“Connie, we could be in trouble,” Kressa said after supplying the information that made her the ship’s operator.

  The ship’s operator. She grinned in delight, and then forced herself to get back to business.

  “There were two Patrolmen in the terminal when I got here,” she told the computer.

  “I saw them,” Connie said. “They wanted to search the ship. I warned them away.”

  “Is there any cargo on board?” Kressa asked.

  “There is,” the computer replied.

  “What kind?”

  “Assorted Terran spices and liquors, cloth, gems, small electronic specialty items, trinkets. A cargo manifest is available if you—”

  “No, that’s fine.” It sounded like Thorne planned to do some trading out on the colony worlds. So why did he want her to take the ship to Arecia? And why did the Pattys want to search it? “Was Thorne in trouble with the Patrol?”

  “Thorne’s record contains several shipping violations.”

  “What kinds of violations?”

  “Concealment to avoid tariffs. Transportation of animals considered harmful to indigenous lifeforms. Transportation of unapproved items.”

  “That’s all?” She doubted any free trader alive hadn’t broken at least one of those rules. “Was anyone after him, someone who might try to kill him?”

  “Unknown.”

  “So what do we do now?” she asked, and then started to laugh when she realized she had just asked a computer for an opinion. But she swallowed her laughter when Connie answered.

  “We should leave immediately.”

  “Why not let the Pattys do their search? I mean, if there’s nothing wrong with the cargo… ?”

  “That is not advisable,” the computer said.

  “Why?”

  “The Patrol is not likely to allow you to pilot the ship by yourself.”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Are you licensed?”

  “Well… no,” she admitted, “but I know what I’m doing.”

  “The Patrol will not allow you to pilot the ship without proper documentation.”

  “Couldn’t we just tell them the pilot will be back soon?”

  “They will want to speak with him when he returns.”

  She sighed in defeat. This was the first time she’d been argued into a corner by a computer. Come to think of it, this was the first time she’d carried on a prolonged conversation with one. Advanced AI systems with the kind of autonomy Connie displayed had been banned nearly a century ago, around the time the fall of the Alliance left the Patrol admirals in charge of most of the known worlds. Apparently, one too many poorly designed AI systems had caused trouble, leading to the ban. Or maybe the Pattys just don’t like machines that are smarter than they are, she mused with a smile.

  “We should leave immediately,” Connie repeated.

  Kressa thought she detected a hint of urgency in the computer’s tone. “If we call for departure clearance, the port controller is just going to make us wait for the Pattys to get back.”

  “Then we must lift off without clearance.”

  Kressa felt a rush of surprise at the suggestion. “Have you done this sort of thing before?”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head in amazement. “You’re one hell of a computer, Connie.”

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  The Conquest’s bridge sat atop the vessel’s living area. Kressa stood at the top of the ramp that led up to it and studied the four separate control stations, each with its own set of command screens and viewers.

  “Are you sure you and Thorne flew this ship alone?” she asked the computer.

  “I can handle approximately eighty percent of the responsibilities of the missing crew,” Connie assured her. “I will let you know when I need assistance. As you learn the ship’s systems, I will allow you to do more.”

  “How benevolent of you.” Kressa sneered and listened to the quiet hum of the ship’s drive coming on line, then she started to prowl through the room, examining the various boards.

  Based on the number of controls at the weapons station, the Conquest possessed an unusually large array of offensive batteries.

  “You know, Connie, I don’t remember seeing this many guns on the ship’s exterior.”

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  “Many of the weapon emplacements have internal storage compartments to prevent damage when not in use,” Connie said.

  And to hide them from prying eyes, Kressa realized.

  “Preparing for liftoff,” the computer said. “Please take a seat.”

  She settled into the pilot’s chair and studied the half dozen screens above the control board.

  On the main viewer, an expanding sliver of clouds underlit by city lights appeared as the overhead hangar doors split apart and began to slide open. Connie lifted the ship and held it just below the widening opening. A series of dull thuds reverberated through the freighter as the landing gear retracted and locked into place. An instant later, the Conquest shot skyward. Swirling clouds momentarily obscured the screen, and then the bright constellations of Terra’s night sky blazed from the viewer.

  “Unidentified freighter, this is San Francisco control,” a harsh, authoritative voice said over the comm. “You are not cleared for departure. Please respond.”

  Unidentified freighter? “Connie, did you turn off the ID beacon?”

  “Yes.”

  Kressa smirked. “That’s not going to do any good. They’ll figure out who we are as soon as they track back to where we lifted from.”

  The comm crackled on again. “Freighter Wincarnis, you are ordered to return immediately. Please respond.”

  “You were registered at the port as Wincarnis?” Kressa asked, surprised.

  “Correct.”

  The freighter did a sudden roll to starboard, and lights streaked by on one of the screens.

  “What in hell was that?!” Kressa gasped.

  “An incoming vessel,” Connie said.

  “A little warning next time would be—”

  “Freighter Wincarnis,” the voice on the comm interrupted her admonishment. “Come in, Wincarnis, or we will fire.”

  “Shit!” Kressa dove for the weapons board and slapped a hand on the blinking shield control.

  “Excellent response time,” the computer said.

  Kressa bit back an angry retort. Heart pounding, she studied the weapons controls, trying to make sense of them. A red light on the board began to blink.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “The pursuit indicator.”

  She swallowed hard and scanned the screens, but she saw only the stars of open space ahead and the lighted spider-web clusters of cities falling away beneath them.

  “I don’t see any pursuing ships.”

  “Hopefully, you never will.”

  Kressa returned her attention to the barely familiar array of controls before her. “What’s following us?”

  “Configurations indicate a light cruiser and a destroyer.”

  She looked at the screens again, limbs zinging with adrenaline. “Warships? Just because we didn’t ask for clearance, they’re coming after us with warships?”

  “The Patrol wanted to talk to Cameron Thorne,” Connie said, as if that explained everything.

  “I know that, but why?”

  “Presumably to search the ship.” The computer’s voice was maddeningly calm.

  “Connie, what aren’t you telling me?”

  “It would require years to impart to you all of the information to which I have access but have not told you.”

  Kressa scowled and studied the weapons board again. Slowly, the controls began to make sense. They were not all that different from the Darsan’s, there were just a whole lot more of them. She activated the guns and experimented with the sensitivity of the controls and targeting systems.

  “Connie, give me a report.”

  “We are clearing the atmosphere. Setting course perpendicular to the system plane. Pursuing vessels will be in effective firing range in one minute, twenty-eight seconds. There is also a chance the Patrol will have vessels within range to intercept us outside of the atmosphere.”

  “How much of a chance?” Kressa asked.

  “Impossible to compute.”

  “Want to make a guess?”

  “No.”

  “Be sure to tell me if you detect any,” she said. “And let me know if I do anything wrong.”

  “Of course.”

  Kressa searched the screens again in a vain attempt to locate the pursuing ships.

  “Pursuing vessels will be in firing range in thirty seconds,” Connie said.

  Kressa licked dry lips and turned her attention to the sensor readouts, waiting for them to pick up a target for the guns.

  “Fifteen seconds,” Connie said. “Computing jump to Arecian system.”

  “No! Not Arecia! Try—” She thought fast. “Try Maetar.”

  The Patrol vessels began to fire.

  Following her instincts, her experience on board the Darsan, and an occasional suggestion from Connie, Kressa held the Patrol vessels back far enough to prevent them from getting in a damaging shot. The freighter picked up speed as she flew farther out of Terra’s gravity well. Soon, they’d pulled far ahead of the cruiser.

  Kressa checked the destroyer’s position. Damn, the Conquest was fast! Even the destroyer—one of the Patrol’s swiftest types of ship—was barely able to keep up with the freighter. Then Kressa scored a solid hit on the vessel and it, too, fell behind. A moment later the sensors picked up two more destroyers and another cruiser, closing fast from three directions.

  “Jump computation complete,” Connie reported. “Activating field generator.”

  The familiar gentle tingle of a hyperspace drive field shivered across Kressa’s skin, then the field began to shudder—no doubt from the proximity of Terra’s gravity well—and her stomach lurched uncomfortably. She swallowed hard and waited, impatient, while the field continued to strengthen.

  The three Patrol vessels streaked toward the Conquest, drawing ever closer to effective firing range—theirs and hers.

  “Field levels approaching nominal,” Connie said.

  Kressa targeted the closest destroyer and glanced at the field-strength indicator. Almost there. She checked the positions of the Patrol vessels again.

  “Field strength in range,” the computer said.

  Kressa shut down the shields, leaped to the pilot’s station, and slapped the hyperdrive controls without taking the time to consider the Conquest’s proximity to a planet and how it would affect their entrance into hyperspace.

  Once her stomach and head recovered enough for her to consider anything, she was glad she hadn’t eaten for several hours.