hardness against her belly. She gasped, opening her mouth for him, and he slipped his tongue inside without hesitation like a thief heading for sanctuary. With a whimper she melted into him, allowing him to make his claim on her before the real world intruded once more.

For a long moment they stood there, face to face, panting as they broke the kiss. With a rebellious thrill, she considered dragging him over to the bed and allowing him to take her any way he wished. It would certainly be a more pleasant way to pass the time than awaiting —

"Ambassador, the shuttle has just been sighted. It will arrive in four minutes, thirty-two seconds," came the voice of the senior docking officer from the holoscreen. "We await your arrival."

"Oh, damn!" She cursed and turned toward the door, her lascivious fantasy banished by the call of duty.

Merrick pounded along beside her as they rushed through the corridors to the main lift.

Three minutes later, slightly winded but determined not to show it, Olivia peered up at the winking point of light that indicated the shuttle. Around her in a tight V formation, the rest of the DDC clustered. Olivia formed the point of the V, with Merrick slightly behind her to the right. Opposite them on the designated landing pad, an honor guard stood ready with particle-beam rifles.

The shuttle swelled rapidly in her vision, resolving itself from a mere glowing pinprick in the constant gloom to a child's toy, and then into a full-sized conveyance. Its sleek, curved lines allowed for maximum aerodynamic capability in a wide range of different atmospheric conditions.

She studied it carefully, noting the telltale bulges of weapons ports at its nose, along each side, and to the rear. By Dusk standards, it was very odd indeed: ancient agreement prohibited weaponry on atmospheric craft constructed on the planet. From her readings of Terran history, she knew better than to expect that even a Terran craft on a mission of diplomacy would be unarmed, however. The ominous message was clear and unambiguous. _Attack us if you dare, but know that we will exact a price for it_.

She shivered from a psychic chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the air.

Merrick whispered in her ear. "Are you all right?"

She nodded tersely, not trusting her voice. Now she could hear the energetic whine of the magnetic ion engines that powered the shuttle, and her heart thudded into a faster rhythm. Any second now...

The shuttle touched down as lightly as a bird landing on a twig. Whoever piloted the craft, they were obviously extremely skilled.

After a long, tense moment, the airlock nearest her opened with a long hiss of escaping air. A metallic ramp covered with dark, textured material intended to prevent foot slips unspooled from the ship with a metallic whir. Framed in the entry, a pair of bulky humanoid figures in powered armor stood with plasma rifles at a rigid position of port arms, their fingers off the firing studs. The instant the leading edge of the ramp touched the ground, they stalked down the walkway, peeling off neatly at the end to stand at attention facing each other with their rifles raised in the traditional vertical salute. Another pair appeared behind them, repeating the procedure, and another behind them, until a squad of a half-dozen armored figures reflected their opposite numbers in the silvered domes of their helmets.

A short man with a bald head and an earnest demeanor, clad in a tunic and pants of dark russet, scurried down the gangplank as the last soldiers set their stances.

"Ambassador Gunnarson, people of Dusk, I present to you his excellency, Ambassador Muhamed Quadri Al-Aziz, representative of the government of Terra and the Interstellar Confederacy!" he announced, sweat popping out in large beads from his shiny pate.

A tall, lean figure in sand-colored robes stepped forward, gliding down the ramp with a dancer's grace and the quick, sharp gaze of a raptor. The hot wind caught his robes and whipped them around his ankles like a flag. His head turned slightly, taking in everything around him before snapping back over the assembled crowd in a series of double-takes. Olivia had the unsettling feeling that Al-Aziz saw everything and nothing at the same time, but would be prepared to take action on less than no warning. The corners of her mouth drooped slightly in distaste. Was the ambassador expecting an assassination?

_Being prepared to take on an assassin is probably not the worst thing he could do, or_ you _either_ , a calm, detached part of her mind noted. Re _member what happened to Trelawney_.

The thought tore away the last tatters of a good mood more efficiently than feeding it into an industrial-sized debris shredder.

She narrowed her eyes at the figure on Al-Aziz's left, a resplendent figure wearing the traditional attire of the Terran Marine Corps. Beneath his brimmed officer's cap with the gold trim, his broad shoulders and tall, lean build flattered the uniform. The eagles on his epaulets flashed as if newly minted. Crisp white gloves covered his hands. On one hip rode a sheathed saber, while a compact hand weapon occupied the same space on the other side. His uniform was all brass and flash and sparkle, but something about the bearing of the man wearing it muted the pomp and accentuated the nobility at the same time.

Everything else faded from her sight as she zeroed in on the Marine.

His face was smooth and unlined, although bronzed by exposure to wind, sun, and interstellar radiation. The perfect, neutral mask of his expression gave away nothing of his thoughts. His dark eyes never moved, but she somehow knew he saw more than Al-Aziz could ever hope to for all his suspicious glowering around. If she had to take a bet on which man was most likely to survive a hostile encounter, she felt reasonably confident that the smart money would be on the stone-faced Marine and not the dour diplomat.

She stepped forward to meet the ambassador, her hand extended in what her research had told her was a traditional Terran greeting. "Welcome to Dusk, Ambassador. I am Olivia Gunnarson, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of this world. It is my great pleasure to finally meet you."

Al-Aziz stared at the outstretched hand with apparent shock. After a long moment he reached forward and took it, his expression hinting he'd rather have stuck it in a basketful of live cobras. "Thank you, Ambassador," he replied coldly. "Your greeting is... most gracious."

"We have quarters prepared for you and your retinue, Ambassador," Olivia continued blithely. "I am sure you would prefer to rest and settle in before we begin the negotiations. However, before we proceed, would you make the members of your delegation known to me and my people, so we may welcome you appropriately?"

* * *

_Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani_? Pete thought crazily as the introductions proceeded. In typical diplomatic fashion, the lowest-ranking members of the assembled party were presented first, moving with agonizing slowness up the ladder of power.

The Bible verse was the only thing he could think of as he caught sight of the Dusk ambassador, even though he was acutely aware of the discomfort the environment was wreaking upon him already.

Between the sweat forming under his cap and the close, choking heat of the planet's surface, Pete felt like he was slowly boiling alive inside his uniform. As if that wasn't bad enough, his groin stirred with interest. The tri-vid images of her hadn't misrepresented Olivia Gunnarson in any way, but they had utterly and epically failed at reproducing the sheer, vibrant _life_ of this woman. Her teal-blue eyes showed her feelings to him as clearly as a beacon. Beneath the sheer fabric of her ceremonial robe he could just make out clean, sweeping curves and intriguing angles that made him long to run his fingers over them to test if they felt as true as they looked.

She walked toward the delegation, and his senses spun with delight at every step she took. She made simply putting one foot in front of the other a delectable feast for the senses, with that robe hugging her hips and whispering around her ankles. If there was any justice in the universe, someone was taking a tri-vid of this so he could play this moment back in slow motion at his leisure.

He heard every word she said, and they fell like individual crystal chimes against his ears, but his gaze was firmly locked on her full, pouty lips and cheekbones so high and sharp they put even the Martian mountains to shame. The kind of beauty she wore so effortlessly was never intended to be looked upon by mere mortals, and least of all not by a roughneck Devil Dog whose entire life consisted of being ready to kill or die at a moment's notice to defend whatever the Powers That Be decided needed defending this week.

He decided he'd treasure this glimpse until the moment he died, perfectly happy and thankful that he had at least gotten to see such feminine glory once in his life. While he'd had no shortage of female companions, and few of them had been less than striking, this was a woman truly worth dying for, like that woman... _Hera_? _Holly_? Helen, _that_ _was it_ ... who was reputed to have been so beautiful the ancient Greeks started a war and sent a thousand ships to plunder an entire country just to bring her back to their shores.

He'd always thought that particular story was a myth at best and a joke at worst.

Now, looking at Ambassador Olivia Gunnarson, he didn't feel nearly so sure.

"And this is Colonel Pedro Silva, lately of MCRD San Diego. Colonel Silva is serving on this delegation as my military attaché. He will be the one advising me on all matters martial." Al-Aziz's dry-ice voice brought him crashing back to reality.

The ambassador extended her hand gracefully for him to shake. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Colonel," she said calmly.

A mad impulse seized Pete, one he couldn't resist any more than a moth can resist flying into the soothing blue aura of a bug zapper. He took the proffered hand, but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips like an actor in an old bi-vid from Hollywood's Golden Age. The electric zing across his lips as they touched the warm, soft, sweet-smelling flesh of her hand sent a jolt of erotic awareness from his lips down to his groin.

He could have stood like that all day, but instead he straightened and offered a crisp hand salute. According to regs, he should have drawn the saber and presented it vertically to salute her, but the distinctly wary gaze of the man behind her and to her right suggested such a move, no matter how well-intended, would be a supremely bad idea. "It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Ambassador. Your tri-vids don't do you justice."

The lean, handsome bodyguard scowled at him, brushing a stray strand of dark hair off his forehead. "You are too free with your lips, Colonel. I suggest you not make that mistake again."

"Merrick, it's all right," the ambassador told him, in much the same tone one might use to shush a dog who was acting unnecessarily ornery. She shot a glance at Merrick and then turned her attention back to Pete. "Apparently the colonel holds to a much older tradition of how to greet a lady." Was he imagining it, or had she felt the erotic tension between them too?

She gave him a slight, conspiratorial wink.

Before he could say or do anything more idiotic, like ask her to marry him, Al-Aziz cleared his throat. "As you can imagine, Ambassador, we have much to discuss, and I fear our time is limited."

Olivia inclined her head in a regal gesture of concurrence. "Very well, Ambassador. Let us conclude the introductions and I will have our junior diplomats escort yours to their quarters."

Merrick stepped forward. "I am Merrick, the ambassador's bodyguard," he announced brashly. Pete didn't miss the sharp look Merrick cast at him, a look he clearly intended to impale the other man. That look said he did a lot more than just guard Olivia's lush body, and anyone who intended to supplant him would have a fight on his hands. "Where she goes, I go, at all times and under all circumstances."

Al-Aziz's eyes brightened, and a knowing expression curtained his face. He smiled condescendingly. "How very interesting. Colonel Silva, here, serves a very similar function for me."

Pete didn't break his bearing, but his mind immediately began to race. _Did that hawk-faced asshole just imply that he's_ fucking _me_?

Merrick snickered. Olivia's smile slipped away behind her serenely diplomatic expression.

"Then I trust Merrick and Colonel Silva will have much to discuss."

"Of that, I have no doubt," Al-Aziz said coldly. "Shall we go inside, then?"

The two ambassadors started toward the portal. Merrick fell in behind Olivia, close enough that there could be no mistaking the proprietary interest he took in her safety. Pete followed Al-Aziz, leaving enough distance between them to clarify that not only did the ambassador have no claim on him but that which duty demanded, but that Pete did not consider himself to be properly part of the ambassador's party at all.

Merrick favored him with a slight sneer and then turned his head and eyes straight forward. Meanwhile, the diplomats talked in quiet murmurs as they moved through the corridors.

Pete caught himself staring at familiar things with nearly open-mouthed awe. Smooth, gleaming metal lined many of the corridors, but some of them had been hewn out of native rock and polished to a high shine. He could clearly make out the paths in the centers of the latter corridors, where generations of feet had worn the stone smooth and polished. The exterior walls featured long panels of some clear material that allowed a panoramic view of the dizzying drop from the higher levels of the Aerie down to the dark plains below. On the horizon, a bright blue glow flamed, Dusk's sun flirting with what passed for dawn here without ever actually managing to rise. Closer in, the lights of Galacia flickered and shimmered far below, each light marking the presence of a handful of humans. Farther out, toward the planetary north, he could just make out the cliffs that denoted the boundary between solid land and the sea beyond.

The scene was so utterly alien to him, a sojourner on a dozen alien worlds, that he could scarcely restrain the urge to gawk. It was beautiful and terrifying and majestic and frightening, kind of the way he'd always imagined hell looking. Everyone said it was supposed to be a terrifying, foul place, but if he were ever placed in charge of the netherworld, he would want it to look much like this did.

"Colonel Silva?"

The lilting voice bore a tone that suggested the owner had already said his name several times. He shook himself back to attention and realized Ambassador Gunnarson was staring at him expectantly.

"Sorry, Ambassador," he said quietly. "What did you say?"

"I merely asked if you were enjoying the view."

She spoke Terran Standard with a strange accent, not quite Scots, nor Russian, but with a guttural emphasis to some of her words that seemed to owe something to both lingual families. It gave her sibilants a charming little lisp, while she came down hard on the harsher consonants and clipped off the softer ends of her words. It sounded, dare he even think it, cute on her.

"Oh, yes, ma'am, very much. I can honestly say I've never seen anything quite like it."

"Indeed?" She raised an eyebrow and gave him a long, speculative once-over. "Perhaps, once our duties here are attended to, I can take you on a tour."

Ambassador Al-Aziz wasn't quite fast enough concealing his look of distaste to keep Pete from seeing it. Painting on a smile as fake as a plastic banana, he nodded, playing the gracious guest to the hilt. "You should do so, Colonel. I suspect Dusk has a great many delights to share with all of us. As Ambassador Gunnarson so accurately noted, we will not be spending all our time here on duty."

Pete allowed himself a small smile while thinking, _Mr. Ambassador, sir, with all due respect, you can go fuck yourself, sir_.

Aloud he said, "I would like that very much, Ambassador."

Merrick shot him a glance chilly enough to freeze hydrogen.

Pete ignored him.

## Chapter Eight

The assassin stood, hands on hips, on a catwalk overlooking a pit so large that it distorted visual perspective and bent sensory input almost into meaninglessness.

A few feet away, leaning on the railing, a T'riskin male glanced over with unconcealed interest. "Impressive, is it not?"

"It is, indeed. Finding this abandoned diamond mine was a stroke of brilliance."

The T'riskin straightened to his full, imposing height. His muscles rippled under dark-red scales as hard as stone as he folded his taloned hands in front of his waist. His tail thrashed twice in a sign of slight agitation. His hard, thin lips skinned back from deceptively delicate-looking teeth.

"Our superior is wondering when we can expect payment."

The assassin pushed off the railing and looked up into the T'riskin's face. "Do not press me, Grrrreelawk. I have assured you that you will be paid as soon as the diplomatic farce is complete."

Grrrreelawk grumbled. "But there are too many ways this can go wrong," he protested, his voice fine gravel sliding down a steep slope.

"That is hardly my concern. Bear in mind that you brokered the introduction to the Raebteews, but I am the one who must constantly keep their leader in check. You have no concept of how difficult it is to control a puppet so completely and utterly that it has no idea who is pulling the strings while still interacting normally with others. None of which takes into account the huge risk I am undertaking by doing business with you at all. If I am discovered, I can at best expect a long stay in a detainment cell. At worst, I may be escorted off the planet as an undesirable."

Grrrreelawk's lower jaw fell open in the T'riskin version of a laugh. "And that is my concern how? I am a mere contractor, here to assist you with maintaining control over the Raebteews and assuring my superiors that the operation is proceeding according to plan. They will not react kindly to stalling tactics."

The assassin scowled. "Do not threaten me, Grrrreelawk. That way only lies problems neither of us need or want."

The T'riskin glanced down into the pit. "Look!" he commanded, aiming one wickedly clawed finger downward.

Far below, a swarm of small, furry creatures with ferocious, almost absurdly outsized claws began to chitter excitedly to one another. A large shelf of high-carbon rock fell away, revealing a brilliant blue vein of ore beneath. The creatures made a uniform piping sound and redoubled their efforts, their huge eyes glittering in the light the ore emitted.

"It seems you were right," Grrrreelawk remarked.

"Was there any doubt? I have read the mineralogy and geology reports on this planet until I see them in my sleep. I know every likely place at both poles to seek out gallartium ore. Now that you are convinced, I expect you to maintain your end of the bargain."

"And the diamonds?"

"I care nothing about diamonds. On your world they are rare and therefore valuable, much as they are on Terra. Here, gem-grade diamonds are only slightly less common than ordinary gravel. I can find diamonds along the beach that put the Hope Diamond to shame both in size and quality. You can line your pockets, or whatever passes for them, to your and your leader's hearts' content. So long as the gallartium is mined with due care and stored properly until it is time to take it off-planet, we will both be satisfied. Do you understand?"

"I do indeed." Grrrreelawk's tongue snaked out, flicking across his lips nervously. "I will see to it the operation continues."

"Excellent," the assassin said, staring greedily down at the ever-expanding vein of glowing blue.

* * *

"You can't seriously have meant you wanted to take that ridiculous-looking man out for a sightseeing jaunt!" Merrick fumed.

"Yes, I did, Merrick. It would be impolitic not to, and I need to learn more about why there's a military man attached to Al-Aziz's team."

Merrick froze. "How far are you willing to go to do that?"

Olivia's face went cold. "What exactly do you mean?"

"Would you sleep with him, if you thought it would get you information?"

Something snapped in Olivia's mind. "Merrick, you're making a huge mistake. I love you, but I don't own you. The same applies to you. If I _do_ decide sleeping with him is the best way to get information, then that's my own choice. Besides." She smiled slightly, recalling the warmth of his lips against the skin of her hand. "He has nice lips. I wouldn't mind kissing them, or even better, kissing _you_ while both of you have me."

He blinked. "You mean... a threesome?"

She shrugged. "Well, why not? If I decide I do want to sleep with him, I would feel better about it with you present. It would solve the problem rather neatly, and everyone gets what they want, yes?"

Merrick frowned and his brow furrowed. "But he's sleeping with Al-Aziz."

Olivia laughed out loud at the ludicrous notion. "You actually _believed_ that? That was Al-Aziz having a joke at your and Colonel Silva's expense at the same time. The most amazing thing about the whole situation is that you _bought_ what he was selling you. Didn't you see Silva's mouth?"

The frown on Merrick's handsome face crashed down into a full scowl. "What reason would I have to be looking at his mouth? The only interest I have in his mouth is possibly smashing my fist into it if he does anything untoward."

"Come on, love." Olivia pushed away from the wall, shrugging off the robe. "Doesn't it make you hot, the idea of watching me with another man, knowing you and he will both have me? You don't have to touch each other." She paused, reflecting on that idea. "In fact, I'd prefer it. But just imagine me on my knees, wet and open for you while I suck another man's hard cock. I'd be completely helpless. You can have my pussy, or even my ass. Would you like that, Merrick?"

She lowered herself into his lap. To her amusement, Merrick's cock pressed against her slit, showing what he felt about it despite his protests. Leaning forward, she kissed his ear. "Imagine taking me at the same time he does, with me sandwiched between you, coming over and over as I scream both your names." She swiveled her hips forward in a tiny, sensual undulation. "Wouldn't that be worth it?"

He licked his lips. "I—well, we've talked about it before, but..." His face suddenly flushed. "Why him? He's such a stiff! Did you see the way he stands? He looks like someone rammed a poker up his ass."

Olivia smiled. "I rather doubt that. But I also don't think he'd do anything to hurt me. Besides, I think he's hot, and it seems to me we could do worse than share with someone who's going to be out of here in a week, if it takes that long. Especially if we can find out more about what they're up to by mixing business and pleasure. He goes his way, we go ours..." An idea occurred to her, and she leaned forward to whisper into his ear.

When she pulled back, she could see all too plainly the hunger in Merrick's eyes. "You really mean that?"

She nodded. "I get my fantasy, you get yours."

He gnawed his lower lip pensively, thinking it over. Somehow the expression made him look like a little boy, and she had to fight the urge to tousle his hair. "Interesting. I never thought you were into other women."

"I'm not, but turnabout's fair play, isn't it?" She wriggled her butt again, letting him feel her heat against his pelvis.

He groaned. "I would be there? The whole time?"

"Yes," she whispered, nipping lightly on his earlobe.

"And I wouldn't have to touch him?"

"No."

"If he hurts you, I'll kill him."

Olivia rose off him, her eyes sparkling. "Just like a good bodyguard should." She flounced over to the closet, willing it open as she strutted, giving Merrick a good look at her ass.

"Now, let's see... what to wear," she mused, tapping a fingernail against her teeth.

* * *

"Enter!"

The door slid open, revealing Olivia and her omnipresent bodyguard. Instead of her ambassadorial attire, she wore a complex arrangement of straps that covered the essentials but did nothing to obstruct the view. Merrick had a dark breechclout wrapped around his hips. Both wore boots, and were otherwise unclad.

Pete rose, hastily shrugging on his black T-shirt.

"Good afternoon, Ambassador."

Olivia smiled. "Actually, it's morning, Colonel, at least as we reckon time. Astaroth will be rising soon. Merrick and I thought it would be pleasant to take you to the beach and let you see our world's greatest natural wonder."

Pete thought it over. Al-Aziz had cleared him to do whatever he wished until that night, when the natives had a big reception planned. Getting out and seeing some local color seemed like a pretty good idea, and getting to know Olivia better seemed like an even better one.

"Sure. Give me five minutes to freshen up?"

Olivia smiled. "Of course. Do you have anything particular you would like to take with you, as far as food goes?"

Pete thought it over. Technically, he was off duty and had twelve hours before he was due back. He could do more or less whatever he liked and still have eight hours straight before he resumed his duties. So why not?

"I have some Terran Scotch in my closet. If you want to dig it out, I'll freshen up and we'll be ready to go."

Olivia nodded to Merrick.

"Top drawer, at the back. Glenlivet."

Merrick considered. "I've heard good things about that, but I've never tried it before. It's on my to-do list, though."

Pete nodded to the other man. _Finally, we're speaking a common language_! "Then you won't want to pass up this chance," he said, ducking into the 'fresher.

* * *

Twenty minutes later the hovercar touched down on the pad near the beach. Merrick dismounted first, allowing Silva to get out.

"So, I hear Dusk has some of the most beautiful beaches in the galaxy," Silva said, apparently in a bid to make conversation.

Merrick studied him closely, trying to divine from a hundred vocal and non-vocal cues if there was anything in the words besides the words themselves. After a moment he gave it up as a futile exercise.

"That's what I've been told. Of course, I haven't seen enough other beaches to have much of a basis for comparison," Merrick replied. "The tri-vids I've seen of Terra worry me. All that light, all the time? No wonder everyone has to wear those polarized filter... things over their eyes."

"You mean shades? Sunglasses," Silva prompted. Merrick supposed his confusion must have been visible for Silva to bother with the clarification. "Yeah. Skin cancer used to be a big problem on Terra, but we've had that licked for centuries. Still, it's kind of unpleasant sitting out with no protection over your eyes." He took a deep breath, stretching his arms over his head. Merrick noticed that, unlike his lean frame, Silva was both stockier and more bulky, with the kind of thick, heavy muscle that comes from sustained, hard physical labor. His black T-shirt strained under the pressure of containing all that muscle, and Merrick had to fight down a surge of envy.

Olivia, who had been leaning against the side of the 'car during the exchange, eyed Silva avidly, appreciating the view. Then she gave Merrick a wink, as if to say, "Yeah, he's pretty, but you're still my number one."

"So what shall we call you? 'Colonel' seems so formal, and just addressing you by your last name seems rude."

Silva turned to her and feigned a courtly bow. "Well, ma'am, my friends call me Pete. And I figure that's anyone who drinks my Scotch with me and isn't planning to put a knife in my back."

I _could think about putting a knife in your back_ , Merrick thought. _But Olivia wouldn't appreciate the gesture at all_.

"Then if we're to call you Pete, you must call me Olivia and he's Merrick. None of this 'ma'am' business... makes me feel old."

Silva nodded brusquely. "As you like, er, Olivia." He looked around at the rocky fangs of the spires. "So, uh, where are we headed?"

"This way." Merrick took point, with Olivia's hand tucked firmly in his, leaving Silva to follow, or not, as he wished. In moments he led them to the ideal viewing point for moonrise and laid down the blanket he'd brought from the 'car.

Silva cracked the seal on his bottle, and poured a generous jigger for each of them. They clinked glasses and drank.

Merrick smacked his lips. "This is really good. I had some stuff one time, trader claimed it was genuine Terran Scotch. Damn stuff tasted like it had been cut with turpentine. When I finally got him to confess, he told me it was actually Rigelian fire water."

Pete shivered. "Yeah. That's from my neck of the woods. Nasty stuff. I hope he gave you back the difference."

Merrick allowed a small, cold smile to stretch his lips back. "It took a little persuading, but he finally saw it my way."

Olivia sipped at her drink and made a face. "Is it supposed to taste like this?"

"Yup," Silva said. "It's the finest whiskey ever made on Earth."

She took another sip and grimaced. "Well, it's not for me."

Pete shrugged. "Scotch is one of those things where you either love it or hate it. There's no in-between. What my dad used to call an 'acquired taste.'"

"Don't worry, Olivia. I have something else in the 'car I think you'll like better." Merrick turned away, toward the car. "I'll be right back."

* * *

"If you watch over the horizon, you'll see Astaroth peeking up right... about... now."

Pete followed the direction of her long, graceful finger. True to her prediction, a ghostly corona of blue light formed at the horizon. A moment later it burst as a smooth, blue-black curved blade rose out of the ocean.

Second by second it grew larger, stealing Pete's breath with how dangerously close it appeared. He staggered back, tripping over his own hind foot and dropping himself unceremoniously on his ass in the powdery sand. Dimly he realized the sand on this beach was far finer than any sand he'd ever felt on Terra. He kept his eyes riveted on the immense, glassy orb as it birthed itself over the water, casting a frozen indigo light over the beach. Tiny sparks of sullen orange and bright red shone on Astaroth's face, the visible legacy of volcanic activity.

His breath quickened. Despite all his experiences on other worlds, with moons that never showed their bright faces to their companion worlds at all or never shone on the parts of the planets where he'd been, this was a new and terrifying first for him. Astaroth loomed in the sky, menacingly close to Dusk, taking up the biggest part of a quarter of the heavens, the glassy black of its surface interrupted with the hellish light from the magma welling up in pinprick patchwork on its face. He had known, from his research into the planet and its denizens, what Astaroth looked like and how it devoured the Dusk sky. Knowing from tri-vid and seeing it in person were two wildly different things, and his pulse raced with atavistic terror at the difference.

"That's our moon, Astaroth." Olivia's eyes glittered silver in the eerie reflected werelight of the satellite as she stared at Pete, obviously trying to make sense of his reaction.

"That's not a moon," Pete retorted sharply, his own anger at his very un-Marinelike alarm tightening his voice. "It's a fucking nightmare!"

Merrick spoke from behind him. "A lot of people find the closeness of Astaroth disturbing, especially when they first arrive. You'll get used to it."

Pete turned to see Merrick pouring the Scotch from Olivia's glass into his own and Pete's in roughly equal portions. Then he produced a bottle full of a thick blue liqueur and topped off Olivia's glass. "Get used to _that_? How do you deal with something that big in your sky all the time? Terra's moon is absolutely tiny compared to that."

"Properly speaking, Astaroth isn't really a moon at all. It doesn't behave like a typical satellite, according to our astrophysicists. It's more like a 'twinned' planet, a remnant of the formation of this solar system that got locked into orbit with Dusk because it's much lighter. Astaroth obsidian is some of the most prized material in the galaxy for scalpels and other primitive medical equipment."

Pete took a long slug of his whiskey, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. "Well, maybe so," he allowed. "Even so, it's a damn scary-looking sight."

Olivia smiled. "But see how it tints the foam on the waves?"

Pete looked and saw what she was referring to. Where the ocean foam on Terra crashed in on the shore in a fairly uniform greenish-white, _this_ foam broke in all shades of blue, purple, and even hints of green, shattering the light from Astaroth across the higher end of the spectrum. It didn't make it any less disquieting, but even he had to admit it was surprisingly beautiful.

He looked back and studied Olivia. In Astaroth's eldritch light she looked like a spirit or perhaps a Fae, stepped across from the other world to dance in faerie rings and spend a little time in the regular universe. He turned to Merrick, wondering if he would look different, and found to his surprise that he did. The other man looked hard and sharp as a carbon steel blade, his wiry strength now lending his ascetic features and his thin build the same air of threat that danced around the edge of a rapier.

The thought made him distinctly uneasy.

Instead of pursuing it, he turned back toward Astaroth, now fully risen, hanging huge and darkling bright in the sky. Although the primitive dread the moon inspired in him did not abate, he forced himself to experience it again and again, working with and through it until he had finally wrestled it into something tame that he could deal with. Maybe it was his imagination, but he fancied the Scotch helped.

A soft hand perched on his shoulder.

He started and looked around to see Olivia squatting next to him, close enough that he could detect the soft floral scent she wore and a deeper, more subtle aroma that he recognized not by its own merits, but because he knew and instinctively noted the scent of a woman.

"It's really quite beautiful, isn't it?"

If Merrick hadn't been lowering right behind them, he might have said something stupidly romantic like, "It's okay, but without you here, it wouldn't mean much." He caught himself just in time and settled for agreeing with her. "It is."

She scooted around so she was looking him right in the eye, as if trying to see through his iris into his mind or perhaps his soul. He cringed a little on the inside, but met her eyes with all the calm and discipline his training permitted.

"I... well, _we_ ... would like to ask you something."

He raised his eyebrows in an invitation for her to continue, not trusting himself to speak. Her proximity and the soothing, warm scent of her body teased his prick into a vertical attitude, and he was suddenly sure if he said anything, his voice would crack eight ways to Sunday.

"We would like you to... join us." She flushed, the red color flooding her face contrasting with Astaroth's light in a way that reinforced his initial feeling of her as someone, or something, that did not fully share the laws of regular human existence.

"Join you? Like... how?" he asked.

"Well..." She fell silent for a moment, her bottom lip thrust out so tantalizingly that for a mad instant, he was tempted to lean forward and capture it gently in his teeth. She shook her head and looked at Merrick helplessly. "Help." The word came out as a squeak so irresistibly cute that it took everything Pete had not to lean forward and take her in his arms.

Merrick knelt down behind her. "We're asking you if you want her."

Pete's eyes bulged. Of all the things he'd expected, this wasn't within parsecs of being on the list. "Wh-what do you—"

"Look, it's not complicated," Merrick said impatiently. "Do you want to fuck Olivia?"

Olivia's face was now an alarming shade of purple in Astaroth's light, but she nodded emphatically. "I want you, Pete. More to the point, I want both of you, together, inside me. I hoped that you would want me, too."

Pete's mind whirled back to the Above Top Secret orders he'd received on shipboard. He'd read the orders with disgust, knowing he'd follow them if opportunity presented itself but determined to find any possible way to avoid it. Now here Olivia was, with her bodyguard/boyfriend/plaything... whatever the hell he was, asking him to fuck her with the full consent and acceptance of her man.

A surprisingly vivid and graphic image of Olivia, balanced precisely between the two men, supported by their cocks inside her and their arms around her, seared into his brain. The vision was so powerful he could feel his brain melting into goo inside his skull.

"Are you serious?" he asked, husking the words over a parched tongue and sandy lips.

For answer Merrick pulled Olivia to her feet and began to undress her. He seemed to know exactly in what order to pull on the straps comprising her outfit to reveal her skin.

Pete watched as Merrick pressed his lips to Olivia's ear, her cheek, and the smooth, graceful curve of her jaw, holding her hair, deep blue in the moonlight, out of the way. As each strap released tension, a little more of Olivia's long torso was revealed, a tortuous striptease more erotic than anything Pete had ever imagined before. The creamy upper slope of her breast peeked out as the strap concealing it fell away... and then the tight nipple, dark and proud, burst forth from its containment in full, magnificent view.

Merrick reached around with one hand and cupped her breast, weighing it in his palm while he plucked at her nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Olivia moaned in Merrick's embrace.

"Please, Pete. I want you, too..." She sighed with pleasure.

For a moment, Pete wondered if he was stuck in one of those strangely erotic but forbidden dreams everyone has. Merrick pressed himself against Olivia, bending her backward so the hard peaks of her nipples thrust out at Pete as he continued to work at the straps. Now her navel was bared to Pete's hungry gaze, and Olivia's rapid breathing made the delectable little crevice seem to wink and beckon him with every contraction of her stomach. In short order the tops of her thighs peeked out, framing the trimmed tuft of hair at the junction of her legs.

That settled it. Duty was duty, and some calls to action just cannot be ignored. Pete stood and fit himself against Olivia's front, feeling her body yield and mold to him.

"Yes, Pete. Please..."

He had no idea what she was asking for, but needed no directions or explanation. In a rite as old as the human race, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Something Merrick did caused her to gasp, and she parted her lips just enough for him to catch her bottom lip between his teeth just like he'd wanted. He worried at the tender flesh gently, nibbling with his teeth while he flicked his tongue teasingly against her lip.

Olivia went mad under him, bucking her hips against him urgently. He ran his hand down the side of her body Merrick wasn't currently occupying and found the warm, heavy bulge of her breast. He squeezed it, paying no attention to delicacy. From the way Merrick had been manhandling her body, that wasn't what she wanted, and right now he was so charged up there was no way he could have been gentle even if she had. Olivia's sharp, hungry cry of delight told him he'd made the right choice, and he rolled her nipple lightly between his fingers as he invaded her mouth, claiming it like virgin territory beneath his lips.

Pete opened his eyes to find himself almost nose to nose with Merrick. The fevered excitement in the other man's eyes suggested a man dancing on the edge of anger, flirting with the margin of insanity, much like Pete himself felt. It was one of the most intimate moments he'd ever had with another person, excepting the time he'd held a platoon sergeant in his arms and tried to reassure the man he'd be okay while the sergeant's wounds pulled him closer and closer to oblivion...

With a growl he forced the memory away and closed his eyes again, moving his mouth down to Olivia's breast in a fever to taste her, suck her, and make her scream with pleasure. He dropped his hand down to cup the soft, slight hillock of her stomach as her nipple pressed at the gates of his lips.

Suddenly he felt a shoulder against his own and glanced over. Merrick knelt in much the same attitude, his body angled in such a way that he barely grazed Pete as he leaned in and took Olivia's other breast. That fevered, nearly killing look still danced in Merrick's eyes, but as he mouthed her nipple and licked at the areola, Pete had the strangest feeling that in a way, he and Merrick were becoming spiritual brothers by nursing on, and feeding the desire of, this beautiful, strong, unusual woman.

Merrick nodded slightly, as if divining Pete's thoughts, and returned to his feast. Pete followed suit as Olivia's hand wrapped around the back of his head, urging him on with the delicate pressure and her cries of erotic delight.

## Chapter Nine

Olivia's senses reeled as the two men, almost with one motion, knelt before her and began to worship her breasts. As if they belonged to someone else she felt her hands rising to clasp the men to her, and she arched her back more to give them unfettered access. Merrick's loose, silky mane she knew almost as well as she did the feel of her own tresses, but Pete's close-cropped tonsure was an electric surprise against her fingertips. His mouth against her skin was harder, more avid than Merrick's, less concerned with her pleasure and more with tasting her completely.

A soft wind blew up, blowing her hair out behind her, and she imagined seeing this from the outside: two men kneeling before a goddess of the night as Astaroth framed her in the background and the sea whispered its blessings on this union of flesh. The picture was so unbearably erotic that she cried out in an orgasm that shook her entire body, pulling the men closer still as one of them found her clit and began to stroke it while the other slipped a firm finger between her nether lips to find the center of her pleasure, feeding her pleasure and converting it to something so fierce and exciting it danced along the border between joy and agony.

Finally she could take no more and pushed the two men away, thinking frantically. How could she best accommodate both of them? A moment's consideration revealed the answer, and she fell to hands and knees in the soft sand.

"Merrick, let me suck you. Pete, fuck me."

With a swift motion Merrick undid his breechclout, leaving his magnificent weapon bare and bobbing before her face. She opened her mouth and lunged forward greedily, accepting his length in one graceful move. The head of his shaft butted against her tonsils and she pulled back, just in time to envelop Pete in her heated pussy. She heard Pete's gasp dimly above the roar of the surf and the pounding in her own ears as she slid down his length until his balls swung up and slapped gently against her clit.

She began to rock back and forth on hands and knees, lost in animal need as her two worshippers grunted and strained toward their individual releases. Pete's hands cinched around her hips with bruising force, making her gasp around Merrick's long, thick cock. She gulped and willed more saliva into her mouth, bathing Merrick with her desire as she swirled her tongue over the heavy head. Behind her, Pete thrust harder and deeper, lightly pressing against the gate of her womb without pushing so hard he caused pain.

Her vision danced with red, white, and blue sparks as Merrick's familiar scent and taste warred with the unfamiliar thickness of the cock splitting her apart from behind. She came again, the spasms of her inner walls working to draw Pete even deeper into her as she sucked avidly on Merrick's hardness.

The combination of her motion and sucking must have been too much for Merrick, because he clasped his hands around her breasts and thrust into her mouth urgently. He groaned and howled his pleasure to the sky as she tightened her lips around him, holding on as if she would drown on dry land if his cock came out of her mouth. She swallowed desperately with everything she had, and was rewarded with a hot explosion of come. She gulped and swallowed, breathing heavily through her nose as she took Merrick's essence for her own, while he roared in exultation at his release.

Behind her, Pete sped up his battering of her pussy. She swallowed one last time to ensure she didn't miss a drop of her lover's come and then let his limp cock fall out of her mouth as she pressed her ass against Pete's hips. He pounded into her frantically as she urged him on with the movement of her hips and the wetness of her pussy.

Finally he cried out and shot into her, his come rushing out in a torrent of erotic force that nearly overwhelmed Olivia's whirling mind. She came again as his heat washed against her deepest places, grunting and panting out her pleasure as her vision flared white, then rainbow, and then faded to a gentle monotone gray.

She came back to her senses with Pete cradling her head and Merrick her butt. Pete looked concerned. Merrick, as if reading his thoughts, said, "Don't worry. She just had a really good time, didn't you, lover?"

"Uh-huh!" she chuckled sleepily. "Wow. Um... how soon can we do that again?"

Merrick laughed. "Kinda greedy, aren't you?"

Pete nodded his agreement. "Yeah. I don't think you can handle another one of those before the reception."

Olivia pouted, but she had to admit the men had a point. Her system had been pushed almost to the point of collapse by their talented ministrations. If she tried to keep up, it was likely she would wind up sleeping right through it.

"Oh, okay." She leaned over and kissed Merrick deeply, then turned to Pete and did the same to him. To her surprise, neither man revolted at the idea, especially Pete. She had fully expected him to refuse to kiss her, especially after she allowed Merrick to come in her mouth, but he kissed her just as passionately and with no restraint whatsoever.

"So... should we head back?"

Pete grinned. "I think if we stay out here much longer, we're probably going to wind up pushing you too hard. There's plenty of time for more after the reception."

She looked at Merrick. He didn't quite manage to hide his annoyance at the idea this might become a regular thing with Pete, but she could tell the moment he recognized the plea in her eyes.

"If that's what you want, then nothing's too good for my girl," he averred.

* * *

The assassin sighted down the scope of the plasma rifle, provided by an interested party for exactly such a contingency. The trio on the beach was wholly unaware of outside observation. Given their mutual preoccupation, it was unlikely they would have cared even if an old-style parade, complete with a brass band and majorettes had happened by. So engrossed they'd been in their sexual play that they all would have made easy targets, dead before they even had time to register what was happening.

_I should have taken the shot. Then again, if none of them came back, someone would start crawling around looking for a motive. As it is, if I only shoot one of them, it becomes a tragic maybe-accident_.

With that comforting thought, the assassin lined up the shot again.

It was perfect.

There was no way to miss, with the rifle resting on a conveniently flat outcropping of rock and clear weather at less than two hundred meters. The hardest part would be ensuring a clean getaway afterward, but that was a chance that would just have to be taken. After all, what was life without a little risk?

The plasma rifle was an unusually crude weapon, but such an opportunity did not present itself often, and one had to make do with what was available. While killing the Terran envoy in this manner lacked a certain degree of elegance or finesse, it would also deflect suspicion. Who would imagine that someone who could kill without leaving physical traces would take the risk of using a rifle?

Drawing in a breath, the assassin let half of it out and squeezed the firing stud. A flare of red-white light lanced out from the business end of the rifle and reached its target in less than one one-hundredth of a nanosecond.

* * *

Pete screamed as the energy beam caught him high on the left side of his chest, charring through the flesh and cauterizing as it went, leaving a clean, precise hole the diameter of a pencil. He collapsed to the sand, his face growing slack as shock set in.

"Did you see where it came from?" Merrick swept to his feet, looking around wildly.

"No!" Olivia snapped. "And we don't have time to worry about it. If they wanted to shoot all of us at once, they'd have done exactly that. We'd already be dead. We've got to take care of Pete."

"Shit." Merrick spat. "I have a first-aid kit in the 'car."

"Is it a combat pack?"

"Yes."

Relief swept her. Not everyone bothered to take the militia-issue kit with them unless they were on maneuvers, but Merrick had clearly thought further ahead than some of his more myopic compatriots. If she had access to a medical pack, there was a good chance she could ameliorate the damage the wound had inflicted.

She pressed her hands over the wound, muttering to Pete in a monotone that sounded half-professional, half-crazed in her ears. "Come on, Pete, stay with me, baby, hang on and stay with me oh God, Pete, I'm so sorry just hang tight until Merrick gets back —"

"Merrick _is_ back," Merrick announced, running up with the combat medical kit. He set it down beside her and asked, "What do I do?"

"He's not bleeding. The bolt cauterized the wound. I need you to hold his hand and keep him conscious. If he passes out right now, things get a lot more dangerous. We have to keep him awake and as coherent as possible. Got it?"

"You're the medic." He shrugged.

Olivia tuned Merrick out as he talked to Pete in a comradely tone, trying to keep the other man's mind alert and focused on his voice and nothing else. She ripped the lid off the pack and dug out bandages, disinfectant...

_YES_!

Painkillers and artificial flesh. All she needed to do was apply the nozzle into the wound and depress the spray trigger. The cellular sealant would hurt like three different kinds of hell, but the painkiller would counter that, at least to a degree. She picked up a hypospray of peroximethadryl and applied it just above the wound.

Pete's breathing almost instantly relaxed and his shoulders went less tense as the 'spray delivered its cargo. Then she looked at Merrick, willing him to understand the importance of what she was saying.

"Hold him still, Merrick. Don't let him move."

She turned her attention to Pete. Her heart ached at his sweat-stained, pale face and the obvious strain in it. "I'm going to hit you with an injection of artificial flesh. Have you ever had one of those before?"

Pete winced and nodded half-heartedly.

"Okay. Then you know what it's all about. I just shot you up with twenty cc's of peroximethadryl, so that should keep the pain to a minimum. It's still not going to be exactly comfortable, but it'll only hurt badly instead of like being cremated while you're still alive, understand?"

"Yes," he whispered. He reached up with his left hand and rested it on her elbow. "Do what you have to do. I'll be fine."

Tears filled her eyes as she put the nozzle of the container to the hole in his chest. Before she had a chance to change her mind or think about the pain she was about to cause him, she depressed the plunger.

Pete screamed all over again as the nozzle forced the cold cellular matrix into his body. Olivia was faintly aware of Merrick pushing on Pete's shoulders to hold him down, but she kept the pressure on the plunger until the pinkish gel bubbled up out of the wound. She let up on the container and put it back in the kit, then pulled out a self-adhesive pressure bandage. Ripping the backing off, she slapped it into place.

Pete grunted at the force of the blow.

"Sorry. I need you to turn over, okay?"

Merrick got on his good side. "I'll help you."

Together they slowly, painstakingly turned Pete onto his side so Olivia could repeat the process with the back hole. Then they let him down onto the sand again.

"Are you okay?" Olivia asked, hearing tears in her voice. Why was she crying? They'd just had one sexual encounter, but that didn't warrant tears. Maybe it was the fact Pete was so brave, so strong, and someone had just tried to kill him. Maybe it was the fact they could just as easily have aimed for her, or Merrick, and either one would have been just as helpless.

Maybe it was all of these.

Pete nodded and tried to sit up. He grimaced and collapsed back onto the sand.

"I will be," he allowed grimly. "Just need a few minutes. There any more of that Scotch?"

Merrick nodded, his expression relieved. "I'll go get it."

Olivia cradled his head. He smiled up at her, his face still ashen but the color gradually returning.

"You make a pretty good combat medic," he joked, wheezing out a laugh.

"I should. That's what I trained for in the militia. Sniper medic."

He raised an eyebrow. "No shit. You're pretty tough."

Merrick returned with the Scotch. "Want a glass?"

Pete shook his head. "Civil War standard."

"Eh?"

"Just take the cap off."

Merrick complied and handed Pete the bottle. He took a generous slug and handed it back. "Help yourself."

Without a pause, Merrick took a long swallow and then capped the bottle. "How long does that stuff take to work?"

Olivia shook her head. "Could be ten minutes, could be two hours. When Pete feels ready to go, we'll go."

Merrick nodded. "Then I need to do some looking around, see if I can find the sniper's nest. The good news is I think I can narrow down where it came from. Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll have dropped an ID or something."

Olivia said, "It sounds like a waste of time, but if you want to..."

Pete spoke up weakly. "Not a waste. He might be right. I'm sidelined for now anyway, so he might as well see what he can see. There a gun in that kit?"

"Yes."

"Good. Give it to him, just in case."

"And I'm supposed to do what?" she snapped, suddenly angry not at him, but at the sonofabitch who had decided today was a great day to take potshots at people having an innocent ménage on the beach.

"Stay with me, keep me from going into shock. You know until the regeneration matrix has time to work, that's a real risk."

She blew out a long breath. "All right." Lowering her face to his mouth, she gave him a long, gentle kiss. "Don't you ever scare me like that again," she scolded, knowing it wasn't his fault he'd been shot but unable to think of anything else to say.

He laughed weakly. "I'll do my best."

* * *

Three hours later, they returned to Galacia. City Security was waiting, as Merrick had called ahead to detail the situation. Even better, Ambassador Al-Aziz was present, his expression the human equivalent of a cat lashing its tail.

"What has happened here? This man is a member of my diplomatic entourage. I am lodging a formal complaint against the government of Dusk and the DDC for allowing harm to come to him!" Al-Aziz raged on like that for some minutes, all sound and fury, making damn sure everyone in the city heard the diatribe. No one paid him more than the minimum attention his rank demanded.

Pete, who was feeling much better now that the matrix had taken full effect, raised an eyebrow. "Ambassador, if it wasn't for their actions, I wouldn't be alive to bitch about getting shot right now. You want to blame someone, blame the renegade who decided it was a good idea to pop off with a plasma rifle."

Al-Aziz looked down his nose at Pete. "I assume you were too careless, or preoccupied —" He trailed off and gave Olivia a long, lascivious once-over, obviously noting her state of dishabille. Pete gritted his teeth. With a sneer, Al-Aziz continued. " —To pay attention to your surroundings. Rest assured, I will also be reporting back to General Neville about your foolishness. The last thing I need to explain right now is a deceased member of my retinue, Colonel. Do you understand?"

Olivia raised her voice, her tone icily furious. "Ambassador, that will be _quite_ enough."

Al-Aziz froze, his eyes bulging as if he'd swallowed a bug. "I beg your pardon, Madame Ambassador?"

"First, you are a guest here and will comport yourself as such, Ambassador. Please do not make the mistake of thinking I or my people will remain passive to threats. Second, Colonel Pedro Silva is a hero, as far as the government of Dusk is concerned. He was wounded in the line of duty while protecting a senior diplomatic representative of Dusk. Therefore, I hereby award Colonel Silva —" She paused and spread her hands wide, speaking loudly and clearly enough to invest the moment with the appropriate drama. " —With the Dusk Diplomatic Corps Meritorious Service Medal!"

She turned away from Al-Aziz as if he had ceased to exist, which Pete would bet that to her he had, and faced Pete directly.

"Colonel Silva, will you do me the honor of wearing your dress blues this evening, so I can personally award you in public, as befits your sacrifice and your service?"

He looked into her eyes, giving her a crooked little boyish smile. "It will be my great pleasure, Ambassador."

"Excellent. I would consider it a personal favor if you would join me and my bodyguard for a private meal in my quarters before the ceremony," Olivia added, shading her tone and phrasing in a way calculated to blister Al-Aziz's ego further with the clear implication that he was very definitely not invited. Pete fought the urge to cheer at her audacity. "It would be a great pleasure to entertain you, Colonel."

Al-Aziz's face darkened to an almost-apoplectic shade. Before he could say anything, Olivia laced her arm through Pete's and stalked away, Merrick shadowing closely enough that Pete could feel his breath on the back of his neck.

"Do you want dinner first... or dessert?" Olivia murmured, giving Pete a wicked little smile and a wink.

Despite his aching shoulder, he returned her smile with compound interest.

"Life's uncertain. Let's have dessert first."

Olivia's low, sensual laugh set his cock stirring. "Good choice," she replied.

"I second that," Merrick volunteered from behind Pete.

Pete decided that for all his misgivings about this benighted mission, at least it offered some perks...

## Chapter Ten

"... And so, it is my great honor to present Colonel Peter Silva with the Dusk Diplomatic Corps Meritorious Service Medal for his courage and heroism in being willing to sacrifice his own safety and life to protect two senior members of the DDC."

Olivia extended her hand. Pete took it, shaking it as firmly as public decency dictated. He would a lot rather have kissed her, and from the look on her face she was thinking much the same thing. Duty had to come first, though.

A series of rapid whirs and staccato clicks indicated the presence of tri-vid cameras, there to commemorate the occasion for reporting throughout the human-controlled galaxy. He kept his face carefully neutral, trying hard not to think about the intrusive lenses. Olivia hadn't exactly lied, but she hadn't told the whole tale to Ambassador Al-Aziz, either. If she had, Pete had no doubt he'd already be on his way off-planet under close armed guard, probably by Kozlowski.

The large man loomed in the background somewhere off to his right, but Pete could feel the intensity of the Naval warrant officer's stare burning between his shoulder blades. He wasn't unduly worried about it. Kozlowski couldn't make any kind of a move without tipping his hand about exactly why he was really here and who he was really working for. Even so, it bothered him that he couldn't nail the warrant officer down any better than that.

Olivia had finished pinning the medal to the breast of his dress tunic: a stylized supernova emblazoned with the crest of the DDC, depending from a midnight-blue ribbon with alternating white and black stripes. Now she looked at him expectantly, raising her eyebrows. The message was clear. _Say something, dolt_!

He cleared his throat. "Thank you, Madame Ambassador. I am pleased to have been of assistance to the Dusk Diplomatic Corps."

If they wanted more of a speech than that, they could form a conga line and kiss his ass for it. Pete had always hated public speaking, and awards ceremonies were the absolute nadir of the public appearance spectrum as far as he was concerned. He couldn't help thinking about another such ceremony, only months before, when he had stood before a crowd of hostile, grieving faces in this very uniform and handed to widows, bereaved parents, and crying, confused children the IC flags that had lately draped their loved ones' caskets.

It was a dirty secret that many of the caskets did not contain remains. In far too many cases, the destruction had been too complete to make reconstructing the bodies and ensuring that this finger or that splash of blood went with this corpse practical. Pete knew it, and was under orders to keep his mouth shut about it. It would have done no good, General Neville had told him, and would only further sour public sentiment toward the Regina IV massacre.

As if anything he could conceivably have said or done could have made the response to that interplanetary pooch-screw any worse. Pete almost laughed at the notion, even now. With a long breath, he stamped down the threatening, dark chuckle.

Olivia moved to his side and stood, looking directly out at the bemused and somber faces filling the amphitheater. Was it his imagination, or was she bending toward him the way he wanted to bend toward her? More clicking and whirring sounded, and he did his best to look anywhere except at the soulless glass eyes of the cameras. On his other side, he felt another presence, pricklier than Olivia's but just as supportive in its own way: Merrick. The other man put his hand on Pete's shoulder in a silent gesture of thanks.

His shoulder jumped and tensed under Merrick's fingers. Although it didn't hurt, his body knew it should. That was what was supposed to happen when you got a hole the size of a pencil burned through your body: it fucking _hurt._ But if anything, the erstwhile wound itched like crazy as the cellular matrix Olivia had injected worked to heal the torn and cauterized flesh, blood vessels, and muscle. He didn't move, but gave the barest hint of a nod, acknowledging Merrick's presence and the contact.

How strange, to think he had experienced his first moonrise on Dusk, his first threesome, and his —he thought quickly —seventh brush with death all in one day. Any sane person would be hiding under a bed somewhere or demanding a one-way ticket back to Terra, and fuck the promotion that came with this ridiculous gig.

He tensed. On one of the ledges high above the main floor, a dark figure crouched. Although the room blazed with the soft light of a hundred fluorescent lamps and the reflected gleam of the blue diamond table around which the DDC members sat, pools of shadow still yawned in the ribbed vaults between the walls and ceiling. It was in one such swatch of darkness that the figure lurked.

"Who is that?" he murmured out of the side of his mouth to Olivia.

"Who?"

He raised his hand, moving his index finger toward the figure. Before he got it more than halfway up, Olivia quickly smacked it down again. She laughed as if he'd just made the funniest joke ever, but her eyes stayed stern and serious.

"That's Galacia City Security. They have a presence all around the room. Don't draw attention to them."

Pete glanced around and saw it was true. The security people were doing their best to stay unobtrusive, but now he knew what he was looking for, there was no missing them. Two stood near the huge doors. Another pair skirted the crowd, working in opposite directions in an arc that would take them directly past each other. He checked again and picked out no less than four concealed near the ceiling.

If he had to guess, he'd imagine there were at least three times as many as he'd seen.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Call me crazy, but getting shot at makes me a little paranoid."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And you think I somehow _missed_ that incident? I was there, remember?"

He shook his head in apology. "You're right. Guess we're both a little jumpy, and we have the right to be."

She pursed her lips. "I don't want to be angry at you, Pete. I want this over with so we can go back to my quarters and fuck like _restlan_ all night long."

"I'd like that, too." He started to turn, to ask Merrick his opinion, when a thought intruded.

"Tell me about Trelawney's assassination. I never got the full story on that."

Olivia's face darkened incredulously. "Of all the times you could ask about that, you decide to do it now?"

He shrugged. "I was thinking about it. There are some things that don't add up. Why didn't they find any DNA, for example? How did the killer manage to enter and leave Trelawney's quarters without getting picked up by the surveillance equipment? And those are just the obvious questions I have based on what little I've heard about it."

She stuck her lip out in the gesture he was quickly coming to recognize as her signal that she was thinking about something she didn't much like. It lent her stern, Nordic features a pouty, little-girl cuteness that didn't detract one whit from her womanly curves. With a sigh, she recounted the tale.

He took in the information as she and Merrick alternated, explaining the circumstances behind the erstwhile ambassador's demise. When they had finished, he frowned. "And GCS found nothing? No DNA, nothing on the monitors?"

"No. It was as if whoever, or whatever, killed Trelawney was a ghost."

"But they did find a knife in Trelawney's neck." He chewed on that for a moment. "And somehow they managed to escape without getting picked up on the monitors, without leaving a blood trail, and without leaving any trace they were ever there. That just doesn't make sense, unless they somehow used magick —"

He snapped his mouth closed as Olivia and Merrick stiffened, their eyes swiveling to meet his like particle-beam turrets.

"That's the one thing we didn't consider. There's no way to screen for that," Olivia said slowly. "Every Dusk native can use magick to some degree, and to us, the air hums with it. Magick leaves traces, but against the ambient energy field of so many people using magick at the same time, consciously and otherwise, the only way to detect it would be if someone happened by exactly at the moment the assassination occurred."

Pete nodded. "And that didn't happen, as per the security monitors. No one entered or left for fifteen minutes on either side of Trelawney's death, right?"

Merrick scowled. With the certainty of a man who has made it his life's business to understand and recognize the behavior of other people, Pete concluded the scowl wasn't directed at him. Merrick might be thornu as a cactus where Olivia's safety was concerned, but he wasn't the kind to shoot the messenger for delivering tidings that ran retrograde to what he wanted to hear. "No."

Pete opened his mouth to ask a question, but Merrick preempted him. "Even if the assassin were capable of turning invisible, which is not unheard of, he couldn't have concealed himself from the heat sensors, pressure panels, and visible light monitors all at the same time. Also, he would still have cast a shadow."

The image brought up an image in Pete's mind of an ancient Terran fantasy work he'd read as a kid. "Kind of like Frodo and the Ring, right?"

Merrick gave him a comic double-take. "Huh?"

Olivia laughed. "I get the reference. Tolkien, Merrick."

Merrick grumbled. "I hated that series."

"Not everyone thinks gravball is the ultimate expression of human ability."

The taller man flushed. "It just seemed so bland compared to my everyday life. Hairy midgets running around, trying to throw a ring in a volcano? Blah, blah, blah. I was learning how to do things that would make that wizard shit his robes before I could walk."

"Okay, but the point is that you get the idea. If there was no indication of anyone in the corridor, we can conclude one of two things. Either the entire security system encountered a meltdown at the exact same time and then came on just in time not to catch anything amiss..."

"Couldn't happen," Olivia broke in. "Too many redundancies."

"... Or the assassin was never physically present," Pete plowed on over the top of her protest. "Which means either there was no assassin, which given the placement of the blade is highly unlikely because suicides don't generally stab themselves in the back of the neck, or the assassin was somehow able to kill him remotely."

Olivia flinched, the blood draining from her face until he imagined he could see right through her into the crowd beyond. "That —"

"Ah, there you are, Colonel."

Pete turned to see Al-Aziz and Kozlowski striding toward him in precise step. The ambassador's burnished bronze face was fixed in a coldly neutral expression.

"I wished to offer you congratulations on your award, and ask the favor of your company in my quarters so we can discuss a few matters of great import to our business here." Al-Aziz visibly flinched, steeling himself before reaching up and brushing one hand down the right side of Pete's tunic. "If you will excuse us," he said to Olivia and Merrick. His tone made it clear he wasn't making a request.

"Thank you for your assistance, Colonel. I look forward to speaking with you later."

"As I do you, Ambassador." Pete felt the armor of training and bearing sliding over him automatically, providing a cool, professional buffer between his emotions and the outside world. "We will talk soon, I trust."

He barely managed to check the look of loathing that tried to slip through from showing on his face. Instead, he contented himself with a pleasant image of burning the Terran envoy to so many cinders as Kozlowski took up a flanking position. Al-Aziz swept out of the chamber, his robes flowing behind him like his own personal sandstorm at a pace that had the military men scrambling to keep up.

As the trio rushed through the corridors, no one made any attempt to talk. Pete was too busy sulking and feeling the weight of Kozlowski's stare on him to have any interest in conversation, and from the way the warrant's eyes bored into him, the other man was too busy making sure Pete didn't do anything untoward. Meanwhile Al-Aziz was busy doing what he did best, which for Pete's credits was being a precious, pompous asshole.

Finally, they reached the ambassador's suite. The doors opened to reveal a sizable sitting chamber, maybe half again the size of Pete's accommodations. Al-Aziz didn't speak until they were all inside and the doors securely closed. Kozlowski took up a post against the doors, his body language just a little too casual to be genuine.

"Well, Colonel, you have certainly had an interesting day."

Pete said nothing.

"I'm speaking to you, Colonel." Al-Aziz's voice held a distinct undertone of threat.

"Yes, Ambassador," he replied.

"I do not know what you were doing with Ambassador Gunnarson and her... bodyguard. What is more, I do not care. However, your idiocy in being shot comes at the worst possible time. Are you trying to destabilize these negotiations?"

Something at the base of Pete's skull gave way with a resounding _twang_! Before he realized he was speaking, he grated, "No, Ambassador. Next time, I'll ask whoever tried to kill me if they can pretty-please hold off until it won't cause you any inconvenience."

Al-Aziz froze in place and swiveled his head around to eye Pete incredulously.

"What did you just say?"

_In for a penny_ , Pete thought, and repeated himself, drawing the words out to ensure each syllable carried the maximum payload of insult.

Al-Aziz's complexion took on a ruddy, mottled hue. "Colonel, I will not tolerate your disrespect or your insubordination. You are a member of this party because I specifically requested a Marine to serve as my military attaché. That means General Neville gave you to me. Until such time as I have no further need of you, you are my property."

Pete's heart thudded a little bit faster as Al-Aziz's words sank in. The rush of blood to his head crushed his vision into a narrow tunnel of black shot with scorching red flickers at the edges of his vision, and only long experience enabled him to fight off the crimson tide that threatened to coat everything in his line of sight. He spoke, his voice a low, deadly monotone crackling with incipient carnage. "Ambassador, allow me to be crystal clear. I am not your or anyone else's property. I will follow my orders as they were given to me and I will do exactly what is required to support this mission. But I am not bought and paid for. Not by you, not by Neville, not by the Corps, and not by anyone or any-goddamn-thing else. Do I make myself perfectly plain?"

As the last echoes of his voice died from the room, he realized somewhere during his tirade his voice had gone from cold, flat and calm to thermonuclear. Although Al-Aziz stood some three inches taller than him, he felt as if he was viewing the ambassador from a vast height.

Al-Aziz smirked at him, plainly pleased to have gotten under his skin. "Colonel, I have seen the orders you were given. They are not subject to interpretation. You will obey them, to the letter, or I will have you packed back up to the _Fallujah's_ brig. Do I make myself perfectly plain?"

"Yes, Ambassador." The words hissed and crackled with barely restrained rage. "I understand entirely."

"Good. Now. You will tell me everything that transpired between you and the ambassador."

"No, I will not. I will tell you everything that is relevant to our mission, Ambassador. Not one syllable more."

Al-Aziz's face went ashen. "Colonel, you are playing a very dangerous game."

"I'm not playing any game at all. You want to hear about what happened that has bearing on our mission, fine. You want me to tell you about the attack, done. I'm not here so you can live vicariously through me, Ambassador. Do not make the mistake of assuming I'm your lapdog and can be brought to heel. I don't care how big the goon behind me is or what he thinks he's going to do to stop me."

"The 'goon', as you so eloquently put it, is here to ensure you do your part to make the mission successful. We want that magickstone very, very badly, Colonel. If you compromise our objective, I will reupholster my seat on the Terran Council with your flayed hide."

Pete yawned. It had been a long day, his shoulder itched and ached like all blazes, and the ambassador's threat just didn't have enough fangs to make him sit up and take notice. He'd received more creatively worded threats from far scarier individuals and it hadn't made a dent. Al-Aziz's limp promise didn't do much to raise Pete's blood pressure.

"Do you know what the most amazing thing about this conversation is, Ambassador?"

Al-Aziz produced a fluted crystal flask and began to pour the light green liquid within into a glass. "What is that, Colonel?"

"The most amazing thing about this conversation is that we're still having it," Pete replied. He turned on his heel and found himself nose to chin with Kozlowski. "Make a hole, Warrant Officer," he commanded.

"I can't do that, Colonel." Kozlowski's demeanor was that of someone mentally cracking his knuckles in anticipation of violence. "You're not going anywhere until the ambassador says otherwise."

"I gave you an order, Warrant Officer Kozlowski."

Kozlowski moved his right leg a half meter outward and a quarter meter back. "You're not leaving, sir."

Pete thought for a moment. Then the way forward became clear.

"I'm going to go around you. If you try to attack me, I will defend myself with extreme prejudice. Then, while you're healing from the severe beating I will administer to you, I will contact the _Fallujah_ and prefer charges for a court-martial. And unlike this flouncing jack-off —" He tossed his head in the general vicinity of Al-Aziz. "—I can get it done."

He took one crisp step to the right and stepped around the blocky warrant officer. To his mingled surprise and disappointment, neither man made a move to stop him. The door opened in response to his proximity, and he stalked out without a backward glance.

## Chapter Eleven

"So the ambassador thinks you deliberately set yourself up to be killed?"

Merrick had listened without comment while Pete described the situation with Al-Aziz. Now he tried to make sense of the diplomat's peculiar perspective on the incident.

Next to him Olivia shifted uneasily on the bed. Her face was set in a leaden grimace. "He can't possibly be that stupid," she whispered. "Surely anyone with eyes can see that this was an attack of opportunity."

Pete flexed his wounded shoulder. Merrick fancied himself in pretty good shape, and with some justification, but Pete's biceps was as thick as Merrick's calf and laden with hard, solid working muscle. If Merrick was a rapier, Pete was a battle axe.

"I've been wondering about that too." Pete pressed his lips together and then pushed on. "Who else knew we were going out to the beach?"

Olivia's eyes never moved. "No one."

Merrick blurted, "What —" and then broke off. It wasn't entirely a stupid question, and given the events of the day, he figured Pete had earned the right to be a little paranoid. It stung his pride, but he took a deep breath. If he had been in Pete's position, would he be taking things nearly so calmly?

"So if no one knew we were going out there, it doesn't track that the shooter would have just been day-tripping at the beach and found us there. He must have had some way of tracking us."

"Such as?"

Pete scrunched his eyes up, revealing the beginnings of crows' feet at the corners. They lent him an air of maturity Merrick wouldn't have for at least another two decades, thanks to the greatly slowed rate of aging among Dusk-born humans. "Who does the monitoring of the docking bay?"

"Galacia —"

"City Security," they all finished in a tripartite chorus. "Okay," Pete continued. "Call down there and have them check your 'car from front to rear and top to bottom. They need to look for anything that could be used to track it."

"Um..." Olivia's light contralto cut the silence. "That might be a problem."

Pete drew in a deep breath and snorted out something that could be interpreted as a laugh with the application of a healthy dose of imagination. "Of course it might be. Why's that?"

"All the 'cars on Dusk have transponders. We don't have equipment failures often, but when they do they tend to be catastrophic because of the landscape. Because of that, and the risk of severe or life-threatening injury that negates the ability of someone in a downed 'car to call for help, it's a standard safety precaution." Olivia's distress at the answer shone from her face like a beacon.

Merrick watched Pete's face work as he followed the chain of thought to its logical conclusion. "So every 'car on Dusk is monitored?"

Merrick nodded. "Yeah. From three different locations, no less. It ensures that help gets out to an accident as quickly as possible."

Pete growled. "It also makes your car an easy target for anyone with bad intentions." He closed his eyes and took three long, deep breaths through his nose. "Okay. Find out who the monitoring personnel were and if any of them left during the time we were away. Can you do that?"

Olivia nodded slowly. "Yes. Let me contact Major Latimore."

"While she's doing that, we should still have the 'car checked for any kind of a homing device, tracking beacon, or other illicit means of locating it."

Merrick wanted to argue that the exercise was pointless and would accomplish nothing. He wanted to protest that there was no way the 'car could have been an unwitting accomplice to the attempt on Pete's life. Unfortunately, Pete's logic was airtight. The 'car could well have been traced, leading the assassin straight to them, in at least five different ways he could think of.

He unfolded himself from the bed and pulled Olivia to her feet. He put his arms around her and kissed her, lightly and softly, on the cheek. She reached up, cupping his cheeks in her warm hands, and pulled him down for a soul-searing lovers' kiss, arching into him as if afraid to let him go. After a long moment, he pulled away from her.

She turned to Pete and kissed him as well. Something primitive and reckless inside him began snarling and beating its chest as she offered herself up to the other man, protesting angrily at Pete's effrontery in touching his woman. At the same time, Merrick couldn't help but find the scene a little... exciting. If Olivia had decided to take just about anyone else as an adjunct lover, Merrick would have laughed himself sick. He had to admit, though, that Pete was about the last man who would cut and run if Olivia's, or his, safety was on the line.

_Could I do the same for him, if it got right down to it? Would I be able to be selfless enough to take the bolt, the knife, or the dart, if it meant they'd be safe_? For Olivia, it wasn't even a question. Pete was another matter entirely. Merrick couldn't be absolutely sure that if it came down to cases, he wouldn't abandon Pete to make sure Olivia was safe.

But then again, maybe that would be exactly what Pete expected.

They pulled apart as if by mutual consent, Olivia's eyes shining brightly in the glow of the yellow-spectrum lighting.

"Be careful. I'll do what I can from here."

Merrick shook his head. "Not quite, girly. You're coming with us."

Olivia sighed, but didn't argue.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Olivia sat in the cockpit of the 'car talking with Major Latimore on the 'car's communication board. Meanwhile, Merrick watched as Pete peered down into the guts of the 'car's propulsion system.

"What are you looking for, exactly?"

Pete shook his head. "Dunno. Anything that doesn't look like it belongs."

Merrick frowned, moving to stand next to Pete. The intricate drive system looked like any component there might not belong, to his untrained eye. He only concerned himself with whether something worked or not, sparing no real thought for the "how" of it.

"How will you know if it doesn't belong?"

Pete glanced over at him, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a weary smile. "I won't until I run this over it." From the leg pocket of his black cargo pants, he produced a compact circuit analysis unit. "I keep this with me in case I need to do maintenance on my weapons in transit, but it's also handy for finding things that don't belong."

Something in his voice hinted at more to the story, but Merrick decided not to press the issue. He had a feeling Pete wouldn't welcome prying right now, even if Merrick had wanted to, and the two men had bigger problems to worry about. Pete peered down at the miniature holographic readout on the palm-sized device, his posture telegraphing a mixture of anger and sorrow that Merrick couldn't hope to understand.

Pete passed the gizmo over the top of the propulsion unit, flicking it back and forth like a terrestrial cat lashing its tail. Every so often he would stop, zeroing in on a specific part of the engine, before moving on to another spot to repeat the procedure.

"Major Latimore says only fifty people left the city during the time we were gone," came Olivia's voice from behind them, sounding surprisingly subdued. Merrick and Pete turned as one to give her their undivided attention. "Of those, seventeen were traders on their way to Cerevesi, across the ocean. Twenty-two went out on a chartered sightseeing tour and came back while we were still... at the beach. Everyone else left in hovercars, but none of them were close enough to our position to be likely suspects."

Pete shook his head. "Do they track communications to and from the monitoring stations?"

"No. There's never been any need to before. The only time communications are monitored is when a distress call is logged, either by transponder or from within the city."

Merrick closed his eyes and cursed. "So... what do we do now?"

Pete turned back to the engine, already scanning it again. "If it's a dead end, there's not much we can do. We'll just have to let this play out. In the meantime, we can probably get more mileage out of checking out..."

A steady, tri-tone beep sounded from the scanner. He frowned, moved his hand away slightly, and was rewarded with the beeping subsiding. Then he moved it back again, the beeping growing louder and more strident the closer he got to the original point of disturbance. Finally he stopped, his hand hovering less than ten centimeters above a small nubbin of shiny metal.

"What's this?" he asked.

Merrick shrugged. "Got me," he said. "I don't ever open the propulsion compartment. There's no need for me to. Some of the other bravos like to show off how shiny their engines are, but I don't care about that sort of thing."

"What does that beeping mean?" Olivia asked.

"This scanner is programmed to seek out disruptive or anomalous energy flows," Pete explained absently, studying the protrusion with rapt attention. "In a closed system, the energy should always flow in predictable and consistent. There shouldn't be any variances or areas where disruption can occur." He pointed to the screen. "But see here? There's a feedback flow that goes nowhere and does nothing. It's completely independent of the main system."

The scanner beeped again, this time louder and more quickly.

"Oh, fuck!" Pete flinched away from the propulsion compartment as if it had burned him. "Everybody out. Now!"

"What —" Merrick started to ask, but Pete had a hand on his arm and was already towing him across the docking bay. After a trio of unsteady steps, he matched Pete's pace. On his left he heard Olivia's lighter stride as she pulled alongside effortlessly.

The beeping swelled louder yet, and Pete screamed, "Down!"

Merrick dropped forward into a somersault that carried him behind one of the other 'cars. Olivia hit less gracefully, but rolled to a stop beside him.

Merrick looked at Olivia. "Where is —"

"I'm under here!" Pete called from beneath the chassis of the hovercar. Merrick knelt down to see the other man's piercing blue eyes staring back at him. "Stay behind the 'car!"

Merrick hunkered down, waiting. A long moment later, he snorted. "Have you completely lost your —"

Metal shrieked in the tortured cacophony of a legion of damned souls. Hot white light filled the docking bay. The air temperature shot up. Bits and pieces of metal and plas plinked and pinged off the armored side of the car the three huddled behind. Merrick squeezed his eyes closed and opened his mouth, small protection against the back pressure of the blast.

Finally he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Pete peering down at him. His mouth moved, but Merrick couldn't make out any words. He shook his head. Pete nodded grimly and formed his lips into exaggerated words. "Are... you... okay?"

Merrick nodded and gave him a shaky thumbs-up. Pete inclined his head sharply and knelt to tend to Olivia. Much to Merrick's disgust, she didn't seem to have taken the hearing damage he had. She and Pete jabbered back and forth animatedly, but he couldn't make out a thing of their conversation. A high-pitched whining tone screamed painfully in his ears, blotting out all other sound.

He poked his head up and over the side of the 'car.

Because of its distance from the blast point, the 'car had weathered the blast with little more than a few mars in its bright purple coating and a couple of small dents. The owner was unlikely to be happy, but the vehicle should still be operational. Further in, 'cars burned in hellish orange, red, yellow, and black, smoke wafting from the lacquers that originally made them white, green, beige, or gunmetal.

Where his 'car should have been was a crater, surrounded by twisted shards and scraps of metal, plas, or other materials. He groaned and scrubbed his hand over his face, gritting his teeth in protest at the loss.

He was still staring at the last remnants of his 'car when the medical team burst in. For a mad moment he tried to fight, but Pete intervened with a leg sweep that knocked him back onto the antigrav sledge. He tried to get back up, only to have Olivia gently rest her hands against his shoulders.

"Don't... move," she mouthed.

He nodded and let his head slump back. As a dizzying swirl of colors alien to Dusk swept through his vision, he thought, _This goddamn day's been too long by half_.

## Chapter Twelve

Olivia paced anxiously outside the medical wing. The healers had been working on Merrick for several minutes already. He hadn't sustained any serious damage, certainly nothing like what Pete had earlier in the day, but the head medic expressed concern about Merrick's hearing in the aftermath of the blast.

Pete slouched in a chair by the door, every line of his body drooping like a plant without water. His eyes slumped heavily, and his chin periodically fell down to brush his chest. Every time it did, the drop brought him awake again.

She longed to tell him it was all right, for him to go back to his quarters and wait for her to call with the outcome for Merrick. Every time she tried to form the words, they grew sharp spines and cut into her throat, refusing to pass her larynx. Although she knew it was selfish and horrible, she needed Pete's steady, unflappable strength right now.

"Olivia?"

Major Latimore stood in the hall, his goateed face set in a mask of concern. His eyelids hung at half-mast, the legacy of a long, weary day. "I heard about Merrick. Is he going to be okay?"

She nodded. "Medics are looking him over now. They think the initial blast caught him before he could cover his ears. He should be fine, but he's in for a long night."

Latimore smiled brusquely. "I'm glad to hear he's got a good prognosis. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"No, of course not." She sagged down onto the bench next to Pete's chair, suddenly needing to feel the warmth of unofficial human contact.

"So I understand the docking bay was largely destroyed." Latimore huffed out a hollow laugh. "I've had half the diplomats in Galacia at my door with demands for compensation. I kicked it up the line to the DDC. Let it be a Corps matter."

Olivia grimaced. It was nothing more than he should have done, if she was being completely fair about it, but that didn't mean she was looking forward to the whining in chambers the next time the DDC assembled. "I understand."

"Okay. I'm sorry about that, Olivia, but there's only so much I can do." He cleared his throat. "So. Can you explain what exactly you were looking for in the docking bay that triggered the explosion?"

Pete sat upright and rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes. When he pulled his hands away, he looked far more alert and awake than he had a moment before.

"I've got this one," he said, giving Olivia a sharp look. She gratefully relinquished the point position. "I asked them to come with me because I suspected Merrick's hovercar had been tampered with..."

Latimore waved a hand impatiently. "I know all this, Colonel. Olivia clued me in while we were on the 'comm. What I want to know is, what exactly did you find?"

He listened, his face expressionless, as Pete recapped the odd metallic part that the scanner claimed wasn't acting like a regular part of the 'car's systems; the sudden beeping as the scanner detected a sudden uptick in power flowing to the part; the mad dash, and the ensuing explosion.

"And then we arrived here," Pete finished.

Latimore frowned, tugging at the salt-and-pepper strands of his beard. "It sounds like some kind of improvised explosive."

"It was," Pete growled. "I've seen that particular kind before. I was hoping I was wrong, but it was designed to blend into the 'car's propulsion so well that I had to literally be right on top of it before I realized it was there."

"Where have you seen it before?" Latimore demanded, his tone going from tired but equitable to something sharper and harder.

"On Regina IV."

Olivia sucked in a breath. Even on the Rim, that kind of news didn't take long to get around. She had heard, like everyone else, of the terrorist enclave that had set up shop there and the battalion of Terran Marines dispatched to quell the uprising. Bad intelligence concerning the terrorists' numbers, equipment, and artillery had given the battalion false confidence that this would be a quick and easy cleanup mission. Out of nearly five hundred combat troops who made planetfall, only twenty-three survived to make pickup. Like many others, she hoped she hadn't had any kin end up mixed up in that bloodbath, if for no other reason than because so few of them had returned. If Pete had been on Regina IV, that explained a lot about his sometimes prickly manner and his rigid deportment. The few survivors had not been dealt with kindly by their command, the press, or the families of those who had been lost.

Latimore's face went slack with sympathy for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

"So am I," Pete retorted. "I can't seem to escape that godforsaken planet no matter what I do. Just in the last..." He trailed off, raising his fingers as if counting. "In the last twenty-two hours," he resumed, "I've been shot at with a plasma rifle, forcing me to undergo emergency field medical intervention. I've been given a medal by the Ambassador Plenipotentiary to Terra. I've nearly gotten myself, that same ambassador, and her bodyguard killed because I didn't realize what I was dealing with until it was too late. It's just like being there all over again, with the only difference being that there I knew who was trying to kill me and why. Here, I don't have that luxury."

Latimore sighed and nodded wistfully. "I'm not going to say I understand, Colonel. I've never been offplanet and I've never been in the line of fire anywhere near the way you have. However, I am going to say that I'm sorry for what you've been through since you've been here and that I am going to do everything in my power to make sure whoever did this is brought to justice."

Pete nodded. "Sorry. I'm a little tired and that always makes me pissy. Don't you people ever sleep?"

Olivia laughed tiredly. "Ordinarily, we sleep about ten out of every thirty-six Terran hours. It's not uncommon for us to stay up for three or four Dusk days, take a full day to recover, and then do it all over again."

He winced. "Ugh. That wasn't in the holos I studied about Dusk."

"It wouldn't have been. We usually try to amend our schedules for persons of importance so they feel less alone and alienated. We've found it to be a sound policy for dealing with Terrans, who tend to get rather cranky at things that don't immediately and comfortably remind them of home." Part of her wanted to snap at Pete, who was behaving exactly like those same selfish people her kinfolk had fled a quarter of the way across the galaxy to get away from. On the other hand, if she'd had the kind day he'd had, she couldn't honestly say she'd be coping with it any better. She had no doubt he was perfectly adaptable under normal, reasonable circumstances, and the last two days had been anything but, for anyone involved.

Latimore broke in. "Can you tell me what kind of device it was?"

Pete shook his head. "Other than to be able to say I've seen it, or something close enough for dancing to it, before, no. We started scanning the vehicles when we realized the terrorists were tracking us and we couldn't work out how they were pulling it off. The problem was, once we found one of these, the only thing to do was get the hell away before it went off." His face tightened. "My top sergeant got badly burned that way the first time we found one. We couldn't get her to medical in time. She came out alive, but her face..." He squeezed his eyes closed. "She used to be real pretty. Now... well, she's going to have to hope to find someone who can see past that to her heart. Otherwise, she's in for a long and lonely life."

Latimore's mouth twisted at the corner, but he didn't say anything. Olivia would have bet her immortal soul Latimore was thinking of people he'd lost in the line of duty, sometimes in unpleasant ways. Like any good commander, he'd remember that sort of thing and feel it in an acutely personal way every time he was reminded of it. Olivia could understand how he felt, to a point. This was the kind of commander she needed to be if Dusk was to navigate this murky situation with Terra, no matter how much she personally loathed it.

_Oh, God. Can I do this_?

She reached out and touched Pete's shoulder, careful to keep it light and comradely. "Is there anything else we can do for you right now, Major?"

Latimore waved his hand. "Nah. We'll review the monitors again, but I doubt it's going to show us enough to give us a line on what happened or who's responsible. At the very least, we might be able to pin down the source of the explosives, which would be a damn sight further ahead than we've managed to get so far. You two get some rest."

Pete came to his feet and offered his hand. Olivia rose with him. After a long second, Latimore took Pete's hand in a manly clasp. The two pumped wrists three or four times and then released the clinch. "Thank you, Major. If I think of anything else, I'll be sure to let you know. If nothing else, I may have some ideas on how the assassin managed to get at Ambassador Trelawney, but I'd like to sleep on them first." He yawned hugely. "I'm sure you'll understand what a taxing day this has been."

Olivia reached over and gave Latimore a peck on the cheek. The coarse stubble of his beard was a pleasant tactile surprise to her lips. "Thank you, Major."

Latimore blushed. "Get some rest, Ambassador, Colonel." With a nod, he turned and strode out of the medical wing.

Olivia's knees suddenly felt weak, and she wobbled back over to the bench on legs that felt three sizes too small to properly support her. "Oh, God," she whispered. "My first month as Ambassador Plenipotentiary isn't going very well. I've already almost gotten two innocent men killed and you've only been here two days!"

Pete reached over and took her hand in his larger, callused, workingman's paw. Although she was hardly a shrinking violet, whatever that archaic phrase meant, Pete made her feel positively dainty in a way Merrick couldn't. While Merrick was strong, it was the lean, wiry strength of piano wires. Pete had density to back up his strength, a stern heft that was the difference between a finely crafted sculptor's chisel and a mace.

"You're doing the best you can, Olivia. I won't let you blame yourself for something that's completely beyond your control. You didn't put the explosive on the car, and you couldn't have taken the shot at me because you were right next to me. What happened could have happened to anyone, at anytime, anywhere. That's like saying..." He groped for the right words to convey the folly of blaming herself for this. "It's like saying if Astaroth comes up the wrong color, you're somehow to blame. It doesn't work that way and you're smart enough to know better."

She sighed and her vision blurred. The hot streaks of tears raced down her cheeks, but she didn't bother to wipe them away. Her hand felt much too heavy to go to the trouble. "I know, Pete." Her voice cracked. "I just... I love him so much, and he wouldn't be in this kind of danger if it wasn't because of me." She closed her eyes and fresh moisture trickled along the outer curves of her nose. "I don't want anything to happen to either of you."

Something touched her face, and she started. Pete recoiled. "Just trying to wipe these away," he assured her, reaching out again. Although his hands felt rough and hard against hers, as his thumb met her face, his skin became soft and delicate. He brushed away the tears with exquisite gentleness for someone trained in the hard art of survival and destruction, and then settled his hand over hers again.

"Madame Ambassador?" came a diffident voice from the medical wing doorway.

She looked over to see an anxious-looking woman with a birdlike build and bright green eyes standing there. The woman wore the light, pale blue singlet and caduceus pin that marked her as a healer. "Ambassador Merrick is awake, although he is somewhat groggy from the painkillers we gave him. His hearing will be fully recovered by morning, but we'd like to keep him and make sure nothing else is wrong. If you would like, you may go in and say goodnight to him."

Olivia wavered to her feet, vaguely aware of Pete's unobtrusive but strong hand on her elbow. "Thank you."

Pete guided her along in the healer's wake until they reached an alcove with the curtain drawn. The healer held the curtain aside and said, "Please hurry. He needs his rest and so do you."

She winced as she looked at Merrick. His face looked bruised and swollen, like he'd been out on an all-night bender and decided to get into a bar brawl on top of it all. Bandages swathed his ears, and his eye were hollow and dark.

"Olivia," he whispered. "My love."

Her heart broke all over again, thankful he was all right, guilty that she had put him here directly or no. She leaned over him and rained kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, and his lips, breathing his name over and over again.

"Come here."

She leaned in close and he whispered into her ear. "Tell Pete I want him to hold you tonight. I can't, so it's his job." She recoiled in horror, not liking the idea of being with Pete while Merrick slept in the medical wing. "Listen, Olivia. He'll keep you safe. If something more happens, I'm okay with that. Honestly. But I'll go crazy if I don't know he's with you. Promise me?"

A sob welled up and burst on her lips. "I promise."

He nodded. "Good. I love you, Olivia. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

The assassin swore a sulfurous curse. Not only had the attempt on the Terran failed utterly, but the explosive in that idiot Merrick's 'car had managed to do enough damage to set off every alarm in Galacia! So far, the day had been an utter waste of time, resources, and planning, and to make matters worse, all of them had survived.

What was needed right now was a way to blow off steam.

With lips quivering in fury, the assassin opened the closet door and produced a cage of roughly a cubic meter total. Within crouched a white-furred Raebteews, its claws as long as those of its darker-furred brethren but tipped with gold leaf. The creature's wide, dark eyes widened further as the assassin stared at it coldly.

"You understand, of course, that this is nothing personal."

The creature screamed as the assassin flailed at its mind with a psionic lash of agony. There was a purpose to this cruelty, though. Once the creature had revisited the depths of the excruciating pain the assassin could deliver, the cessation of pain would be a drug unto itself. The Raebteews would exhort its brethren to ever-greater efforts, forgetting utterly what had caused it to have the idea in the first place. It would only know that the more productive they were, the less it would suffer.

The assassin gazed down dispassionately into the upturned nose, the black button eyes, and the quivering lower jaw of the creature as pulses and flickers and cascades of torment blazed through its mind again. And again. And again.

## Chapter Thirteen

Olivia awoke to a pleasant weight pressed against the bare skin of her flank. She smiled reflexively, reaching over to stroke Merrick's face.

Instead of the lean, chiseled slope of Merrick's jaw, she encountered Pete's blockier, stubbled profile. Her eyes shot wide open at the familiar yet foreign feeling against her fingertips, and she turned to look at him, something akin to horror squirming in her chest.

Had they done anything during the night? Why was he here in the first place? Through her panic, a coherent thought swam to the surface: Merrick lying in the medical wing, ordering her to keep Pete as close as Merrick himself should have been. Although he wasn't entirely at ease with the situation, he had been willing to take the chance that something might happen between them in his absence rather than leave her without someone to watch over her.

For his part, Pete had been far too tired to try anything, even if she'd wanted to. His diurnal rhythms had yet to adjust to the far longer Dusk day, and given the whirlwind of the day before she was hardly surprised that he'd all but collapsed into a coma the moment he got into bed. She could have taken offense that even her habit of sleeping in the buff hadn't stirred him, but then again she hadn't been shot the previous day, either.

She raised the coverlet and smiled. While his chest was magnificently bare, revealing hard, blocky muscle sprinkled with a springy coating of dark hair, he had left his cargo pants on. Was it a matter of being too tired, or wanting to be a gentleman? Maybe it was a mixture of both, she concluded, eyeing his chest more closely.

If there had been any doubt in her mind before about Pete's true function in the Terran Marines, his torso told the truth in muted, angry white and pink stripes and puckered points. Only a true, hardened warrior would have such a collection of scars, and she winced imagining how he might have acquired each one. Inevitably, she slid her eyes to the hole in his shoulder as if drawn by a magnet.

Where there had been a clean wound burnt through and through his shoulder, a slight mound of sullen red flesh rose like a landmark. It matched the other scars in a way that seemed hideously right to her, just another battle stripe earned in the service of whatever had motivated him to undertake a career in one of the most dangerous occupations in the galaxy.

Pete grumbled and turned onto his side, away from her. As his grunting and snoring resolved into intelligible words, she listened intently, trying to unravel at least one of the enigmas her life had handed her in the past several days.

"Stay with me, Larsen. Hang on, man. Evac's on the way," he moaned.

Carefully she scooted closer so she could study his face. His eyes flickered about beneath the thin lids, as if watching the brush for some nameless horror or salvation to burst forth. His fingers twitched in galvanic but regular spasms, and his arm lifted from the bed, the hand cupped as if clutching a weapon. His index finger flexed again, and she realized that in whatever nightmare realm he currently inhabited, he was fighting for his life. His breathing rasped in and out of his lungs, hot and harsh as the corded vein at his throat throbbed faster, a visible telltale of his fear.

Did she dare wake him? Would that be dangerous for him? For that matter, would it be dangerous for _her_?

Just then the door opened, revealing Merrick. He leaned against the frame for a moment, not saying anything as he watched Olivia crouched over the other man lost in a nightmare.

"Is he okay?" Merrick whispered.

Pete's eyes flew open and he rolled off the bed and to his feet in one smooth motion, fingers clawing at his side for his blaster.

"Pete!" Olivia cried. "It's okay. You're safe."

Pete turned to face her with agonizing slowness, his eyes blank and focused a hundred parsecs away. After a long moment recognition visibly set in behind his slack-jawed gaze, and he lowered his hand to dangle limply at his side.

"Sorry," he mumbled drowsily. "Had a nightmare."

"I can't imagine why," Merrick quipped. He stepped over to the chair adjacent the bed and sat down in it, his fingers steepled. "So... you slept like that last night?"

Olivia flushed. "We didn't do anything."

Merrick nodded slowly. "I know."

She did a double-take. "You do?"

"Yeah. The room would smell like sex if you had. It doesn't, so you didn't." He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Too tired," Pete answered, his voice still blurred with sleep. "It was a long day."

"I —I couldn't have, Merrick. Not without you here."

Merrick smiled, and it lit up the room. Olivia felt a twinge of pain somewhere very near her heart. "I thought you two could use the comfort. The medics say I should take a day and get my legs under me before I do anything too strenuous. I'm cleared for diplomatic duty, but that's about it."

Olivia's heart sank. "So... you mean..."

"I mean I can't do much of anything other than sit on my ass for at least another day. That doesn't mean you should have to suffer for it, Olivia."

She gaped at him, unable to comprehend the message she was certain lurked behind his words. "What do you mean?"

"I mean —" He gulped. "I mean I want to watch you two. I want to see you pleasure each other."

Pete was now fully awake. His eyes narrowed as he stared, slack-jawed, at Merrick. "What's the catch?"

"No catch, Quick."

"What did you just call me?"

"Quick." Merrick's words took on a slightly sarcastic edge. "As fast as you ran just before the 'car exploded, it seemed to fit. 'Quick' Silva, get it?"

Pete rolled his eyes. "It ain't the worst thing I've ever been called."

Merrick snickered. "I'm sure that's true. Now, we've got some time before the DDC convocation and the formal statement of request from Al-Aziz. You two could use some stress relief, and I want to watch." He gave Pete a lofty sneer. "Unless you're still too tired..."

Olivia's pussy throbbed insistently. She needed to be touched, to thoroughly and completely offer herself up again like she had the day before. With Merrick sidelined, that meant she could put Pete through his paces. She glanced at the chronometer. They still had several hours before the convocation, plenty of time to sate themselves completely before the press of business.

Her need suddenly roared up, spreading its wings like a mythical Terran dragon, setting her heart and body alike aflame.

"You really want this?"

Merrick nodded once, his eyes hooded. "Yes."

She turned to Pete.

"Do you —"

Before she could finish the thought, he closed the distance and kissed her urgently, without finesse or technique. His craving for her inflamed her, and she mewled into his mouth as he invaded her like a conquering army. His tongue flickered and clashed against hers, pulling her gently into him. He caught her tongue between his teeth and sucked lightly on it, sending a fresh wave of shrill sensation to her center.

She stole a glance at Merrick, who was watching avidly from his perch. One hand clawed at the armrest of the chair while the other snaked down into his breechclout. From the lazy motions of his shoulder, she knew he was stroking his cock in appreciation of the sight. A new, added thrill, that of pleasing her man in this utterly forbidden but delicious way, stoked her ardor further, and she ground her hips against Pete's leg, silently pleading to be taken.

Pete was having none of that, though. He pushed her backward as if manipulating glass until the backs of her knees struck the edge of the bed. With a muffled shriek she fell backward, legs akimbo. She looked into his heated eyes and laughed, her voice low and husky.

In the soft glow of the overhead lights Pete's eyes glowed like the volcanoes of Astaroth beneath heavy lids. He knelt before her, his breath playing along the sensitive nerve endings of her exposed pussy as he reached up with both hands and braced his upper body against her knees.

She wanted to sigh, to speak, to beg him for his mouth against her pussy, but her mouth had gone arid as the spires scattered around the city. She squirmed and wriggled, trying to bridge the last few inches between his lips and hers, but he held her easily, staring at her center as if reading the solutions to the mysteries of the universe in her moist folds. With a frustrated whimper she looked over at Merrick again. His breechclout was now undone, revealing his long, slender shaft. He fisted it with exquisite slowness, occasionally raising his fist to his mouth to lubricate it with saliva. The proud purple head towered above his crotch, and for a moment she wished she had her lips around...

Oh, dear God.

Pete lunged forward, burying his tongue inside her so his lips rested flush against her tender flesh. He began to suck slowly at her, his tongue wringing fresh moisture from her core with every delicate flick as his lips worked against her sensitized clit. She gripped the covers, clawing at them for anchorage as she snapped her hips upward, meeting his ministrations with feverish abandon.

With her senses trapped hovering on the razor edge of an orgasm, she didn't realize Pete had moved one hand until she felt one thick finger dipping into her wetness. He slipped inside her, brushing every screaming, erotic nerve she had, drawing her inexorably onward into the inevitable, longed-for explosion. As she cried out her release and shuddered and ground against him, he increased the speed and force of his thrusts to prolong her pleasure until she could take no more and tried to move away.

"Please," she whispered. She didn't know what she was asking for or what she wanted in this moment, but she knew whatever it was, right now it was something only Pete could give her.

He redoubled his frantic lapping at her entrance, but now his well-lubricated finger slipped out of her pussy and poised against the tight ring of her anus. She gasped, wanting him to stop, wanting him to go on, wanting him to do whatever came into his mind to her. Like a black hole she felt she could never be sated, so long as Merrick's star-hot gaze licked over her body and Pete's talented tongue swooped and dove inside her. She raised her hips tentatively, hoping he wouldn't, hoping he would...

With incredible, delicate slowness he parted her, pressing carefully into her. She began to pant, her body contorting against the sensual onslaught of his tongue and the pressure of his finger against her tight rear opening. On some instinctual level she knew she needed only to say no and he would respect that, take her another way and make her his for a time, but she couldn't bring herself to stop him. She wanted to feel the fullness... oh God... and his finger slipped in to the knuckle as if anticipating her wish. She whimpered and surged forward, driving him deeper still. The pressure mingled pleasure and pain, and she gritted her teeth as she gave one more lunge, her ass cheeks meeting his knuckles firmly.

"Does that feel good?" Merrick asked, pumping his dick faster.

"Yes... oh, God, Merrick... I want you both..." she whispered.

"No. This is for you."

Pete's eyes snapped wide as if he was considering saying something, but instead his eyes riveted on hers as he began to work his finger gently in and out of the tight ring of her nether opening. She hissed as the pain yielded to the pleasure and writhed harder yet, wanting more. To her delight, Pete sensed what her body was trying to say and what she could not articulate. Another finger joined the first digit, splitting her open with a rush of delightful sensation, and she began to buck in earnest, driving his fingers as deep as they would go into her ass.

Pete kept his eyes on hers, claiming her in this bold new way as he worked at her body. To her intense surprise, she tumbled over the edge of another climax, this one much deeper and more spread-out, fluttering through her stomach as well as her clit and that magnificent little bundle of nerves inside her pussy. She screamed and howled, tears of joy flooding from her eyes as she accepted the gift and demanded more, rocking against Pete's hand in desperation.

Finally she could take no more and pulled back, her ring releasing his fingers with an audible pop. She wanted more of this, and bent over so her newly opened asshole aimed directly at him.

"Take me," she commanded.

* * *

Pete couldn't believe this. Merrick was sitting not ten feet away watching him violate his woman. Instead of looking pissed about it, Merrick had his dick in his hand and was pounding it for all he was worth, his expression one of rapture. The other man met his eyes unabashedly as he stripped off his cargo pants, freeing his aching erection to prod at the air. The intimacy of the moment took Pete off guard, and he had the strange feeling a line had just been crossed. Fucking on the beach in the heat of the moment was one thing. This was something else, something deeper that Pete, for all his worldliness and experience with carnal matters, had never even conceived of.

He leaned forward, prodding at Olivia's pussy with his prong. She groaned, long and low, arching back into him as he slipped easily to the hilt inside her. Idly he wondered what it would be like to make love to her properly, instead of this almost pornographic rutting, but discarded the thought as something to be considered at a later time. Right now she craved a good, hard fucking, and that was exactly what Pete planned to give her.

With a roll of his hips he pulled back and then thrust forward, slamming his hips against hers hungrily in a fury of jabs. She squealed at the onslaught and tightened around him as he pierced her over and over again, her body accepting his most vicious onslaught with a rippling of inner muscles and a gush of ecstatic, dewy heat.

He withdrew and nudged at her asshole, his cock so hard he felt it must certainly split in two at any moment. With a hungry whimper she looked over her shoulder at him. She licked those pouty, kissable lips with the delicate tip of her tongue and whispered, "Yes."

He abruptly stopped. "Wait!"

She turned to look at him over her shoulder.

"We need lube."

Merrick scrambled to his feet as quickly as his injuries would permit and hobbled into the 'fresher. When he returned, he carried a tube of lubricant.

"Here," he said. Pete took it and opened the top, depositing a generous amount onto his fingers. The feeling of the slick digits prodding at her ass drew whimpers of mingled fear and desire from her, and her senses whirled at the thought of what was about to follow.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Part of her longed to say no, but another, deeper part screamed with joy and need. "Yes," she panted.

He seized her hips and slid forward slowly, feeling her body part before him. He knew better than to just shove in, especially with someone as inexperienced in this particular brand of sex as he suspected her to be. Sweat dripped from his forehead and he gritted his teeth, asserting control over his need to bury his full length in this new, tight delight. At long last he reached bottom and held himself there, trembling with need.

She groaned into the pillows. "Please, Pete... fuck me!"

He pulled back again and pushed forward slightly faster than before. She hissed and her ass clenched tight around him. Each time he retreated he came back a little quicker, until he was plunging his full length into her slick, open recess with each thrust. She swiveled her hips against him, urging him to greater excesses as she opened to him. Her grunts and cries spurred him on, and he glanced over again to see Merrick matching the timing of his pumps to Pete's determined plundering of Olivia's rear entrance.

His balls drew up and he felt the warning tension spread from his cock to every muscle in his body. "Olivia, God... come with me, baby!"

With a low, ardent howl she clamped down on his shaft as he pushed into her one last time. The intensity of his explosion washed his vision with white shot through with crimson, and he seemed to soar out of his skin as Olivia took what he had to give and replied with her own orgasm. He shuddered wildly as he emptied himself into her depths, and she bore down tight against him as if determined not to waste a drop of his release.

Somewhere on the other side of the universe, Merrick groaned as his own crisis hit. Pete looked across the distance, through the haze in his vision, to see a truly remarkable jet of come shoot out of Merrick's cock. It splattered Merrick's thighs and stomach, and still he kept spurting out his essence in reaction to the show Pete and Olivia had just put on.

When Pete came back to himself, he was still snugly ensconced in Olivia's ass. She gasped and purred as her own spasms subsided, her body language that of a sated predator. Reluctantly he pulled away, his cock slipping free of the velvet trap with a wet slap against his balls.

Merrick chuckled, reaching for a towel to wipe up his come. "Damn! I want that next," he cheered.

Olivia laughed. "It's all yours."

Pete just smiled sheepishly, leaning forward to plant a tender kiss on Olivia's shoulder blade. She cooed happily at the contact and rolled over, wrapping one arm around him while she beckoned Merrick with the other.

## Chapter Fourteen

"This, honored colleagues, is why we are interested in the magickstone."

Merrick had to admit the guy had a good rap. He might even actually believe what he was troweling out. There was something a little too slick about him, though, something that strained credibility. Al-Aziz was a talented actor, but the way he delivered his lines reminded Merrick of the time he'd done _Hamlet_ , just before he graduated. It was as if he was reciting his lines rather than really feeling them, and it set the hair on the back of Merrick's neck on end.

The various members rewarded the show with muted applause, a low murmur of conversation springing up on the end of the ambassador's presentation. There were few smiles, though, and of those few, none of them struck Merrick as genuine.

His mind wandered away from the formalities, treating him to a replay of the morning's activities. He couldn't wait for tomorrow to come, so he'd be pronounced fit for active duty, so to speak, with Olivia. Watching Pete take her had been easily one of the most erotic experiences of his life. He'd had no idea he possessed a voyeuristic streak, but the strength of his climax couldn't be denied. Even now, hours later, the muscles at the base of his cock and inside his balls protested at the vigor of the explosion.

" —no reason to doubt your intentions or your personal integrity, Ambassador," Ingrid Roberts was saying. She stood, with Clarence Granger close beside her, her body language practically screaming that she wasn't buying what Al-Aziz was selling. "However, magickstone is well known to not have an effect on terrestrial life unless said life has been exposed to it for generations. There is no effective way to harness the radiation as an anti-aging treatment."

Al-Aziz hid his emotions well. The only hint of his true feelings was a slight tightening at the corner of his mouth, so tiny that even a veteran poker player might miss it. Such subtle tells were the stock in trade of the DDC, however, and even the most junior members knew how to read expressions better than Al-Aziz could conceal them.

"Then what is the true purpose, Miz Roberts?" he asked smoothly, his voice as pleasantly neutral as if he had been inquiring about the weather. "Terra would hardly dispatch a diplomatic entourage so far if their motives were, shall we say, murkier than I have been briefed on."

Behind Al-Aziz, Pete stood at parade rest in his black utilities. The muted gray of the eagles sewn onto the collar points were the only point of something approaching color on his person. His bearing gave away nothing, but Merrick thought he noticed the subtle quirking of an eyebrow at Al-Aziz's reply.

"In the main, Ambassador, we are concerned about other applications that Terra might be interested in but has chosen not to divulge," Granger remarked. "For example, we have long been concerned that someone might view magickstone as militarily exploitable. The long-term results of gallartium exposure and the psionic abilities granted to those who are exposed over a span of generations are well documented. However, we do not fully understand these abilities ourselves, nor are we at all certain of the mechanisms by which such talents are nurtured by the magickstone. What is known is that there are a number of ways gallartium could be crafted into a weapon, and no practical way gallartium could be used to enhance lifespan short of constant, high-level exposure for decades."

Al-Aziz looked almost completely unruffled, although a bunching of the shoulder muscles under his robe betrayed his true feelings. "This is all true, and very interesting, but with all due respect, Terra still enjoys a reputation as having the most sophisticated research and development facilities in the galaxy. We believe that given a sufficiently-sized sample, we can readily identify the properties of gallartium that give it its life-extending properties."

Olivia spoke, her voice calm and unhurried. "I note that you make no mention of the notion that gallartium could be employed as a weapon."

"The official stance of the Interstellar Confederacy is that we are not interested in gallartium for any reason other than its palliative properties." Al-Aziz leaned back in his chair, his posture stating the matter was closed.

"The official stance is not automatically the _only_ stance, as you and I both know, Ambassador. I find it difficult to believe that the IC and Terra have not at least considered the possibilities inherent in using magickstone for military applications. Because of this, and as no estimate has been given as to what you consider a 'sufficiently-sized sample,' I think it is inappropriate to continue negotiations at this time." If Al-Aziz's body language said that the conversation was over, Olivia's screamed that the negotiations _in toto_ were. "I would suggest you contact Terra with further, more detailed instructions. In the meantime, you are welcome to remain on Dusk as our guests until such time as further instructions are forthcoming or until we mutually agree that further negotiation is undesirable or unproductive. However, in the absence of such instructions or mutual concurrence, I must declare these talks suspended."

Al-Aziz shot to his feet, his slender frame quivering with anger. "Madame Ambassador, I must protest. We have come a considerable way with the understanding that these talks were a mere formality. I cannot accept this answer as profitable or beneficial to either side. Therefore, I will give you three Dusk days to reconsider your position."

A page hurried in, his young face set and determined. He rushed to Olivia's side and leaned down to whisper into her ear. Olivia's face went pale.

"Are you certain?"

The page nodded emphatically. Olivia sighed.

"Very well. Advise Major Latimore I request a conference with him posthaste."

The page dipped his head in what just narrowly missed being a bow and scurried out again. Olivia stood, her face troubled.

"I have just been informed that our scientists have strong reason to believe that a very dangerous and rare interplanetary happenstance may preclude travel to or from the planet within the next day, perhaps less, Ambassador."

Babble broke out in the chamber as a number of voices demanded to know what she was talking about. She raised her hands for silence and waited until the last echoes died away. "Astaroth is going to approach within one hundred twenty-five thousand kilometers of Dusk in approximately thirty-six standard hours. All indications are that this will have a significant negative impact upon the weather and tidal forces. They are currently erring on the side of caution in predicting that waves upwards of three hundred meters in height could be seen as far south as Galacia." She turned her full attention back to Al-Aziz, waiting for the furor to die down again. "If you do not receive new instructions within one Dusk day, Ambassador, you will either have to stay until the crisis passes or leave before the Tides of Astaroth begin."

Al-Aziz scowled. "I do not believe you."

"With all respect, Ambassador, I do not care if you believe me," Olivia retorted coolly. "You may accompany me to the conference with the head of Galacia City Security, but if you are determined to accuse the people of Dusk of behaving in a treacherous or underhanded manner that is something I am not prepared to tolerate. I would further remind you that you are a guest on this planet and obligated to comport yourself as such. If I have to declare you and every member of your envoy _persona non grata_ and lodge a formal protest with Terra concerning your behavior, I will do so. Do we understand each other?"

Merrick nearly leapt to his feet, cheering. Despite Olivia's obvious youth, she had stood down the hawk-faced ambassador and senior diplomat with aplomb and spinal fortitude fit for a queen. The disdain with which she deflected Al-Aziz's glowering disbelief showed clearly that she would not be bullied. If anyone had any doubts about her fitness for the role she'd been forced into, the application of a shred of common sense should lay such doubts to rest utterly in the wake of this performance.

But what about Quick?

The thought sent Merrick looking for the Marine again. He found him, deep in conversation with the black-suited Navy guy who shadowed Al-Aziz. For some reason, the warrant officer made Merrick very uncomfortable. He reminded Merrick of an old bi-vid of the kind of guy who'd back up a gangster, hanging in the background, all looming menace and silence.

Did Olivia really mean she'd send Quick offplanet too? That didn't make sense, especially after what they had shared just a few hours ago. On the other hand, if Al-Aziz really wanted to press the issue, Olivia could hardly gainsay the claim unless Quick decided to switch his allegiances.

One thing Merrick was sure of was that Quick wasn't that kind of guy.

A desperate thought cut through his mind, and he grabbed on with both hands. What he was about to do was against regulations, to put it mildly. If he was caught, he'd likely be banished from the DDC, never to return.

But what was the threat of exile, balanced against the threat he was certain Al-Aziz posed?

## Chapter Fifteen

"I am most disgusted."

"I couldn't care less."

"You said this was a done deal that only lacked official vetting."

"It was, when Trelawney was running the show. I'm sure if you ask politely I can explain the meaning of the term 'plenipotentiary' in a way you can understand."

"I _know_ what it means." Al-Aziz's demeanor chilled the room by ten degrees. "I myself act in such a capacity. However, this absurd development cannot and must not stand."

"You seem to be operating under the erroneous impression you have a choice in the matter."

"Be very careful." Al-Aziz raised a long, spindly finger in warning. "Your insolence will be reported to my superiors."

"My 'insolence,' as you put it, is well-justified by the fact I control all the pertinent bargaining chips. Without my intervention, mining gallartium on the scale Terra wants would be utterly impossible. I have the connections, the resources, and the ability to mine this planet dry or let the magickstone rot right where it lies. It makes no difference to me, Ambassador. However, if you insist on adopting that superior tone with me, I will do precisely that. I do not conduct business with fools."

"You are a traitor. I could simply tell your superiors what you are doing and remove a painfully irritating thorn in my craw," Al-Aziz pointed out silkily.

"You could do that. However, you are overlooking a key detail. If you unmask me and my role in all this, you also tip your hand to the DDC. I hardly think they will take such a revelation well, if the timbre of today's meeting was any indication. And there's also the matter of that warrant officer. If his role is uncovered, things will become a great deal more difficult for both of us. Dusk does not officially condone capital punishment, but the DDC may well choose to have us 'shot while trying to escape.'"

Al-Aziz digested that for a moment, the look on his face suggesting he had swallowed something that was still alive and wriggling. Finally he blew out a breath.

"And the Tides of Astaroth?"

The assassin's lips quirked up into a wintry smile. "Oh, they're real enough. Because of certain eccentricities in Astaroth's orbit, we know they happen, but predicting when has proven nearly impossible. They are the Dusk equivalent of tornadoes, but a Terran tornado is limited by its very nature in the damage it can wreak. The Tides are not."

"So Ambassador Gunnarson was not bluffing."

"She isn't experienced enough to bluff. If she says she's holding a high card, she's holding the high card, period. That by itself makes her dangerous, because she won't back a bad position."

"We will need to see about removing her, then."

The assassin laughed. "And what, exactly, do you think I've _been_ doing for the last two days? The last two _months_ , for that matter? Ambassador Trelawney was a simple matter. Gunnarson, with her pet diplomat and her new toy soldier, will be far less so."

Al-Aziz mulled that over. "What do you propose, then?"

"For now, I would do exactly as Gunnarson suggested. Contact Terra and ask for further instructions. From there, you can decide how best to proceed."

"Are you going to maintain the mining operation?"

The assassin stood and stretched. Al-Aziz's eyes took on a familiar glow. Apparently he liked what he saw. Most men did, at least when they were alone and relaxed enough to admit it.

"I will. For now. I will act if I am threatened again, however." Now the appropriate ultimatum had been issued, it was time to switch the stick for the carrot. "I would much prefer that we keep our negotiations... friendly."

The ambassador raised a soot-colored eyebrow, his face now betraying bemused contemplation. "And _how_ friendly should our negotiations remain, Ambassador?"

For answer the assassin knelt before Al-Aziz. With a deft flick of the assassin's hand, Al-Aziz's robes fell aside to reveal his stiffening cock.

"At _least_ this friendly," the assassin replied, leaning forward to lick the deep plum head.

Al-Aziz groaned and relaxed into the chair.

"All diplomacy should be managed so," he chuckled.

* * *

"So that's what we know."

Major Latimore ordered the holoscreen off and looked around to see if there were any questions. If he'd gotten any rest, it didn't show. Even so, his voice was clear and confident.

Pete reviewed the briefing on the threatening Tides. Unlike Terra's moon, which moved in a predictable orbit with only minor variations, Astaroth's extreme orbital eccentricity and wobble relative to Dusk gave it a commensurately greater impact upon the planet's oceans. This problem was only exacerbated by the relative nearness of Astaroth, which in turn was played on by the higher mass and gravitational pull of Dusk.

He did the math in his head and came up with a sloppy but serviceable ballpark approximation of what the equation might look like. He'd always hated orbit and astrogation problems, preferring to leave such things to the polymaths. His job was to be where the trouble was and shoot it; getting to and fro was the Navy's headache. The only time he even pretended interest in ballistic calculations was just before a drop, when a deviation of a half-degree in any axis from the projected flight path could leave him fatally off course. Of course, drop capsules were preprogrammed with targeting data, eliminating the need for manual correction under any but the worst possible planetary weather conditions.

"And we don't know precisely when this is going to happen?"

Latimore shook his head. "No. We've got a lot of best guess and by golly, but that's about it. The scientists say there's just nothing to be done about it, because there are too many unknowns and interlocking factors to work out. What we do know is if they're right, the Tides could threaten the city itself."

"But we have the defensive shielding and pressure baffles." Olivia spoke for the first time since arriving. She looked so troubled Pete wanted to gather her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay, no matter how not okay it looked on paper.

"Those will work for average waves up to one hundred fifty meters. If we get the monster gravity waves the high-forehead types are predicting, those may not work."

"The pressure baffles are rated to..." Olivia trailed off, the rising inflection on the last word making the phrase a question.

"Petapascals. That's not the problem. The problem is, if we get a wave higher than one hundred fifty meters, the external armor on the city may not stop the water from getting in. If that happens, or if we get hit with repeated impacts, all the baffles in the universe won't save us."

Pete said, "What about evacuating the city?"

"There's no time, and nowhere to go even if we could. Unlike Terra, we've never bothered with interstellar travel since arrival. We like it here just fine, and we've always figured if there was going to be a catastrophe, it would be down along the equator..."

"Where no one lives, so who gives a fuzzy fuck?" Merrick broke in.

"Exactly. But this?" Latimore waved his hand at the portal showing the placid ocean beyond the city. "Even if we wanted to evacuate, we couldn't organize enough craft fast enough, and the _Fallujah_ can only carry maybe one one-hundredth of one percent of the city's inhabitants. That means ninety-nine point nine nine percent of the people here will be left to fend for themselves or die, and that's unacceptable."

Pete snickered. Al-Aziz would find a way off this rock if he had to eat a truckload of beans and fart his way out.

"What about magick?" Olivia asked. "Can we deflect the wave that way?"

Latimore thought it over. "It's possible," he allowed. "If you can get every telek and person with an affinity to water marshaled and ready to go in the next thirty-two hours, it might be doable. Of course, it's equally possible you might just be setting them up for really good seats to their own funerals."

Olivia's bottom lip pooched out. Dammit, how did the woman manage to make such a small, girlish gesture so seductive?

"You can do that?" Pete asked. "I mean, I'd always heard Duskers could use magick, but..."

Latimore smiled. "Let me give you a demonstration."

With a mumbled word, he lifted off the metal decking and hovered about half a meter in the air. While standing on nothing at all, he waved his hand and muttered another word. Pete didn't recognize the language, but the tone of command left no doubt about what he was doing.

In response to Latimore's word, a digital padd levitated smoothly off the desk and floated into Latimore's outstretched hand as if coming home. Latimore looked down at the padd and typed in a few lines of text nonchalantly, ignoring his thunderstruck guest.

"Can... can all of you do that?"

Olivia shook her head. Merrick barked out a genuinely bemused laugh. "No," she said. "We all have different abilities, strengths and weaknesses. For example, most people have a mild telekinetic ability, but it manifests in different ways. Some of us can electrolyze water, making it possible to breathe in the ocean. Some of us can command wind, water, or even reshape native soil beneath our feet. Some of us are extraordinarily sensitive to precious metals, to gallartium deposits, or to life forms. All of us have varying degrees of power and ability, depending on native capability, training, and inclination. There are some people on Dusk who don't use magick for anything, while others use it for virtually everything."

A sudden suspicion welled up in Pete's mind. "What about telepathy?"

Olivia flinched. "It's not unheard of. One of my best friends has it. But she's disqualified from ever serving in the DDC specifically because she has it."

"So no one in the DDC has telepathy?"

"If anyone with telepathy actually managed to make it in, and was subsequently caught, any agreement they had brokered would automatically be null and void. By tradition and law, telepaths are forbidden."

Pete nodded slowly. An idea dawned in his mind, slowly at first but quickly gaining momentum, like Sol birthing itself over mountains. "You said one of your friends is a telepath?"

Olivia's face abruptly closed itself off. "Yes..." she said, drawing the word out as if uncertain of where he was going with this.

Merrick's face suddenly lit up with understanding. "It can't be done, Quick," he said quickly, shooting Pete a clear "shut up" look.

Clearly he'd touched a nerve with his idea. Equally clearly, Merrick had been thinking along the same lines. It seemed this wasn't the time to broach the notion, but there had to be something to it that Merrick didn't think was ready for public consumption.

He shut up.

"So, how would we arrange the city defense using magick?" he asked in a bid to change the subject.

Latimore gave him and Merrick a long look before letting the topic drop. "It'd be a hell of a last-ditch gamble. Like, we're all going to die anyway and our best chance for survival is to take the shot."

Pete snorted. "Been there, done that."

"Well, if we conclude the city is likely doomed, what we need to do is to get below. There's an abandoned diamond mine about half a klick below the surface. It won't be comfortable, and it certainly won't be fun, but in a pinch it should hold most of the city. I don't want to do that unless we absolutely have to, but it might be a more practical option than mustering every telek with a shred of ability in the city and asking them to commit mass suicide."

"Why was the mine abandoned?" Pete asked.

"Unstable veins. There's a ton of gallartium down there..."

Pete shot bolt upright from his sitting position. "Does anyone else know about this?" He didn't realize he'd barked out the question like he was grilling a new recruit until he heard his own voice reverberating from the walls.

Latimore flinched. "Most of the city security forces do, and it's even odds that most of the city knows at least a little something about it. They may not know exactly where, but they know there's something deep under the city close by."

Pete thought furiously. "I have to go. Can you meet me in my quarters in half an hour?"

Olivia and Merrick exchanged a glance. He could almost hear them asking each other silently if he'd lost it. Neither of them dared broach the question.

"We'll be there," Olivia promised.

"Good. I'll explain everything then."

* * *

The foul reek of offal and urine wafted up from Al-Aziz's corpse. His mouth contorted in an unnatural grimace.

The assassin thought frantically. Of all the times for someone who appeared reasonably healthy to have a heart attack, right in the middle of sex seemed like the least likely and most ill-omened one possible.

"This is inconvenient," the assassin mused, the words laden with gallows humor.

_Inconvenient_ was the very least of it. If nothing else, the assassin would have to explain, convincingly, the presence of another dead ambassador. With the hot and cold running paranoia among both the DDC and the Terran contingent in the wake of one successful and one attempted assassination, the suspicion the assassin could expect all but ensured a lengthy interrogation session and possibly preventative detention. Even if the assassin managed to successfully evade the questioning and make the tale remotely believable, any tale would carry a whiff of falsehood no matter how true it was.

Turning to the viewport, the assassin willed the panel open. Although this was far from the preferred method of egress, anything else risked attracting way too much attention at a critical juncture. For a moment the thought of setting fire to the corpse of the Terran ambassador in a bid to conceal any DNA traces occurred, but the assassin quickly decided against it. The medical scans would show he died of a heart attack, pure and anything but simple. Natural causes meant there should be no reason for a pathologist to look any deeper, and even if they did, matching any samples obtained to the current Dusk population would take time. For now, the best defense was to make no move at all.

In seconds the ambassador's quarters lay empty of any animate object. The sole exceptions were the blue curtains, which fluttered in the hot offshore wind.

## Chapter Sixteen

"Patch me through to General Neville."

"General Neville is not available, Colonel," said the trim, squared-away captain on the other end of the hyperspace commlink. "He is expected back within the hour."

Pete gritted his teeth. "Captain, do you see the coordinates I'm calling you from?"

The captain looked down and blanched. "It appears you're calling from off-planet, sir."

_It appears you're calling from off-planet, sir_ , he mimicked in his head, giving the captain an unjustly nasal delivery on the replay. "I'm calling from Dusk, which is in the Back of Fucking Beyond. I have a potential diplomatic crisis on my hands, I have sealed orders that make less than zero sense, and I've nearly been killed twice in the last two days by someone who really, actively has issues with my presence here. Now _patch me the hell through_!"

Visibly cowed by Pete's rage, the captain said only, "Aye-aye, sir. Patching now."

The screen wavered and resolved into Fritz Neville. Unlike the last time Pete had seen him, the general had dispensed with the avuncular great-uncle schtick.

"Problems, Pete?"

"You could say that, General." In quick, short sentences Pete laid the diplomatic situation out for Neville, omitting only certain extracurricular activities he had indulged in. He figured those were none of Neville's damn business.

"I received a complaint from Ambassador Al-Aziz about you, Pete," Neville said slowly when the narrative was complete. "He said you're not a team player and that he, quote, has genuine concerns about your loyalty to Terra, unquote."

Pete growled. "Yeah, he would do that. Listen, General, Al-Aziz is on the thin edge of tanking this deal. Whoever made the genius decision to send him wound up sticking our collective dick in a hornet's nest. We're not exactly making ourselves popular —"

"The way I hear it, Colonel, you are making yourself entirely too popular, on the wrong side of the equation." Neville's face darkened slightly enough to make Pete wonder if the color adjustment on the holoscreen was malfunctioning, but the growl in his voice was clear. "Ambassador Al-Aziz claims you have been, er, fraternizing, with the senior ambassador and her bodyguard."

Shit.

"General, Ambassador Al-Aziz has his own opinions about me and my role on this mission. I am merely following my orders to the best of my ability. If the ambassador doesn't like that, then he can attempt to perform an aerial seduction of a rotating pastry. Sir."

Neville's face darkened even more at the wordy but polite rephrasing of the popular Marine curse. "Colonel, let me be very clear. Ambassador Al-Aziz is the best diplomat in the IC at brokering these kinds of sensitive deals. It would not behoove anyone who wants to move any further up the chain of command to go questioning him. Is that understood?"

"General, I've been shot and nearly blown up in the last two days. Someone in this city knows why we're here and they seem to be doing equal damage to both the DDC and us. I've attached myself to Ambassador Gunnarson to make sure she stays safe during the negotiations. That's it. Anything else Al-Aziz has told you about what I'm doing, who I'm doing it with, or why is a smokescreen."

Neville rose up from behind his desk and slammed his palms flat on the clear surface. "Get this straight. I don't give a good goddamn if he tells you to blow him. You do what he says, when he says, and how he says. This is an order, Colonel. Screw this up and you'll be court-martialed for insubordination."

"I understand, sir." Inspiration struck all at once and he hurried on. "The first load of weapons-grade gallartium will be ready for pickup by the end of the week."

"It better be," Neville snarled. "Out."

The holoscreen went dark.

Pete's stomach plunged toward his toes.

He clawed in his tunic and pulled out the sealed orders. Opening them up, he read the familiar words again.

_You are hereby instructed to give Ambassador Muhamed Quadri Al-Aziz any and all cooperation he may require to secure Terran mining rights to the Rare Earth Element known as gallartium, or magickstone. You are under no circumstances to draw unnecessary attention to yourself, but you are to ingratiate yourself to the Dusk Diplomatic Corps personnel in any and all ways opportunity allows. If necessary, you are to call for reinforcements to take the gallartium supplies we require by force_.

He folded the orders back into his tunic. If he'd been outdoors, he would have spat.

_Well, fuck you very much, General_.

The door chime sounded, a polite and dignified ping.

"Enter."

Olivia and Merrick came in, looking grim.

"What's the matter?"

The look Olivia turned on him was bleak as Arctic winter.

"Ambassador Al-Aziz is dead."

"What do you mean, dead?" he demanded. "He was alive less than two hours ago and being a world-class pain in the ass of everyone whose path he stumbled across."

"Dead as in a doornail. Dead as in, his heart apparently gave out while he just happened to be lying naked in bed. Dead as in he's in medical right now awaiting an autopsy."

Pete's stomach bungee-jumped for the floor again.

"That's not good." He stood up and paced in a tight, precise pattern: three out, turn, three back, turn. All the while he thought frantically about what, or who, could possibly have been behind this latest problem.

"It gets better," Merrick said. "Between the Tides of Astaroth and the rash of deaths and near-misses around here, some of the members are making noises that we should consider escorting you and the surviving members of the ambassador's detachment off-planet at once for your own safety."

Pete rolled his eyes. "Naturally."

Just then the door pinged again. Pete called out, "Enter!"

A cute woman in her late twenties, with a cheerful, slightly round face and short blonde hair, stood in the doorway. "Colonel Silva?"

He nodded curtly. "Call me Quick. It seems to be the latest trend."

"I'm Kase Reed. Olivia asked me to come and meet with you."

Olivia took his arm gently from behind. "She's my telepathic friend."

Pete's mind raced. "How did you —"

"When you popped off in front of Latimore, I'd already been thinking the same thing," Merrick answered. "It took a whole five seconds for Olivia to twig to what we had in mind."

"Officially, Latimore doesn't know anything. What we are planning is a massive breach of protocol that could get all of us taken off the DDC and possibly up on charges. Unofficially, Latimore says we're in a state of emergency and he's adopting a siege mentality. Any weapon we can think of, we have to use."

Relief washed through him. He'd thought for sure he'd committed an unforgivable social gaffe. In ordinary circumstances, he'd have been right, but the ethics of the situation had saved his bacon.

Pete pursed his lips and nodded at the newcomer. "Come in, please."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later he and Merrick had hashed out the broad strokes of the plan. Olivia chimed in occasionally with suggestions or tweaks, but largely kept quiet and either said yes or no. Kase had hardly spoken at all, except to correct some of Pete's misconceptions about the way her power worked.

"My preference would have been to turn you loose on Al-Aziz and see what you could learn from him. With him dead, that doesn't exactly seem practical unless you can read the dead." She shook her head quickly. "Didn't think so. Okay, so that leaves us with only a couple of options. We can either see what you can find out from Warrant Officer Kozlowski without him being any the wiser, or we can turn you loose on the city and see what random information you can pick up."

"That's not a good idea, Pete," Olivia said sharply. "For one thing, DDC members undergo mandatory training in defending against psionic intrusion. For another, you don't realize what you're asking Kase to do."

The blonde woman's face had gone ashen. "You're asking me to basically wander around and let everyone in the city who hasn't had training shout their innermost, most disturbing, most dreadful, most disgusting thoughts right into my mind. It would be... it would be like me telling you to strip and walk around the city naked."

Pete thought that over. If walking around Galacia in the nude would have kept him from getting shot, he'd have gone for it twice and paid for the privilege. Even so, he got the picture.

"Okay. But if I give you a limited target and ask you to find out whatever you can without putting yourself at undue risk, can you do that?"

Kase cringed a little, but clenched her jaw and nodded. "Yes."

"Let me put this another way, Miss Reed. Will you? I don't want to ask you for anything that's going to put you in harm's way or cause you discomfort, but you may be the only person in Galacia we can trust to get the information and not do anything dangerous to get it."

"What do you need?"

Pete sighed. This was going to be where everything either came out in the wash or went directly to hell.

"First, I need you to read my mind. I'm going to focus on a couple of very intense, very powerful recent memories. We need to know what your effective range is. Have you ever tested it?"

She shook her head. "No. When you have a gift like mine, you use it as little as you possibly can. I asked for a craniotomy for my eighteenth birthday, so I wouldn't have to hear exactly who wanted to fuck me and who thought I needed to be on a diet."

With a glance around, Pete winced. Olivia's eyes were heavy with sympathy for a story she'd clearly heard before. Merrick looked a little abashed. Kase's face suggested someone who was being led before a firing squad, but she kept her back poker-straight and her eyes fixed on his face.

"Okay. Here's what I want you to do. Focus on me and only me, okay?" When Kase nodded, he continued. "Can you feel my mind?"

She swallowed. "Yes."

"Can you screen out other thoughts?"

"Yes."

"Good. Get as far away from here as you can and walk only until you can hear what I'm thinking. Then call and tell Olivia what I'm thinking. I'll confirm it."

"And what's to stop you from lying?"

He shrugged. "You're just going to have to trust me."

* * *

The comm in the room chirped. Olivia answered, talking in a low, quiet tone.

"Kase just picked you up. She says you were thinking about the sealed orders you were given. You're not happy about them and you're glad Al-Aziz is dead." Pete nodded grimly. She turned back to the comm, raising her ass in the air in a most inviting fashion that reminded Pete of their interlude earlier in the day. Olivia listened for a moment and blushed. "Stop thinking about this morning! Kase says she's jealous."

Now it was Pete's turn to blush. He asked, "Where is she now?"

"About half a kilometer away, on the outer ring of the city."

He nodded. "Okay, so she gets good range. That's useful to know. Tell her to head on back and we'll figure out a way to get her set up with Kozlowski."

A small plastic cup bounced off his undamaged shoulder harmlessly and spun away. He turned to see Olivia throw another container at him.

"Did you really have to think about that, right then?"

He shrugged innocently. "Hey, you're the one who bent over."

## Chapter Seventeen

"I need you to come with me, right now."

"Where?"

"I want to show you the extent of the operation."

Kozlowski nodded slowly. "Do I need to know this?"

"If you want to keep Colonel Silva from screwing it up, you do."

The assassin led the way through the crowded footpaths and byways of the city. Little by little, the crowds faded away to random souls wandering the streets, and then to nothing. Soon the metal and plas walls gave way to native rock and titanium support beams. At the elevator that led down, the assassin opened the gate with a flourish.

"How far down does this go?"

"About six hundred meters. The lift doesn't move very quickly. It will take about five minutes to get there."

"Beats the hell out of climbing," Kozlowski muttered.

The assassin pressed the down control. The lift shuddered and began its plodding descent.

After a moment Kozlowski spoke. "You were with Al-Aziz when he died."

The assassin froze. "What makes you think that?"

Kozlowski shrugged. "Just a feeling. You're exactly the kind of person I figured he'd go after, given a chance."

"You're a veritable student of human nature."

"I'm not an idiot. Al-Aziz was wound too tightly. He was bound to snuff it eventually." Kozlowski chuckled. "If he'd pulled one more lame-brained maneuver, I was going to take care of it personal-like." He shrugged philosophically. "So, how did it happen? Coming and going at the same time?"

The assassin ignored the vulgarity. Kozlowski was a man of many irritating habits, but no one could fault the clarity of his vision. "Something like that."

"Figures." He looked the assassin up and down. "So why are you bringing this to me? I could develop a case of loose lips."

The assassin made a gesture of negation. "Hardly. If you were the type for whom that might be a problem, you wouldn't be here now."

"What makes you so sure?" Kozlowski leaned against the wall of the lift, his arms flung akimbo in a sarcastic invitation.

"Because you have what I like to think of as enlightened self-interest. You're not going to risk the payoff this mission offers because of personal antipathy, and you didn't love the late ambassador so well as to be unduly concerned about his welfare. You're not going to lose a moment's sleep over Al-Aziz's passing, any more than I will."

Kozlowski grunted. "Yeah. You've got a point."

If only you knew. "I usually do."

The lift groaned and ground to a stop. Automatically the gate swung open. The assassin stepped out onto the catwalk and waved Kozlowski to follow.

"Pretty brave of you, presenting your back like that."

"Hardly. If you even think of making a hostile move, I will know. I will react. This is not a show of trust. It's a demonstration of how highly I rate your ability to lay a finger on me if I don't want you to."

Kozlowski muttered a most unflattering epithet under his breath. The assassin noticed, but said nothing.

Just ahead, the cloaked figure of Grrrreelawk loomed out of the shadows. "Good evening," the assassin said.

"It is, indeed," the T'riskin said. "Or it will be, once you tell me if this is someone I can eat or not."

"Manners, Grrrreelawk," the assassin chided mildly. "This is Warrant Officer Kozlowski. He is here to assist in facilitating the loading of the magickstone."

"Ah." Grrrreelawk's horizontally slitted eyes bulged a little in a lizardine expression of surprise. "Then it appears I owe you an apology, Koze-lou-ssssskeee," he hissed.

"No need for that," Kozlowski grunted. "So what's the score?"

The assassin pointed down into the pit. The exposed vein of gallartium ore had been widened significantly since the last visit. Now a pure line of blue as thick as a human finger zigzagged down into the darkness of the pit, its azure glow the only light below the rim of the massive hole. The Raebteews were no longer visible as individual entities. They could only be made out by their movement, much like those terrestrial insects... ah, yes. Ants, they were called.

Kozlowski looked down and whistled. "Impressive."

"The impressive part is yet to come. When the ore carrier arrives, we will send down crews with sonic boring equipment to break up the vein and extract it. You understand that each piece must retain its complete integrity to be viable for what you are trying to accomplish?" The assassin grew tired of giving the same lecture over and over again, but with as many credits and as much risk as this operation entailed, an ounce of repetition was worth a metric ton of regret.

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. As long as each section stays intact it should work for what we're trying to do. If we don't, it's useless." He peered down deeper into the pit, as if trying to ascertain what exactly was doing the actual extraction labor.

"Do not concern yourself. We have not used beings of any intelligence for this endeavor," Grrrreelawk said. "They are simple-minded mammals, superbly equipped for digging." He made a low croaking sound deep in his throat, the T'riskin analogue to a laugh.

"And dig they do."

* * *

Pete passed the sealed orders to Merrick. He read them over, his face betraying nothing, and then handed them to Olivia. She mouthed the familiar words, tasting them like she was trying to decipher a foreign language. As if a freak chill of winter had entered the room, she felt her face draw tight and cold.

"When were you planning to tell me about this?"

The tautness of his shoulders reminded her of a man staring down the bore of a warship's cannon. "I'd hoped I wouldn't have to. I'm putting my career and possibly my life on the line by showing you this." He sagged slightly. "Of course, given the way things have been going, that's not really saying much."

Olivia read the orders again. "These are very vague... but they dovetail nicely with what you've done since you've been here." She made no effort to hide the crackling anger in her tone. "I think you owe us both a convincing explanation, Colonel. Right now, I could have you arrested with cause. Give me one reason why I shouldn't do exactly that and have you thrown in a prison cube."

"Olivia, listen to me." She would never have imagined Pete pleading in a million years, but the pitch of his voice was unmistakable. "I was doing my best to adhere to the letter of my orders, but that didn't include... anything we've done. My job here was strictly to facilitate the transfer, but you know I despised Al-Aziz. My commanding officer knows that too. He'll probably have my head on a pike for not reporting in the moment Al-Aziz croaked, but at the time I was in the middle of a hyperspace ass-chewing with him. That will buy me a little time and leeway, but the more time that passes, the less credible it will be to him that I didn't have time to call."

"So your career means more than the people who saved your life?" Merrick asked. "That's pretty cold-blooded, Quick."

* * *

Turning to look out the viewport, Pete wondered what to do next. He felt a certain comradeship with Merrick, but his feelings for Olivia were far less easily quantified. Respect, of course, and desire, but there was something else lurking in the background, something he feared to give voice to lest it shatter the fragile alliance between them and put him firmly on Merrick's bad side.

"Actually, no, it doesn't. I knew I was in over my head the minute the general told me I was getting a three-pay-grade promotion. They sent me because I'm expendable, not because they thought I was the best person for the job. In fact, this entire mess reminds me of Regina IV all over again: not enough intel, too many reassurances, and the not-so-subtle hint that it would be my ass if anything went wrong."

"But things went very wrong there, didn't they?"

He laughed bitterly. "You could say that. I already told you about the body count. The hell of it is, the whole sorry mess turned out to be for nothing. We didn't secure the ore, the terrorists got away clean, and basically everything that could go pear-shaped did. I lost way too many good people, and my top sergeant will never have a normal life again because of her burn scars. Compared to that, I think some of the people who died got off easy." He shook his head, dispirited all over again at the thought. "There are too many parallels here to easily shrug off, and the exact same people are holding the hatchets this time around. The only unknown quantity in the batch is Kozlowski, and I know Neville's got a line into him that end-runs around me." He turned to face Olivia and Merrick squarely, darting his eyes back and forth between them as he willed them to believe him.

"I'm not here to betray you. I honestly thought I was here to help. During my conversation with General Neville, he let some information slip." He filled them in quickly about the discussion, glossing over some of the more unpleasant bits. "I knew he wanted gallartium for weapons purposes, but I didn't realize no one on Dusk was on board with that. The way the deal was presented to me, the deal was already done." All at once, he felt tired to the very core of his being in a way he had hoped he'd never experience again. His legs gave way beneath him and he flopped onto the bed.

"If you don't believe me, I understand. If you don't want us to be together anymore, I don't blame you." He looked up, summoning the last reserves of willpower he had to spare at the moment. "But don't think for one moment I'm going to abandon you. We need answers."

Olivia's eyebrows drew together in a look of suspicion so intense it was painful to behold. Without taking her eyes off Pete, she asked, "What do you think, Merrick?"

Merrick blew out a long breath. "His orders say he's not on our side. His actions say otherwise. He's the one who got shot, but we both make more plausible targets. He appears to have done his utmost to help, even when it could have gotten him in trouble he could never hope to dig his way out of. And... he doesn't strike me as the type to betray someone he's made love to." The last few words came out slow and reluctant, as if he could taste them bitter on his tongue.

"That was just sex," Olivia said dismissively. Then her face softened and her shoulders slumped. "Wasn't it?"

And here we go.

"I —at first, yes, it was just sex. It was an exciting new diversion," Pete confessed. "But... I was just asking myself how I feel about both of you now. I care about you both a great deal, but —oh, hell, Olivia. I think I might be falling in love with you. In that regard, you were right. I _haven't_ made love to you yet... but I want to." Where had his calm certainty in the face of crisis gone? Colonel Pedro A. Silva, who had commanded good men and women to their doom, now floundered in the face of a "soft" emotion. Ridiculous!

Olivia's face crashed down into an expression of panic. "But... Pete, it's only been a week! This was not supposed to be an ongoing thing. We were supposed to have some fun —"

"And I was supposed to hop back on my magic carpet and fly away back to Never-Never Land," Pete spat. "I've never been in love before, Olivia. Never had anything that even came close to it. I've known some women who I respected, had fun and some laughs with, and occasionally shared their beds, but I've never been close enough to anyone before to feel the way I do about you."

"So what do we do now?" Merrick's expression suggested he was thinking very hard. "On one hand, we can't really be sure of anyone except each other. On the other, this could get very messy, very fast."

"I know." Olivia's voice was soft, almost ghostly. "But... I trust you, Pete. I trust you almost as much as I trust Merrick. It seems we're all doing things that are somewhat out of character right now, but then the situation demands them." She looked up, her eyes huge, blue, and haunted. "I just know I don't want to lose either of you."

Merrick tipped his head back, staring up at the ceiling. "I'd feel better with Pete around, if for no other reason than another pair of eyes. The fact that he makes you happy makes me happy, Liv. If that's what it takes, then I'm on board."

Pete stood, feeling a trickle of strength edging past his despair. Was it possible he could still have Olivia and stay in Merrick's good graces, too?

Before he could say anything, Merrick and Olivia embraced. Behind Olivia's back, Merrick gestured at Pete to come join them. With slow, hesitant steps he moved closer, until he could feel the heat of Olivia's lithe body against him. He threaded his arms around her, mindful of where Merrick had already staked his claim, and added his strength to their touch.

Olivia looked up into his eyes. As long as he lived he hoped he never saw anything so heartbreaking as the look on her face again. There was something sad but resolved, hungry and determined in the set of her jaw that made him long to shelter her in his arms and defend her from anything and everything that could possibly hurt her.

"I want you both. Now."

## Chapter Eighteen

It was Merrick's turn to take the initiative, and he did. Unlike their previous coupling, he turned her gently around and kissed her cheeks, neck, shoulder, and jawline with leisurely determination. She shuddered out a deep breath and turned her head toward him, lips upward as if in prayer, offering her mouth to him. He accepted the invitation tenderly, playing over her lips as if mouthing a sonata to his love for her. She gasped in a way he recognized intimately, wordlessly pleading for him to claim her any way he wanted.

He reached down, finding her breast, and palmed it gently, savoring the feel of her taut nipple pressing into his hand. She had always been insecure about her relative bust-to-frame size, afraid he would find her too small through the chest. However, her large, sensitive nipples more than made up for her average-sized breasts, which to his mind was enough. He had never understood the allure of what some guys crudely called "titty-fucking." Although it could be fun and had its place as an exotic form of foreplay, he could never imagine making that a regular part of his sexual repertoire. He'd much rather have Olivia on her knees before him, making her scream and wail with pleasure until she begged him to stop.

Quick's hand brushed his, and he looked over sharply. The eye contact was so strangely intimate, as if while he was kissing Olivia he was also somehow making love to Pete as well without actually touching. For a fleeting moment he considered what that might be like, to kiss Pete instead of, or with, Olivia, before rejecting the thought. While the idea might be slightly thrilling in a transgressive, forbidden way, he could not imagine enjoying cock the same way he enjoyed Olivia's willing body. The image was simply too alien to form properly.

The moment broke and Quick went back to whatever he was doing to Olivia in the front. On one hand Merrick envied him for his current position. On the other, the way she writhed against him in reaction to Pete's movements was pleasant enough to mitigate any jealousy he might be feeling.

He already knew what he wanted, if Olivia was amenable He wanted to sheathe his throbbing cock deep in Olivia's ass while Quick had her pussy. But how best to facilitate that?

First, of course, Olivia needed to be nude, and Merrick bent to the task with the efficiency of long practice. In moments he loosened the last strap keeping her outfit in place, allowing it to slip down her legs to pool around her feet like a fisherman's net. His hands roamed and darted over her torso, the small of her back, and the delectable, blushing crack of her ass. He grabbed the sweet curves of her buttocks, spreading them enough to make Olivia moan into his mouth. He ground his hips against her ass as she rubbed against him, catlike.

Olivia cried out and shook with an orgasm, seesawing her pelvis back and forth. He reached down, to help intensify her climax. Instead of her trimmed triangle of love fur, he found the close-cropped hair on the top of Quick's head and pulled away as if the other man's skin burned him.

As the spasms of her release subsided, she pulled away. "Both of you, on the bed, now."

Merrick looked at Pete, and found him looking right back. If the expression on his face was anything like Quick's, they were both thinking, _Beats the shit out of me_.

Olivia clapped her hands. "Come on, let's go. Pants off, sit on the bed. Clock's ticking!"

Still looking into Quick's eyes, Merrick stripped down. He hadn't really paid much attention to Quick's body before, and he freely admitted to being curious about how he measured up. For his part, Quick met his gaze boldly, his stance and the look in his eyes saying plainly that he had nothing to hide.

That same alien intimacy began again as Quick stripped off his uniform tunic and the black tee beneath. Merrick winced at the sight of all the scars on Quick's chest, peeking out from the dark sprinkling of hair that dove down beneath his beltline. Merrick thought he was as hard as he needed to be and capable of dealing with just about anything, but Quick's _torso_ had taken more damage than Merrick had sustained in his entire life. Despite the graphic road map of human suffering traced on Quick's chest, his pecs and stomach rippled with powerful muscle. With a quick twist of his wrist, Quick undid his belt and the pressure clasp beneath, allowing his pants to sink to the floor. To Merrick's surprise, he wasn't wearing skivvies.

Unlike Merrick's longer, slender cock, Quick's dick was squat and thick. Merrick had been circumcised as a baby; the other man's cock was intact, poking out from under the foreskin. Quick's sac hung full and heavy beneath his fireplug of a cock, while Merrick knew his own balls were slung higher in relation. Quick's legs showed more scars, more healed wounds, more muscle. Everything about Quick's body suggested stability, strength, and the ability to rise to any challenge. Compared to the other man, Merrick felt scrawny and undernourished, hopelessly callow and unworldly. If he had any doubt about who should be the alpha in this strange little pack the three of them had formed, those doubts had been effectively banished as if they had never been. He'd probably have to live three lifetimes to have anywhere near enough power, presence, or overall experience to be able to meet Quick as an equal in any respect.

Save one.

He sat on the bed as directed. Quick followed suit, his hip brushing Merrick's casually. This left Olivia towering over them both, her sex right at eye level, the scent of salt-covered flower petals emanating from her body to sting the air with the olfactory signature of her desire.

She sank languidly to her knees, eyes wide and breath coming fast and heavy. Opening her mouth, she leaned forward and engulfed Merrick's cock, taking as much of it into her mouth as she could manage. When his cock head met her tonsils, she pulled back with a low groan until just the tip of the crown remained between her full lips. He moaned lightly, encouraging her to take more of him if she wanted to. She slipped forward again and then let him fall from her mouth, turning to take Quick's dick.

He watched, fascinated, as she rolled back the foreskin covering Quick's shaft and swallowed his cock as greedily as she had his a moment before. She pumped her mouth around him twice and back, leaving her hand on his cock as she turned back to Merrick. The sweet agony of her lips parting and then pressing down on his length drew another groan from his throat. Olivia looked directly into his eyes, smiling around his cock with a wicked, throaty little chuckle as she began to suck him in earnest. With her other hand she stroked Quick's cock, drawing the darker purple flesh more proudly erect. Merrick quickly realized Quick wasn't as squatly built in the genital department as he'd first thought. The other man couldn't match his length, but he had nothing to be ashamed of, either. If Merrick had to guess, Quick probably lacked less than two centimeters to equal his length, but more than made up the difference in girth. Olivia's hand wasn't exactly petite, but against Quick's thickness, he made her appear downright tiny.

His cock popped free of Olivia's mouth with an audible noise and she brought her other hand up to massage his cock as she began to nurse on Quick again. The other man threw his head back, leaning his weight on his palms on the bed while Olivia suckled and lapped at his flesh. His eyes flickered closed, and for the first time since they had first met, Merrick thought he truly looked like a man at peace.

With every rotation between them, Olivia sucked longer and more greedily, her mouth and tongue working eagerly. As she pulled back on Merrick's shaft her cheeks hollowed out until he could feel the silken sides of her oral cavity enfolding him, only to push forward and take more of him than the previous thrust.

Finally she apparently grew tired of her sucking. Rising to her feet, she splayed her thighs to show the glistening trail of moisture that had leaked from her, the legacy of her desire.

"Pete, lay back," she commanded. "Merrick, get behind me."

Quick did as instructed, his prong towering in the air like the keep of a mighty fortress. Without hesitation Olivia clambered atop him, sinking her coral-pink pussy lips down around his thickness. She panted and flexed her ass as she adjusted her position. Satisfied, she allowed herself to fall forward.

"You want my ass, Merrick?"

He nodded, his throat suddenly too dry for speech.

Whether Olivia knew or simply assumed what his answer would be, she groaned. "Put that long, hard cock up my ass."

He studied the tableau on the bed. She reached behind her with both hands, parting her ass cheeks for his inspection. "Right here, Merrick," she pleaded. "Please."

The dark pink star of her asshole winked at him as if it had just told him a lascivious secret. He had always wanted to test her ass, but one thing or another had stopped him. Now that Pete had opened her up, he felt no such compunctions about taking her there.

He spat into his hand and then worked the saliva into her tender backside, taking care to do it the same way Pete had earlier. If he went too carefully, her back passage wouldn't open properly. If he tried to rush it, he would certainly hurt her. He wet his middle finger in his mouth, sucking on it to make sure it was well-moistened, and applied it to her winking entrance.

To his delight, she accepted him easily. Her inner muscles tightened around his finger, pulling him in. He realized abruptly that he could also feel Pete filling her pussy through the thin barrier of her skin between them, and his cock jerked angrily. Willing himself to be patient, he reached for the lubricant and proceeded to anoint both her ass and his cock.

Beneath him, Olivia began to move her hips delicately, inching forward only to fall back. Pete hissed out a curse as she impaled herself on him and then slid forward, allowing Merrick access to her passage. He twisted his finger in a corkscrewing motion, opening her further, and then pulled back. Spitting into his hand again, he slid the lube over his fingers, then returned to his task. The tight ring of muscle yielded before his fingers and Olivia reared back, taking his fingers and Pete's cock at the same time.

Olivia growled impatiently. "Please, Merrick. Please, God, put that cock in me now! I need it," she cried, wriggling atop Quick's hardness.

His patience evaporated like water on a boiling plate, and he swabbed the pre-come from the eye of his cock, massaging it into his flesh along with the lube and ensuring it was good and slick. Then he maneuvered around Pete's legs to give himself easy access. The head of his cock reddened as he butted against her asshole. Again Olivia's body opened to allow him ingress, and he slid forward until he was balanced on the balls of his feet, his cock halfway in.

Olivia now began to buck in earnest, driving him deeper with every contortion of her hips. She babbled and sobbed as Merrick finally sank home, his shaft rubbing against Pete's through the thin barrier of her body as she moved.

"Come on, guys, fuck me. I'm not made of glass. I can take both of you. Take me!" she ordered, and Merrick began to ram into her in earnest. Beneath him he felt Quick doing the same. The offset motions provided as much stimulus to Merrick as the eager throbbing of Olivia's ass contracting and relaxing around him.

"Oh, God," Olivia whimpered, shuddering into a long, slow climax. "Oh, yes, do it. Fuck my ass and my pussy, guys. Take me. Make me yours..."

Olivia's vulgar talk spurred Merrick on as nothing else could. He had never seen her so avid, although she certainly enjoyed sex on a regular basis. Her blunt, pornographic expression of her desires and her determination to be owned completely by the two men enflamed Merrick's desire. He pushed into her harder than before, snapping his hips in a loving rage as she bounded up and down on Quick.

With another titanic tremble, Olivia came again, or maybe it was just one long, strong climax. It didn't matter to Merrick. He just wanted to fuck her senseless and then shoot his come deep in this last unexplored frontier, proving she belonged to him as much as ever even if Quick had been there first. His balls slapped against her, and he was distantly aware that he was also striking Quick's flesh with every thrust. Surprisingly the idea didn't repulse him. Somehow it made the entire situation that much more enticingly erotic.

"Do you like that, Olivia? You like taking this long, hard cock in your ass?"

"Mm," Olivia purred. "Yes. You guys are fucking me so good, I love you both, please don't stop!"

Merrick leaned forward to find the perfect angle, and once again he and Quick locked eyes. Sweat beaded on Pete's forehead and the look on his face could teach gods a thing or two about determination.

Pete nodded.

Merrick returned the gesture.

He couldn't recall later whose hand found whose first. It didn't matter. Somehow they both wound up in the same spot, bearing down on Olivia's hips and anchoring her in place as they used her body. She shrieked and squealed, every climactic convulsion more powerful than the one before, unable to move but the tone of her cries telling him she was enjoying this new vista of exploration to the hilt.

She sank down on Pete once more. He grunted as he twitched inside her pussy. Olivia cut loose with a banshee wail, Quick's explosion triggering her own, and bore down on Merrick's cock with such amazing force. The combination of Olivia's body gripping him and the orgasmic trembles of the other two brought him to the edge. He squeezed his eyes closed and rasped out Olivia's name as he unleashed his essence into her tight ass.

## Chapter Nineteen

Olivia shifted under the warm pile of flesh her men had made around her. She had never felt so safe or completely free as she did with Merrick and Pete. Although her hips felt slightly bruised from their rough handling of her, she relished the languid ache.

The sensation of taking both their cocks at once, so close together, had been a revelation. She wouldn't have believed it was possible to come so hard or in so many different ways. Her position atop Pete had rubbed her clitoris just so to bring her off quickly, while his thick shaft struck all the perfect places inside her pussy to deepen and intensify her eruption. Adding Merrick's long cock in her ass to the mix had increased the texture of her climaxes, giving them a new dimension that she could all too easily picture becoming addictive.

Every so often, one or the other of the men applied a warm, soft kiss to her bare flesh. She shivered deliciously each time. The hedonistic plundering of her body seemed to have rewired her nervous system, linking every part of her directly to her pulsing sex. Despite the incredible intercourse, she knew if she had expressed any discomfort or desire to stop at all, the men would have done so readily and without hesitation or reproach.

_Thank God that wasn't necessary_ , she thought.

As much as she wished she could stay right where she was forever, safe and warm in this magical puppy pile of hard male flesh, nature called. Part of her was vaguely surprised she hadn't lost control of her bladder during that last, exquisite orgasm. Surely the human nervous system was never intended to experience so much sensory input at one time. Even so, she decided that she wanted that again, and soon. Maybe this time she'd have Merrick take her pussy while Pete fucked her ass again.

She smiled, her lips stretching with magnificent languor. She couldn't have said what triggered her gutter mouth, but she was glad of it. The vulgarities had provided her lovers the spur they needed to give her exactly what she wanted. Perhaps, before next time, she'd practice some even more coarse expressions and see how they reacted.

Emerging from beneath two sets of protective male arms entailed more swimming than any other action, but she finally managed it. Rolling to her feet, she hurried to the 'fresher. She made it just in time, and the relief of the pressure on her bladder was like a mini-orgasm in its own right.

As she sat there, she considered possible words she could use, shadings of tone and phrasing calculated to drive her lovers directly out of anything resembling a civilized train of thought. They were both alpha males in their own ways and rights, and she wanted all that alpha-ness using her, filling her with no thought for her pleasure.

Olivia's greatest pleasure in the arts of love was in giving freely of herself. While she couldn't deny it was sweet of her lovers to be so concerned about her satisfaction, they didn't know she reached the greatest heights of ecstasy when they stopped worrying about her and just did what came naturally. Something about bringing out the animal in them also brought out the best in her.

Mentally she tried out various combinations of vulgarisms. _Fuck my slutty pussy. Fuck my tight little asshole with your thick cock, Pete. Stick your cock in my cunt, Merrick. I want both of you to make me your slut_.

She smiled at her own "dirty" train of thought. Her boys were about to find out they had quite a handful to deal with!

Her self-amused lasciviousness boiled away as she heard the door chime. "Dammit!" she muttered, hurrying to finish her business. There was no time to dip into the shower, and it wouldn't matter anyway. She had no doubt her quarters smelled like a brothel, between her climaxes and the commingling of three different kinds of sweat and sexual fluid. Then again, why should she care? She was happy, dammit, even if she'd been thrust into a political nightmare and given far more power than she felt realistically prepared to handle. Why shouldn't she be able to flaunt having wrested _some_ kind of happiness from this otherwise wholly wretched situation?

That settled it, and she rose from the seat like an old-style rocket aiming for the exosphere. She ripped open the door and exploded into the main room completely unabashed by her nudity and perfectly prepared to administer a generous dose of hell to anyone who had a problem with it.

To her surprise she found Major Latimore standing there in urgent conference with Merrick and Pete, who were as naked as herself. To Latimore's credit, if he had any opinion one way or the other about their mutual state of dishabille he kept it behind his teeth.

"Ambassador, we have a problem."

She sighed. "Wait. Let me look shocked. Okay, I'm over it now." Sitting on the bed, she raised her hand in a resigned "gimme" gesture. "Let's have it."

Latimore chuckled at her gallows humor. "It's not that bad."

She raised an eyebrow. "Next time it's not that bad will be the first time since I got shoved into this benighted post. You'll forgive me if I'm skeptical."

He shook his head. "Totally understandable, but honestly, it's not that serious. It can even wait long enough for you to put on clothing, if you want." The look he gave her implied he wouldn't have minded being part of their ménage, but was far too polite to broach the subject unless she did.

Latimore was attractive enough, but he lacked that crucial, indefinable quality that made her entire being turn to water with Pete and Merrick. While she had no doubt he'd be an entertaining and athletic lover, he could never be more than a quick fling, a way to pass the time. She had too much respect for Latimore to engage in behavior, and too much love for her men to have any desire to.

"It's not necessary, Major." She used his title deliberately, to steer the conversation back to safer ground. "You've already seen the worst, so we're just burning time worrying about social convention."

"As you wish, Ambassador. The problem's simple: Word's out in Galacia that the Tides are coming. People are demanding to know what we intend to do about it."

She frowned. While she'd known news of that magnitude could hardly be hidden under a bushel forever, she had hoped to have a few more hours to formulate a plan of action that had a legitimate chance of success. As it was, her desperate idea to summon all the teleks and water-crafters in the city in the vague hope that they might be able to do something about it was just that: desperation talking, with no substance to it whatsoever.

"I suppose I'll have to address the people," she sighed. "We have two ways this can be handled, and only one seems to have a reasonable chance of success. Both ways carry risk, though, and I can't send the people blindly this way or that without giving them an overview of both and the chance to make up their own minds."

Latimore nodded, the ghost of a smile drawing up his lips. "I kinda thought you'd see it that way, Olivia. If you'd like, I can give you access to the emergency comm system so you can reach everyone at one time."

"I'd like." She stood and waved at the closet, spitting the word keyed to the magickstone set into the door. It hushed aside and she strode in, picking through her clothing for the most commanding and regal outfit she could find. In seconds she located it: a stark silver confection with frothy sheer material at the neckline, hanging from the shoulder, and across the midriff. With her magickstone tiara, she would cut a striking figure, especially if she topped off the ensemble with her white silk boots.

"Gentlemen, if you will both do me the favor of changing into your combat uniforms, we will reconvene with Major Latimore at his office in twenty minutes." She slanted a look at Latimore, warning him her desire had best be met. "Will that be acceptable?"

To her intense relief, he nodded. "Yes, Ambassador. My personnel will be instructed to expect you and expedite your passage by all reasonable means."

* * *

As soon as Latimore left, Pete began pulling on his pants. "Why, exactly, are we wearing battle dress?" he asked conversationally, sitting to pull on one boot.

"Because I want to reinforce to the people that this is not an ordinary situation and they cannot afford complacency." She plucked the tiara off the night table and put it on her head. "If I am wearing my best ambassador's uniform and both of you are in combat dress, they will understand just how serious the situation is without panicking them. Besides, we have no time for both of you to put on your dress uniforms, even if I thought that would help. We don't need to have the people dismiss our warnings as the squawking of strutting peacocks. We need them to react intelligently and decisively." _I hope this works_.

"And quickly," Merrick added. He was shrugging into a long-sleeved silk black tunic that hugged his body like a second skin. The matching pants lay beside him on the bed. "I'll need to stop by my quarters and grab my blades."

Pete stood, fully clothed and ready to go. "Okay. I need to do the same. I'll meet you back here in three minutes, okay?"

Olivia nodded. He hurried over and kissed her, his movements quick and distracted. She didn't take it personally. If she knew Pete at all, he was thinking more about how to keep a few million people alive than how to keep her happy right at the moment. She could hardly fault him for that, as tempting as it might be. She had duties to attend to as well.

Pete clattered out at a dead run, giving Merrick a cursory wave. He tracked the departing Marine with his eyes. "What the hell was that all about?"

"If I know him, he's planning how to give us the best chance of keeping our people safe. I'm willing to bet you a lifetime's ambassadorial stipend that I'm going to hate his plan, but he'll be right, whatever he comes up with." She turned and placed her hands on her hips. "Tell me you have some ideas."

He shrugged. "I wish. My plans usually revolve around how best to deal with a persnickety diplomat, not how to function a full-scale evacuation of Galacia. I always figured that was kind of GCS's bag, not mine."

She sighed. "Yeah. Me too. The problem is, now we're in the hot seat and the people are looking to us for answers. There's no contingency plan for something like this, so we're going to have to make something up on the fly and hope to hell it works. Otherwise, we're going to have a lot of dead bodies to bury."

"Look on the bright side, Liv." Merrick stood and put his arm around her, pulling her in for a kiss. When he let go, his eyes sparkled. "If things go badly enough, we'll be with them and won't have to worry about who's cleaning up the mess."

"Remind me to read you the definition of 'encouragement' some time, Merrick," she muttered. "Because that was _not_ it."

Just then Pete entered again. His blindingly polished Sam Browne belt hung low around his hips, supporting the holster for his blaster and the sheath for his Mameluke sword. He looked rather discomfited.

"I just got a message from Neville. He's preferring charges against me for a court martial. Says if I'd been doing what I was supposed to be doing, Al-Aziz would be alive."

"That's ridiculous!" Merrick huffed. "He had a heart attack."

"General Fritz Neville gets really pissy about waves, especially after Regina IV. He's looking for a scapegoat with high enough rank to be credible but low enough that there won't be any backsplash onto him." He made a bleating sound, jerking a thumb at his chest. "Meet the goat."

Olivia shook her head. "We don't have any formal extradition treaties with Terra. Even if Neville was right about your role in the ambassador's death, he will have to request you be bound over for trial. And Dusk has no intention of honoring the request of someone who has so obviously put his own self-interest ahead of that of an entire planet while pretending to deal peaceably and in good faith with us." She walked over and gave him a deep, passionate kiss. "Besides, I'm not giving one of the men I love up for a show trial. If you want to go back, I'll respect that. But you have to tell me so, Pete."

"Don't do it, Quick!" Merrick burst out.

"Relax," Pete said, encompassing them both. "I'm not doing anything of the sort. Neville burned all his credits with me already, so I'm not interested in jumping because he says 'frog.'" The troubled look crashed over his face again like a tidal wave. "Besides, we have to survive the Tides first, and from the sound of things that's more hypothetical than probable right now. If we survive, then we can plan strategy for dealing with Neville. For now, we have more immediate problems demanding our attention."

"Good," Olivia said, as if she'd never had a doubt. "Give me a kiss, both of you, and then we have a city to save and an assassin to unmask. If we're really clever about it, we can turn the whole thing into a Broadway musical while we're at it."

"Sarcasm does not become you, Madame Ambassador," Pete murmured as he pressed his lips to hers.

## Chapter Twenty

The security staffer studied her board once more and turned with a nod of satisfaction. "We're ready, Ambassador."

Pete flanked Olivia on the left, two precise paces behind her and one step to the side. Merrick mirrored his position on the right.

"I hope I'm ready for this," Olivia muttered, _sotto voce_.

"You are, Olivia." Pete tried to put all his faith in her, all his love and confidence, into the words. "We're right behind you."

She nodded ruefully. "Let's do it." She took a deep breath. In the monitors, Pete could see her composing her face into the correct, placid diplomatic mask that hid her emotions utterly. The act would have fooled someone who knew her casually, but he wasn't buying. Her slightly dilated pupils, shuttered eyes, and flaring nostrils told him everything he needed to know.

"Your attention please. Your attention please. Ambassador Olivia Gunnarson will be addressing the city in five... four... three... two... one..." The comm tech pointed at Olivia.

She took a deep breath and spoke. "I have lately been informed that the Tides of Astaroth are anticipated to begin within the next six hours," she said, looking directly into the tri-vid camera. "The DDC and myself, as well as Colonel Pedro Silva of the Terran Marine Corps, are looking into possible avenues to protect the city from this event.

"As you have no doubt heard, some of the storm surges from the Tides are predicted to reach three hundred meters in height and that the city's shielding only extends to a height of one hundred fifty meters. This is, unfortunately, true.

"Right now we have security crews out assessing the feasibility of installing temporary quartz shielding over critical areas of the city in preparation for the Tides. However, there is no guarantee this measure will work. Therefore, we have only two practical options for attempting to safeguard the populace."

She drew in a deep, slow breath and continued. "Our first option is to seek shelter beneath the city in the abandoned diamond mines. Major Latimore of GCS advises me that there are twelve different access points to the mines." She paused as the monitor switched to a map of Galacia's main level with gleaming green carats indicating the lifts. "This is probably the most certain way to ensure the city remains safe. However, there is a low but distinct possibility that if the Tides infiltrate the city, at least some of the water will wind up in the mines. This could potentially place everyone down there in jeopardy."

Pete admired her deftness in being careful not to claim anything as a hard and fast fact. From just about anyone else, he'd have probably been inclined to push their face in, but Olivia was telling the people nothing but the truth.

"This brings me to the second option. We are asking all magick users with the ability to control matter, especially water, to report to the Aerie to formulate a protection plan. No single telek or water-crafter could realistically be expected to hold back a tidal wave, but we feel it is likely that a number of us, acting in concert, could do so."

She broke off and looked directly into the camera again, her face radiating sincerity and concern. Pete could feel the emotion wafting off her in waves, and knew she was not feigning her feelings in the slightest.

"We cannot ask anyone who does not wish to aid the city to do so. Similarly, no one who does not wish to evacuate will be forced to. You are all intelligent, reasoning beings who have the right and duty to choose your own path.

"Colonel Silva will assist with the relocation of anyone who wishes to evacuate down to the mines with Ambassador Grissom. I will remain at the Aerie with Major Latimore and coordinate the telekinetic defenses."

_Like hell_! Pete wanted to rage, but knowing he was being broadcast onto every single holoscreen in the city simultaneously, he only set his jaw and promised himself he was going to have a long talk with his new lover as soon as the camera went dark.

"Anyone wishing to evacuate, please make your way to the nearest ingress point in a calm and orderly fashion. GCS personnel will be present to keep order. Looting and other forms of violence will not be tolerated." Just for a second, the clear shadow of pain fell over her face. Pete ached for her, guessing how much she hated having to think those words, never mind actually saying them.

"Anyone who wishes to assist with the defense of the city, please report to the Aerie. Again, we must insist on you doing so in a calm and orderly fashion. You will be briefed on what is expected and how we anticipate this emergency being dealt with. Please note that no one under the age of twenty-one may participate, simply because we do not wish to be responsible for unnecessary deaths of young people. If you are under the age of twenty-one, you must either report to the mines for evacuation or stay in your quarters."

Olivia closed her eyes for a moment, her diplomatic training failing her for a second in this moment of intensely acute pressure. With an obvious effort of will she forced the mask back into place. "As of three hours from now, there will be a mandatory curfew. You must be in your quarters, at the Aerie, or in the mines by that time. Anyone found in the corridors will be detained for their own safety.

"I thank you all in advance for your cooperation and your orderly movement to wherever you choose to ride out the emergency. I truly believe that with all of us working together, we will survive this, as we and our forebears have survived and flourished since humans first arrived on this planet. May God keep and watch over you all."

Olivia kept her face neutral until the screen showed the squared-off shield of the GCS. Then her composure crumbled. She sank to her knees, sobs wracking her body.

"How many people did I just condemn to death?" she asked.

Pete put his arms around her. "You haven't, Olivia," he retorted fiercely. "If they do anything but what common sense dictates they should be doing right now, that's on them and has nothing to do with you. You can't blame yourself for that."

The memory of how she'd said he and Merrick would be assisting with the evacuees rose up, choking his voice down to a growl. "With that said, I'd like to know exactly what the hell you were thinking saying Merrick and I were going to help with the evacuees. You think there's any way we're leaving you up here with a tidal wave on the way?"

She shook her head angrily. "Don't you understand? I have to be visible, and these people are going to need to know I'm right there with them, doing what I can. I don't want you and Merrick at risk, which is why you're going down to the mines and helping organize the refugees!"

Merrick jumped in, his tone quavering with tension. "No way, girly. Get this through your head. Where you go, I go. You are not, I repeat not, putting yourself in harm's way without Quick and me there watching your back."

Pete gave Merrick a grateful glance. Having an ally was always easier than trying to fight alone, especially when the person you were up against was a stubborn, pig-headed, ravishing, beautiful, big-hearted ally too. Maybe Pete couldn't make her see sense by himself, but the two of them together almost certainly could.

"I know you are not trying to tell me you're refusing a direct order, Ambassador." Olivia came down hard on the title. "I cannot tolerate insubordination during a planetary crisis. If you persist in this, you will be stripped of your authority and sent down to the mines under armed guard. Am I clear?"

Merrick recoiled as if she'd slapped him.

She closed her eyes as tears leaked from beneath her lids. "I won't risk you two, don't you get it? I love both of you too much to allow that."

Pete met Merrick's eyes. As one, the two closed in on Olivia, holding her close and lending her their strength.

Pete had a terrible sinking feeling she was going to need all of it she could muster.

* * *

"Unacceptable!" Grrrreelawk squawked as the last echoes of the public address system faded to nothing. "You said there was no possible way anyone would stumble across this place. Now they're sending humans down _en masse_ to hide from the Tides!"

"This was not my idea, Grrrreelawk. I was not consulted prior to the orders being given. If I had, I might have suggested people take cover in the mountains to the north, rather than hazard hiding here. It is clear that this plan was improvised. It's just foul luck that they elected to seek refuge here."

The T'riskin's throat worked, bulging hugely. "There is no place I can hide all the Raebteews, especially if the humans begin moving down immediately. This places all of us in an impermissible state of jeopardy. I must report in and make a contingency plan." The pebbled lids of his eyes drooped, a sign of extreme anger. "I may well be instructed to kill any human who enters here."

The assassin snorted. "That is not remotely feasible. You may manage to kill a number of them, but eventually they will overrun you with sheer force of numbers. We are far better off to withdraw the Raebteews into the deeper caverns, where humans are unlikely to go right away."

"The air down there is rife with sulfur and other toxins. The Raebteews cannot survive such an environment indefinitely." Grrrreelawk spread his talons in protest.

"That is no concern of mine. If we are unmasked, at best we all leave here empty-handed. At worst, we die."

Grrrreelawk's protruding eyes rolled as he considered that. "The Raebteews constitute a considerable investment in terms of energy expended, feeding, and basic care. My rulers will be most displeased if such a significant investment is wasted to no good end." He lashed the air with his tongue in agitation. "It could well mean war between our people, at a time when you have only minimal weapons to muster."

The assassin hissed a word and waved a hand. A large chunk of rock lifted off the ground and hovered menacingly less than four meters from the T'riskin's saurian head.

"I warned you before about pressing me, Grrrreelawk." The lizard-man reached nonchalantly toward his belt and the ugly but efficient particle-beam pistol holstered there. "Don't do that," the assassin added calmly. The boulder skittered a few paces closer before retreating again. "That will only get you killed, and your death is of profit to no one at this time. However, if I must send a message to your rulers to convey the depth of my displeasure, your head, crushed paper-flat and unencumbered by the rest of you, will suffice."

"You dare threaten me? I speak on behalf of my rulers. They will skin you alive for this insult!"

With a wintry smile, the assassin shrugged. "Your rulers have the same problem with us that we have with T'riskin. To us, you all look alike. Even allowing for my relatively uncommon phenotype, they would be hard-pressed to pick me out from the millions on this planet, and I strongly doubt you represent enough of a loss to them to make an all-out war a feasible or desirable course of action. It is far more likely they will elect to cut their losses and depart rather than run the risk that Terra will choose to intervene on our side."

Finally the T'riskin subsided.

"Perhaps there is a way to make a virtue of necessity, then. Especially if we can enlist the assistance of that warrant officer..." He trailed off, groping for the name.

"Kozlowski."

"Yes, him. Perhaps he might have some ideas."

"I will go to him now. You will see to getting the Raebteews out of sight and secured. I expect to return within two hours."

"Why the delay?"

"I have the Raebteews god-king under my thumb, but I can hardly leave him in my quarters. It will be far easier to relocate him in the confusion of evacuation than when the corridors are largely empty and anyone walking around risks protective detention. Besides, if the Raebteews see him, they will do whatever he commands. If he tells them to go into the tunnels, poisonous gasses or no, they will comply."

"This is an eventuality to be avoided."

"I am well aware of that, Grrrreelawk. Kindly accord me the courtesy of assuming I am at least as intelligent as you. However, I also find the prospect of spending years of my life as a prisoner an eventuality to be avoided. If I must err on one side or the other, I will choose the one that assures my freedom. This scheme is dispensable if necessary. I, and my freedom, are not. Is that clear?"

Grrrreelawk didn't answer. His eyes melted slowly from their usual muddy red to dull ochre, the equivalent of the blood draining from a human's face.

"Excellent."

## Chapter Twenty-One

"Has anyone seen Hui Sin Ling?" Merrick asked, peering around the packed DDC chamber. "I can't remember the last time I saw her."

"I haven't," Olivia said slowly. "Not since the Terran party landed." She looked around, her eyes troubled. "No, wait, I can. She was here when we met with Al-Aziz, but I haven't seen her since." She raised her voice. "Has anyone seen Hui? We need her here."

A general chorus of negation met the question, people turning to look at each other as if one of them might have morphed into Hui while they were otherwise occupied.

"She should be here, shouldn't she?" Pete asked.

"Yes, she should." Olivia rolled her shoulders and adjusted the sword belt at her hips, fidgeting to release nervous tension.

"One of us should go fetch her."

Olivia nodded reluctantly. "I need Merrick here, as he is official DDC personnel and we need to get started. If I give you the coordinates and her image, can you go find her?"

"Sure," Pete said. A wave of relief washed over him. He felt like a fifth wheel standing here at the head of the table. The dozens of quizzical or accusing eyes staring him down reminded him forcibly that he was an outsider, no matter how close he had become to their leader and her mate and bodyguard. At least if he ran on this errand, he'd feel like he was doing something useful.

"Okay." Olivia tapped the location of Hui's quarters onto her padd and handed it over. He gave it a quick glance. Next to the map was a pretty good tri-vid image of a pretty woman of Asian ancestry and the kind of cartoonish proportions adolescent males would gladly rub friction burns into their peckers over for hours on end. "It shouldn't take long. If she doesn't answer or you can't get access, contact Major Latimore and tell him I asked you to conduct a welfare check. That should guarantee a quick reaction time."

"Anything else?"

"Yes. If she's not there, search her quarters." Olivia glanced up as two more people hurried in and seated themselves. Her eyes flicked to the lone empty chair and her mouth tightened. "It is possible she came in contact with the assassin."

"I'm on it," he grunted. He glanced at the padd and the cutaway map from the DDC chamber to Hui's quarters. "This shouldn't take long."

"Thanks, Quick," Merrick said, favoring him with a brusque nod. Pete raised his hand in a swift farewell and headed for the door.

Once outside and away from the low, rushing cacophony of voices, the corridor was eerily quiet. The light hush of the ventilators and the faint astringent smell of the air treatment chemicals that stripped oxygen out of carbon dioxide assailed his senses, too sharp and clear by half to be bearable. Usually there was always someone nearby, even in the most remote corridors he'd seen in the city. Now his footsteps echoed like water dripping in a cave as he followed the map on the padd.

As he walked, he brooded. The faceless assassin who'd gotten to Trelawney seemed the most likely candidate to have killed Al-Aziz too. While he wasn't a suspicious person by nature, the simple fact that no one had seen this Hui since Pete's arrival argued strongly that one of two things must have happened. Either the assassin had taken Hui out for his own reasons...

Or _Hui_ was the assassin.

Nothing else tracked, try as he might to come up with another plausible scenario. Illness would have triggered a call to Medical. Injury, same as. That really narrowed down the probability that she was simply resting on a gurney somewhere. Could she have run, trying to flee the Tides? Maybe, but that would imply she knew about them before the general public did. Might she have been injured outside the city? Again, it was possible, but how would she have gotten there?

He pondered that for a second and then entered the non-emergency code for security.

"Galacia City Security, may I help you?" said the pretty comm tech who'd set up the public comm system for Olivia earlier.

"Yeah. Look, I need you to run a check and see if..." He checked the name again. "Hui Sin Ling has left the city. Ambassador Gunnarson is concerned about her."

The tech frowned. "One second, Colonel." She did something offscreen, shook her head, and looked back up. "No, sir. According to our records Ambassador Hui has not left Galacia in over a week."

"I was afraid you were going to say that. Listen, I'm on my way to her quarters. Can you scramble a couple of personnel for a welfare check?"

"Of course, Colonel. They will meet you."

He disconnected and turned the corner sharply. About three quarters of the way down the abandoned corridor was his destination, on the right. He broke into a jog and covered the distance in less than ten seconds. Pressing the chime control, he folded his hands behind him at parade rest and waited.

There was no answer.

Sweat popped out on his brow. He just hoped she wasn't dead. He'd seen enough corpses to last his lifetime and half a dozen more on top.

* * *

The assassin turned the corner... and flinched back with a whispered curse.

Gunnarson's new lap dog stood in the corridor, his posture rigid and tense. Around his waist he wore that ridiculous shiny belt. It clashed with the more casual cargo pants and basic black uniform tunic, but the businesslike blaster and the curved sword on either side more than offset the apparent lack of fashion sense.

Pasting on a smile, the assassin walked around the corner, slow and unhurried.

The man turned as he registered the movement, surprise evident on his face. "Ambassador Hui?"

"I am," she said breathlessly. "I just needed to stop in and freshen up before the DDC meeting."

"Kinda late for that, ma'am. The meeting's already started. Oliv —er, Ambassador Gunnarson —sent me to check on you."

"Oh, dear!" She raised a hand to her breast. With difficulty she suppressed her smile at the way his eyes tracked the movement. While she often hated being so top-heavy, it did have its compensations, not the least of which was the ability to immediately short-circuit a man's thinking processes at his beltline.

"I'm terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you, Colonel." It galled her, but she could play the simpering female when the occasion called for it. She kept her voice breathy and earnest, taking great pains not to betray the sudden racing of her pulse. "If you'll just give me a minute, I'll be glad to accompany you back to the chambers."

He nodded slowly, his eyebrows knitting over his nose. "If you wouldn't mind, ma'am, GCS's on the way. Since no one's heard from you, Ambassador Gunnarson requested a welfare check. They will want to search your quarters."

_NO_!

"I'm afraid I can't allow that, Colonel."

Something in her voice must have tipped him off, because he stepped out of the rest position and dropped a hand toward his blaster.

Before his hand got to his waist, she bore down on him with a mental assault. With no training in how to thwart such an attack, he was all but helpless against her. She forged a frigid finger of fear into a well-honed dagger and struck, freezing him where he stood. His eyes widened and his chest heaved as he stared at nothing. She took advantage of his distraction to wander through the vaults of his mind until she found exactly what she was looking for. With a dark mental laugh, she threw open the bars and barriers walling off his greatest and most terrifying experiences. Then she stepped past him and opened the door.

In seconds she stepped out again, the cage containing the Raebteews god-king floating beside her. On impulse she kissed the colonel on the lips. Lashing out with a stiff, straight leg, she swept his feet out from under him. Locked as he was in his own personal terror, he didn't even put out a hand to check his fall. He thudded to the floor like so much discarded meat.

She smiled and hurried down the corridor. The GCS would arrive at any moment, and she had no time to tend to him in a more permanent manner.

"I was getting tired of this game anyway," she murmured philosophically as she bolted for the nearest lift.

## Chapter Twenty-Two

Pete burned in his own private hell of memory.

Gunny Larsen eyed him as he clawed his way out of the drop pod. "You okay, Captain?"

"I got this, Gunny. Sitrep?"

"We have local hostiles inbound. Guess they saw us coming down."

"Backup?"

Larsen snorted. "Not fucking likely, Cap. We're about as alone as we can get out here. Nearest Marine detachment is three hundred klicks away. By the time they can drop their cocks and get over here, it'll be all over but the shouting."

He didn't add, "One way or the other." There was no need to. Pete got the message loud and clear.

Pete grimaced. "Okay, Gunny. Let's get dug in. Weapons crew ready?"

Larsen smiled. "Yup. Had 'em laced up for the last fifteen minutes."

"Good to go."

The proximity alert went off, and he pulled up a view from an overhead surveillance drone. To his horror, three crawlers were heading straight toward them.

He keyed his mike. "Top, drop the barrier. We've got incoming at seventy-three degrees in less than ninety seconds! Everyone man heavy artillery and prepare for battle. I'll be on the ground as quickly as I can. In the meantime, I'll give overhead support. Move!"

"Okay, guys, you heard the captain. Lock and load!"

In seconds the Marines on the ground clustered around their drop cannons. The egg-shaped capsules flowered open to reveal powerful portable rail guns. He cut in his jets and hovered above the incipient killing ground, high enough that he could make out the glint of sunlight off the mirror-bright barrels, the random flashes of color that marked his people, and the dust clouds billowing from the treads of the terrorists' crawlers.

Crawlers. That was a fucking joke. In top gear those monstrosities could cover three klicks a minute. Worse, they carried enough weaponry to lay waste to a dozen city blocks. He ran the equations coldly and came to an inescapable conclusion.

If he couldn't stop those crawlers, his people would die. And more than likely he'd join them.

He scanned the available options for weapons. One icon caught his eye and he smiled grimly. "Everyone get ready to hit the deck and put your shades on. Fire in the hole!"

Down below, the armored figures hurled themselves prone as one. He lined up the shot on the crawler in the middle and flexed his right index finger.

The suit responded to his command, firing off a low-yield tactical neutron missile. "Cut your suits!" he shouted. The contrail from the small missile flared to life and he set about turning off his own systems, tossing his head to bring the heavy eyeshades down over his face.

This left him dangerously vulnerable, hanging in the air with no control and no way to fire until the missile detonated. The electromagnetic pulse from the detonation would scramble his circuitry just as readily as the terrorists', although the Faraday cage of his armor would protect the infinitely more complex and delicate electrical systems that caused his brain to function. This would be small comfort, however, if his armor turned into a sophisticated metal coffin from which he could not escape. Powered armor lacked the amenities of the new-gen vacuum suits, which carried emergency food and water rations. Powered armor was intended specifically for people who needed to get in, kill anything that shit in a given area, and get out again.

The center vehicle blinked as the missile hit. A miniature mushroom cloud billowed up from the point of impact and the flash from the blast burned a ghostly afterimage onto his eyes even through the protective eye shields. The crawler on the left flipped three times to its right and stopped, wheels in the air. The other crawler was luckier. Because of the way it was angled, its rear end flew up and then crashed back down again. Its magnetic motor whined to a halt.

He cut on his suit's systems again and pulled himself into a ball, prepared for impact. His feet struck and he immediately rolled into a somersault, coming up with his arm cannon trained on the disabled crawler.

"Report!"

"Okay here, Cap."

"Good to go, Cap."

"All systems green, Captain." The last one was Hutchins, a raw recruit fresh out of infantry school. He hadn't learned to settle down yet, or that Silva's platoon tended to be a little more relaxed about protocol.

"All good, Cap," Gunny Larsen growled in his calm, gruff purr. "Looks like we've only got three hostiles active."

That was the best news Pete had had all day.

"Let's clean 'em out, then. Everyone lose your helmets, conserve your suit air. The atmosphere here is breathable, long as we don't get too much of it."

In unison the platoon's helmets telescoped back into the suits. The AI targeting would have been useful, but Silva had no way of knowing how long it would take for pickup and the self-contained units only had so much air. Note to self: talk to the squareheads about working out an oxygen-filtration system, he thought sardonically.

"Okay, ladies, listen up. And you, Wynn." Everyone turned toward him, faces grim and expectant. "Let's button down that crawler and then we'll see what's what. Get all the hostiles mopped up and we're back shipboard for evening chow. I hear they're having steak tonight, and y'all know how I love me some steak." He clapped his gauntlets together sharply. "Move —"

Just then, the world exploded.

Particle beams seared past his platoon. A couple of random shots got lucky. Hutchins collapsed in a twitching heap, his face burnt to a smoldering crater. Corporal Stinson went down with a neat hole cut into his armor. It was a bad shot, but not life-threatening. He could hold on long enough for them to deal with the problem.

Pete sighted down his arm and made a fist. His arm cannon whirred and deployed a mass of high-velocity, razor-sharp shards of depleted uranium. The heavy rounds punched cleanly through the side of the crawler, riddling it with shiny divots.

From the opposite side of the crawler, more particle beams stabbed out. This time the shots had the flailing inaccuracy of panic fire, intended only to suppress, not necessarily to be lethal.

He hunkered down, watching. He couldn't think about the kid he'd just gotten killed right now. Blinking sweat out of his eyes, he raised his cannon again, ready to rain down hell on the next thing that crossed his line of sight...

A lance of flame stabbed out from the crawler, splashing across Wynn's face. She screamed, throwing her hands up in a futile bid to shield herself. Skin ignited almost instantly, and the stink of burnt hair wafted to him from his position.

Scrambling to his feet, he activated his helmet again. He flicked through the menu until he found what he needed. His left hand came up almost by reflex, and he doused Wynn with fire-retardant liquid. To his relief, the flames died out almost immediately.

Wynn sank to her knees, half her face blackened and blistered, like meat left too long on a grill.

Pete howled and turned to the crawler, his cannon already engaged. High-velocity rounds poured out of the cannon. From a dim corner of his memory he heard his infantry instructor explaining why one never left the cannon running, but instead fired in bursts.

Fuck that.

He shot the cannon dry, shot until the miniature motor whined in protest. Then he clawed at his side for a magnetic grenade. It popped into his fist and he thumbed the arming control. With a gesture like a catapult slinging a boulder, he hurled the grenade, aiming for the top of the crawler.

The turret skewed forward and a load of mortars landed all around, turning the daylight to night and a reasonably idyllic patch of ground into molten hell. The barrage lasted less than ten seconds and then the grenade detonated.

A pressure wave slapped Pete's ears despite the baffles on his helmet. The blast blew him up and back like a leaf caught in the suction of a cyclone. He landed painfully on his back, the inertial dampeners overloaded from the violent movement, and stared up into the weird-colored sky.

His ears rang. Warm stickiness trickled from his nose. His bottom lip hurt and he tasted blood. Every muscle in his body screamed a symphony of pain.

Little by little, his breath returned. Pulling himself to his feet, he looked around.

Wynn was unconscious. Hutchins was still dead. Larsen lay on the ground, a huge, ragged dagger of metal sticking out of his armor just below his breastbone. His face had twisted into an agonized rictus.

"Get it out, Cap," the sergeant whispered. Bloody foam pooled on his lips.

"Hang on, Gunny. Medical's on the way."

The gunny laughed painfully. "Yeah. Time they drop their cocks, I'll be gone."

"Don't talk that way, Devil. You got me?"

He wheezed in a long breath. "With all respect, Cap, go fuck yourself. I know the score."

"Yeah. The score is, you're going to make it." Pete willed every ounce of assurance he could squeeze into the words, to make Larsen believe his chances of survival weren't nil and getting worse by the instant.

"Not this time, Cap." Larsen's eyelids fluttered. "Guess this is where I... get... off..."

The word ended on a death rattle.

His people were all dead or grievously wounded. If medical help didn't arrive, and now, might just as well say they were all dead.

All his fault.

He sat in the middle of the destruction, cradling Larsen's corpse, uncaring of the tears streaming down his face. It was only later, after the pickup squads arrived and turned the disaster into aftermath, that he learned the full extent of the disaster. Whole platoons had been wiped out to the last person. By that yardstick, Pete had actually done surprisingly well.

If it wasn't for the burn scars Wynn would carry for the rest of her life, he might actually have believed it.

## Chapter Twenty-Three

The doors opened, and Major Latimore huffed and puffed his way in. Draped across his shoulders, half shuffling, half being dragged, Pete sagged his way into the room. A pair of diplomats scurried to get out of the way, abandoning their seats. The move was echoed by nearly everyone in the chamber. Without ceremony Latimore dumped him into the nearest one. Pete's eyes rolled in their sockets, staring at nothing. A thin line of spittle drooled from the corner of his mouth. His chest shook and he panted out desperate little exhalations.

He was screaming soundlessly.

"What the hell happened?" Olivia shouted, vaulting onto the table and running across it. "Pete!"

Latimore shook his head. "It appears he was waiting at Ambassador Hui's door when she arrived. They spoke, he made a threatening move, and the next thing, he fell to the floor. She slipped past him, came out a couple seconds later with some kind of large box covered in black fabric, and ran. We traced her as far as the nearest lift to the mines, but then we lost her."

"Fuck!" Merrick cried. "Okay, Olivia, I'll stay with him. You need to get Kase up here, now."

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

"I'll bet you a cubic kilometer of diamonds against my anal virginity that he took a psychic attack." Merrick's tone contained no trace of humor.

"But —That's impossible!" Olivia sputtered. "You know we don't permit anyone in the DDC who has telepathic abilities. Besides, we're trained to shield against them."

"We are. He's not," Merrick retorted, stabbing a finger at Pete. "And someone who was smart enough and well-motivated enough could throw the tests. You know that, Liv."

"So how does Kase come into play?"

"Right now we need a telepath to figure out what was done to him and get it sorted out. She's the most powerful I know of, and we don't have time to pull someone else in who might fit the bill."

"Okay." She turned to Latimore. "Can you put out a city-wide trace on Kase Reed and get her up here as soon as possible?"

Before the words had fully left her mouth, he was already on his comm. He listened for a moment and then turned to her with a nod.

"They've already got her. She's on the way. They'll brief her in transit."

"Thank God," Olivia muttered. She reached down and smoothed her hand over Pete's sweaty brow. Tears welled in his eyes, and he murmured something unintelligible.

"Hold his shoulders," she whispered to Merrick, her eyes never leaving Pete's.

He knelt down and pressed gently on Pete's upper arms. "Come on, Quick. Stay with us. Fight it out. You're going to be okay, we just need you to hang in a little longer. We've got you, Quick."

Olivia's eyes blurred at the undisguised tenderness in Merrick's voice. Who would have thought, a mere week before, that this impossible-seeming love triangle could ever work? Now he talked to the other man like a comrade in arms, but with something deeper underlying his words. If she had to guess, she'd say what she heard there was love. Not the same kind she felt for Pete, or for Merrick, for that matter, but love nonetheless. It was the kind of love felt between men with a common cause, who trusted each other with something precious and knew the other one would move the cosmos in its orbit to preserve what they cared about.

As Merrick continued to talk, she dabbed at the tears on Pete's face as they broke forth. Around her the other diplomats conversed in hushed tones, undoubtedly speculating about just how important Pete was to her and Merrick and how he had achieved such status. She didn't care. Her universe revolved around one irrefutably real point right now, one dual axis embodied in the men in front of her. She stroked her suffering lover's face as Merrick offered his strength to his friend and companion.

" —in here."

The doors opened again and Kase burst through, rushing over to Pete, utterly oblivious to anything except Olivia. "What the hell happened?" she asked in an unconscious echo of Olivia's own words from minutes before.

"We don't know. Merrick thinks he was attacked by a telepath. Can you do anything about it?"

Kase's cornflower-blue gaze flicked up to Olivia's face. "I —maybe. It depends on what was done and how good the person was. Any idea who it was?"

"We're almost certain it was Hui Sin Ling."

Her nose scrunched up. "But —but that's not possible! She's a —"

"A DDC diplomat, yes, I know. We suspect she threw the tests somehow."

Kase shivered, but said nothing more. She put her hand on Pete's forehead, gently nudging Olivia out of the way. "Let me see what I can do." She swallowed. "I need you and Merrick to touch my arms. You're coming with me."

"With you? I can't go..."

"No, no. We're not leaving his side. But I need you to go in with me and help me bring him back."

"Will this help him?"

Kase's eyes narrowed. "It won't hurt, but having a _kaffeeklatsch_ while he's in distress almost certainly will. Now's not the time, Olivia."

Olivia swallowed. "Okay," she said feebly. She raised her hand from Pete's face to Olivia's arm. With the other she groped blindly for Merrick's hand. He caught it and squeezed gently as he completed the triangle, with Kase at the point nearest Pete.

"Clear everyone out. I can't afford distractions right now," Kase commanded, her voice hollow.

As if her words had pulled a plug, the members drained out of the chamber with brisk efficiency. She breathed deeply once, twice, and then gave a long, shuddering exhale.

"Get ready," she said.

Olivia's consciousness fragmented as Kase guided them forward, into Pete's mind.

## Chapter Twenty-Four

Merrick looked around with a low whistle. There was Pete, wearing a vicious-looking power suit and cradling a corpse. Smears of blood and low wails of anguish, bits and pieces of what had lately been conveyances and corpses alike littered the battlefield.

" —sorry, Gunny," Pete moaned as fast-flowing rivers of moisture poured down his cheeks. "Jesus Christ, I'm so fucking sorry..."

The corpse disappeared, and a group of people in powered armor struggled to deploy portable rail guns. From somewhere off to the right, they heard the whining groan of crawlers.

Kase appeared in front of him, her spine rigidly set. "This is exactly what I expected, more or less."

"What does that mean?" Olivia demanded, stepping forward. "More or less?"

"It was the quickest and most direct way to paralyze him. She thrust his memory into a feedback loop of the most demoralizing, debilitating moment in his life. It threw him off balance and probably played on his post-traumatic stress disorder, paralyzing him. We're just lucky she didn't kill him outright, and that you had the presence of mind to call for me."

"We have to hurry," Merrick pressed. He had the horrible feeling that every second spent inside Pete's mind sheared off another chunk of his friend's sanity. How long had he endured this horror already? How much longer did he have left?

"I already am, Merrick." Kase's voice was distant but not unkind. "Remember we're outside the normal flow of time, in the stream of Pete's thoughts. While things seem to be moving very slowly here, in actuality we're just moving very fast in comparison. Give me another few seconds and I'll have... ah." She recoiled slightly, her posture radiating annoyance. "You unbelievable _bitch_ ," she snarled at nobody present. With a twirl of her fingers, she formed an asymmetrical sign in brilliant fuchsia, searing it onto the air.

Time slowed to a crawl, and then stopped. To the left, about fifty meters away, Merrick saw Pete's helmet retract into his armor. Then Pete froze in a kneeling position.

Kase spoke again. This time there was nothing vague about her voice. It rang with authority and determination.

"Colonel Pedro Silva!" she cried. "This is not real. You are not where you believe yourself to be. You must come back..."

Pete's voice thundered back, shaking the ground around them.

"I failed them."

Kase planted one foot on thin air, as if climbing a step, and then the other. She stood there, arms spread wide, feet shoulder-width apart, palms toward Pete's memory double. "Olivia and Merrick are here, Pete. They want to help you. They asked me to help you. But I can't do that unless you realize none of this is real."

"How do I know you're telling the truth? You could be Hui, trying to screw with my head again..." His voice trailed off as the inconsistency in what he was seeing apparently sunk in. With that thought, the battlefield faded from view. Now they stood in the corridor, seeing Pete's confrontation with Hui through his own eyes.

Kase's voice ripped the air. "Olivia and Merrick say they love you, and they want you to come back, Pete. Hui's binding has only the power _you_ give it. You must believe me." She waved her left hand back and forth in a sharp beckoning motion.

Olivia raised her voice as well. "Pete, can you hear me?"

"Olivia?" Now Pete's mental call registered not only suspicion, but surprise.

"I'm here. So is Merrick. Pete, listen to me. Kase thinks she knows what Hui hit you with. Do what she tells you and come back to us. Right now you're in the DDC chamber. It's just the four of us, Pete. Please."

"Merrick? Are you there?"

Merrick nodded. "Yeah, Quick. I'm here."

"Tell me the truth. Are you jealous of my feelings for Olivia?"

Of all the questions he'd expected, that one didn't even make the list. His stomach flopped lazily. "Pete —"

"No." Pete's voice came cold and sharp. "I already know the answer, but I want you to tell me. I'll know if you're lying, and chalk this up to another one of Hui's tricks."

Merrick held his hands out in supplication. Clearly, he had no choice but to say it once and for all, and let the chips fall where they may. "Okay, Quick. Yes, I'm jealous of your feelings for her. I'm afraid you'll take her away from me. I know you don't intend to, or want to, but at some point I'm afraid it'll happen anyway." Olivia glanced over at him pointedly. He caught the movement out of the corner of his eyes, but ignored it. "But at the same time, I know you'll go to the mat for her if it comes to that. I know you'll take care of her. I know you love her, Quick. You make her happy, maybe in a different way than I do, but she cares about you."

He shuffled his feet a little. "I don't want to be jealous of you, man, but I can't help it. Watching you fuck her earlier was the sexiest, most infuriating thing I've ever seen. Part of me wanted to cheer you on, and part of me wanted to snap your fucking neck. The worst of it is, I don't know which part was stronger.

"Then we both had her, you in her pussy and me up her ass. I didn't want to touch you, didn't want to look at you, but I had no choice. And somewhere in the middle, I realized it didn't matter. What mattered was touching her, loving her, pleasing her. So what if we unintentionally rubbed balls in the middle of that? I'd do it all over again in a second, knowing it makes her happy. I'd do just about anything for her, as long as I don't have to leave her behind."

Pete appeared, his expression hagridden and careworn. "I would never ask that of you, Merrick. You were here first. I've..." He looked off into the distance of the corridor. "I've learned a lot from you two, about what love is and can be, and about how far some people will go to keep a lover happy. I'd never really considered what that might mean before, but standing here now, it seems obvious." He turned to Merrick and held out his hand. "I love her, man."

"I do too, Quick." He ignored the hand and gathered Pete into a firm hug. Pete flinched for a moment, but then returned the embrace. "We'll need to set some boundaries. I still want some time alone with her from time to time."

"Same goes for me," Pete shot back. "But I think we can make this work."

Merrick thumped Pete soundly on the back and then pulled away. "How you feeling, Quick?"

Pete gnawed his lower lip, considering the question. "I actually feel okay right now. Not great, but like I can function."

Olivia rushed up and hurled herself into Pete's arms. "Oh, God, Pete... I was so scared for you!"

Pete grunted at the force of the impact. Merrick raised an eyebrow at Kase, silently asking for an explanation.

She smiled crookedly. Mingled pleasure and discomfiture at her friend's behavior played across her face. "Even in the mind, certain things have mass and weight. The difference is that in the mind, those things are ideas and feelings rather than physical objects. What you're seeing is the force of Olivia's love for him. I have no idea how they bonded so strongly in such a short amount of time, but I do know there's not much that could break that bond."

Merrick nodded. "I —I think I understand."

She inclined her head. "Then go to them, and let's get you back where you belong. There's still a lot of work to do."

Without a word, Merrick walked up to Pete and put his arms around both the other man and Olivia. "You ready to go back, Quick?"

Pete's mouth compressed into a thin, tight line. His eyes blazed with righteous wrath.

"I still need to settle accounts with the bitch who did this."

Merrick looked over his shoulder at Kase. She bobbed her head in encouragement.

"Then let's get back, and we'll deal with Hui together."

Pete looked around the corridor, slowly.

"I think I've had enough of this place for a while. And —" He broke off in a shudder. " —That other one, too."

Olivia leaned down to kiss him. They were still clinched together as Kase said another word...

* * *

Hui Sin Ling jammed the down control for the lift frantically. She had just missed three security guards on a sweep. At this point, it was unsafe to assume that the GCS did not know, or at least suspect, that she was the assassin. Delay at this point could be deadly.

Kozlowski pounded around the corner. "Hold up!" he bellowed.

She froze. If the warrant officer's call didn't draw every security officer within a kilometer, it would be a damned miracle. On the other hand, she needed to confer with him anyway. This unfortunately timed entrance might actually work in her favor.

For all her talents, she really shone in the province of turning problems to her advantage.

She depressed the hold control and mashed on it with her thumb, tossing her head in a silent command for him to hurry. To his credit, he covered the ground faster than she'd expected. She let the button go three paces before he entered the lift, and the gate nearly cut him in half as he bolted through.

"Goddamnit, are you fucking crazy?"

"We don't have time for your histrionics," she said calmly as the lift lurched downward. "I didn't dare take the chance that Security wasn't right on your heels. Besides, you made it through alive."

"No thanks to you," he grumbled.

"We have larger problems. Silva knows about me now."

"WHAT!"

"Calm down," she snapped. "See above, regarding histrionics and not having time for them. It was just my bad luck that I went to collect this —" She shook the cloth-covered cage, provoking a querulous squeaking from within. " —and found him standing right outside my quarters. I had no choice but to take him down. It's even odds that they've found him. If that's the case, we need to get to cover quickly. This is about to get very dangerous."

"No shit." Kozlowski's craggy face drooped into a mask of concern. "And what about the T'riskin?"

She sighed. "Grrrreelawk will _not_ be pleased," she predicted.

## Chapter Twenty-Five

It began with a single cloud.

The high, thin cirrus cloud wafted over the northern horizon, easily mistaken for a wisp of smoke in the perpetual gloom. Studying the cloud through his binoculars, Pete hummed a snippet of a song that had been popular on Rigel II during his childhood. His eyes roamed over the holos that gave the cloud's airspeed, direction, and other information.

The skies over Galacia had been perfectly clear since he'd first arrived with the Terran diplomatic embassy. The stars were clearly visible anytime, except over the vast swath of deep purple sky where Astaroth, Dusk's satellite, blotted them out. Now that lone cloud hung high over the ocean as if in suspended animation, an ethereal harbinger.

Pete shivered despite the thirty-four-degree wind from the south-southwest. The moist smell of briny water nibbled at his nostrils, borne on the air. Moment by moment the wind gained momentum, going from a playful zephyr to a stiff breeze. If the trend continued, the gusts would become a full-on gale before another hour had passed.

He handed off the binocs to Olivia. "Look."

She peered through the eyepieces and muttered darkly to herself. The wind carried her words away, but the snarling tone was unmistakable. Then she passed the binocs to Merrick, on her right, and he repeated the process.

"That's going to be a problem," he called over the wind. "Looks like the meteorologists were right."

"Right now we just have wind. I won't really get concerned until the waves reach thirty meters. Until then, this is just another winter storm."

Pete raised an eyebrow. "How can you tell it's winter?"

Olivia smiled. "By the constellations. It's really an arbitrary designation, but the first settlers assumed it was planetary summer when they arrived and mapped the sky accordingly. We've stuck with it because of tradition, not scientific fact."

Pete looked down as Olivia and Merrick talked back and forth. The balcony was ringed with a sturdy titanium balustrade and supported by gleaming metal plinths on either side. The dizzying drop to the bottom of the Aerie's smooth sides twinkled with lights in random flickers of red, white, blue, yellow, and even green here and there. Past the jagged teeth of the black spires, he could just make out the beach and the ocean beyond. From up here the waves looked like friendly, lapping breakers, but he mentally adjusted for the elevation of his vantage point and realized the waves must be topping twelve meters.

He swallowed as his stomach writhed uneasily. Despite the intensity of his drop capsule training, he'd never really liked heights very much. Even standing on a three-meter ladder sometimes made his guts twinge. The only time he never really noticed heights was when he was either going into an active combat zone or performing aerial recon. In such situations, his chief interest lay in getting himself and the people under his command home alive.

"Looks like the waves are getting bigger."

Olivia took back the binocs and peered down. After a long moment, she nodded.

"I'm starting to see fourteen-meter waves coming in at regular intervals. We need to organize the evacuation and the defenses."

She turned to him, and her violet eyes washed indigo in the uncertain light. The fey feeling she had struck him with on first meeting welled up again. Just like before, his breathing froze at the sight of her beauty. Unlike before, his heart twinged in time with his lungs. He loved this woman and the prickly man standing beside her in different ways, but there was no denying the intensity of the emotion.

He leaned forward and kissed her deeply, wanting to burn his taste onto her tongue and ensure she would not taste anything but him. Even knowing Merrick would do the same only seconds from now, he could not resist the chance to take her entirely for his own. She pulled back, breathless and flushed. Pete smiled at her.

"I need to get down to the mines and see about organizing the refugees. You two are going to be up here, right?"

Merrick wrapped his arm around Olivia's waist as he nodded affirmation. Without making an issue of it, the placement of his arm claimed her just as effectively as Pete's kiss did. He smiled to show there were no hard feelings.

"So, when do you want to regroup?"

A flash of something pale and vertical in the ocean drew Pete's attention. He brought up the binocs again and zeroed in on the anomaly. As the image resolved into painful clarity, he gasped.

He had never seen anything to compare to the monstrous, vaguely horse-headed creature rearing up out of the deep. Its eyes gleamed huge and opalescent over a pronounced snout, much like that of a Terran alligator. Large, frilled gills flared on either side of the base of its skull. It opened its mouth, revealing fangs so huge and jagged that the rock spires ashore appeared positively dull by comparison. Along its underbelly, immense, pale scales reared up in ridges, sparkling with moisture.

"What the hell is that?" Pete demanded.

Olivia had obviously followed the direction of his stare. "We call it a kraken, after the ancient Terran myth. It's somewhat like a sea serpent, but it has tentacles."

"What does it eat?"

Olivia shivered. "As far as we've been able to determine, anything. It's extremely rare to see one this close in to shore. They usually prefer deeper water. When they do come in close to shore, we tend to steer clear until we're certain they're gone."

"Uh-huh," Pete grunted.

Merrick smiled, showing a gratuitous amount of teeth. "Don't worry, Quick. We'll keep the big, bad monster from eating you."

Pete made a friendly suggestion that had more to do with Merrick's genitals than his digestive apparatus.

Merrick and Olivia both laughed. Pete grinned sheepishly, passing off the binocs again.

"Okay. I'm heading below. I'll call you —" he held up his wrist comm and waved it meaningfully, " —once I've got everything settled down in the mines."

"Be careful, Pete," Olivia said, her body language reluctant.

He nodded. "Always."

## Chapter Twenty-Six

"Are they all secured?" Hui Sin Ling asked senior warrant officer Jason Kozlowski.

"Yeah. I took them down a tunnel that only had trace amounts of toxins. As long as we don't get too many people down here, we'll be okay." Kozlowski stuck a finger in his nose and rummaged around. Withdrawing it, he made a flicking motion. He eyed her with a light in his eyes she was only too familiar with.

She digested the statement, fighting down a feeling of disgust. When Hui took a lover, she did so for the benefits and potential advancement her conquest's power might offer. Kozlowski offered neither. He was an errand boy, a lackey to higher and more authoritative powers. Any of them would prove a worthy conquest. Kozlowski would be nothing but an inconvenience.

She entertained a brief speculative scenario. It was only too easy to imagine him returning to their modest quarters drunk again while she stirred a pot of something that had long since boiled itself into an unrecognizable slop, working around her swollen belly and wincing at her aching feet as she plodded her way through her fourth or fifth pregnancy while children whined and howled about dirty diapers or the perceived misconduct of their siblings.

_Blech_.

Aloud she said, "Good." With a quick twisting motion, she brought her dagger up to the Navy warrant's throat.

His face turned satisfyingly pallid and slack as the point tickled his throat. A tiny rivulet of deep crimson oozed from the contact point. He made a small croaking sound, but otherwise didn't so much as twitch a finger.

_Wise decision_.

"If you ever look anywhere on my body but my face again, Warrant Officer, I _will_ slit your throat and find a way to explain it away as an accident," she purred, pressing her body against his in a parody of sexual desire. "Do we understand each other?"

His strangled reply and the desperation in his face made her smile.

"Good." Sheathing the dagger, she leaned against the railing in a deliberate, casual manner. "Where are they?"

He rubbed at his throat ruefully. Even without her psionic abilities, she could easily read his angry thoughts. Various forms of the idea "Bitch," undoubtedly, with some more vulgar and furious curses thrown in just for some seasoning. "It won't be fun, and the Raebteews will need time to recover, but they're unlikely to suffer any lasting effects as long as they're not down there for more than forty-eight hours."

She nodded thoughtfully, reaching out with her mind to locate the caged god-king. He huddled in the enclosure, his pale fur encrusted with his own filth, his thoughts fractured but uniformly fearful as he willed his people to comply with his desires. The poor, half-insane creature never realized his desires were no longer his own, but instead belonged to Hui to do with as she saw fit.

"I have them well in hand for now." Pushing off the railing, she started to sashay away. "We need to hide before the evacuees start filtering down. Where's Grrrreelawk?"

"He said something about needing to check in. I don't trust him at all."

"Nor should you," she assured him, turning back with a hooked eyebrow. "If he believes you are in any danger of becoming a liability, he will gut you and leave your disemboweled corpse as a warning to your replacement." She raised the dagger again, showing him the glistening droplet of his own blood staining the tip. "Just like I will. The wisest thing you can do right now is exactly as you are told, without turning your back to anyone. Believe it or not, General Neville is not your greatest concern right now."

"Speaking of him, I need to make contact with him. He needs to know that Silva's gone off the reservation."

She sighed. "How long will that take?"

"Depends on how big a fit he decides to throw. Until Grrrreelawk gets back, you're all we've got to keep the Raebteews hidden and in line." Kozlowski turned to the lifts, then turned back. "And remember, Hui. I am just as dangerous to you as you are to me. We would do far better to keep our alliance friendly instead of being at each other's throats."

"I'm not overly concerned about your chances of getting at my throat, Kozlowski," Hui said coolly. "Remember that."

Kozlowski's mouth crashed into an expression that suggested he'd just bitten into something horrifically bitter. The look on his face teased a perverse smile onto Hui's as the lift closed.

* * *

"You'd better have good news for me, Kozlowski."

Neville's ramrod-erect posture and the way he clasped his hands before him on his immaculate desk suggested he was mentally throttling someone slowly. Kozlowski gulped, even though the general could no more touch him here than he could transform himself into a unicorn. Making an effort, he kept his face even. From the general's impatient glance, he inferred he just looked like he had indigestion.

"Not exactly, sir."

A slow burn of violent magenta worked its way up from Neville's collar, creeping up to his forehead. In contrast to the sudden throbbing of a vein in his forehead and the riot of apoplectic color, Neville kept his voice cool and even.

"Explain."

Kozlowski explained about the current problems with the Raebteews; the dead ambassador; Silva's apparent defection to the Dusk side; the Tides and what they could potentially mean; and about the crazy bitch who'd cut him. Neville took it all in, his silence growing stonier and icier with every syllable. Kozlowski forced himself to talk slow and calm, even though he wanted nothing more than to blurt it all out and disconnect before Neville could find a way to shoot him through the holo.

"Senior Warrant Officer Kozlowski," the general snapped when he was done, every letter dripping chilled acid, "you are to assume command of this situation any way you deem necessary. If you have to kill Hui, you do it. If you have to kill the T'riskin, you do that instead. I don't care if the Raebteews all drop fucking dead, but they'll damn well mine out the gallartium first —"

"There's more, sir," Kozlowski interrupted. He relayed what Grrrreelawk had said about the T'riskin possibly massing for an attack on top of everything else.

Neville's already ruddy complexion started to edge over into an alarming hue of plum.

"You tell that lizard that if his people so much as flick their nictating membranes at Dusk in a way I don't like, I'll personally come out there and skin every last one of them right down to the hatchlings. The Interstellar Confederacy will not tolerate any interference on Dusk soil. They can either retain their status as valued but clandestine trading partners, or they can die. It's all the same to me."

This wasn't Kozlowski's first rodeo with Neville's infamous temper. He had long since learned the best way to deal with Neville was to let him get it out of his system and then adopt a more moderate stance. Although, with as many ways as this mission had already gone pear-shaped, he judged it somewhat more than merely possible that Neville might not just be blowing off rhetorical steam this time around.

"And what about Silva?"

Neville raised one hand impatiently, his finger aiming at the screen as if trying to poke Kozlowski in the chest. "If he doesn't make himself a pain in the rectum, leave him be. I'll deal with him after the fact. If he tries to interfere directly with the operation, you or Hui are to make it look right."

Kozlowski nodded grimly. "Right" was the general's polite euphemism for murder disguised as suicide. The general's eyes sharpened as he leaned toward the holo pickup, giving Kozlowski an excellent view of the craggy landscape of Neville's forehead. "Unless, that is, you don't think you can handle one loose-cannon Marine who's gone off the rails?"

"I can handle it." The edge of a plan curled up in the back of Kozlowski's mind. If he played his cards right, he could eliminate both that arrogant bitch Hui and the jumped-up colonel in one shot. Besides, Hui's share of the credits would spend just as easily in his pocket as hers. And, really, what had she done to earn her keep? She _said_ she was keeping the mental screws on the Raebteews god-king, but what if she was lying? That was women all over the goddamn galaxy: lying bitches who would say whatever was convenient, only to fuck you over when you least expected it. Women and Marines had a lot in common, he mused.

"You'd better."

"Sir." Although he wasn't actually in the general's presence, Kozlowski stiffened to attention.

"And this better be the last one of these communications I get until it's done."

Kozlowski started to retort that he probably wouldn't be able to send another communiqué until the Tides were over anyway, but Neville severed the connection before he could get out more than a syllable.

He blinked rapidly, leaning back in the ergonomic chair with a long-suffering sigh. This last talk had left him with no illusions about his relative importance in the mission, and he knew if it came down to cases, Neville wouldn't think twice about having him court-martialed... or vanished.

The thought brought him out of the chair as readily as if he'd just taken an electric shock. He shuffled across the deck to the wall safe in his stateroom and pressed his thumb to it. The lock clicked and a beam of green light shot out. With a barely contained growl of irritation, he put his eye to the retinal scanner. The beam stabbed into his eye like an emerald scalpel and then subsided. The lock clicked and whirred again, thinking it over, and then the door swung smoothly and silently open. He peered inside and took the case within, made of high-density plas, out of its receptacle.

A quick, smooth pressure on the latch points with the balls of his fingers and the heel of his thumb brought the lid up. He reached down and curled his hand around the small object inside, lifting it into the light.

The clumsy-looking little weapon glinted evilly in the warm light from the overhead panels. Although it felt unnaturally tiny in Kozlowski's hand, he knew its size belied the actual danger. He had seen this weapon in action in the field, and it was perfectly capable of blowing a Cape buffalo's head off with one shot. It had made one hell of a mess and almost instantly barbecued the hapless animal, but Kozlowski didn't care about tidiness. This was a no-bullshit, accept-no-substitutes killer's weapon that was designed to do what it did with lethal efficiency and send a potent message to boot.

Kozlowski worked the action smoothly with his free thumb and forefinger. Ten particle charges rested snugly in the magazine. When he depressed the stumpy little firing stub, the weapon would discharge all of them simultaneously, effectively detonating a tiny miniature sun upon impact with any solid object. The problem was, it was not designed for long-range work. If he missed and the particle explosion hit, say, a support beam, it could bring half the city down on his head. He'd have to be no more than two meters away and make damn sure he didn't miss. Worse, once he fired it, the magazine would fuse hopelessly into the action, melting the once-lethal weapon into so much slag in seconds. The weapon was designed as a throwaway piece... and you'd best be quick about throwing it away once you fired it!

Of course, if he could manipulate the devil dog and the assassin into taking each other out, he wouldn't need to resort to this more certain but far cruder method of getting the job done. But Kozlowski hadn't gotten where he was by not making sure he had multiple methods of achieving any given objective.

## Chapter Twenty-Seven

Merrick watched Olivia as the first wave of would-be defenders mustered on the wide, deep-mouthed balcony that opened onto the DDC chambers. From this vantage point, all of Galacia looked very tiny indeed. It was a sobering reminder that if anything went wrong, they were all a very, very long way up. Even with the more frail pull of Dusk's gravity on human physiology, which explained why most Duskers were built so tall and slender compared to Terran stock, a fall from that height would kill readily enough... and the faller would have a good long while to anticipate the end result of the drop before it finally arrived.

He shuddered and turned away from the balcony. Olivia knelt in front of a little redheaded boy whose face was set in a doggedly determined expression that looked like one harsh word could reduce the mask to tears.

"But I wanna stay!" the boy wailed, cradling a teddy bear. "I wanna help with the city too! Mama says I'm gonna be a powerful telefap!" he announced proudly. He jabbed his stubby little thumb, the one not currently engaged in clutching his fuzzy friend, against his chest, his angst momentarily forgotten. "She says Ima move mountains one day!" His bottom lip pooched out as he remembered he was being told he was just a kid.

"I know you want to stay," Olivia soothed. "But we can't let everyone who wants to help stay. If we did, do you know what would happen?"

The boy shook his head, his eyes wide. Merrick would have bet both testicles and the pouch they rode in that the kid had no idea who he was talking to, besides Someone Very Important and Very Pretty. Even so, the boy hung on Olivia's every word as if her voice contained a hypnotic suggestion.

For all Merrick knew, it might. Magick being what it was, such things were far from unheard of. Since such magickal talents were considered passive and not active, unlike telepathy, she could easily have entered the DDC even with such a potent advantage and shrugged off any opposition by simply saying, "I didn't know."

"If everyone were allowed to stay, there would be no room. People would get hurt. Has your mama or your papa ever stepped on you by accident?"

He nodded emphatically, his big blue eyes wide and earnest. "Uh-huh! Daddy said it was an assident, but that..." His pug nose screwed up in thought as he tried to remember exactly what Daddy had said. Then he brightened. "He said if I hadn't been under his feet, I wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"Okay. Now imagine that, only with a few dozen people who are trying to do something very difficult. Have you ever lifted something really heavy?"

"Yeah! One time I lifted one of Daddy's weights. It was really hard." The vein of pride in his voice was wide and shiny enough to be mistaken for diamonds. "But I did it."

"Now imagine that you had someone getting under your feet while you were lifting that weight. Could you, or they, have gotten hurt?"

He frowned so gravely Merrick had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. "Yeah," he finally conceded.

"And you don't want to get hurt, or to hurt anyone else, do you?"

"Guess not," he sighed.

"Okay. So let's find your —"

"James! There you are!" A harried-looking woman with her frizzy brown hair thrown back in an inattentive ponytail rushed up. She snatched up the child, her eyes frantic with worry. "I've been looking all over for you." She turned her attention to Olivia. "I'm so sorry, Ambassador. I hope James wasn't any trouble."

Olivia shook her head solemnly. Merrick knew her well enough to recognize the laughter she fought valiantly to conceal beneath the somber expression. "Not at all, ma'am. He just wants to help. He's a very brave child. When this" —she waved her fingers in a vague gesture encompassing not only the balcony and everyone on it, but the crisis as a whole " —is over, perhaps we can have a word. Such courage deserves to be rewarded, after all."

The brunette paled visibly. "Ambassador, he didn't do anything wrong —"

Olivia did laugh, then, the sound warm and kind. She raised her hand and placed it gently on the other woman's shoulder. "He didn't. I think it's important for the very brave among us, even our youngest, to be recognized and to see that bravery is a good thing. Won't you bring him to the chambers once this is all over?"

The mother floundered for a moment, her mouth opening and closing comically. "I —well, I... yes, of course."

"Thank you." Olivia smiled. "And now, you and James need to get down to the mines. Look for Colonel Silva. He's a Terran Marine. He'll help both of you get to safety."

She repeated the name carefully. "Colonel Silva." Turning slightly, she nodded at a man with hair the color of copper and a bristly beard. His torso rippled with enough muscle to make him look like he could easily punch through the metal walls without even feeling it. "Please take care of my husband."

Merrick winced. That was exactly the wrong thing for the woman to say. Olivia would promise, because that was the kind of woman she was, and then if anything went wrong and the man somehow didn't come home safely, she would torture herself over it mercilessly.

Olivia sighed. "I wish I could promise that, ma'am. We're trying to make this as safe as possible, but I can't guarantee nothing will happen. All I can say is that everyone here is very brave to stand their ground, and put themselves at risk on behalf of everyone in the city. We will all do everything we can to make sure everyone comes back safely."

James' mother inclined her head pensively. "I can't ask for more than that." Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she blinked them back. "Come on, James. We need to go find Colonel Silva." Merrick clearly heard the catch in her voice, but the brave smile she gave her son belied her true feelings. "This will be fun. It'll be like playing a really big game of hide and seek... and we get to be it!"

James cheered and waved his pudgy arms at Olivia as his mother bore him away. Olivia stared after them, her gaze distant and somber. Merrick came up behind her and pressed his face to the clean sweep of her neck, inhaling the sweet, clean scent of her soap.

She shivered and leaned back into his embrace. Selfishly he wished they were in her quarters, about to make love instead of standing here on this balcony, exposed to the wind. It howled past the Aerie and moaned down below in the spires as Astaroth's upper curve raised itself over the horizon. As huge as the moon was normally, today it looked terrifying even to Merrick. With a flash of intuitive empathy he understood why Astaroth had unnerved Quick so badly on his first day on Dusk. He was used to it, and his balls and stomach still tightened with an unaccustomed dread to see the twin planet looming so huge and close on the horizon.

"You did good, Liv."

She pressed her lips to the bare skin of his shoulder, the touch hotter than the wind. Pulling back, she cocked her head as she looked around at the people gathered to help defend the city.

"I'm going to need to do a whole lot better than 'good,' Merrick. I want all these people to go back to their loved ones alive. There's been so much death already... they don't deserve that."

Merrick read the pain in her face at the idea of any of these people coming to harm, no matter what the reason. "We're going to get them through safely."

She sagged a little, but nodded. "I know. I'm just... nervous. Look, would you do me a favor? I need you to run down to my quarters and get Dudley."

If she'd pulled a blaster and put it to his forehead, he would have been only slightly more surprised. "Dudley? Who's Dudley?"

"My plant."

"Your plant." The absurdity of the situation washed over him, laughter bubbling up from his gut. "You want me, in the middle of a planetary emergency, to go down and bring up your plant. I don't think you fully appreciate the urgency of this situation, Liv. What exactly are you going to do with Dudley?"

"We may need him." The look she turned on him was so bleak that it put any thoughts of hilarity right out of his mind. "If any of these people are injured, Dudley's sap is the best way to keep them alive until they can get proper medical attention."

She raised her hand to her head, long fingers brushing the right side of her crown almost unconsciously. Merrick remembered the incident well. He had lived it, right alongside her: the ill-fated, unsupervised attempt at airwalking, forcing the air to change its composition to bear her mass. Olivia had always been unusually determined, and she wanted to show her father that she was just as strong and capable as he was. Unfortunately, she had not yet learned how to place her feet securely when the "ground" beneath them had no real substance except that which she willed it to possess. She stepped forward clumsily, and the air rolled beneath her heel, disrupting the low, steady chant she used as a focus.

When her concentration faltered, she fell thirty feet to the uneven, rocky ground below.

He still remembered the sickening _thwack_! as her skull struck a sharp protrusion of basalt. She fell to the ground, so terrifyingly still he feared she had died on impact. As quickly as his ten-year-old legs would carry him, he raced down the side of the cliff. On the way, he saw a pale purple plant with soft, furry leaves. Plucking a handful, he fled to Olivia's side, ignoring the sharp stitch every time he drew a breath and the horrid, hopeless panic that threatened to swamp him.

Kneeling, he checked her as carefully as his rudimentary knowledge of first aid would permit. To his relief, she moistened his palm with her breath and he could make out her faint pulse beneath his fingertips. If he hurried, she might be okay.

Quickly he shredded the leaves, crushing and kneading them to work as much of the potent sap out as he could manage. Then he moved her long hair to the side as gently as he could, wincing at the ugly, pulsing gash and the stark white of the bone beneath. If the sap didn't work, or worse if he'd grabbed the wrong plant, Olivia would likely die before help could reach them.

Whispering a silent prayer, to what or who he didn't know, he mashed the sap into the wound. Pinching it closed as hard as he could, he wriggled until he could nose the controls on his wrist comm to life. The tiny holoscreen appeared.

"Galacia Medical!" he screamed.

His voice sounded so strange in his own throat that for a hideous moment he wasn't at all sure the comm would respond. After an eternity, a calm, male voice spoke.

"Galacia City Security, Lieutenant Latimore."

"Lieutenant! I need medical to these coordinates, now!" Merrick was too frazzled to recall how to call up the display that showed where he was, but he knew the ever-watchful city guard would be able to home in on his comm like a beacon.

"Okay, settle down. What happened?"

Merrick recounted the story, his voice terse and matter-of-fact. He would have expected tears, but he didn't have time for them at the moment. In some bizarre recess of his soul, he felt certain that to give rein to his tears would be to condemn Olivia to oblivion. Latimore listened without comment, but his face drew down into a loose expression of horror.

"I have Medical on the way. It sounds like you're doing everything that can be done until they arrive. You can expect them in about three minutes, Merrick. I just need you to hang on and stay on the comm with me, can you do that?"

"Yes." Somewhere inside himself, he marveled at his own outward calm in this moment of crisis. Somehow he knew whether Olivia lived or not, he could no longer consider himself a boy. Right here, in this desolate outpost of nowhere, he had grown up more than his lanky decade-old frame would admit for.

"Good. Okay." Latimore kept his voice low and calm. "Now, talk me through what you're doing. Is Olivia still breathing? Do you feel a pulse?"

"I —I think so. Let me check." Keeping the hand that was pinching her crown closed in place, he moved the other down to hover over her lips. He was vaguely, uncomfortably aware that they were very soft, like flower petals against his fingers, but he didn't have time to properly explore the sensation just now. Shallow, even currents of air flowed around his fingers, in and out of her, and relief threatened to swamp him all over again.

"She's still breathing. Does that mean she has a pulse?"

"Most likely. I think we're okay. Can you move to check for sure?"

He shook his head. "Not really. Not without letting go of her head."

"Okay, then let's don't. Keep checking her breathing every minute or so until Medical arrives."

"I will."

Just then he heard the most beautiful sound in the whole world. More beautiful than his mother's voice, even more beautiful than Olivia's singing. The low whine of a magnetic drive engine burred off to the east, toward Galacia, and somehow he knew that was the medical crew coming to his aid. "Lieutenant, I hear them! They're coming!"

"That's good. I'm letting them know. Keep pressure on her scalp and don't let go. Putting that Dusk trillium on the wound might be enough to keep her safe and stable. Just hang tight and we'll get you out of there."

"I'm not letting her go," Merrick said stubbornly, his boyish lips and lungs giving shape to words and feelings only a man could possibly understand.

"Merrick?"

He flinched, jarred back to the present. "Hmm?"

Olivia stared at him, eyes wide. "You had the oddest look on your face for a moment when you looked at me."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Just an old memory coming up at a bad time. I'm on my way to get Dudley." There was no time for a kiss, but he reached out and clasped her hand. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I love you."

"And I you."

He turned and hurried off the balcony. Time was no longer on their side.

## Chapter Twenty-Eight

Olivia turned from the doors and set about disposing her defenders where they would do the most good. Every child on Dusk underwent testing at key stages of life to determine their raw strength and what they were most in tune with. These people here were the strongest telekinetics and water-crafters Galacia could muster, but even so their individual talents varied wildly. This one specialized in causing water to percolate from the ground or even thin air. That one could freeze water, even on a thirty-five-degree day. This one wasn't particularly gifted toward water specifically, but understood the elements and molecules that created substances on the subatomic level as a matter of instinct and could force those building blocks of matter to do her bidding.

Her role now was that of a field general, ensuring her forces were properly dispersed to do the maximum good if the waves grew too high. If they came any higher than this level, everything below would likely be destroyed. So she arranged her valiant defenders as best she could, trying to create overlapping fields so each person's unique strengths and weaknesses were balanced properly.

Their position on the Aerie was no accident. They had to be on this side of the city, looking out toward the ocean, because the Tides tended to come from the north-northwest, the same direction Astaroth rose from. The shoreline here was more worn-down, and less spires poked up on this side of Galacia to inhibit either the waves or the talents of those tasked with defending against them. The fact they had a front-row seat to what could well be the end of Galacia and the lion's share of its inhabitants seemed a horrific, sick joke.

She stared out at the moon, for the first time ever hating its slick, shiny blackness and the sparkles of volcanoes bellowing their rage across the face of the other planet. She had always thought Astaroth beautiful, romantic. There was no counting how many times in her life she'd come out to watch the planet rise and hum to herself snatches of love songs or write love letters to a man she hadn't realized she'd already met yet.

Now Astaroth hung on the horizon, bloated and immense, like a vision out of a nightmare. She knew it was irrational to blame Astaroth for the situation. That would be like blaming a kraken for eating... whatever it was krakens ate. Still, she could not shake the anger or the nameless dread that gnawed at her vital organs.

To conceal her worry, she busied herself chatting with the people on the parapet. She met doctors, cooks, gamblers, miners, and ne'er-do-wells. She met mothers, fathers, daughters, and sons. She glided among them, offering a word of encouragement here, a smile and a compliment there. More than anything, she made it known that she, one of the two most powerful people on the planet, was there and would fight alongside them.

Somewhere in the middle of her meet and greet, Merrick returned. He placed Dudley and his pot in an unobtrusive corner where some clumsy-footed person was less likely to harm the possibly lifesaving plant. He had belted on his short blade, for whatever good a weapon made of carbonized titanium might do against the wrath of the sea itself, and now swaggered among the people much as Olivia did. Where her greetings were tinged with gentle concern, Merrick kept up a cocky, cheerful demeanor. If she knew him at all, he had calculated his bearing to instill confidence and to make sure the people knew this battle was far from over and anything but hopeless. He tousled a teenage girl's hair, patted a young man on the back, and engaged in an oddly complex hand-slapping greeting with an older man, treating the entire encounter as nothing of any more consequence than any chance meeting on Galacia's main thoroughfares.

The moment felt oddly incomplete for some reason, and it took her a second to pin it down as she slouched against the thick balustrade, brooding out at the ocean. Pete's absence weighed unusually heavy upon her. She loved him, but she knew he was where he would do the most good for the maximum number of people at this moment. So why was she so troubled?

* * *

Kase watched from behind a ribbed pillar as Kozlowski stormed out of the lift. The warrant officer looked neither left nor right as he stalked down the deserted street. As he moved past, his face furious and focused rigidly inward, she reached out a tentative mental probe and brushed his thoughts.

She had never before voluntarily touched a mind so vile. If one could experience the reek of a sewer, the disgusting flavor of sour milk, the grating of metal on stone, the nasty, knowing smile of a sexual sadist sighting a virgin, and the pain of a hundred paper cuts washed with lemon juice, all at once, with one's mind, it would be a reasonable approximation of what she encountered in the warrant officer's festering thoughts. She gasped and focused on staying out of sight while keeping her tenuous link to the other man's mind.

Faces swam before her/his mind in a confused welter of commingled memory and fantasy. Some she recognized, some she did not. Hui hung at the forefront of his thoughts, and his desires for the woman were so vile and so plain that Kase had to redouble her efforts not to break the link out of sheer revulsion. He wanted to throw her to the stone, smash his fist into her jaw until she lay insensate, and then lick her blood from his fist as he took her right there on the floor. If she screamed, so much the better. Maybe he'd even deviate up her tight little asshole, get her good and broken in so he wouldn't need to work so hard the next time. _You'd do well to remember that_ , she purred, sheathing a dagger tipped with a ruby drop of Kozlowski's own blood.

Then the face of a sturdy-looking man in Terran Marine casual dress swam into view. He replayed the conversation as he turned the corner, muttering both parts in a singsong voice teetering on the edge of madness. She could feel his mind slipping, his grasp on reality threatening to crack under the strain of maintaining his military façade while at the same his base, animal desires roared to get free. _Make it look right_ , he commanded.

Another, this one out of a nightmare: a humanoid with pebbly green, purple, and blue skin in distinctive patterns. His eyes bulged hugely, glittering red in the subtle light of the mines. _It will be, once you tell me if this is someone I can eat or not_ ...

Now Pete's face appeared. _Smug sonofabitch. I don't care if he is an officer, he's as good as dead_ , Kozlowski fumed.

A small, furry, round head with rounded ears and a pronounced snout cowered in the corner of a filthy plas cage. Dark eyes scanned around fretfully and the creature made a low, thin keening sound. Despite the ferociously outsized claws the creature mounted on its hands, it stood less than a meter tall. The lizard-man's voice hissed in the vault of her thoughts again. _We have not used beings of any intelligence for this endeavor_.

Kase pried out a couple more nuggets of information, her knees shaking both with physical weariness and horror at the implications of the knowledge she had stolen from the warrant officer's mind. As smoothly as she could, Kase disengaged from the man's filthy, blood-soaked mind. Then she hurried away in the other direction.

She had to warn Olivia that Quick's instincts had been right on the money.

## Chapter Twenty-Nine

Pete surveyed the ragged line of civilians. Half of them looked like they'd tried to cart everything they owned down to the mines, while the other half carried nothing at all. Women cradled babies, men held onto children's hands, and the palpable apprehension in the air could support a nail and a painting.

Frowning, he peered around for a good place to have the people drop their miscellaneous junk, which he defined as anything not immediately essential to survival. Knives and other weapons were fine, but the _objets d'art_ and other assorted crap they lugged would become instant liabilities if anything were to go wrong. He drew in a long, deep breath and assumed his best drill instructor bellow.

"All right, listen up! If you are carrying blasters, blades, or other weapons, keep 'em. If you're carrying tools and they won't be too much in the way, keep 'em. Otherwise, stack all your belongings neatly over here —" he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a broad alcove in the rock, " —and then we'll make our next move."

"I can't leave this!" one man protested, waving an oil painting of a Terran seacoast belligerently. Pete rolled his eyes.

"You can leave it there in the cave and collect it when you leave or you can go back up and take your chances."

"I'll do no such thing! Do you have any idea who I am? I ought to —"

"That'll be enough of that, Mr. McTavish." Major Latimore's voice rang out crisply from the lift. "You'll do exactly as Colonel Silva says and not give him any grief about it."

"The hell I will! Who is he to tell me what to —"

"He's the one who's trying to keep you alive." Latimore's voice crackled with cold authority. "He's here on Ambassador Gunnarson's orders. Do you really want to take the chance that he won't report you after the fact?"

"Fuck her! If that cunt was here, I'd tell her to her face sh —"

Pete had sauntered over during the byplay, putting himself in range just in case McTavish decided he was feeling froggy and wanted to start jumping. His disrespect for Olivia pushed Pete over the edge. Now he lashed out with his clenched fist, catching McTavish squarely in the nose. McTavish dropped the painting and sagged to his knees, a broken doll whose face was painted with oozing crimson streaks. Pete hauled him to his feet and balled his fist up again, making sure McTavish got a good, long look at it.

"Would you care to repeat that statement?" In his ears his voice echoed up from the bottom of a cold, lonely grave.

"N —no. I'm sorry!"

Pete pulled him in close and whispered into McTavish's ear. A second later, the sharp stink of urine and a trickle of liquid issued from the man.

A little girl nearby giggled. "He tinkled himself, Mommy!" she cried, clapping her hands gleefully. McTavish's eyes went wide as he realized everyone present had seen his humiliation.

Pete snorted. "I hope you brought more clothing. Get that thing into the cave." As McTavish bustled off to do Pete's bidding, his pace hampered by his broken nose and shattered dignity, Pete looked around, schooling his features into the mask that made new recruits react pretty much the way McTavish had. "Does anyone else care to venture an opinion?"

He waited as the silence took on mass and density, building in volume until it screamed against his eardrums. Then he turned and pointed at the base of the reinforced metal stairs leading down to the lower observation ring of the pit.

"Okay, everyone. There's a shallow ledge about a half-meter below the lip of the ring, surrounded by a chain. Help the children onto it and then come down yourselves. If you move slowly and carefully, you should be fine. Be sure to hold onto the chain so you'll have some extra traction in case something happens." He turned his attention to the kids, his voice now serious but friendly. "When you kids get onto the ledge, hold onto the chain like it's your mommy's hand and keep moving. There's a big cave on the other side of the pit —" he pointed at it, barely visible in the gloom, " —that can hold all of us. Whatever you do, don't let go of that chain and don't mess around, okay?"

The kids responded with a chorus of "Okay!"

He smiled at them, making the boys puff up with pride and the girls bat their eyelashes at him coquettishly. It would have made him laugh if he hadn't realized they were taking this really damned seriously. Standing, he addressed the adults again. "Your job is to make sure we don't get too many people on the ledge at one time. I want no more than ten moving around at once. As long as we keep to those numbers and everyone hurries, we should be fine. I tested the ledge myself earlier, and it's relatively stable, but we don't dare overstress it."

"What about airwalkers?" piped a silvery voice from the back of the crowd.

"Who said that? And what's an airwalker?" he demanded.

"Airwalkers can walk on air," the speaker said as the crowd parted, revealing a doll-like woman with brilliantly curly red hair and a broad spray of freckles festooning her cheeks. The way she said it suggested she thought she was being quite diplomatic in not tacking a word like "moron" to the end of her statement. "We can carry the children across and leave the ledge for the adults who can't airwalk."

Pete's eyes flicked to Latimore. He remembered, now that he had a name to put to the action, he'd seen Latimore do exactly that in his office. Hooking an eyebrow, he asked the major a silent question. Latimore caught it and nodded.

"Okay, we'll do that, then. Are you sure that's safe?"

The woman broke into bubbling laughter. "I'll trust my airwalking over a bit of chain hanging half a kilometer above nothing, thanks just the same."

"Show me."

Latimore and the woman exchanged a glance. Each of them took a child in each hand, with their parents' ready consent. They stepped to the edge of the platform and strode forward boldly.

Instead of falling the three and a half meters to the next level, they kept right on walking across thin air to the cave Pete had indicated. Pete watched, open-mouthed, as they strolled along as casually as if they'd been on a wide, paved sidewalk. In thirty seconds they were across. In forty-five seconds they were back. The parents quickly formed the children into a line, and a couple more airwalkers stepped forward. Meanwhile, the people without children or who couldn't airwalk started to make their way onto the ledge.

Pete watched the airwalkers and the ledge crawlers with equal intensity. This would make the evacuation run much more smoothly, but his heart still leapt into his throat every time the people passed the perimeter of the ledge. The ledge crawlers crabbed their way along, stopping every so often to regroup. Although the ledge was about half a meter wide, they clung to the side of the cliff like so many barnacles, each one clearly aware their survival if they slipped depended on the chain holding fast to its moorings. If they let go of the chain, and the ledge gave way or they placed their feet carelessly, they would certainly die.

Latimore's face was flushed and drawn with strain when he alighted next to Pete after seeing the last of the children safely across. Among the items Pete had brought with him was a canteen of water, and he passed it over without comment. Latimore took it, nodded thanks, and drank sparingly. Then he capped the canteen.

"You okay?" Pete asked.

"Yeah. That just takes it out of you. Using magick is hard on the system, which is why we don't rely on it much. Even the most powerful users can only keep it up for so long, because of what it does to our bodies."

"What does it do?" Pete would have thought magick worked like... well, like magick.

"You don't get something for nothing, Quick." Somewhere along the line Latimore had picked up Merrick's jibing nickname. Pete restrained the urge to roll his eyes. _If this keeps up, I'll have to get new ID_! "When we use magick, there's a physical element. Never forget, the laws of physics still apply. That means anything we do, no matter how large or how small, has consequences. Our respiration and heartbeat goes up, our adrenal glands go into overdrive, and our body temperature shoots through the ceiling. The most powerful users on Dusk can maintain it for an hour or so, but then they need a break. I'm middling at best... fifteen minutes and I'm wasted."

Pete considered that. It made a hard kind of sense. He'd always imagined magick being more like a cosmic search engine: input the right information and get what you're looking for. He'd never thought about the potential ramifications of the metaphysical imposing itself upon the physical world. Suddenly, he felt very stupid, like a caveman getting his first look at an internal-combustion engine.

_Any science sufficiently advanced will be indistinguishable from magick_. That precept had been drilled into his head mercilessly by his infantry instructors. Marines had to be able to arrive anywhere and do what they had to do without being spooked by technology centuries or even millennia in advance of what humans had been able to achieve. Because of that, Clarke's Law was considered an essential part of training.

As he listened intently to Latimore's explanation, he made himself a solemn promise: If he lived through this, Pete resolved to learn everything there was to know about magick.

"So what are the odds I could do that?"

Latimore shook his head and jumped in. "By the time you're a very, very old man, if you live out the rest of your days on Dusk without interruption, you might have been exposed to gallartium just enough to do some minor magick. As it is, it's not unheard of for new settlers to be able to do it, but that's pretty rare. Usually, something like that happens, the high foreheads at the university want to study them, interview them, do experiments on them, and publish the results. Everyone dreams of finally working out the exact mechanisms by which magick works. If I were you, I'd just enjoy the climate and the ocean and put using magick out of your mind, Quick."

Pete kept a weather eye on the ledge-crawlers. A couple of the airwalkers, latecomers and therefore fresher than the people who'd started the operation, hovered near the ledge to guard against someone falling. _Of course I have to be normal. Regular, plain old, good old Pete_ , he thought sardonically.

Then again, Olivia seemed to like "regular, plain old, good old Pete" just fine. If his falling-out with Neville meant he couldn't return to Terra for fear of catching a desertion charge, he could deal with that as long as Olivia still wanted him. And what about Merrick? Despite the annoying nickname the Dusker had christened him with, he couldn't help but feel that relationship had not yet reached its apex either. While he couldn't imagine fucking Merrick, or any other guy, for that matter, when they shared Olivia there was something so unimaginably right about it that the fact he'd never experienced it before strained credulity.

Aloud he said, "I think I can live with that."

Just then his wrist comm buzzed.

## Chapter Thirty

Olivia turned from the parapet just in time to see Kase burst through the doors. The poor thing's face was flushed a brilliant red, as if she'd run a wind sprint from the bottom of the Aerie to the top. There were some maniacs in Galacia who did exactly that, touting how good the exercise was for them. Olivia just thought it looked sweaty and miserable. If she was going to break a sweat...

Pete's face hovered above her, the overpoweringly male scent of his body beating into her nostrils. His stubble tickled her chin as he pressed his lips to hers, demanding entrance to every part of her. She gave it to him willingly, knowing Merrick would want his turn as well, and the knowledge ratcheted her pussy into a pleasurable spasm that danced right on the edge of pain without tumbling over.

Well. There were far better ways to get sweaty than running to the top of the Aerie, in her opinion.

Kase rushed over, her eyes huge and her mouth collapsed into a thin line of alarm. "Quick... was... right."

"About what?" Kase gave her a helpless look and clasped a hand around her throat. Olivia nodded and signaled one of the GCS personnel, who was manning a large water condenser. The apparatus leached moisture from the air and converted it to drinkable water. Especially here on the coast, the defenders could drink themselves waterlogged and still have a ready supply of more. The security woman nodded and poured a large cup for Kase. Bringing it over, she smiled and then retreated to a discreet distance so the two could have at least the illusion of privacy.

Kase drank greedily until the cup was gone, then collapsed it and stuck it in a pouch on her tunic. Although her breathing was still alarmingly heavy, the flush in her face had begun to subside. She wiped her lips with her arm.

"He was right. About all of it, Liv. Hui's the assassin, and she and Kozlowski are working with a T'riskin named Grrrreelawk. They have an army of something called Raebteews, cute little fuzzy things with claws this long —" she measured about a quarter meter from her fingertips with the opposite hand, " —to mine out the gallartium."

"So that's how they were going to do it." Olivia's mind reeled with the implications.

"Oh, there's more. General Neville, the guy who sent Quick here, was in on it. He knows what the plan is. He told Kozlowski to kill Pete and 'make it look right.' Kozlowski thinks that means it's supposed to look like a suicide. He's planning to aim Hui and Quick at each other and have them do the dirty work of taking each other out so he doesn't have to face either of them one on one. He's a coward, Liv, but he's a dangerous coward. He'll do whatever it takes to shield himself from repercussions." She blanched a little.

Taking a deep breath, Olivia turned toward the beach. She worked hard to maintain her cool exterior, but inside her mind was whirling. Kozlowski didn't seem particularly intelligent, so it was hard to fathom how he intended to force Pete and Hui into a confrontation. On the other hand, with Pete safely away from her and Merrick, she had to admit such a conflict wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. But Major Latimore was with him, and she trusted Latimore to watch his back.

Merrick sauntered over, his mouth merry and his eyes wintry. "What's going on?"

Kase gave him the short version while Olivia thought about what to do next. He chewed on the information, cords of sinew beginning to show at the sides of his throat.

"Call Pete."

"I can't! He's busy with the evac —"

"Call him," Merrick repeated tersely. "He needs to know about this. For all we know, we just sent half the city of Galacia into a meat grinder."

Olivia winced at the image of all those people lying injured or dead, victims of their leaders' desire to keep them safe. Merrick was right, as much as she might hate to admit it.

Pete needed to know.

She touched her wrist comm and waited for Pete to answer. When he did, he sounded preoccupied. "Silva."

"Pete, it's Olivia." Not wasting time on the pleasantries, she quickly explained what Kase had learned. "We think Kozlowski is going to be heading back your way, probably with Hui in tow. Pete, you and Latimore have to be very, very careful, okay?"

"I've got this, Olivia. Latimore says there are six more groups filtering down. We'll get them situated and then we'll bring up the rear. Everyone else is on lockdown."

"How many people went to the mines?"

Pete relayed the question. Latimore's voice grumbled, but she couldn't quite make out the answer.

"He says we've moved about twenty thousand through here in the last hour. I can safely believe it. The airwalkers are running out of steam, but Latimore says the last couple of groups have fresh walkers with them. Apparently most people are either up with you to defend the city or are hunkered down. Best place they can be, really."

She did some quick mental math. Only about one percent of the city had sought shelter in the mines. Another fifteen to twenty thousand were distributed among every balcony and parapet facing toward the ocean on this side of the Aerie. That meant ninety-eight percent of the city was either holed up or gone. Either way, it would have to do.

"All right. I'm sending Kase down right now. She'll be able to warn you before Kozlowski gets close. If I'm right and he's coming for you... kill him, Pete."

The commlink went silent for an eternal count of ten. When Pete came back, his voice was hoarse.

"I thought Dusk had laws against murder."

"We do, but not against self-defense. Unlike our Terran ancestors, we managed to retain our common sense. You do what you have to do, Pete. I hereby deputize you to the DDC and the GCS in an active capacity for the duration of the emergency. Anything you have to do will be stamped with the approval of both entities. Got that, Major?"

Latimore growled something. "He says he got it, Olivia."

"Okay." She gave Kase a questioning look. Kase returned fire with a simper. "Kase's on her way now. Be safe, Colonel. When this is over, I want you and Merrick again."

Pete's answer was swallowed in a coughing fit. With a self-satisfied grin, Olivia broke the connection.

"You make me sick, Liv," Kase groused.

"Eh? Why's that?"

"You have two hunky men at your beck and call and I get an endless parade of losers." She turned away, nose in the air, and huffed off toward the doors. "Do you ever feel like there's no justice in the universe?" she called over her shoulder. Giving Olivia a pixyish finger wave, she ducked into the chamber.

Olivia rolled her eyes. Merrick grinned at her, a cat with whiskers dripping fresh cream.

"Oh, shut up," she muttered.

"Does she really think I'm a hunk?"

"Yes, she does. No, I'm not going to discuss it any further right now. We have other things to worry about."

She thought for a minute. Although she had the distinct feeling she was being ridiculous, a nagging voice at the back of her skull simply refused to shut up. "I've got this under control. I need you to go rendezvous with Pete and bring him up here as soon as he's done securing the refugees."

"Why?" he demanded, all traces of humor gone. "Can't you just call him on the comm?"

"Do you think it's possible our comms might be monitored?"

He grimaced. "Oh. I didn't think about that." _And neither did you, or you wouldn't have said what you said_. With a sigh and a wince, he nodded defeated agreement.

"Okay."

"Good. Hurry back, Merrick. We have things to deal with."

* * *

One of those things was watching her at that exact moment.

It was almost too precious, Hui exulted. The girl ambassador trying to look calm and competent in the midst of far too many problems all at one time. A pity that Hui didn't enjoy women, because the ambassador looked absolutely scrumptious in her uncertainty. Maybe she could arrange to get rid of Merrick and Pete at one time, and then she wouldn't have those pesky bodyguards to worry about.

Hui sucked on her lower lip thoughtfully as she peered through the scope. She could ill afford to kill the defenders at the moment. That way laid a drowned city and the utter ruination of any hope of salvaging this disaster. If she could wait until Olivia was properly embroiled in the fight, however, her back would be to Hui. A single shot would finish this madness once and for all.

Granger was the next in line. A weak man, easily manipulated, especially if she claimed the crux of her concern was for his poor, sweet compatriots. Between that and a quick rub-and-tug, he'd be putty in her hands without any question. If he got out of line, she didn't dare allow Ingrid Roberts to accede to the ambassadorship. That bitch was too clever and cautious by half again for Hui to have any interest in trying to deal with her. The only possible use Roberts might have was as fodder for the Raebteews.

At this rate, the DDC would run out of qualified diplomats before Hui was done. Dear, dear... what to do?

She rolled away from the rooftop smoothly, careful to make only the minimum possible movement. Once safely behind the shelter of the roof's crown, she assembled the plasma rifle again.

The design was impressive. An armorer on Rho Mycenae III had constructed it for her. It had arrived in six distinct pieces, any of which doubled as any of a half-dozen machine parts. Once fully constructed with the schematics he'd sent separately by encrypted hyperspace pulse, the rifle was a smooth, efficient, deadly machine that could break down in seconds into an innocuous-looking telescope or a largish tri-vid camera. If necessary, she could transform the rifle from either of these forms back into its deadly sniping configuration and be ready to shoot in three seconds flat.

The scope, a Zeiss-Locus holographic eyepiece from Terra, amused her to no end. It utilized optical-grade diamonds mined right here on Dusk to give a crisp, precise sight picture. She could clearly see the muscles and bones beneath Gunnarson's skin moving as she sighted down on her. She would have to compliment Y'osvon on his workmanship and quality after this whole sorry business was over.

She could have pulled the trigger right there and put an end to this nonsense, but she didn't dare right now. There were too many ways she risked capture if she had taken the shot, and that idiotic ape Merrick wouldn't rest until the entire city had been searched and she dangled by her toenails over an open flame. No... better by far to wait until everyone was well and truly engaged in the battle and too preoccupied to come to the ambassador's aid than to take an unnecessary risk. If she pulled the trigger now, Gunnarson became a martyr. If she waited until the battle was joined, the diplomat was just another casualty.

Musing on that, Hui realized with a faint jolt of surprise that she felt nothing about Gunnarson, nothing about her "betrayal," nothing about... anything, really. Oh, she wanted the credits this operation would funnel into her accounts, but she certainly didn't feel any twinges of conscience or any other irrational impulse.

She only wanted to stay alive and free. If she managed to get wealthy enough to leave this hellhole of a world off in the rectum of the galaxy in the process, well, that was just lagniappe.

There was nothing irrational about either of those desires.

Baring her teeth, she touched her comm and reached out to Kozlowski.

"What?"

"Izzums suuuuul-king?" Hui purred.

"No, I'm not sulking, goddamnit! I'm trying to get a hold of fucking Gen —"

"Oh, by all means finish that sentence, Senior Warrant," came another, silkier male voice from the comm.

"Uh... good afternoon, General."

"Good evening, Warrant." She could almost see Neville leaning forward in his chair. "Now. You want to finish that sentence? And while you're at it, you can tell me who, exactly, that comment was directed at. I'm quite certain it was not intended for my ears."

"With all due respect, sir, I do not see that I owe —"

"Kozlowski. Do I have to have you executed? Bear in mind I know all about that little piece of yellow fluff you're working with. I can have her behind you in ten seconds, and you know what happens to people who wind up in front of Hui, don't you?"

_Yellow. Fluff_? Hui bit her lip to keep from screaming.

"You don't need to tell me, General," Kozlowski retorted stiffly.

"I hope not. What's going on?" The general's tone suggested he'd better have good news to relay.

Kozlowski dutifully relayed the new shape of affairs on Dusk to the general. Hui had to admit to a certain grudging admiration. At no time did Kozlowski so much as hint that the communication was being monitored. He even went so far as to make a couple of remarks about Hui so appallingly sexist and racist that she kept her silence only by entertaining pleasant fantasies of ripping out his spleen and handing it to him.

"I don't like this, Kozlowski." Neville's tone suggested his opinion was grossly understated. "The entire situation has gotten too dangerous. If you bug out now, there's a good chance none of this comes back to haunt us. Oh, we'll have some political fallout to deal with, but I'm inclined to say we've already lost too much on this and it's time to back away."

"Sounds good to me. Is the _Fallujah_ still in orbit, sir?"

"It is. I can have a shuttle down there within the hour."

"I'll be waiting for it, sir."

"See that you are. If the shuttle arrives and you aren't, they are to wait _five minutes_. After that, they're gone and you're on your own. You'll be logged as missing and presumed." Neville's voice grew quieter. Hui strained to make out the words. "If you are so logged, I _strongly_ suggest you not do anything to disabuse me or anyone else of that notion. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

"And one more thing. That yellow bitch and Silva had better be dead before you get on that shuttle."

Kozlowski did everything but click his heels together. "Aye, aye, sir."

"Now leave me the fuck alone."

Kozlowski turned back to Hui's comm. "I trust you heard all that."

She ground her teeth. "We're going to have a long chat about the way you talk about a lady, Kozlowski. I'm really, _really_ tempted to gut you by way of working off some of my rather severe annoyance."

"Look, don't take it personal." Kozlowski held out his hands in supplication. "If I'd said anything but what I said, he'd've gotten suspicious."

"Are you really planning to kill me?"

He gulped. "Even if I wanted to, I mean _really wanted to_ , I doubt I could."

She smiled. "And why is that?"

"You did Al-Aziz. Even the medical folks didn't bother to check the figures on that one. It'd be too easy for you to do the same to me."

"That's true," she mused. "On the other hand, I have other plans for you. He said the _Fallujah_ 's dropping a shuttle?"

"Within the hour."

"Then we wouldn't want you to miss it." She disconnected and peered over the parapet once again.

A long line of billowing, boiling clouds was rising from the direction of Astaroth, pushed along on a brisk, warm wind. In moments it would tickle the fat planet's underbelly. In an hour, the moon would be completely occluded.

She bared her teeth in a smile by the most technical definition. Once the light was cut off, she would be much freer to act.

With a sigh she shifted her hips against the roof crown, pushing off smoothly against it.

She had a shuttle to catch.

## Chapter Thirty-One

Kozlowski pulled the pressure seal closed with shaking hands. There was just too much heat down here on the planet's surface, and he had no interest in catching any of it. Especially with that crazy bitch Hui lurking around.

He looked around and nodded, satisfied he hadn't left anything of importance behind. Then he hooked his pack over his shoulder and quick-timed to the door.

At the portal, he paused.

He had never left a mission unfinished before. Not Regina IV, where he'd successfully done his part to destabilize the planet to the point where the powers that be had just given up the uranium rather than risk another bloodbath; not the slave revolt on Galgoneth IX, where he'd neutron-bombed a city of half a million into ash to make a point. In fact, he couldn't think of any place he'd been where he had either failed the mission or to enjoy the work.

That had changed.

If he played this smart, he could maybe talk Neville into mustering him out on an early retirement. That would give him a few more good years to do something that had nothing to do with carnage and squirrel him away safely under the radar. It was unlikely Hui would pay the price of passage to Terra just to dispatch him.

Of course, he'd been wrong before.

The tiny weapon still rode in his pocket, locked and loaded. If he had to leave one of his targets alive, which one was less likely to be a threat? More to the point, which one was more likely to come looking for him if he kicked over the tea wagon? Silva was the obvious choice. Kozlowski felt reasonably sure if he didn't cross Silva, there'd be no reason for Silva to return the favor. Hui, on the other hand, was too smart to leave alive. If he took his shot and missed, he wouldn't live long enough to regret it. She'd see to that.

That decided the matter. Hui had to die.

He shouldered his pack again and opened the door.

* * *

Merrick pounded through the empty corridors, his mind racing. Quick was in real danger right now. There were just too many dangerous unknowns, but he knew one thing for certain. If he didn't find Quick, the odds of any of them surviving this became a lot more dangerous.

He rounded a corner...

And slammed headfirst into Kozlowski.

The impact drove the wind from his lungs, and he groaned as he flopped to the floor. Hitting the other man was like running full-bore into a wall, and the inertia of the warrant officer's mass versus his own meant Merrick was almost certain to come out on the losing end of a physical confrontation.

Kozlowski grinned down from above him. In one huge paw he brandished a shaped-plasma dagger that worked on the same basic principle as Quick's Mameluke saber. He tossed the dagger from hand to hand like a circus performer as he let the bag slide off his free shoulder.

"Well, well. Gunnarson's little flunky. Guess this is shaping up to be a pretty good day after all. I get to kill you and Hui before I leave."

Merrick's mind whirled. Leave? What was he talking about?

"Maybe you didn't hear. No one's being allowed into Galacia air space until the emergency's over."

Kozlowski snickered. "Sure, sure, little faggot-ass pretty boy. Of course no one can get off this rock. That's why I was told a shuttle would be waiting for me."

Merrick smiled. His mind was coming back to full speed, and he realized exactly what was going on now.

_Time to play a game_.

"Sounds to me like you were set up," Merrick said easily. He put his hands flat on the floor and pushed himself to a sitting position. "There's only one shuttle pad in the entire city. Any navigator worth a damn will know that, and I'll bet whoever told you that knew it too."

Kozlowski smiled. It was a ghastly expression. "Oh, yeah? Sounds to me like you're trying to keep from getting stuck." He gave a little forward thrust with the dagger for emphasis.

Merrick squared his stance, shifting his weight unobtrusively to his hind foot. "I'm about as worried about that toy as I'd be if you shook your dick at me. I'm a little revolted, unsurprised... but not scared."

"You wanna see my dick, faggot? Is that what you're telling me?" Kozlowski's face reddened. "Or did your girl start fucking Silva because she realized you really craved cock?"

_He's trying to piss you off. Don't let him_.

"No, actually she started fucking Silva because she wanted a little variety." The next words to say occurred to him, and he prayed that Olivia would forgive him. "She'd have probably fucked you too, if she thought you had anything worth exploring. She's not into dolls, though."

Kozlowski's eyes bulged. "Dolls?"

"Yeah, you know. They've got all kinds of muscles, and they look pretty enough, but get 'em naked and... woohoo!" He rubbed one hand at his crotch flamboyantly. "Total blank spot. Although, maybe they really _are_ anatomically correct. Were you, by chance, a dolly model in your younger days? Somebody, uh, you know, maybe forget to add in what you were missing?"

"You're a smart-mouthed little cocksucker, ain't ya?"

Merrick sighed. "You know, there's one of us who keeps talking about dick _this_ and cocksucker _that_. I think you're trying to tell me you think I'm pretty and want to bend over for me, but you just... don't quite know how," he finished dramatically. "It's okay, seriously. I understand everybody's got their own thing. I know a couple really hot drag queens. Get 'em all tarted up, you'd never know the difference." He winked conspiratorially. "Until they take their clothes off, of course, but underneath they're all man. How 'bout it, Kozlowski?"

The warrant officer gawped at him, visibly trying to process the mocking offer. It was true: Merrick _did_ know several transvestites, and had partied with them more times than he cared to recall. It had nothing to do with the company or where they chose to hang out, and everything to do with the fact that those guys could drink! However, there wasn't a single one Merrick would turn Kozlowski loose with, even if he really thought the other man was interested in guys.

After several heartbeats, Merrick's meaning finally sank in. With a bellowing cry Kozlowski charged forward, waving the dagger ineffectually in front of him.

Merrick brought his hands up in an overhead block as Kozlowski brought the knife downward, deflecting the blade by a crucial quarter of an inch. His lower arm immediately blistered from the heat, and the stink of scorched hair filled the area.

To return the favor, Merrick lashed out with his foot and planted it solidly in the larger man's bulky midriff. Kozlowski rolled with the blow, making a harsh _whuff_ but remaining on his feet. With deceptive speed for his size, he turned and charged again before Merrick could plant his feet.

The dagger fell once, twice, three times. Merrick blocked two of them, his body reacting naturally to the lower gravity. Kozlowski's greater mass and the fact he came from a world with half again the gravity of his own put the larger man at a disadvantage, because he kept trying to stab where the blade would fall under higher gravity. He needed to aim a little closer...

The dagger found his flesh on the third try.

He screamed as the dagger carved through skin, muscle, and sheared into the bone as easily as a new saw blade slices tender living wood. Falling back, he tried to rally for another kick, but Kozlowski came in fast and barehanded this time. Before Merrick could do anything, Kozlowski smashed his massive fist into Merrick's arm.

The wound exploded with pain as violated nerve endings lit up his brain. He heard a loud crack like thunder from one of the rare coastal storms, a sound so loud it made him instinctively flinch and cover his ears. At the same time, his vision washed a brilliant vermillion. His gorge rose, tickling the bottom of his gullet queasily, but he swallowed hard. If he threw up now, he was as good as dead.

The warrant officer pressed his advantage, slashing with the dagger in a complex pattern of stabs, thrusts, and strikes. For all his bulk, the other man could really move. Merrick had his hands full just trying to stay out of range of the dagger.

Finally Kozlowski squared off again. Merrick was panting, his stomach writhing uneasily, his legs beginning to shake from the cocktail of adrenaline, endorphins, and who knew what else was bouncing around in his system right now. Kozlowski, on the other hand, looked fresh as a spring rain. The bigger man's aim might have been spoiled temporarily by the lower gravity, but he did have one huge advantage. His fighting style had been adapted to higher gravity.

Merrick had the sudden, distinctly uncomfortable feeling Kozlowski could do this all day, while Merrick was already pretty well gassed.

Kozlowski grinned at him, a Halloween jack-o'-lantern trying to do hail-fellow-well-met. He wasn't even breathing hard, and his hand on the dagger's hilt held steady as steel.

"Let's just make this simple, faggot. You quit squirming around, I send you to homo heaven, and everyone's happy. I go about my day, maybe fuck your girl in the ass —"

Merrick flung himself forward, aiming just above Kozlowski's leading knee.

The knee gave with a sharp, wet POP! The impact sent a sickeningly bright, hot sizzle of pain from his shoulder through his wounded arm, and a bleak red-tinged black lapped at the edges of his vision. Kozlowski screamed and toppled forward, his knee finding its way into Merrick's wound on the way down.

Merrick blinked and scowled, willing unconsciousness to stay away. Kozlowski underestimated his chances of getting to Olivia, even if Merrick wasn't there to protect her. Quick would take care of her, and standing behind Quick was Latimore. Backing him, them, in turn, was an entire city, no, a whole planet.

But with the possible exception of Quick, it wasn't anyone else's _job_ to protect her.

So he had to stay conscious. He couldn't move with Kozlowski sprawled atop him, and his reserves were almost drained to nothing anyway, which really limited his options. Then inspiration struck.

With a grimace, he smashed his own forehead against the floor.

The pain... was indescribable. Add to his agonizing arm wound and the bruised shoulder he'd just given himself one ugly case of head trauma. This pain was a deep, cleansing pain, the kind one experienced after going to the dentist to get a wisdom tooth pulled. The oily smears at the edges of his vision cleared away, leaving him with one hell of a headache...

And a boatload of anger.

He drew in the anger, fueled it with Kozlowski's insinuations about his sexuality, transmuting it to rage. He held onto the rage with both hands, clenching it tightly to himself, feeding it Kozlowski's threats about Quick and Olivia until it metamorphosed into fury. He flung himself against it, riding the dragon for all he was worth as he offered it his love for Olivia, for Quick, for his city and his planet, until his blood burned cold in his veins and the icy calm of wrath descended upon him, dulling his pain to unimportance and giving his muscles the crucial power they needed to move properly.

Almost contemptuously he kicked the larger man off him, vaguely surprised at how easy it was to budge the warrant officer. Kozlowski struck the opposite wall with another agonized roar, cradling his dislocated knee.

Kozlowski's head fell forward and he struck the wall sharply. From Merrick's position on the floor, it looked as if an ancient sequoia dressed in black had suddenly had a quarter of its height turn to jelly. Kozlowski deflated, sinking to the floor with almost incredible grace for someone with such a massive frame. His body twisted, showing Merrick the whites of the other man's eyes. He slammed into the floor just as powerfully as he'd met the wall an instant before, and lay perfectly still.

Merrick nodded in satisfaction. "Bet that seemed like a better idea before you did it," he mocked.

His head throbbed once more, and the adrenaline and endorphins faded, leaving the pain muttering and complaining in his arm and head. His stomach tried to slither up his throat and out, and this time, he lacked both the will and any good reason to stop it from doing so. He heaved and retched miserably, over and over again, until his stomach was thoroughly purged and bitter bile stung the back of his throat with every new spasm.

It was hell.

But he didn't feel so bad that he didn't notice where the vomit was going. It pooled under Kozlowski's unconscious form, soaking his uniform.

"Well, at least he'll look and smell a little better," Merrick croaked. He could afford to be philosophical now the immediate danger was past. The dagger had dislodged from Kozlowski's fist and landed several meters down the corridor when Merrick tackled him. Even if he passed out now, it was unlikely the other man could crawl down the corridor, retrieve the plasma dagger, get back, and finish the job before he recovered consciousness.

The blackness crept back in, more insistently this time, and Merrick groaned. His arm flopped uselessly at his side, refusing to answer his command to move. So he shuffled around until he could reach his wrist comm with his good hand and depressed the control that would open a channel.

"Medical," he rasped, spitting out the last of the bile in his mouth.

The comm unit thought it over for a minute.

"Medical!" he snapped again, this time more clearly.

Obediently the holoscreen turned blue.

"Galacia Medical. State your emergency."

Merrick almost laughed despite his agony. "Help... me..."

He collapsed into unconsciousness beside his enemy.

* * *

To his surprise, Merrick realized nothing hurt. He should, he knew. After the beating he'd given and taken at Kozlowski's hands, he should hurt like seven different shades of hell. Instead, he felt pleasant warmth, calm...

And his cock was painfully erect.

The soft darkness around him faded into a cool teal glow, allowing him to pick out shapes but not make sense of the details. Off to his left, cloth rustled. He turned his head, realizing as he did that his back pressed against a surprisingly soft and comfortable surface. The supple resistance molded itself to his back, and he sank into it a little more deeply as he peered at the source of the sound.

Olivia's naked foot poked through a nearly invisible curtain, its presence betrayed only by the sequins worked into its surface. She moved slowly, as if in the opening steps of a dance she had not yet become proficient in, raising one shapely foot before lowering it so she balanced daintily on the ball. Then an alabaster expanse of smooth, sleekly muscled leg followed. Merrick gulped, sweat beading on his brow as his groin bristled at the unexpected thrill. She knew how to seduce a man more than adequately, but he had never seen her like this before.

With a tiny shock of realization, he noticed his ass was cradled by the same material that cupped his back... and he was as naked as Olivia's leg. It made no sense, but he elected not to argue, sinking into the unknown material and enjoying the show.

And a show it was. Olivia inched into view with a feline grace that reminded him of a Terran kitten he'd once watched playfully stalking one of his classmates' pet hruczek. With each new vista of flesh she revealed, his pulse throbbed a little harder until it thundered in his ears and his cock jerked with every heartbeat.

Finally she stood perfectly divided by the sparkling curtain, one side still hidden behind the fabric and the other revealed to him. She lifted one hand and lowered it to her mound, slipping her fingers into her seam and gliding them down her clit to find her opening. A low gasp pushed her lips into a pout as she massaged her pussy, letting her fingers roam over her flesh. Even from here he could detect the tangy scent of her arousal.

His mouth watered for her. He wanted to taste her, to lick and suck at her sex until she baptized his face with her sweet nectar and then take her deep and hard until she screamed out her release and clamped down on his cock to spur on his own crisis. Though his mouth was moist with hunger for her, his throat was dry as the powdery sand to the northeast of the city, leaving him unable to give his desire voice. He could only watch, paralyzed and shaking with need, as she continued forward with tiny, mincing steps, rubbing herself into a crescendo of whimpers the whole while.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" said a familiar male voice from across the room.

Merrick jumped and flicked his eyes off to the right, toward the voice. Quick sat there, naked as Merrick and just as hard. _Oh, great. Isn't there anywhere we can go to be alone_?

"When did you get here?" he croaked, forgetting the dryness of his throat.

Quick shrugged. "Search me." Then he looked down at his bare body and back up again. "On the other hand, it's not like I have many places to hide things right now."

The unexpected flash of humor coaxed a huff of laughter from Merrick. "What do you want?"

Quick's face flickered through a series of uncomfortable emotions too fast for Merrick to pin any of them down. "Relax. I'm not here to steal your thunder. You haven't had much time with Olivia lately, and I just want to watch."

Merrick raised his eyebrows. "You're into afternoon theater, then?"

"Never really thought about it before," Quick retorted. "Way I figure it, I owe you some time with her. All I want is to watch how you two make love. I might even pick up some pointers on what she likes."

Merrick inclined his chin. "What about what she wants? Maybe she doesn't want you to watch right now."

Quick scoffed. "Riiiight," he said, drawing the word out into a dimension of sarcasm Merrick vaguely remembered visiting with some regularity as an adolescent. "That's why her eyes are riveted on you right now. She doesn't even know I'm here, Merrick. You're the only thing she sees, the only man she wants."

Quick was unusually articulate, Merrick noted, but that didn't mean he was wrong. He shrugged.

"You wanna see what Olivia likes? I'll show you." He turned just in time for Olivia to press her lips against his. He met her eagerly, opening to her and inviting her to open to him in turn. She did so, the soft velvet of her tongue meeting his with a pleasant shock of renewed desire. He forgot all about Quick, about pain, about anything except the exquisite feel of his lover so close and yet so far way.

She finally pulled away. Merrick fought down a groan of protest as she moved back, just beyond his arm's reach.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice oddly modulated in the stillness.

"You," he murmured. "I want to taste you... "

She smiled. "Then you will have it."

She turned, showing him a lush expanse of narrow back, flared hips, and firm, high-set buttocks. He started to murmur in appreciation...

Olivia executed a smooth backward flip, bringing her feet up to meet the wall and leaving her sex at the perfect height for his mouth. Her hands came down on each side of his hips and her hair dangled, teasing his cock to near bursting as the silky tendrils brushed his flesh. Before he had time to register surprise, she lowered her mouth onto him, taking him deep without any apparent difficulty. His spine went rigid as Olivia sealed her lips around his shaft and began to bless his cock with feather-light strokes of her tongue.

He growled and tugged on her hips so her pussy rested against his mouth. The scent of her desire overwhelmed him, and he opened to feast on her heated dampness with as much fervor as she showed in sucking his cock. With light, firm strokes he flicked at her clitoris, enticing Olivia to moans of pleasure around him. She began to suck harder, pulling nearly all the way to the crown of his cock before sinking back down, using her hands to hold herself steady. In response he sped up the pace and force of his ministrations, urging her wordlessly to come for him.

She stiffened and let out a sharp, muted scream of ecstasy as her hips convulsed and her pussy clenched. Instead of backing off he pressed into her harder, seeking her opening with his tongue. Curling it into a U, he stabbed as deep into her as he could manage, creating suction with his lips.

From far away, outside the envelope of soft skin formed by Olivia's muscular thighs pressed to his ears, he heard the rhythmic slapping sounds of a man masturbating frantically. Quick was clearly enjoying the view, and the exhibitionistic thrill of having an audience spurred Merrick to greater and more intense desire. Olivia, sensing his fresh rush of need, stopped the long, hard strokes and switched to a faster, more urgent rhythm, telling him without a word that she wanted him to join her in the heights to which he had just raised her. He devoured her greedily, letting the savor of her release fuel his own need...

"Wait. I want you in my ass," Olivia panted, pushing away from the wall. With a twist of her body, she turned away from him and then sat slowly, positioning him precisely where she needed him before taking him to the hilt with a long, soft wail of joy and a shudder so intense he felt it as if it came from inside him.

She started to bounce on his length, accepting him almost angrily as she urged him on with her body. The soft tightness of her rear opening closed around his cock like a fist, encouraging him to claim her in turn. After a long, dizzying moment of adjusting to this new and delightful vista, he moved beneath her, meeting each downward stroke of her body with a ferocious upward thrust. Instead of backing off, his brutal response seemed to inflame her further. She reached down with one hand and lightly raked her nails over his full sac, another shock of added sensation that overloaded his senses and shattered any semblance of control.

He clenched his hands on the knobs of her hips, assaulting her with loving rage as he strained toward his climax. She responded to the urgency of his pounding by opening even further and at the same time tightening her hold on his cock.

"God, Merrick, come for me. I need it!" she cried.

Her plea stole the last of his control and removed the final barrier between him and release. With a howl he detonated, filling her ass with molten heat. She screamed her own pleasure as his eruption triggered another deep within her, and he rode the tidal wave of white-hot eroticism as his senses went supernova, blinding and deafening him utterly. The last thing he was conscious of as the room faded around him was the feeling of Olivia's body pressed against his, guiding him into cottony darkness.

## Chapter Thirty-Two

Hui set up her nest atop a low ledge adjacent to the landing pad. She had spent her childhood years exploring the outside of the Aerie thoroughly, fearlessly checking out every nook and cranny. She didn't care much for the beach, having lived with it her whole life. It was pretty enough in its way, she supposed, but she'd seen tri-vids of Terra and the snow-capped mountains and forests it played home to. The surroundings seemed so exotic she had made it her life's goal to visit the human homeworld. Once the gallartium mining operation was well underway, her credit balance would be high enough to permit her passage anywhere she chose to go. She could live out the rest of a natural lifespan on Dusk and never visit the same planet twice, maybe living a few years here and a few years there.

But first, she had business to attend to.

The winds now whipped her hair around her face, despite the tight ponytail with which she'd restrained it. There was no time for her to form a proper bun, because she needed all her attention on the pad. Resigned to the situation, she crouched as low as she could to present the smallest possible target to the wind.

Now the clouds towered over the graceful, fluid spires and towers of Galacia as if some elemental monster slavered and licked its chops to devour the city. Just above the city, in the gap between its skyline and the clouds, she could make out the lines of water sheeting down from the sky to refresh the ocean. In less than half an hour, the clouds and their accompanying cargo of rain would hit the city. Fortunately, the winds never dropped the temperature enough to be actively cold because of the heat of the blue star around which Dusk and Astaroth wheeled. The rain would be unpleasant, but only because she despised getting wet in uncontrolled conditions.

She sighted down, ensuring she had a clear field of view of the landing pad. She knew she would, but she also knew better than to take unnecessary chances. Attention to detail had landed her this deal, had helped her manipulate the tests DDC personnel were required to undergo, and would keep her alive now that the situation had grown fangs. All she had to do was be patient and calm.

Of course, patience and calm were easier to come by when one's partners weren't ravening lunatics and idiots.

She knew perfectly well that Kozlowski was a wild card. Grrrreelawk, on the other hand, was a... creature... of his word. If he felt at any time that he'd been wronged or crossed, whether that was actually the case or not, he would take action. While she doubted the T'riskin would send a fleet to ravage Dusk and take what they wanted by force, she did not doubt for an instant Grrrreelawk would do his level best to kill her if this situation became any less tenable.

The list of people and things she needed to dispatch was growing exponentially, and with it so too did her irritation.

The first rain fell, a large, fat drop that splashed on Hui's cheek. She reached up to wipe it off, only to have three more hit her outstretched hand. In moments, the staccato tap... tap... tap,tap... taptaptaptap turned into a steady drizzle, and from there to a full-fledged thunderstorm.

She peered through the scope again just as a bolt of lightning sizzled down, less than a kilometer away. The flash was so brilliant it left afterimages of thorny trees dancing across her eyes. The concatenation of the thunder came almost instantly, striking her eardrums like an angry god's mallet.

Blinking hard against threatening tears, she gritted her teeth and went back to staring resolutely through her scope.

_Maybe the optics on this are a little_ too _good_ , she thought peevishly.

At least the defenders of Galacia were massed on the opposite side of the Aerie, facing right into the teeth of the storm. If one shred of comfort could be found in these miserable conditions, knowing Olivia Gunnarson and her valiant crew suffered from the battering of the elements even more than she did was it.

* * *

Olivia stared into the blinding rain. The wind blew the fat, heavy drops nearly sideways, making looking out into the storm a thousand exercises in misery every minute. She slitted her eyes as best she could and raised a hand to try to cover her face, which proved only slightly less futile than trying to staunch a sucking chest wound with a tissue.

The rain ran down her skin in rivulets, seeking out and finding every nook and cranny in her outfit. Soon she was as soaked as she would have been had she not bothered to wear a stitch, with the added bonus that each time she moved the straps chafed uncomfortably against her skin. As if that wasn't bad enough, she dared not leave for fear the instant she did, the waves would come.

From behind her came Latimore's smooth baritone.

"You okay, Olivia? You want me to go have someone find you something, ah..."

"More appropriate, Major?" The look she gave him was the driest thing for several kilometers in any direction, the city included.

"I was going to go with 'drier,' Ambassador." Latimore's voice was as arid as her look.

"No. I don't have time to dry off properly and change, and at this point I'd only be adding insult to injury. They can't leave —" she waved to indicate all the people huddled miserably against the storm, " —so I can't either."

Now the rain came down in sheets, torrents worthy of an apocalypse. It rattled on the overhangs and pounded the parapets like handfuls of gravel flung from a giant's petulant fists, stinging the skin and eyes of all present. The wind howled louder than ever, as if mocking the people who dared to stand against the might of this force of nature. The cacophony of the rain and the near-constant lightning made speech nearly impossible. Olivia had to shout over the top of it to be heard, or to hear herself, never mind she was standing right next to Latimore.

Latimore nodded. As a commander in his own right, he would understand better than most why standing her ground right now was so important to her. "Have you heard from Merrick?"

She frowned, troubled all over again. "No. I sent him to find Pete almost a —I mean, two hours ago! I hope something's not wrong."

Latimore answered her frown with one of his own. He had only arrived a few moments before, after seeing the last of the refugees safely across the pit of the mine. "I just left Quick, and Merrick hadn't showed." He stiffened, eyes going wide. "I'll be right back."

He rushed under the portico and tapped his comm unit. A brief but intense discussion followed, during which Latimore did far more talking than listening. Olivia tried to tell herself she was only watching the major because it gave her an excuse not to stare into the weather, but she knew she was lying to herself shamelessly. She was watching him in hopes his body language might give her a clue as to what had happened to Merrick.

When he returned, his strides were quick and sure, his face frozen in his "official business" mask. "Olivia, Merrick's been attacked. They found Kozlowski and him tangled up in an out of the way corridor. They were both unconscious. Looks like Kozlowski stabbed him, but Merrick took his knee out."

"Stabbed?" she cried.

"With a shaped-plasma dagger. It's a bad wound, but apparently he's going to be okay. He's down in Medical under armed guard. Kozlowski's there as well, and he's also under armed guard. They're under orders not to be gentle with him, if it comes down to it."

Olivia grinned wolfishly. "Then we need to talk to Pete and get him up here." _I should go to him! He needs me_!

_So do these people here, and you know it_.

_I don't love these people. I love Merrick_!

_You can best honor and help him right now by helping keep Galacia safe. He will understand_.

_And if I don't_?

_Merrick doesn't have to answer to you, for you. You do. You have to answer to yourself and every person on this parapet. Make sure the answer you give is the right one_.

_Sometimes I really hate being right_.

She straightened. "Call Pete and get him up here. We're going to need him. Are any GCS personnel down there?"

Latimore didn't ask any questions. "Yes."

"Good. Find out who has seniority and tell them they're in charge by my order. Pete and Kase are to join us up here with all speed."

"Okay. I'm on it."

One of the lookouts cried out in alarm. "Wave sighted!"

She spun, lifting Pete's binocs to her face as she turned. The lenses left no doubt of the lookout's assessment. She blinked. Lowered the binocs. Raised them. Blinked.

The wave was one hundred meters tall, fully two-thirds of the height to which the city's defenses were designed to operate. At the speed it was moving, it would reach the city in less than five minutes.

"How long to raise the city's defenses?" she called to Latimore.

He thought it over. "We can have them up in three minutes."

"Do it!"

He gave the order.

He _didn't_ make the other call, the one that would summon Pete and Kase from the depths of the mine. She noticed, but gave it no real thought. Her eyes were riveted on the wave drawing closer with every heartbeat.

* * *

An observer on the beach, looking up at Galacia instead of outward to the ocean and impending doom, would have seen the graceful, airy towers grow stubby and suddenly erupt with scalloped metal sheets which locked into place like plate mail. They grew from the top down, ponderous as individual units but breathtakingly fast for their speed and the fact each one of them was ten meters across both dimensions and a meter thick.

As the metal plates fitted into position, first horizontally, then vertically, they formed a grand, sweeping shape similar to an old-style wedding cake, only with more curves. The metal gleamed dully in the multicolored, bejeweled lights of the city.

Two minutes, twenty-two seconds later, the base tier of plates groaned into position and shuddered to a halt. The bottom one hundred fifty meters of Galacia was now secured against just about any foreseeable danger.

Of course, a wave of one hundred fifty- _one_ meters would put paid to the finest efforts and best intentions of the city designers.

* * *

The wave comes onward, teased and bullied to its current majestic height by cross-currents, tectonic disturbances in the ocean bed, wind and gravity. From edge to edge, it spans an area two point two kilometers wide and almost one thousand kilometers, or about half the vertical length of the North American continent, long. The wave moves with the approximate energy of seventeen billion Hiroshima nuclear bombs, and contains almost as much water as Terra's Caribbean Sea.

The wave is not impressed by the shore, or the gleaming structures built above it. It cares nothing about the supposedly impregnable defenses of the city, or that generations of architects and master designers have solemnly assured the good people of Galacia they have nothing to fear from a wave such as this.

They may be right. They may be wrong. It does not matter.

The wave will pound itself into oblivion against the shore. If the defenses hold, the people of Galacia can count themselves fortunate. If they do not, the people of Galacia will die.

Either way, they know nothing about the larger wave forming behind it. The smaller wave is a mere harbinger.

The new wave, the one coming behind, is the one that by rights the good people of Galacia should really, and with perfect justification, be afraid of.

Its crest is three hundred meters above the waves. Compared to such a wave, the storm surge now bearing down on the Galacian coast is hardly worthy of notice.

And it cares nothing about that, either.

## Chapter Thirty-Three

On the far side of Astaroth, safely out of range of the defensive satellite web around Dusk, a gray-scaled T'riskin turned to her weapons officer.

"Deploy," she coughed.

The weapons officer splayed his talons and stroked a series of control surfaces. A moment later, the soothing reddish-orange light on the bridge flickered. The monitor displays wavered, but snapped into full cohesion in an eye blink.

"Pulse deployed."

The T'riskin settled back into her command seat, a basketlike affair with a series of depressed and raised controls on the arms that locked unless the proper code sequence was entered first. If necessary, she could manipulate and command the entire ship without any crew whatsoever. Her tail lashed as she studied the tactical view on the main screen.

One by one the icons indicating Dusk's primary monitoring and scanning satellites winked out as a powerful electromagnetic pulse ripped through the vacuum. Although it would be somewhat attenuated by being forced to pass through the solid mass of Astaroth, the pulse was still more than adequately powerful to fry the delicate microcircuits of the satellites. Dusk would be left blind and deaf, unable either to call for help or police its own pocket of near space.

The distress call from Grrrreelawk was far from unexpected, but still frustrating. She had better things to do as the commander of the T'riskin fleet than run to the rescue of a hatchling who had gotten himself in over his gills. Grrrreelawk had much to learn about how humans behaved, and she knew from bitter experience that the soft-skinned mammals could not be trusted.

"Primary defensive satellites are down," reported the tactical officer. He leaned forward, his jutting nostrils flared in anticipation of her next command.

She did not disappoint him. "Take down the secondary planetary defenses. Helm, proceed ahead at half-speed."

The helm officer turned, her eyes wide. "Half, Commander?"

She nodded emphatically. "Half. We will let the Tides of Astaroth do the heavy work for us."

As the helm officer turned to her console, the commander continued.

"If we arrive now, they are forced to choose between defending against us and defending against the waves. If we wait until the waves have done their work, the mourning and the panic will work in our favor. They will be less able to mount a cohesive defense, and we can simply take what we want."

The first officer spoke, his tone deferential but questioning. "How will we know when it is safe to strike?"

The commander's lower jaw dropped, exposing her sharp teeth.

"We will hover in the scanners' short-range shadow. The humans will never see us coming. We will watch and wait, until the time is ripe. Then we will act."

"As you say, Commander." The first officer went back to watching the screen, his spine loose and fluid.

The commander stared at the screen, anticipating the word —

"Secondary defenses are down."

"Proceed."

* * *

Just at the horizon, something rippled beyond the ridge of water boiling in toward shore.

Olivia raised a hand to cover her eyes and focused intently. A moment later, she put together what she was seeing.

"We have another wave incoming!" she cried.

The atmosphere on the balcony snapped from gloomy to intense. As the assembled humans gathered in their power, muttering preferred chants or single words, the residue of magickal energy washed over her skin like a bath of warm oil. She drew in her own power with a whispered phrase in Ancient Greek, bearing down to constrain the power and prevent it from flashing outward before she desired it to.

Inside her mind, she could feel the energy spooling just above her brainstem. Warmth became heat, and heat transformed into cold fire as she took more, and more, until her skull felt three sizes too small and her entire body ached with the stress of holding in so much magickal potential. Colors she had no name for flared across her field of vision, tinting the rain and the oncoming wave with vivid splashes of light. The fine, delicate hairs on her arms and at the back of her neck stood up as static electricity played over her skin. Her very bones cringed from the strange feeling of so much stored energy in one place, and her muscles twitched and spasmed with threatened cramps.

She let her gaze slide across the balcony, careful not to look too carefully at any one thing, taking in the scene without permitting herself to be unduly distracted. If she lost her grip on her power now, the pain she suffered to hold onto it would all be for nothing. It was just possible that they may not need her help, but if the power she was capable of holding failed at a crucial moment, it could mean the death of them all.

Faces lit with ecstasy or drawn with pain met her gaze. Bodies held in relaxed, springy tension or rigid with pain quivered or stood statue-still. Eyes glowed with the legacy of the energy trapped behind their eyes or squeezed tightly closed against the effort of holding the energy in, allowing itself to double and redouble within the confines of their minds.

Her entire being became one silent prayer as a bead of sweat trickled down her face, almost unidentifiable from the rain around it. She held herself as erect as the pain would permit, raising her hands high in a commanding gesture of determination.

The wave rolled onward, huge beyond all imagining, disappearing to the east and west as it came toward the beach. From ten kilometers away, she could clearly see it growing, becoming more breathtakingly immense with every second that passed.

The pain of holding in the magick shaded toward agony, and she drew in a deep breath. "Everyone stand ready!" she cried, devoting a tithe of her attention to getting the words out audibly while keeping a rein on her power. Surely humans were never intended to harness and hold such a monstrous amount of energy!

"Stand ready!" a number of voices called, echoing her order.

The wave kept coming. Even from Olivia's vantage point nearly four hundred meters in the air, she had to fight to keep down gibbering terror as the Goliath hurtled forward. Less than five kilometers now...

She hissed out a final breath.

"Attack!"

* * *

Water-crafters and teleks alike released their power.

It lashed out across the distance between the city and the wave, sculpted by some of the most powerful users into a broad, scooped trough nearly ten kilometers across. It struck the wave just above the top of the trough and sliced inward and up, effectively cutting the wave off at the shins.

The wave stumbled forward awkwardly for a moment, its momentum interrupted by the sudden onslaught of kinetic energy. The crest tumbled forward, crashing down into the trough. As it did so, the users spread it out along the wave front, using the wave's own mass and substance against it. With a titanic heave, the wave fell, collapsing into harmless wavelets that rushed forward toward the shore but would do no substantial harm.

Olivia sank to her knees, the relief of releasing that power into the teeth of the wave overloading her nervous system. She felt as if she could sleep for a week and that would be just fine with her.

All around her, people were forming queues to get a drink of water and rest after the explosive use of so much energy. There was no sense of celebration. Rather, everyone moved with the quick economy of hard laborers taking a rest before they were called upon to work again. Living on the coast, everyone over the age of ten was acutely aware that where one such monster wave had occurred, smart credits said there would be at least a couple of more. Because of this, no one dawdled, and everyone kept at least part of their attention focused out to sea. Here and there, men and women passed flasks and bottles around surreptitiously, taking quick sips and then handing them on or back. She thought about saying something, but elected not to.

Magick didn't work the same for any two people. This person might require caffeine or other stimulants for their power to focus and function properly, where that one might need a swallow of something stronger for fortification. She had never tried mixing alcohol or other intoxicants with her magickal use, so she had no basis for comparison. Usually she stuck to water or tea when utilizing her power, but decided it might be a worthwhile experiment in the future.

For now, she marshaled her rubbery legs beneath her and rose to her feet. A tall, brawny man with unruly red hair immediately appeared at her side, taking her arm in a surprisingly gentle grip.

"There ye are, Ambassador. No good standin' up too quick, eh?" he asked in a broad Irish lilt. His face fairly gleamed with good humor and kindness.

A scintillating rush of crimson blurred her vision for a moment, and she wavered.

"Oh, come, now. None o' that, Ambassador. There's people watchin' ye. Ye've got ta be strong, aye? I'll stay with ye until ye feel a bit more steady, that's a girl."

She finally reasserted control and smiled at the man, hoping her weariness didn't translate into her expression.

"Thank you. What's your name?"

He laughed. "Seamus O'Grady, ma'am. An' it's me very great pleasure t'meet ya."

"And mine to meet you as well, Mr. O'Grady."

"None o' that 'mister' business, if ye please, ma'am. I'm a simple hydroponic farmer." His infectious grin drained any sting out of his words.

She decided she liked this blunt, plain-spoken man and his direct manner. She would never seek him out for a liaison, but she felt certain he could be a good and honorable friend.

"Very well, Seamus. Would you mind helping me over to the water?"

His eyes twinkled. "I'll go ye one better yet. Stay here, rest yerself, an' I'll bring ye some water. In the meantime —" he reached into a pocket of his Kelly green breechclout and produced a flask, " —try some o' this. It'll help ye, put a fire in yer belly, aye?"

She tipped it to her lips experimentally as Seamus joined one of the lines. To her surprise, people moved out of his way with pointed glances at her. The contents of the flask hit her taste buds, sending a pleasant thrill of warmth through her entire body. Whatever it was, it had a marvelous sweet and smoky flavor that reminded her of a number of savory dishes she had tried in the past and a smooth bite on the back end. Swallowing, she took a more robust drink, sighing with satisfaction as a low, friendly fire roared to life in her stomach.

"Aye, that'll do fer ye. Here's yer water." Seamus passed her a disposable cup. "That'll put ye t' rights in a few minutes."

People sat, stood, or lay full length on the balcony, sipping water and talking calmly or with their eyes closed, gathering their energy. Olivia had never seen so many people so focused on a task at one time, and the air boiled with latent power as everyone recovered their strength and gathered in more magick.

"Look!" a woman screamed, her voice blistering the rain-saturated, magick-soaked air.

Olivia turned slowly, and gasped.

The new wave was easily three times the size of the previous one. Where the newly destroyed wave had rushed along as if racing to meet a lover, this new behemoth stalked forward with the stately pace of the inevitable.

She turned to the security people manning the doors. "Where's Major Latimore?"

One of the guards, a kid barely out of school, flinched. "He said he needed to go check some of the other security posts and make sure everything was okay."

"Let Security know about the wave. Now!"

They didn't question her, but leapt to do her bidding. One spoke into his comm unit urgently, while the other held hers out toward the wave to relay an image of the danger bearing down on Galacia.

The speaker abruptly broke off, his face going ashen as he listened.

"Ambassador! I need to talk to you!"

She hurried over as fast as her fiercely aching head would permit.

"What's happening?"

The GCS officer blanched. "We've lost all contact with the planetary defensive grids."

"Weather-related?" she asked, her mind reeling and racing.

"Unknown. We can't access weather, defense, or anything else." He gulped. "We're completely blind, ma'am. The only eyes we have are the ones on this side of the city."

She swallowed. Such a catastrophe was unheard of. For the entire grid to stop responding, all at once, indicated something far more sinister than a simple weather-related fluke.

"All right. Tell them we're their eyes now. If they lose contact with us... they have to evacuate. Otherwise everyone will die!"

He raised the comm to his lips. Swore. Tried again.

"Son of a bitch!"

"What's wrong?"

"All comms are down." He gave her a look so bleak her bones turned to ice.

"We can't call anyone or tell anyone _anything_. We're completely cut off."

## Chapter Thirty-Four

All of Galacia shook.

Pete looked up at the arching roof of the huge cave overhead. A few grains of dust struck him in the eye, causing him to recoil with a curse. After an interminable moment, all was still and quiet again.

The whine of the lift behind him brought his head around, and he cautiously raised his blaster to a position not quite centered on the gate. He knew for certain who at least some of the hostiles were, and if they showed up now, he felt no compunction at all about drilling them. It was simply too dangerous to allow them to live under such dire circumstances. Innocent lives were in danger, and he refused to take the chance they might get past him and jeopardize others.

The gate whirred open. To his intense relief, he saw Kase standing there.

"What are you doing here?"

She stepped out daintily, her head swiveling around. "Olivia sent me down to get you. She wants you to —" She broke off with a gasp.

"What is it?" She didn't answer. He put his free hand on her shoulder and gave her a little shake. "Kase, what's wrong?"

She shuddered, her face abruptly hollow and sallow. In the muted glow of the overhead lights that provided the only illumination, she looked almost corpselike.

"There's... something down here. Pain... fear... they're frightened. They want out of here. It smells bad... one just collapsed."

"One what? One of the evacuees?" Pete's stomach turned to a ball of ice. If he'd accidentally sent those refugees into a cavern where poison gas was present, he might well have signed all their death warrants.

"No." Kase's voice took on a low, empty note. If corpses could speak, they would sound like that. "They are not human. They have been brought here to mine the glowing blue stone. Their god-king demands it of them. Then the lizard-man and the big human with the hard voice ordered them into the tunnels to hide. They said the god-king would die if they did not obey."

God-king? Glowing blue stone? Lizard-man? What the hell did all that mean?

"Where are they?" he asked.

She raised her hand dreamily and pointed downward. He looked over the side... and gasped.

For all that he'd spent the last several hours down in the mine, he had been preoccupied with making sure the evacuees got across the pit safely and that no one fell to their death. Besides, he hated heights, so he hadn't bothered to look down.

Now he did, and the glowing, jagged stripe of blue near the bottom of the pit took his breath away as much as the dizzying drop did. His eyes took in the sight while his mind brought up image after image of Duskers wearing chips of the same stone.

"The magickstone."

She nodded vaguely. "Yes. They were brought here by the lizard-man to mine the magickstone. The lizard-man wants only the diamonds. The human woman wants the magickstone. It was a symbiotic relationship."

He took a breath. "Okay. Where are 'they' now?"

She fell silent for a moment, her eyes twitching and jumping beneath her closed eyelids. Her hand came up again, wavering and darting here and there before settling on a patch of darker blackness far down in the pit.

"There."

He scowled. How was he supposed to get down there?

"There's no need to shout," she said petulantly. "There is another lift fifty meters that way —" she inclined her head to the left, " —that leads down into the mine. There is a code sequence that has to be entered to get down to the level of the shaft."

"Can you find out what the code is?"

"Be patient."

He waited for an interminable two minutes. Finally she spoke again.

"Seven four three nine two one."

He repeated it back. "How certain are you of that?"

"Very. No less than a dozen of them saw the exact same numbers."

"And why didn't they use it to get the hell out of here?"

"Their god-king forbade them to do so. If they escape, he and anyone who remains will die." She broke the contact, her eyes huge and shining with tears. "He was tortured."

"By who? Why?"

Her lower lip quivered. "Hui. She forced the god-king to order his people to comply."

"What god-king? What _people_?" He was quickly losing his sense of humor with not knowing what the hell was going on.

She shook her head. "I don't know. They look like big, animate teddy bears with long fur and longer claws. They're nothing I've ever seen before, but they're frightened and very far from home."

Pete grimaced. On one hand, he needed to be next to Olivia and Merrick, making sure they made it through okay...

Kase was looking at him very strangely.

"What?"

She swallowed deeply, the red tip of her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. "I was sent down here to make sure Kozlowski didn't manage to sneak up behind you. He's up to his neck in all of this."

He nodded. "Why am I not surprised?" It all made sense now. Obviously Neville hadn't trusted Pete to deliver the goods, and so he'd sicced his watchdog on him. But where did the lizard-man fit in?

He posed the question thoughtfully, distracted by trying to put the pieces together.

"The lizard-man's a T'riskin. Technically contact with them is forbidden, but that law isn't enforced very thoroughly. It seems Hui decided the rewards of arranging to mine out the gallartium overshadowed the possible risk of getting caught negotiating with an alien race."

"Okay. So where do we find the T'riskin? We need to know what he knows."

* * *

Grrrreelawk moved stealthily through the dimly-lit Medical wing, holding close to the wall and using everything he could find for cover. The tip of his tongue lashed the air, questing for the unique flavor of his prey as he crept along.

If he accomplished nothing else, he was going to kill Kozlowski and Hui. They had betrayed him and created a problem he could ill afford. Even knowing the fleet was coming and that they would soon be in a position to take what they wanted with minimal risk, he dared not leave either of them alive. He was aware of the unique Terran propensity for trusting their own to an irrational and even suicidal degree, and by corollary their mistrust of other races. More to the point, he had put his reputation and his very life on the line to broker this deal.

He came to an intersection and fetched up short. Two guards stood with plasma rifles cradled in their arms, wearing full battle gear and helmets that obscured their faces. The two never looked at each other or the blank wall in front of them, scanning the corridor to either side watching for anyone who might come by.

" —waste of time."

"Maybe so, but orders are orders. We don't let anyone in except Medical, period."

"Yeah, I know. Did you hear about the guy who tried to kill him?"

"Koze-something or other. He's in lockdown in the next corridor. Latimore says no one's supposed to enter until the Ambassador can come to personally interrogate him."

"What do you think of her?"

"Kind of a cold fish..."

Grrrreelawk stopped listening, his senses now honed to get past these fools and into the next corridor. With a small effort, he bent the light around himself, effectively rendering himself invisible. The guards might detect a flicker of motion, but they would see nothing more. If they had any kind of discipline at all, they wouldn't leave their post for something they thought they'd seen. In a worst-case scenario, they might call in to their command for further instruction, but they wouldn't dare take unnecessary initiative.

Carefully he stepped away from the wall, staying as low as he could manage. He focused on moving slowly and carefully, to mitigate the unavoidable parallax effect as much as possible. His double heart raced in an offset syncopated rhythm as he strode forward cautiously.

In moments he hugged the wall on the other side and listened for all he was worth. Neither guard had said anything or raised an alarm. Fools.

Now that he knew where his quarry was, he saw no need for unnecessary stealth. He kept the camouflage on and stepped carefully, but he quickened his pace as much as he dared. The only sounds were the quiet shushing of the ventilators and the beeps and pings of lifesaving equipment, mingled with the soft growl of conversation from the guards in the corridor behind him.

He reached the next corner and glanced around the wall. About halfway down the corridor, two more guards stood in front of a door that didn't look any different from the others.

Perfect.

He splayed his fingers as far as they would go and extended his talons. Crouching low, he burst into a sprint. Like all T'riskin, he was especially well-suited to quick, lightning attacks.

The human guards never knew what hit them.

He rose up and slashed, disemboweling one of the guards through his heavy armor. The other turned just in time to have his head nearly torn off his neck from the force of Grrrreelawk's blow. The second guard crumpled with a muffled impact. He turned back to the first guard, who was doggedly trying to stuff his guts back into his torso. The human made low, guttural noises of fear and pain but was unable to muster a proper scream.

"Please..." the human whispered.

Grrrreelawk swiped with his talons once more. The stink of feces and urine filled the corridor, overlaid with the metallic tang of human blood. He reached for the pressure switch on the door.

Nothing happened.

He grunted softly and looked down at the gutted guard. On a lanyard at his hip rode a keycard. Nodding approval, he reached down and yanked with all his strength, snapping the sturdy plastic. He raised the card to the pressure switch. With a click the lock fell open and the door swung inward a few centimeters.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Of all the things he wanted right now, interruptions were not on the list.

Kozlowski reclined on a stable-base gurney. A pair of tubes snaked into his exposed arm from a gravity-fed drip bag above his head. Over the gurney a biosign readout monitored his pulse, respiration, blood oxygen level, temperature, and even his relative pain level.

Stepping over to the bed, Grrrreelawk stared at the human thoughtfully, relaxing his native gift for blending into his surroundings. It was hardly sporting to kill an enemy in such a weakened condition, and if such an act became common knowledge, he would undoubtedly lose prestige and face. Then again, he had summoned the T'riskin fleet to bail him out of this mess, so he could hardly say he was losing any ground. If nothing else, his own honor would be satisfied by the knowledge this human could not come back and put a dagger in his back after the fact.

It would have to do.

Extending one talon to its furthest length, he leaned down and casually slit Kozlowski's throat, opening it almost to the spine. The human's eyes shot open as his hands came up to clutch at his exposed trachea, his bright blood running over his fingers in veritable torrents.

"Yes," Grrrreelawk hissed. "I am glad we had this last few moments together, human. It means more to me than you might think to be able to look into your eyes while you die."

Kozlowski's eyes filmed and clouded. He collapsed back with a final sigh, the fatal wound gaping obscenely.

Grrrreelawk snickered. "Good riddance, human scum."

He turned toward the door...

Two guards stood in the portal, particle-beam rifles trained on his head.

He raised his taloned hands, dripping with human ichor, in a submissive gesture. The humans entered cautiously, keeping the bores of their weapons aimed at his face. "Hands over your head!" the one on the right snapped.

"Very well. I will comply," he said.

As the humans got within striking distance, he added, "In another lifetime, maybe!"

He ducked, slashing out with the heavy claws of his feet. The guard on the left screamed and went down, clutching his thigh. The guard on the right followed Grrrreelawk with the bore of his rifle, but he'd made a crucial mistake and gotten too close.

Grrrreelawk seized the bore and ripped it out of the guard's hand. He reversed the rifle so his finger came down on the firing stud. The weapon blew half the guard's head into sizzling meat and a fine spray of blood and bone. The guard slumped to the floor with a heavy, wet impact.

Turning, he fired into the other guard's chest. The human never had time to scream. His body bucked in a last galvanic spasm and then relaxed.

He nodded approvingly and shouldered the rifle as best he could.

"This may be useful."

Slipping out of the room, he tried to recall which direction led most expeditiously to the mines. With blood on his hands and a GCS-issued particle-beam weapon over his shoulder, even the most unobservant human could hardly help but notice him. This contingency, he decided, was to be avoided if at all possible.

He bent light around himself again and set out the way he'd come.

If he could salvage the Raebteews for another operation on a more congenial world, perhaps he could save the _sh'rintai_ 's share of his honor as well.

## Chapter Thirty-Five

"God, it smells like a cesspool down here!" Pete covered his mouth with his hand and kept his breathing shallow to get as little of the fumes as he could manage.

"I know." Kase's voice was vacant. "They're down this way, though. If these fumes smell bad to us, they are potentially fatal to them. We have to get them out."

"Yeah." Part of him wanted to say fuck the aliens and get them both the hell out of here. Olivia needed him topside, but he couldn't walk away from an innocent race in distress without feeling like a complete, galactic-class monster. "Let's hurry up about it."

"We're getting —" She rounded a bend in the tunnel and came to an abrupt stop. Pete narrowly missed plowing right into her.

In the soft light of her torch, a sea of wide, black eyes looked up at them out of fuzzy faces. A high-pitched chittering burst forth. Pete winced.

"Ask them to turn down the volume, will ya?"

She said nothing, her attention on the little creatures in front of her. After a moment the noise subsided.

"Can you tell them we're friends?"

She nodded. The creatures looked at each other uncertainly.

"Hui told them the same thing. Then she put the god-king in a cage. He's in the back."

"Okay. Tell them —"

"Do you want to do this, Quick?" she snapped. The look she gave him was cold enough to freeze nitrogen solid. "Assuming you _can_ , then be my guest. Otherwise, back off."

"Okay, okay." He raised his hands in surrender. "Backing off."

"Good," she huffed.

Silence ensued. Finally the little creatures started to shuffle to the sides, forming a narrow aisle wide enough to allow the humans to pass.

"I've told them we're here to help them get away from Hui and her pals. If we hurry, we can get them out before any more of them succumb to the fumes."

"Uh-huh," Pete grunted. "And then what?"

"Well..." She trailed off. "I don't know. I just know we can't leave them here as slaves."

Just then, the tunnel's ceiling dipped sharply. The last of the creatures scurried out of the way, revealing a cloth-covered cube.

"There."

She reached out and drew the black cloth off with a contemptuous flick of her wrist.

The reek that rose from the cube defied description.

The creature that cowered in the farthest corner of the cage was covered with fur, but it was so encrusted and plastered down with filth that Pete couldn't decide how much hair it had, much less what color it might be. Unlike its fellows, it had brilliant golden eyes. A few clear patches of white fur stuck up over its eyes, giving it an oddly owlish appearance, a resemblance not diminished in the slightest by the half-meter-long talons depending from its stubby little... fingers? Paws? Pete couldn't be sure.

"Stand right where you are and don't say a single fucking word until I tell you otherwise, Quick." Kase's tone blazed with righteous anger.

Pete decided that was probably good advice.

* * *

Kase projected as hard as she could.

_I am a friend. Do you understand friend_?

The creature flinched and voided its bowels again.

[ _Scared_.]

_You don't have to be scared of me_.

[ _Other one look like you say same. Lie_.] The little creature's mental "tone" jangled with petulance.

_What did she do to you_?

The little creature projected image after image of Hui standing over the cage, administering the lash of her will to his mind until he could do nothing but pray for death. When the psychic battering finally let up, he sent his people into slavery and danger just to keep the agony from coming back. His grief and anger radiated under his thoughts, giving them flavor and depth.

_I am so sorry_. Tears sprang to Kase's eyes. _Not all of us are like that_.

[ _No trust you_.]

_You have no reason to. If you let me, though, I'd like to prove it_.

[ _Prove... how?_ ]

_If I break the hold the other female has on you, and let your people go free, will you trust me_?

[ _......... May. Promise nothing_.]

_I don't expect you to. I only ask that you let me try_.

In quick, terse terms she relayed the conversation. Quick's jaw tensed and grew harder with every word. "Can you relay a message?"

"Yes."

"Tell him we'll both do everything we can to help them."

She did, and was greeted only with silence. She could hardly blame the little creature for his mistrust. He had been horribly abused, forced to subjugate his entire people for the greed of a handful of humans and T'riskin. Even if he would never trust her, she knew she would never know a peaceful moment in her entire lifetime if she did not do something to help these creatures.

Taking the deepest breath she could through the rotten-egg stink of sulfur and the vinegary odor of the creatures' wastes, she probed at the little creature's mind with the lightest touch she could manage. The creature's mind flinched and shivered under her examination, but he made no move to flee.

In moments she found the center of the commands Hui had built into the creature's mind. They wrapped around a specific series of physical and mental signposts in its head, glowing a sickly, rotten yellow. If gold could curdle like milk, it would look much like the bonds around the creature's mind looked to Kase.

Her lips skinned away from her teeth in a repulsed snarl. Carefully she wrapped the affected areas of the little creature's mind in shields designed specifically to keep anyone else from prying into or interfering with his thoughts or desires. Finally she had only a tiny hole through which to slip. Before she did, she summoned the image of a pair of scissors, sharper than scalpels and so tiny they could severe molecules easily. With minute care she moved forward slowly until she found the place where the threads wound most tightly around the creature's will. She snipped, once, twice, a dozen times. With each snip more of the thread fell away.

She pulled back, sealing the last crack in the defenses she'd woven for the little creature behind her.

The creature's face lit up with something that looked a lot like... joy.

He chittered loudly, and the rest of the creatures answered him. They swarmed around the cage, taking care not to touch Kase or Quick, nuzzling as close as they could get.

"Can you open the cage?" Kase asked. Her voice rasped in her own ears, and she had all she could do to keep her legs under her.

"Yeah." He looked around quickly, finding the catch and depressing the button that would pop it. The lid snapped open, releasing another fetid cloud.

"Tell him I'm going to —"

Before he could finish, the creatures surged forward like a living wave of fur and eyes, knocking the cage onto its side. The god-king rolled out of the cage and came up on his feet. His people crowded around him, reaching out to touch him.

Suddenly a piercing shriek rang out from behind them. Kase turned to see what had happened.

The lizard-man from the god-king's nightmarish memories loomed in the mouth of the small tunnel.

* * *

Hui's eyes watered with the sudden onslaught of a migraine. On the heels of the sharp, grinding headache, an abrupt sense of disconnection swelled inside her head.

Fighting back the pain, determined to ignore it, she probed about inside her mind for the source of the discomfort as if using her tongue to seek out a canker sore. In seconds she located it.

Someone had tampered with her connection with the Raebteews god-king, severing it and freeing him from her influence. She just managed to hold back the shriek of fury swelling in her throat.

Through watering eyes, she peered down the scope again, even risking detection by raising the abbreviated bore of the rifle to scan the storm-razed heavens. There was no movement on the shuttle pad, and nothing to be seen in the sky. If Kozlowski thought he had a ride coming, he was clearly in error. It was entirely possible Neville had lied to Kozlowski, playing both him and Hui for fools in the hope they'd both scramble up to the shuttle pad and eliminate each other and saving him a world of headaches.

She wondered why she'd waited so long before going to hunt for Kozlowski, but then the answer came to her as clear and sharp as a beacon.

If she'd left, she would have risked missing him. She could almost admire Neville's deftness in manipulating them from a quarter of a galaxy away, if she wasn't so determined to feed him his penis the moment she got off this rock.

That problem paled in comparison to the much more serious issue at hand, however. If she had lost her control of the Raebteews god-king, it could only mean someone else, a telepath playing at least on her level, was responsible. The little creature lacked sufficient sophistication to understand what she had done to it, never mind to shatter its own bonds without outside aid. To make matters worse, the backlash wasn't the cold, empty nothingness she would have expected if the creature had somehow died. This was a searing sense of severance, fueled by pure fury and a formidable will.

She reached out for the Raebteew's mind, and found it. When she tried to grasp it, however, it shifted and slipped through her fingers like water. She could not reestablish her grip on the creature's mind from such a range.

She would have to do it in person.

Breaking the rifle down into its telescope form, she sheathed it and rose. Her joints creaked and groaned in protest at the sudden movement. Ignoring the discomfort, she hurried for the service hatch that had given her access to this rooftop.

Time was no longer on her side.

* * *

The T'riskin flagship dropped through the atmosphere, the high-altitude winds buffeting and battering at it. The ship was not primarily designed for atmospheric operations, although it did have such capability. That did not, however, assure the _Hnglissssh Sk-r'oktin, the Glorious Claws of Victory_ , a smooth ride, the T'riskin commander reflected wryly.

"We are at twenty thousand meters, Commander," reported the helmsman.

"Fire atmospheric thrusters and maintain position."

"Done." A low thrum shuddered through the ship as the ionizing thrusters cut in, leaving it floating on a cushion of positively-charged particles. Every so often, a loud boom exploded beneath the ship as the atmosphere attempted to stabilize its charges by discharging built-up static electricity. The commander ignored it. So long as they stayed above the cloud ceiling, they were in no danger of detection. Anyone viewing the pyrotechnics from ground level would assume they stemmed from the clouds overhead, not something _above_ them.

"Tactical screen."

The weapons officer brought up the requested display.

"Patch dorsal scanners into the display."

Before the words had fully left her mouth, a one-hundred-kilometer square leapt into view, overlain with a targeting grid and a host of other information.

The commander thought about making a sarcastic comment about her weapons officer's apparent determination to read her mind, but decided not to. She needed the crew at optimum morale at this moment.

A huge wave like nothing the placid shores of T'risk had experienced in the very, very long memory of her race bore down on the Galacian coast. The wave measured four kilometers in width, three hundred meters high at its crest, and vanished from the screen on either side.

The helmsman breathed out a vile oath. The commander shot him a reproachful look. He had the good grace to flush a light green and mumble an apology.

"What are your orders?" the first officer asked.

"We will maintain station. We will watch. We will wait." She paused for emphasis. "And at the proper time, we will attack."

* * *

The wave slices through the water, building itself from the material which transmits it even as it leaves some of itself behind. It rushes along on a course that places Astaroth directly behind it, and Galacia immediately ahead.

This is the largest wave the seas of Galacia can possibly produce, hydrodynamics being what they are. The wave does not know this, does not know itself to be a veritable Goliath amid the pygmies that have preceded it and will follow behind it. It does not know it is a wave. It simply exists. In its existence, it hungers, seeking the shore, needing to expend itself against rock and sand as a lover needs to ravish the object of its desire.

It knows nothing of humans, and cares less. It does not understand death, or mourning, or restraint, or concern. It only knows it must explode against the shore, shaping the land even if it means the wave's own destruction.

And it rushes on, responding to the subtle drag imparted by the slight upsurge in the seafloor far below. The rise of the continental shelf will slow it and build it higher in preparation for its final climax...

## Chapter Thirty-Six

Olivia spared only a brief moment for thought. Where were Pete and Kase? They needed to be up here, where there was at least a chance of safety if the defenders couldn't stop the wave entirely. Of course, there was no way to convey that with communications down. She would have to be patient.

In the meantime, she had work at hand.

She drew in the power again. It hurt. She had already done more psionic heavy lifting in one day than most practitioners, no matter how avid, did in a year. She knew she could do it again, because she had no choice, but it was one of the most excruciating experiences of her entire life. A memory of some of her female friends relating their experiences of childbirth flitted through her mind. If childbirth could be compared to this in any way, she'd gladly pass.

The defenders gathered in power, each of them taking as much as they could, and then more, and more still, as if trying to suck every erg of magickal potential from anything and everything they could beg, borrow, or steal from. She gasped as she took in more. Her muscles protested, locking into painfully earnest cramps. She noticed, but paid it no attention, spooling the energy inside her skull where she could unleash it at the proper time.

One of the women, a slight thing with a few strands of silver lightening her dark hair, collapsed, blood gushing from her nostrils. Her eyes rolled up until only the whites were visible beneath her slitted lids, and flecks of froth boiled from her mouth.

A security woman hurried up to her and placed two fingers at the base of her throat, seeking a pulse. Olivia inferred she found nothing, because she began to press on the woman's breastbone. Tears stung her eyes, and she wished for a second that she could help.

_You can_.

_How_?

_Dudley_.

Olivia waved at the security woman. "Break off a few fronds from the plant! The sap will help!"

The woman looked puzzled, but didn't argue. She ran over to the small plant and unceremoniously snapped off a handful of leaves.

"Massage out the sap into her mouth!"

The woman bent to the task, and Olivia felt a twinge of guilt that she wasn't down there, helping.

Duty was as much as a cage, a trap, as it was an honor.

Turning her attention away from the women, she clamped down with all her will to hold the magickal energy trapped in her mind in place. Sparks danced around her fingertips with crisp pops and snaps as the magick sought an outlet, ionizing the air around her.

The wave came on.

The water at the shoreline pulled away with a great, heaving sigh as the tsunami drew it in to augment its own mass. Tiny sea creatures and krakens alike gasped and thrashed in shock as the water ebbed away, leaving them trying to breathe dry air. The carcasses of old hovercars whose pilots had been too careless or reckless shone wet and dripping on the muddy bottom.

Olivia screamed, "Now!"

Using the same tactic as before, the defenders hurled their power against the wave. As before, it tumbled into its own trough.

Unlike before, the wave only lost its top half.

There was no time to regroup effectively before the wave struck. Olivia pulled in power frantically, knowing that beside her men and women did the same. Knowing with the hideous, sinking certainty the human animal experiences when they first realize they can and will die, at some time, of some cause or other, that it would make no difference. But she made the effort anyway, because that was part of being human: engaging in fruitless defiance because it needed to be done, to take a stand against the inevitable not because it could be changed but specifically because it _couldn't_ be and it is human nature to piss in the eye of the inevitable.

As the wave rushed up the seashore, she unleashed the power, less than a hundredth of what she'd managed to draw in earlier. All around her, the defenders did the same, battering at the wave with feeble fists of magick and telekinetic power.

The wave did not even flinch.

A moment later, it crashed onto dry land.

Five seconds after that, it smashed into the fortified tower built on a wide basalt plateau that hosted the city of Galacia.

Water sluiced over the side of the parapet as the impact shook the Aerie to its foundations. Olivia fell painfully on her side, bruising her hip, elbow, and shoulder. The side of her head struck the textured metal, dazing her. Shock flooded her system. What had just happened?

The female defender who had collapsed sat up, coughing out salt water and rubbing her chest. The security woman said something to her. The defender blinked and then lunged forward, enfolding the security officer in a fierce, if damp, embrace.

Oh, right. Olivia remembered. She sat up, shaking her head gingerly. Her head rang with odd echoes and her ears buzzed with a high-pitched tone, but she seemed to be mostly intact. She eased herself to her feet and stumbled over to the parapet, her eyes blurry and her legs wobbling alarmingly.

One of the security officers hurried over. "Can I help you, Ambassador?"

"Yes. Get over to the security office and get me a complete status report."

The officer saluted and broke into a full sprint. He only made it three steps before his feet shot out from under him and he slid the rest of the way across the balcony, thumping into the doors with a solid impact. He pulled himself to his feet, gave her a chagrined look, and ducked through the doors.

* * *

The corridor trembled under Hui's feet, knocking her off balance. She slammed her head into the wall painfully. Tears swam before her eyes and the pressure inside her head redoubled.

"What the fuck —"

An alarm klaxon began to wail, its monotone howl blistering her ears.

"Okay. That will not help my headache," she grumbled, shaking her head to try to realign everything as it should be. As her vision cleared she began to run, hurrying toward the lower levels and the lift to the mines.

If she didn't reassert her control over the Raebteews, this entire enterprise could be for naught. She would be forced to flee Dusk altogether, with only the clothes on her back. There was no time to pack for a proper extraction, even if she had anything she particularly cared for. Creature comforts were wonderful in their place, but they would only slow her down. As annoying as that thought was, reason asserted itself. _You can always get more things. Your freedom may come at a higher price if you are discovered_.

She stumbled into the lift. As it plummeted downward, she planned her next moves. If she couldn't reassert control of the Raebteews, she would have no choice but to try to make nice with Grrrreelawk and convince him to take her with him when the fleet arrived. It was a slim chance, but she had no time to come up with a better plan.

Silva still needed to die, and if she could rid herself of Gunnarson at the same time, that would suffice. As it stood, she could only afford the time to take out both targets if they were conveniently located in the same place.

The lift doors opened... and she barked out an oath.

Two GCS guards were bearing down on her, weapons drawn.

Fortunately for her, the rifle also had another configuration. A few quick twists and a long-barreled blaster with an extended shoulder stock rested in her hands. Before the guards had time to realize what was happening, she snapped the weapon up and fired a half dozen times. The guards dropped with gratifying speed.

Heedless of the mess she had left behind her, she pelted down the main street toward the mine lifts. Adrenaline fueled her pumping arms and pistoning legs, and she covered the distance faster than she would have thought possible. _But then, isn't that the nature of fast_?

She skidded to a stop at the lift and dipped inside, slamming the gate shut behind her. The lift began to drop.

Just before she fell below the level of the ground, an outraged cry reached her ears.

_This just got a lot more dangerous_ , she thought.

## Chapter Thirty-Seven

"What issss thissss?" the lizard-man hissed. His voice gargled and croaked as if adapted for speaking underwater.

Dismayed squeaks and squeals rose up from the tiny mammals. They pressed in closer to the far end of the tunnel. The lizard-man stepped forward another pace... and froze.

"He's seen us," Quick muttered, unlimbering the blaster in its holster.

"You will not esssscape. The Raebteewssss are mine to do with asssss I pleassssse." The lizard-man drew a small hand weapon from beneath his cloak. "And you will die, human intruders."

Kase murmured, "Can you hit him?"

Quick narrowed his eyes for a moment and shrugged. "Maybe. Depends on how many of the... Raebteews... I'm willing to risk hitting."

"How many are you willing to risk hitting?"

"None," he replied. He dropped his hand to his other side, clutching the pommel of his sword.

She thought frantically. The T'riskin blocked the only way out, and with the angle of fire, he had a much greater chance of success than they did.

Unless...

She turned her thoughts to the god-king. Gently she opened herself to his mind, instead of pushing her way in. With a cool trickle of energy, she opened a link, allowing him plenty of time and room to close himself off from her if he chose, the mental equivalent of knocking politely at a door instead of kicking it in.

_Do your people kill_?

[ _When must_.]

_Are you willing to kill your captor_?

[ _Yes_.] There was no hesitation in the thought. [ _Him_ can _kill easy. He cruel. He care nothing for Raebteews. Care only for use us_.] The response carried with it a distinct flavor of seething rage.

_Can you tell them to attack_?

The little creature's eyes glowed brighter. He made a single chittering chirp.

The Raebteews all froze for an instant.

Their claws came up.

The T'riskin snarled. "What are you doing?"

Kase redirected her attention and stabbed into the lizard-man's mind. The montage of images that flooded into her brain were so alien she had no context for most of them: mud bogs under a sickly red sun, great fields of nests where T'riskin mothers hatched and cared for their young, a rite of passage of some sort in which the hatchling T'riskin was required to climb up a huge tree and eat the bioluminescent moss that grew in the highest boughs.

Hui swirled into focus, and Kozlowski's maimed body, the images underscored with incandescent rage. They wheeled out again as quickly as they'd come, and a new image formed: himself, speaking through a shielded comm channel to another T'riskin. She would bring five ships and take the diamonds they required in the confusion and chaos surrounding the Tides. If possible, she would pick up Grrrreelawk and see him safely off this mad planet. If this proved not to be possible, he was to do what he must to stay alive and hidden until a more propitious moment.

Now he stood here, ready to reassert his will and dominance over the little creatures. To his intense surprise, they all appeared ready to fight back against him. Hui had failed somehow, unless the humans cowering at the end of the tunnel had something to do with this. Either way, he owed the human woman compensation for her failure, compensation that would come at the end of his own talons...

Kase blinked rapidly as all this information spiraled into her mind. With a gasp she broke the connection.

Grrrreelawk turned and began to run.

He only made it three paces before the first of the Raebteews were upon him.

One of the little creatures slashed out, severing the large, strong tendon in the T'riskin's ankle as easily as overcooked pasta. The next skittered up and stabbed its outsized claws into the large, strong muscle of his thigh. The T'riskin screamed and pitched forward, flailing around with his talons at his tormentors. The Raebteews moved with deceptive speed and grace for their small, stocky forms, and they piled atop the T'riskin in a writhing heap of towering anger and glittering claws.

The T'riskin screamed again, a sound like a tea-kettle in pain. The scream choked off to a liquid gurgling, then a long, gasping moan.

Then silence.

One by one the Raebteews peeled off the pack, panting with effort and their eyes glowing with something very akin to murderous joy.

The god-king shuffled forward slowly, reaching out with his little paws to stroke his people as he moved past. Each of them closed their eyes and hummed as he did so, until the low-ceilinged tunnel thrummed with the sound. As he reached Grrrreelawk's corpse, the other Raebteews fell back.

The T'riskin had been utterly stripped of hide, muscle, and sinew. Only a yellow-orange coating of ichor clung to the bones. Kase's stomach roiled as she realized where the rest of the creature's substance must have gone.

The god-king picked up Grrrreelawk's empty skull and shook it experimentally. Then he set it atop his head so his face peered out of the jaws of the skull.

The Raebteews let out a shrill, piping cry of joy and broke into a shuffling little dance.

Quick growled at her side. She snapped her eyes up and to the left. His expression was cold enough to freeze blood.

She looked back up the tunnel mouth, just in time to see Hui turn away from her slaughtered companion and run.

* * *

Pete took up the chase, stepping around the Raebteews as quickly as he could manage in an awkward broken-field trot. With one hand he drew his blaster, while the other withdrew the Mameluke saber from its sheath. As the psychotic little teddy bears with ridiculously long claws fell away behind him, he extended his stride to a jog, and then to a full-out sprint.

Shooting someone in the back wasn't considered good form, but Pete decided he didn't care. After the psionic attack she'd unleashed on him, he was none too worried about the rules of fair play. Besides, if everyone was right about her being the assassin, Hui was the most logical candidate to have taken a pot-shot at him. Even if she hadn't done it personally, he was willing to bet someone acting on her orders had. So he sighted down on her shoulder blades and touched the firing stud.

She stumbled, just enough to send the particle beam sailing over her shoulder instead of into her upper spinal column. Pete cursed and fired again. This time the beam stabbed wide, striking a rock right at her chest height. The rocks flared molten red for a moment and began to ooze down the wall, recrystallizing quickly as the cool air in the mines met the heated rock.

"You're not getting away!" he called, panting as he tried to line up another shot.

The assassin didn't answer. Apparently he wasn't worth wasting breath on.

For some odd reason, that annoyed him. She was willing to shoot him on a beach, but he didn't even rate a little banter before they got down to the dogs? He fired again, just barely missing her hind foot this time.

She juked to the left, then hopped to the right, then back again. The zigzag pattern she was running made it difficult if not outright impossible to pinpoint where she was going next, never mind leading the target enough to have a decent chance of hitting her.

He counted off how many charges he had left. Fifteen? Twenty? He'd lost track. _Stupid move, Quick. You know better than that_ ...

Inside his thoughts he flinched as he realized what he'd just called himself. _Oh, hell... now Merrick's even got_ me _using that stupid nickname_!

Resolution flared behind his eyes and he picked up the pace, throwing open the throttle and feeding every erg of energy he had to give into chasing down his quarry before she had a chance to do any more damage.

_Might as well earn it_.

## Chapter Thirty-Eight

Hui reached the lift again with Silva hot on her heels. She pushed the gate closed and cursed as she realized she had no idea what to do.

If she went up, GCS would be waiting for her. She thought she'd heard Major Latimore's voice mixed in with the cries to stop. If she stayed here, Silva would undoubtedly kill her. Between being shot and then having his mind tinkered with, she saw no reason to believe he'd be willing to open a dialogue. In fact, if she'd been in his position, she would wait for Silva to open his mouth just so she could put a plasma bolt or a particle beam through his tonsils.

_That_ idea was sufficiently unpleasant to make _up_ seem like the more reasonable course of action. She pressed the control and the lift started to rise.

Her weapon was at full charge and carried thirty plasma bolts, more than enough to cut down any resistance and silence any objections anyone might have to her passing through. She pointed the stubby barrel of the weapon toward the gate, ready to unleash mayhem the moment the lift stopped.

She was pretty sure Grrrreelawk was dead. That pile of bones and splashed, inhuman gore could only have belonged to the T'riskin, unless he had friends along on this little adventure he hadn't seen fit to apprise her of. That stupid bitch Reed had somehow managed to circumvent her control of the Raebteews god-king, which meant the little monsters were now free to do whatever they saw fit. Kozlowski... well, if he wasn't dead, she couldn't work out any scenario in which he lived long enough to be a problem.

Grissom would have been a nice trophy, and so would Gunnarson, but she couldn't see any way to have her cake and eat it too in that situation. She would have to settle for arranging to get off-planet soonest and count herself fortunate she'd escaped with her skin more or less intact.

The lift shuddered and clicked to a stop. The gate swung open.

She had just enough time to register the squad of angry-looking people in GCS uniforms clustered around the lift.

She pressed the firing stud, sweeping the bore from left to right.

The cries and screams of anguish began almost immediately as the bolts from her weapon chewed through armor, flesh and bone alike. Bolts and beams from the security force's weapons sizzled the air all around her, missing her by millimeters and burning her skin angrily. She could almost hear her own skin sizzling and blistering as the bolts flash-boiled the water in her skin.

She kept firing until no more bolts emerged. The corridor had gone eerily silent. Everyone on the opposing team lay scattered at the mouth of the lift, groaning quietly or otherwise utterly, deadly silent.

Stepping out of the lift, she took a precious moment to drop the empty plasma charge from the magazine and reload. Arousal and anger played tag in her body, and she felt herself grow damp with excitement at the idea of how simple it had been to kill all these people. If only she had a lover left alive, she'd be tempted to stop off for a quick fuck to relieve some of the heated need in her groin.

Alas, now was not the time.

She looked down at the carelessly stacked sprawl of bodies. None of them looked like they could be expected to live much longer, so she paid them no heed.

A pale face with blue eyes and a mouth framed by a dark goatee with threads of white in it stared up at her defiantly.

"Ah, Major Latimore," she cooed, as if the two of them had met at a party. "So sorry to see you here. How are you feeling?"

He whispered something venomous that she couldn't quite make out.

"What was that? You should probably speak up a little. I think I shot you through the lung." She bent down so her ear hovered close enough to his mouth for her to hear him, but not so close that he might get any brilliant ideas like trying to bite her ear off. "I understand being shot in the lungs tends to be detrimental to proper oratory."

He drew in a deep, wheezing breath. Then two.

Behind her, the lift started downward again.

"I'm running out of time, Major. If you have something to say, say it."

He inhaled deeply.

"Practice dying." He spat weakly, spattering the side of her face with bloody froth.

She smiled as she wiped away the spittle. She did adore a man with spirit.

"You first."

There was no point wasting a charge on him. She stood up. Considered.

Her foot smashed into his windpipe with a moist crunch.

The light faded from his eyes on a final gurgle.

She looked toward the lift. It hadn't started to rise yet, but she knew Silva would be on her heels again in moments.

Sighting down her weapon, she fired. The latch exploded into dripping slag. Satisfied that she'd bought herself a little more time, she turned and ran for the lift that would take her to the top of the Aerie.

She had one last bit of business to finish.

* * *

Pete willed the lift to go faster, muttering "Come on, come on" over and over again. As if determined to ignore his wishes, the lift continued to rise at a glacial pace.

He'd been so close to killing the assassin, and he'd botched it. It wasn't entirely his fault, he knew. Shooting accurately on a target range was one thing. Firing at a determined moving target who was desperately not interested in being shot was another entirely. Pete was a competent marksman, but between his own adrenaline and motion coupled with Hui's erratic movements and the poor lighting on the broad catwalk, he knew it would have taken nothing short of a miracle to hit her under such conditions.

Where could she possibly be heading? Only two likely options occurred to him. Since she'd been unmasked and was now the most wanted criminal on the planet, she would either have to go to ground somewhere and try to get away when the heat was off...

Or she would try to go after Olivia.

That was unacceptable.

The lift ground to a stop. The gate whirred and screeched as it tried to open, but something prevented it. He kicked at the latch with his heavy boot, trying to help it along, but to no avail. The gate had been firmly blocked.

He took a deep breath.

"Okay."

He slashed with his Mameluke sword. The shaped-plasma blade sheared through the tough metal effortlessly, drawing a line from just above his head down to the floor. He made two more cuts, carving a door into the door. The metal groaned as it fell inward, narrowly missing him. He dodged around it and stepped out into the corridor...

Onto something soft and unpleasantly squishy.

The man's throat had been crushed in, and an ugly plasma burn cut through his chest. He studied the death-twisted features for a moment and realized he was looking at Major Latimore. The GSC commander had not gone down without a fight, and neither had the rest of his squad.

"Safe journey, friend," he said aloud to the empty corridor. Picking his way carefully through the carnage, he glanced left and right. Right would take him to the Aerie. Left led somewhere he had never been before, and now wasn't the time for sightseeing.

He needed to be with Olivia.

* * *

Merrick regained consciousness with a yelp.

The last thing he remembered was Kozlowski slashing away at him with that stupid plasma dagger. He'd taken a bad hit, and then... had he vomited? The sour taste in his mouth and the lingering burn in his throat argued that he had.

He looked down at his left arm. A pressure bandage oozing pink cellular regeneration matrix had been applied, and the whole mess was covered with a white sling. Obviously he'd gotten medical attention, since he was awake and somewhere in the Medical wing instead of lying on a slab awaiting autopsy.

_Olivia. Quick_.

The names galvanized him, and he grunted and groaned his way off the gurney. An upswelling of dizziness constricted his vision for a moment, and he braced himself against the cold metal railing with his right hand. His vision cleared, and he aimed himself for the water faucet across the room, moving with slow, hitching steps to avoid a repeat of that horrible dizziness.

A drink of cool water did wonders to clear the vile taste out of his mouth, and his stomach grumbled, demanding more. He took another slow swallow, careful not to overdo it.

"Need to get to the Aerie. Liv's going to need me. I hope Quick's okay..."

He stumbled to the door and pressed his palm against the latch.

Nothing happened.

"Okay, that's weird..."

He raised his good arm and pounded on the door. "Hello?"

It opened almost immediately, to reveal a GCS guard in full combat regalia and carrying a wicked, businesslike particle-beam rifle.

"Good, you're awake, Ambassador."

"Of course I am. What's going on?"

"We don't know. We've been stuck down here guarding you. There was a big impact about ten minutes ago. We think a wave might have hit the city."

Merrick gulped. If that had happened, it implied Olivia and her defenders had been unable to stop it. Shoving the thought away for the time being, he asked, "And Kozlowski?"

The guard shrugged, his face going cold. "Dead. Someone took out four guards to get to him. We think it was a T'riskin, but we don't have time to run him down."

_Kozlowski's dead? At least that's something_.

"Okay. I need to get up to the Aerie and find out what's what."

"We can't let you do that, sir. We've been ordered to keep you here where you'll be safe."

"Then come with me. I'll be safe as houses. One way or the other, though, I'm going to the Aerie."

The guard shuffled uncomfortably. "Sir, the Medical staff has ordered us —"

"I'm overriding your orders on my authority as an ambassador of the DDC, Officer. You can follow me or you can stay here. Tell them I conked you over the head and when you woke up I was gone." The guard's eyes narrowed skeptically. "One way or the other, I _am_ gone in ten seconds."

The security officer thought it over. Merrick could almost see it when he came to the proper conclusion, because he took a deep gulp of air like a man caught in an undertow and about to be pulled under.

"All right. Come on, Ramirez," he said to the other guard. "At least we can make sure the ambassador doesn't hurt himself."

As they navigated the maze of corridors leading out of the Medical wing, Merrick grilled the guards on everything they knew. The picture they assembled was grim: no comms, no planetary defenses, and the impact that had shook the city almost confirmed at least one wave had struck despite the defenders' best efforts. Merrick started moving faster, almost trotting, forcing the security guards to hustle to keep up with him.

It made no sense, but he had the strangest feeling that speed was of the essence right now. He needed to be with Olivia and Quick, make sure they were okay, and stand with them no matter what.

At the doors, he didn't pause. Blowing through them, he plowed into a bulky figure rushing toward the lift up to the Aerie. His arm protested and a red haze hung in front of his eyes for a moment as pain short-circuited his body.

"Merrick!"

"Quick. Sorry to run into you like this."

Quick shook his head. "Never mind that. You okay?"

He flapped his slung arm awkwardly. "What passes for it."

"Good. Can you run?"

Merrick smirked despite the pain. "Watch me."

Quick looked at the security guards, his face bleak and remote. "If you can keep up, you can come. If you can't, stay here. We don't have time for stragglers. We have to protect Ambassador Gunnarson."

The guard didn't bother to respond, but took off at a sprint.

The other three followed suit, each of them focused on the same objective.

## Chapter Thirty-Nine

The doors slammed open. Hui stepped out onto the balcony, keeping the set of her spine as haughty and regal as any queen's. She peered around through the driving rain until she found Gunnarson, leaning against the side of the parapet as if drawing strength from it as she stared out to sea. All around her, exhausted men and women sat or sprawled on the ground, talking in low voices.

"Gunnarson!"

Olivia turned and recoiled. "Hui!"

The assassin smiled coldly. "The same. I just came to give you a farewell present." She waggled the bore of her weapon meaningfully.

"We don't have time for this, Hui. There's another wave coming. Not as big as the last, but it could still be dangerous."

"That's not my problem, Ambassador," Hui replied smoothly. "I no longer care what happens to this city, or this planet for that matter. I just want you and your meddling merry men to die."

Olivia shook her head. "If you think you can get it done, then let's do it. Otherwise, feel free to throw yourself off this balcony. I have work to do."

Hui froze in openmouthed shock. Of all the responses she had expected, Olivia's nonchalant riposte wasn't one of them. Surely Olivia couldn't feel secure enough in her abilities to take her on, even with all eyes on the parapet suddenly bent toward the standoff. Was she mad?

The doors opened behind her, and a taut male voice called, "Olivia!"

With a flinch, Hui turned to see Merrick and Silva pounding toward her, their faces rigid with rage.

" _Fuck_!" she screamed.

_Time to play my trump card_.

With a quick, sharp effort she lifted herself off the balcony floor, shooting upward to hang high about the heads of the now clearly furious men. She blew them a mocking kiss and began to airwalk her way out toward the sea, moving as confidently as she would on solid stone.

_They'll never catch_ —

The thought broke off as Olivia hurtled into her like a blonde comet. Hui's concentration shattered, and the two began to tumble toward the rocks far below.

Olivia screamed incoherently, ripping at Hui's hair and face, opening stinging gouges with every attack. Hui fought to retaliate, but Olivia's position at her back made that impossible. She could only tuck in and hope the other woman did not manage to score a disabling blow. She closed her eyes and waited.

Abruptly the sense of falling stopped as Hui slammed into something that gave gently beneath her. The impact drove Olivia into her, and she gasped as her vitals were compressed in a way nature never intended. Then the other woman's weight was off her, and Hui dared to turn over onto her back and open her eyes.

Olivia loomed over her, the expression on her face coldly furious. "Hui Sin Ling, I hereby pass judgment on you. For the murders of Ambassador Nils Trelawney, Ambassador Muhammed Al-Aziz, and the attempted murders of Colonel Pedro Silva, Ambassador Olivia Gunnarson, and Ambassador Merrick Grissom, you are hereby sentenced to death. Do you have anything to say in your own defense?"

"Take your sentence and shove it u —"

Pain like nothing she'd ever known before lanced into her skull. She stared, horrified, into Olivia's face. The bitch didn't have the ability to pierce another's mind... she, Hui, was the only one who'd ever thought to try in the DDC!

_You're right, she doesn't_ , came a chilly female voice in her thoughts.

_But_ I _do_.

She realized too late who was speaking.

_Reed! Get out of my mind_!

She made an effort of will. Nothing happened.

Kase chuckled darkly in her thoughts.

_Now, I believe you played a rather nasty trick on Colonel Silva some little time back. You put him into a loop of his own worst experience. Let's see if we can do the same to you_.

The other mind probed and poked at her thoughts, picking through her memories with no care or regard for the pain she was causing Hui. Her mind tried to curl away from the violation, but the other refused to give her an inch. From somewhere far away, she heard a moan, and realized it came from her own throat.

_It hurts, doesn't it, you bitch? Oh. You don't have any memories that cause you pain, that keep you up at night? Well, allow me to help you. I think this will do_ ...

Hui screamed inside her own mind as Kase poured mental poison into her synapses. The agony was beyond anything she'd ever experienced or even imagined. The other woman picked every horror a woman could imagine and brandished them as torches to set Hui's thoughts afire. Although Hui had never gone through these things, in the realm of her own mind, they were more real than reality itself.

A rapacious mob staked her out, using her body for their own dark desires as a child she'd never had died in front of her and a man she had never loved, but maybe could have in another life, walked away from her suffering, having left her to the tender mercies of the mob. She saw a mother she never knew lying cold and still on a gurney with a sheet over her head, a father she had once cried out for hanging in an out-of-the-way corner, and witnessed a platoon of people she'd sworn to keep alive die horribly on a distant planet.

She sobbed and twitched under the onslaught, praying with some part of her mind that remained distant from the agony that it would stop. Instead, the agony twisted upon itself in a Mobius strip of torment, bending and corroding her mind a little more every moment.

If there was such a thing as hell, she burned in it now.

She was dimly aware of arms around her, lifting her up from her writhing on the ground.

"Mama?" she whimpered, afraid to open her eyes.

"Hush. It will all be over soon."

* * *

Olivia looked down at the twisting, weeping figure before her without pity. This was the woman who had brought so much pain and misery down on everyone whose life she touched. It made no difference to her at this moment that the woman was paying threefold for it.

Nothing but death could suffice for such a person.

She summoned up power, pulling it from air and sea, earth and sky. She pulled it from within, from her love for Merrick and Pete, from her hatred for those who put their own desires above the greater good, from her grief for the lives this woman had rent asunder and her relief that her lovers had survived.

She willed herself into the sky, away from the solid plate of compressed air the teleks below had gifted her with, holding the smaller woman at arm's length as if carrying something utterly repulsive. Up and up she went, into the rain, until the people on the balcony below had shrunk to impossibly tiny moving dots.

"The sentence will now be carried out," she whispered.

She dropped Hui, and lashed out with her foot in a brutal kick back-loaded with all the magickal energy she could spare. The woman shot out on an arc that would drop her in the ocean, flying away like a meteorite.

She forced the air into steps and raced down them, eager now to be back among her people. There would be at least one aftershock, and she needed to be ready.

She needed to lead them.

Five meters up, her magick failed. Exhausted from the rigors of combating the waves and the final hand-to-hand battle, she slumped off the last step and fell toward the balcony.

Merrick and Pete caught her as gently as they could, easing her to the ground. She looked up into their pinched, concerned faces and smiled wearily.

"It's over," she sighed.

Unconsciousness rose up to claim her.

* * *

The mental assault snapped, and Hui suddenly realized she was _free_. So intense was the sheer relief that for a long moment she didn't notice she was in motion.

She opened her eyes to see the ocean looming before her. Another wave boiled across the surface, rushing toward shore. She ran the calculations quickly. On her current trajectory, she was going to hit the trough of the huge wave.

She screamed.

And screamed.

She was still screaming when she slammed into the stone-hard surface of the water. She felt the impact with devastating finality.

She did _not_ feel the wave cresting and dropping over the top of her, crushing her corpse into a tiny crimson smear which vanished into the depths almost instantly.

* * *

"All right, lads an' lasses. One more time, for Ambassador Gunnarson!" barked the wildly red-headed man.

The defenders mustered themselves, pulling in magick from everywhere they could. Although Pete could plainly see all of them were almost out of gas, they nevertheless moved so much energy even he could feel the power against his skin. He hated feeling helpless, but understood these people knew their business. His proper role was to guard Olivia now, just as Merrick did.

"Ready!"

The air on the parapet suddenly grew thick and close as a thousand throats drew in air.

"Now!"

* * *

The T'riskin weapons officer's jaw dropped. On one screen he had seen the humans locked in battle in thin air, a feat no T'riskin could hope to duplicate save in certain ridiculous hatchlings' tales. On the other he bore witness as an implacable bow wave of unidentifiable energy sliced into the oncoming storm surge, stopping it in its tracks and forcing it to fall apart.

He turned to the commander, not bothering to hide the uncertainty in his voice.

"What are your orders, commander?"

The commander's gray skin had paled to a distinctly sallow tone.

"Helm, get us out of here," she rasped quietly.

The helmsman whirled in his chair.

"Commander —"

" _Do it_!" she snapped. "If they can shut down a wave of that size and power, how well do you think this fleet will fare against them? I will not risk it, not until we understand exactly what they are capable of."

"What of Grrrreelawk?"

She shook her head. "I will wager you my next mating season against a broken hatchling's shell he is already dead." She smashed her taloned fist against the armrest of her command seat. "Now, _get us out of here_ , or I will do it myself and find a helmsman who can follow orders!"

Chastened, the helmsman turned to his controls.

Moments later, the T'riskin fleet no longer stained the skies of Dusk.

## Chapter Forty

"No, I'm afraid that's quite impossible, General. Colonel Silva has been found guilty of conspiracy against the people and world of Dusk, and as such he has been sentenced to serve out the rest of his natural life at hard labor."

Olivia shivered deliciously, thinking of what the nature of such labor would be. She turned away from the holoscreen and gave Pete a broad wink. What the general didn't know was that Pete had been honored with Dusk's highest commendation for bravery, the Astaroth Circlet. As such, he now sat on the DDC as a valued if honorary member, in charge of coordinating security and defense both for Galacia and for the planet.

Pete had warned her Neville would ask for him to return to Terra for a court martial.

"He's not going to have a choice," Pete said, cradling the last of the Terran Scotch Merrick had poured him.

"He can ask for it all he likes. Under IC extradition agreements, we have the first right to you, however. Even if you truly were a criminal, which you are not, I would not hand you over." She had folded herself into his lap and given him a long, passionate kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too, Olivia."

"That's unacceptable, Ambassador," Neville raged over the hyperspace commlink. "I will challenge Dusk's authority in this matter all the way up to the IC Council."

"You certainly have that right, General," Olivia said smoothly. "However, I should think you would prefer your role in this debacle not come to light. Whether wittingly or not, willingly or not, your actions caused the death of a good many people on this planet and placed my person, as well as many of the people I lead, in jeopardy. As such, I am willing not to recommend any and all charges the IC and the Terran Marines might see fit to bring against you in exchange for your acceptance that Colonel Silva is and will remain in our custody and that neither you nor your agents will set foot on this planet. If you do so, I will file a formal grievance against you and press for the maximum penalty under all applicable laws. If my memory serves me, such penalty is death."

"You wouldn't dare! I'm a general!" An odd pounding noise came over the link. Olivia could just imagine Neville slamming his fists on his desk in impotent fury.

"I would, and will, if you insist on forcing the issue, General Neville. Do not make me interrogate Colonel Silva for the name of your commanding officer."

Neville broke into incoherent sputtering. Olivia waited, drumming her fingers on the table idly as she grinned at Pete. If she was going to interrogate him over anything, it would be when he and Merrick were going to be inside her again.

"You can't possibly think you'll win," Neville said, his face and voice a study in enforced if ineffective calm.

"You forget that Dusk also has telepaths, General," Olivia reminded him gently. "One of them already knows what has happened and is ready to give testimony against you and your fellow conspirators, should such be necessary."

Neville's face slackened and went pale on the screen. He no longer looked commanding, merely old. "Very well, Ambassador. It appears I have no choice but to comply. Please note that I am doing this under protest."

She smiled. "So noted. Have a pleasant life, General."

A moment later a pale blue legend appeared on the holoscreen: _Transmission Terminated_.

Merrick grinned and stretched, his typical cocky grin very much in evidence. "So that's that. You think you can stand living here for the rest of your life?"

Pete nodded. "I'm sure somehow I'll manage." He broke into a broad grin at the end.

Olivia stood and offered the men her arms. Without hesitation, Pete fell in on her left and Merrick on her right.

It felt... right.

"Come on, guys. I'm starving."

* * *

An hour later, her stomach full and other parts of her achingly empty, Olivia performed a striptease for her lovers.

In the dim candlelit closeness of her quarters, she removed her clothing one inch at a time, savoring the wolfish looks on the men's faces as she revealed herself to them a little at a time. Part of her wanted them to quit being so damned gentlemanly, throw her on the bed, and ravish her. Part of her luxuriated in knowing that although they were both bigger and physically stronger than her, neither one would make a move without her say-so.

She swayed and twisted to the elaborate, sinuous rhythm of a popular song that consisted of Rigelian water horns and a seven-stringed guitar that had evolved here on Dusk. The wild, syncopated beat matched the drumming of her heart as she shimmied, revealing the very top of her areola.

Merrick watched thoughtfully, one hand propping his chin as if he was listening intently to a presentation. Despite his casual body language, the way the shadows and light played on his throat betrayed him every time he swallowed. She could feel him bending toward her emotionally and physically, even though he made no move toward her.

Pete, on the other hand, made no effort to conceal his rapt attention. He kept his hands folded in his lap, his back perfectly erect. His eyes grew wider with every motion of her body, and a trickle of sweat appeared on his forehead. Good. She wanted him hot and hard and ready for her when the time was right.

Slowly, playfully, she showed more of herself, knowing and reveling in her power again as she had done that first time on the beach, with Astaroth rising behind her. She teased and wriggled, writhed and offered her body to the candlelight and their avid gazes.

Finally she stood before them, nude in the candlelight, glancing at herself in the mirror every so often. The lighting suited her, she decided, creating a delicate chiaroscuro her men, her loves, could not help but want. Her pussy pulsed, liquid need seeping from her core, and desire howled through her.

No more games.

She swayed and shimmied over to Merrick, falling down to cover the last two meters on hands and knees. She worked her way up his leg with light kisses and soft caresses, smiling up into his eyes as she rose over him. Finally she pushed aside his hand and knelt astride him, the bulge in his breechclout pressing against her seam tantalizingly. For a moment she toyed with the notion of freeing his cock and allowing him to bury his length in her, but the time had not yet come. She wanted both of them unable to control themselves anymore, wanted to worship them and to be worshiped in return, to let them lose all restraint and civilization and to permit herself to run wild with them as well.

With a low moan, she ran her tongue over Merrick's lips, requesting access to his mouth as she rocked slowly along the firm ridge of his cock. He moaned in return, and she pushed her tongue into him, fucking his mouth as greedily as she wanted her lovers to plunder her body. She teased him like that until she felt his fingers clutch at her buttocks, and then pulled away.

Now it was Pete's turn, and she worked her way up his body languidly, wanting him to know she valued and desired him no less than she did Merrick. He smiled down into her eyes, one eyebrow cocked as if daring her to try to turn him on.

She accepted the challenge, straddling his hips to revel in the firm proof of his craving for her. Leaning forward, she mouthed Pete's firm jaw and the light stubble under his chin, so different from Merrick's smooth skin. Her clit ached, and she moved so Pete's cock could stroke her through the material of his cargo pants. He had not yet learned to be comfortable in Dusker breechclouts, but she held out hope...

Fingers closed on her hips, pinning her exactly where she was. She gasped into Pete's mouth, content not to move because his magnificent cock pressed against the perfect spot. She needed him, needed to come for him, needed him to see how much she needed both her men —

_Oh, God_.

She arched her back, rocking her ass backwards. Behind her, Merrick's tongue stabbed deep into her pussy, flicking and lapping at her folds. She scooted forward and then back, the pleasure the tongue, Merrick's tongue, was giving her inside matching the unique feeling of dry-humping Pete through the softness of his cargo pants. She arched her back, careful to keep her entrance readily accessible to Merrick without forcing him to get closer to Pete than he would be comfortable with.

Now fingers joined the magnificent symphony, and Olivia whimpered against Pete's throat as the first climax ripped through her body. It wasn't enough, though. She needed more, so much more, she needed them to be part of her, in her, touching her heart and soul as surely as they touched the intimate parts of her body.

She slithered down Pete's length, loving his muscled firmness as much as she did Merrick's lean, whipcord frame. When she knelt nestled between his knees with her face on his crotch, she mouthed at the cloth covering his turgid prick, tasting her own arousal on his lap. Reaching up, she released the pressure seal that kept his pants secured, and his thick cock, shorter than Merrick's but perfectly filling just the same, popped out against her chin.

Giggling, she turned to Merrick. "Please," she begged. "Don't make me wait. Fuck me, lover."

A whisper of fabric, followed in less than a second with the familiar, sweet thrill of Merrick's cock teasing at her nether lips, showed her he was willing and ready to follow her lead. As he impaled her pussy on his length, she opened her mouth, taking Pete as deep as she could. She pulled back, tugging at the waist of his pants in a silent plea. Finally he took the hint, raising his hips off the chair so she could leave him bare and as exposed as she was. With one hand she began to fondle and tug gently at his balls, building his urgency and his need for her. With the other she reached behind her, splaying her fingers over the tight muscles of Merrick's belly and then questing lower, finding the base of his shaft and working it urgently.

In moments Merrick exploded, spurting deep inside her, the heat of his come and the quaking of his cock setting her off again. She moaned around Pete's dick as Merrick filled her, and then she pulled away.

"Please," she told Pete. "I want you to fuck me too. Merrick, take Pete's place."

Merrick gave Pete a look.

"What do you think?"

Pete grinned.

"I think she's calling the shots, so we'd best make her happy."

Merrick chuckled. "I couldn't agree more."

* * *

She swatted Pete lightly on the shoulder and leaned back to allow him to get up. He took advantage of the way the pose revealed her slit to him, reaching up to stroke the sensitive flesh between her thighs. She froze, her eyes closing in sensual pleasure as he caressed her center.

"Mm," she whimpered.

He grinned and pushed her away gently. Then he stood himself and gestured to Merrick, pointing at the seat. The other man sat, his erect cock stabbing into the air. Without hesitation Olivia lowered her mouth onto him, taking his whole length easily. From Pete's vantage point he could see her lips stretched over Merrick's shaft, her buttocks moving against empty air in a way Pete found unbearably erotic.

Olivia reached behind her, groping blindly until her fingers brushed the head of Pete's cock. Although he had just released, the contact made him stir afresh. He groaned and moved a little to the left so her soft palm cradled his erection. She took the hint, rubbing lightly but firmly at his shaft as she began to impale herself on Pete's hardness. She started slowly, her pace languid and stately as she slid up his length only to plunge her hips back down again. With each thrust she matched the speed and power of her motions on Pete to what she was doing to Merrick.

As her thrusting became more urgent and erratic so did her intimate massage of Merrick's cock, which once more jutted hard and hungry from his groin, weeping pre-come and turning a fierce reddish purple at the head. Finally she let go and sank down onto Merrick's recharged erection with both arms, trembling with need.

"Please, Pete. I want to feel you in my ass."

He raised an eyebrow. Merrick growled, his face set in a grimace of thwarted desire. "Do it!" he panted. "I can't hold out much longer, Quick."

"I don't have any lube," Pete said lamely.

Olivia grumbled and spat into her hand, then slicked her fingers over the heartbreak cleft in her buttocks. "There! It's wet enough now."

"Are you —" he started. Olivia snapped her head around, her face so fierce the word "sure" died stillborn on his lips.

"Do it!" she echoed Merrick. She raised herself so she straddled Merrick's length, taking him as deep as she could into her pussy with a satisfied grunt.

He closed his eyes and knelt behind her, feeling Merrick's muscular legs lightly against his hips as Merrick nudged at her rear entrance. She moaned and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Pete's chest as she rolled her hips forward to give him easier access. He pushed forward slightly and found to his delight that she opened easily to his pressure. She gave a low, throaty sound of appreciation as he slipped into her up to the balls.

With a shock he realized he could feel Merrick's balls rubbing against his own. The tactile sensation was so forbidden and alien but so intensely erotic that Pete threw caution to the wind and punished Olivia's ass with a brutal series of thrusts. She squealed and began to grind on Merrick again, forcing Pete to feel the other man through Olivia's body as she moved with single-minded deliberation.

As Olivia bucked and writhed on Merrick's cock, Pete felt her body tense and tighten around him once more. She cooed and moaned as she reached another orgasm, the release seeming only to spur her to greater excesses of sexual abandon. Merrick's breathing became erratic and labored under her assault, and he cried out as Pete felt the other man erupt into Olivia's body.

Before this he would never have imagined such a thing could bring him such intense, heady gratification. Now his body tightened in sympathetic reaction. He pounded against her more urgently, desperate to join his lovers in climax. Olivia accepted him easily, trapping him in silken, luxurious warmth that encouraged him to be as harsh or as gentle as he chose. The boiling arose in his balls...

With a final powerful thrust, he exploded, emptying his cock in a white-hot explosion of lusty desire. Olivia shrieked with joy as he spasmed and jerked inside her, her anus clamping down to take every last drop he had to give her. Pete's vision subsided to a low, angry red and the roaring in his ears overrode every other sensation as his body ignited.

After a long, timeless spell he came back to himself with Olivia cradled against him and Merrick curled on her other side. The room smelled sweetly of honest desire and brine and the unmistakable musk of passion under the delicate scent of the candles. His body still twitched with delectable aftershocks. If he'd ever had a climax of similar power to this one, he could not remember it.

Olivia pressed a kiss to his collarbone. "You awake?"

He nodded. "Uh."

She gave a low laugh so evil it would make a succubus blush. "How about a shower before we go on to the next round."

* * *

Merrick stirred and peered over Olivia's arm, blinking owlishly. "The _next_ round?"

She grinned.

Pete snorted at Merrick.

"Unless you're too big of a pussy."

Merrick disengaged from Olivia's embrace and rolled to his feet. "Pussy?" he asked the other man, padding toward the 'fresher. "Let's see if you can handle one of my showers, Devil!"

He looked over his shoulder just in time to see Pete rising. Give Olivia credit: she knew how to pick men. Pete looked like one of those statues from Terra, all rippling muscles and contained power. For just a moment, he wished he could get into men just to experience that power by proxy.

"I bet I can manage," Pete assured him. The look on his face was half-joking and half-daring. "But can you?"

"Boys," Olivia complained. "Pay attention to the matters at hand."

Merrick looked at the "matters" under consideration and found himself stirring once again.

"I'll try to concentrate," he said drily.

* * *

The lovers disported themselves all through the night, while the candles burned themselves down to nothing and the music switched itself off. None of them paid any attention; the orchestra of flesh striking flesh in pleasurable collision, the male grunts and moans, Olivia's feminine sighs and cries, were music enough for any lovers to enjoy. They reached one final peak together, their howls of rapture raised to form one voice, declaring their hearts and bodies equally interwoven from this day forward.

Afterward, the men curled against her, bookending her softness with their male strength, holding her as if each was determined to ward her body and dreams alike even as they slept and recovered from the demands she'd made on each of their bodies.

She lay awake for a while, until nature called. Sliding out from beneath and between them, she took a moment to enjoy the delicious swollenness of her body. Her lips, nipples, pussy, and ass throbbed with joy and her legs felt pleasantly wobbly. She had never before felt so loved or desired as she did between the attentions of her lovers, and her heart swelled as she looked back to the bed where the men lay, their soft snoring filling the room.

Making her way to the refresher, she attended to biological necessity and then treated herself to a long, hot shower as she replayed every kiss, touch, and thrust her men had bestowed on her body. She scrubbed away the lingering scent of her men, her body crying out as she touched the tender parts in exquisite agony, begging for more but already so sensitized that the lightest brush of her fingers sent her into a fresh wave of ecstasy.

Finally she turned off the water and set about drying herself off. She wrapped herself in a fluffy robe and went into the kitchen. Quickly she prepared herself some warm spiced tea. With one more glance at the bed, she smiled gently and opened the door to the balcony.

The clouds had subsided, and the sea no longer looked threatening. It marched in straight lines to the horizon, where Astaroth was just rising. She sighed happily, exhausted and sated for the time being, and sat down at the table to watch the moon rise, greeting another day.

* * *

Deep within Olivia's body, two things, totally unalike but each utterly essential to the other, met and merged. A minute passed. The new single thing paused.

Shuddered.

Divided.

A minute later, it repeated the process, from two to four, four to eight, eight spinning out into the next best thing to geometrical infinity.

As it continued to grow, it found a soft, warm, nurturing surface. Protein bonds formed, anchoring the new being securely.

For now, the new thing dreamed and waited.

This would be its home for the next nine months, while it prepared itself for the world beyond this peaceful fluid realm.

## Epilogue

Forty-one weeks later

"Here's your daughter, Olivia," the healer chirped, handing her the tiny, pink-wrapped bundle.

She looked down at her daughter for the first time, marveling at the tiny little scrunched face with its little rosebud mouth, the eyelids tightly closed, and the delicate little mitted hands.

Her heart swelled all over again as she cradled this new little life to her breast.

Merrick peered down, enthralled. "She has my chin."

Pete nudged him aside. "Let me see." After a moment he shook his head. "You're nuts. She has my ears."

"No, see?" Merrick reached down, his finger almost but not quite touching the delicate little cleft in her chin and then pointing to his own. "Looks just like this."

"Whatever." Pete rolled his eyes. "I'm telling you, you can't mistake these earlobes." He tugged on his right ear for emphasis.

"I think she looks just like her momma," the nurse volunteered.

The men looked again and muttered. "Yeah, guess she does," Pete allowed, as Merrick said, "Yup."

The healer came in, his manner brisk but kind. "So, Olivia, how are you feeling?"

"Tired," she said honestly. Childbirth had to be the most exhausting thing she'd ever been through. Fifteen hours of labor, of screaming herself hoarse, of squeezing her lovers' hands until she feared she'd crush their bones to powder, had really taken it out of her. But now, looking down into her child's red face, she knew every excruciating contraction, every scream, every tear, had been well worth the price she'd paid to be here at this moment, with her daughter and the men she loved.

"I don't doubt it!" the healer laughed. He brandished a chart and quickly turned serious. "Now, let's see here: you refused genetic testing, is that correct?"

She nodded firmly. "It is."

He frowned thoughtfully as he made a notation. "And why is that?" He looked pointedly at the men flanking her. "Don't you want to know who the father is?"

She shook her head. "No. It doesn't matter. Her father is a man I love very much. It doesn't matter whose sperm went where when. Both of these men are her father, no matter which one was the actual donor."

He shrugged. "Well, I've never heard of such a thing before, but if you insist..."

"I do," she said firmly.

"Okay." He made another note. "Have you selected a name?"

"Yes." She looked at Merrick and Pete in turn. "Mary Latimore Gunsilvom."

"Can you spell that for me?"

She did, watching her men carefully. Merrick's eyes were misty, while Pete's were thoughtful and vacant.

The healer scrawled his signature and said, "Good enough. I'll leave you folks to rest. You'll get precious little of that for the next little while, I'm sure!" Laughing at his own joke, he hurried out.

Pete met her eyes first. "Gunsilvom? Kind of an unusual name, isn't it?"

She smiled. "I wanted all of us to be represented. My grandmother's name was Mary, and it also works as a short form of 'Merrick.' Latimore..." She squeezed her eyes tightly closed for a moment. "I wanted to honor Major Latimore. And Gunnarson, Silva, Grissom." She pointed to each of them as she said the names.

Merrick's face broke into a wide grin. "Should we show her?"

Pete nodded. "Might as well."

Merrick darted out of the room, only to come back a moment later.

Olivia raised her eyebrow suspiciously. "What are you goons up to?"

In such perfect unison Olivia suspected they'd practiced it, they moved to each side of the bed and knelt.

Tears stung her eyes.

"Oh..." she quavered.

In one voice the men asked, "Olivia Gunnarson, will you marry us?"

The storm of weeping that followed was so intense it startled little Mary Latimore into squalling. Olivia sobbed and hiccupped as she tried to soothe the infant, finally offering her a breast to suckle. This seemed to satisfy the baby, and she nursed happily as Olivia forced herself to control herself.

The men both looked anxious. Clearly tears were not what they'd expected.

"So. Will you?" Pete asked.

Merrick produced a tiny box from within his breechclout. Opening it with a flourish, he showed her an intricately wrought triple-banded ring that wove around and through itself. "One for each of us," he said, pointing to the gems set in the band. "Pete's birthstone is onyx, mine's blue topaz, and yours..."

She knew the green stone perfectly well. "Emerald," she sighed.

A new flood of love, more intense than she'd ever felt before, swept over her as these two men stood over her, awaiting her verdict, while her newborn daughter took nourishment from her body.

"Yes. I'll marry both of you. I love you both so much..."

The three embraced carefully, so as not to jostle or otherwise alarm the child.

"This will be something new," Pete said as he pulled away.

"But exciting!" Olivia added.

"Are we ready?" Merrick asked.

They all considered that for a moment.

"Yes!" they cried out in unison.

## J.S. Wayne

Born in Amarillo, Texas, Jericho "J.S." Wayne has lived, worked, and traveled in approximately three quarters of the North American continent, amassing a résumé which could kindly be described as "eclectic" along the way. Currently he lives in Portland, Oregon and feels no particular urge to be anywhere else.

An author in multiple genres, a misanthropic humanitarian and cynical optimist, J.S. spends most of his time when not writing erotic romance turning words into money as a website designer, SEO/SEM consultant and article and blog writer, filling the balance of his hours as a polyamorous kink practitioner and educator. He is fascinated by the use of language, human sexuality, occultism, quantum physics and trying to figure out just what the hell the lyrics to "I Am The Walrus" actually mean. He enjoys receiving mail and comments from his fans, and invites you to follow him on Twitter, Facebook or simply email him at jerichoswayne@gmail.com!

## Other Books by J.S. Wayne

### Fantastic Dominants and Where to Find Them: A Player's Guide to the Ultimate RPG

"Where are all the GOOD Dominants?"

This is the question J.S. Wayne endeavors to answer in his latest book, Fantastic Dominants and Where to Find Them! Written with warmth, humor, honesty and sympathy for the plight of the fledgling kinkster, Fantastic Dominants paints a vivid picture of the kink world and the Dominants and pseudo-dominants who live there.

Fantastic Dominants is designed as a practical field guide for the novice submissive, tackling tricky topics such as:

• the glossary and politics of the kink world

• online dating and safety

• negotiation and consent

• deciding when to play

• the all-important differences between unicorns and donkeys in party hats

Featuring "The Dominants' Litany," a "pick your own path" adventure through the world of Kinklandia and a hard-hitting FAQ filled with straight, honest answers to real questions posed by Dominants and submissives alike, Fantastic Dominants and Where to Find Them explains in plain English how to navigate the kink world and find the Dominant and relationship you've always dreamed of!

Click here to view this book!

### Eat My Shorts!: The Absolute Best of J.S. Wayne (...So Far...)

In _Eat My Shorts!_ J.S. Wayne delivers seven of his best previously-published short stories and novellas along with two new, never-before-seen tales which delve into the danger and joy of romantic love and erotic desire. Populated by a lively cast of humans, demons, deities, Fae, shifters, spirits, vampires and zombies, these scorching stories invite the reader on a whirlwind exploration of some of the many forms and expressions of love, with all the heat, humor, heart and hair-raising action readers have come to expect from J.S. Wayne!

Click here to view this book!

### Wail

Heather Kelly knows next to nothing about her family history, but with a new child on the way and her husband deployed to Afghanistan, learning about her roots suddenly becomes vitally important to her. Especially when a warning conveyed through a Ouija board by persons unknown implies that her ignorance may be placing both Heather and the baby she carries in mortal danger...

With the assistance of an unusual group of friends, Heather quickly learns that folklore and myth have their own truth. For hidden in the gnarled and tangled branches of her family tree is a secret so dark it has become a part of the national character of the Emerald Isle itself. Heather soon finds herself face to face with the most dreaded figure from Irish legend: the banshee.

Heather's journey takes her from Marblehead, Massachusetts, to Malin Head, Ireland on a quest to learn the truth behind the legend in a desperate race against time. Aided by seen and unseen allies on both sides of the veil between the mortal world and the one beyond, Heather struggles to assemble the bewildering puzzle. If she fails to unravel the mystery surrounding the vengeful spirit and its connection to her, the past sufferings of her forebears will become her future...and her fate.

Click here to view this book!

## The Gael and the Goddess

Even the heart of a goddess is subject to the whims of fate...

Every millennium, the Ocean Goddess, Yemala, makes a pilgrimage to the shore to continue good relations between land and wave. Leaving her watery realm in the hands of her Chancellor, the nymph Amphichrale, she travels to the surface for the first time in a thousand years. A lot has changed since she last surfaced, and the goddess immediately finds herself in the clutches of the mortal law... and unable to use her oceanic powers.

Liam McGrue is a hard-headed, hard-drinking, hardworking fisherman. He asks nothing of life but an easy catch during the day and a warm fire and a glass of whiskey at night. The fiery redhead who claims to have come from the sea itself intrigues him, and his rash, poetic Gaelic heart jumps to her defense and aid. But when he realizes she's not daft or telling him a tale, that she really is who and what she claims to be, Liam will have to choose between his lonely life on the surface and a completely new existence beneath the waves as the consort of a goddess...

Click here to view this book!
