Halav awoke with a start as a bright light struck his eyelids. He blinked rapidly at his surroundings, then rolled his head back and groaned in dismay. He had fallen asleep sprawled in an overstuffed chair in the main room of the hotel suite, and now every muscle complained as he moved.

  The wiry form of Sergeant Kucera stood by the window. She glanced at him as he sat up and stretched, cautiously working the knots out of his shoulders and back.

  “Good morning, Colonel,” she said.

  “Sergeant.” He greeted her with a nod and realized that it had been Kucera’s act of drawing back a corner of the window shade that sent the shaft of late morning sunlight into his eyes, jolting him awake. He forced himself to his feet, spotted the remains of a meal on a nearby table, and went to investigate.

  “I ordered some for you, sir.” Kucera pointed to a tray of sealed dishes on a cart near the main door.

  Halav fetched the tray, took it to the table, and started to eat. “Give me a report, Sergeant.”

  “Captain Arbiss went out first thing this morning to see about convincing the local media we turned up a body that looks like Bryant,” she said. “He didn’t think the story would get a lot of attention without an actual body, but he figured it was worth a try.”

  Halav nodded agreement. The original plan had been to turn Bryant’s body over to the local authorities, but even without one, the ruse still might buy the Guard some time. “When will Arbiss be back?”

  “Early this afternoon. He went to the base to get the men and supplies for the move against the Pattys tonight.”

  “Any action from the Patrol out there?” He gestured to the window.

  Kucera returned her attention to the scene outside. “A car left a little while ago. Trin and Blaise followed, but the Pattys were just changing guard on Thorne’s ship. Trin stayed at the port to see what the Patrol does next.”

  “Have you heard from him?”

  “He called awhile back. Said the ship’s sealed up tight and the Pattys are just sitting in their car watching it.”

  “Next time he calls, tell him to get back here. I’ve got people at the port keeping an eye on things there. Besides, without Cam, I doubt anyone’s going to get that ship to move.”

  She glanced at him. “What about Bryant, Colonel? Trin said she brought the ship in from Terra by herself. Maybe she could work it.”

  Halav thought back to the story Bryant had told him last night between courageous bouts with the after-effects of the Patrol drugs. The questioning lasted well into the early morning hours, ending only after Calin decided Bryant had beaten down enough of the drugs to risk a sedative. During their talk, she said Cameron had given her a code to help her get control of the Conquest. But how complete was that control? And now that she had left the ship, would she be able to get control of it again? He didn’t know enough about how Connie worked or how Cam controlled her to answer the questions.

  Calin stepped from the bedroom.

  “How’s your patient this morning, doctor?” Halav asked.

  “As good as can be expected,” Calin said, and then seemed to reconsider his words. “Better, actually. The Pattys knew what they were doing and didn’t cause any permanent damage, but—” He shook his head in wonder. “Damn, she’s tough.”

  “That’s got a lot to do with her heritage, I suspect.” Halav pushed aside the dining tray.

  “Her heritage?” Calin asked curiously.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed her looks.” He gazed doubtfully at the younger man, then rose and moved toward the bedroom. “I don’t know how, but she’s straight out of the United Galaxy aristocracy. They’ve been known to tamper with more than just physical appearance.”

  Calin shrugged, obviously not well acquainted with the finer points of United Galaxy culture. “Whatever it is, I’ve never seen anyone knock down a Patty truth drug like that.”

  Halav glanced into the room where Bryant lay asleep in the bed. “Could she have lied to us?”

  “I doubt it, but she may have been able to hold back some of the truth, if you get my meaning.”

  Halav nodded and looked at her again. He had not found any holes in her story, and she acted like she wanted to tell the truth, but she might just be one hell of a performer. He took comfort from the fact that whatever she held back from him, she probably kept from the Patrol, as well.

  “Think she’s up to a visit?” he asked Calin.

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  * * *

  Kressa woke up listening for the hum of the Conquest’s systems. She’d had a strange dream about guns, Patrolmen, and a mysterious colonel, and she needed the reassuring sounds of the ship to help clear the last of the dream’s disturbing images from her head. But the sounds weren’t there.

  “Connie…?” She opened her eyes.

  It wasn’t a dream after all.

  Seated in a chair beside the bed on which she lay was the handsome, auburn-haired man who had questioned her so patiently last night; the man the others called “colonel.” The man who claimed to be Cameron Thorne’s friend.

  He smiled as her eyes met his, and Kressa realized he looked too young to hold the rank of colonel in any military organization she knew of.

  “Good morning,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

  She considered his question for a moment. A dull ache filled her body and limbs, and each movement elicited a new source of discomfort, as well as a wave of nausea.

  “Alive,” she answered finally, and then thought about all she’d been through. “Maybe even better than that.”

  “Calin may be young,” he said, “but he’s a hell of a medic. I’ll thank him for you.”

  She forced a smile. “Why do your people call you ‘colonel’? Are you in some kind of army?”

  He chuckled quietly. “Yeah, some kind.”

  She watched him, mouth set in a firm line, determined to get more of an answer.

  “We’re with the Guard,” he said.

  “How old are you?”

  He knitted his brow, clearly puzzled by her question. “I’m twenty-eight. Why?”

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  “Isn’t that a little young to be a colonel?”

  “The general doesn’t seem to think so,” he said with a laugh, and then sobered slightly. “I joined up when I was only seventeen—the Guard was just beginning to organize here on Arecia. That gave me a bit of a head start.”

  “How did you know Cameron Thorne?”

  His features tightened for an instant, then relaxed. “We met when we were boys. Our fathers did business together, and they’d bring us along whenever they had a meeting. I think they expected us to absorb some of their business sense, but we were always too busy getting into trouble.” He smiled reminiscently. “We lost touch after my father and I had a—falling out. Then one day, Cam showed up with this crazy old guy and his ship. Said he’d learned enough about business to realize the only kind he wanted to be in was free trade. Not that I think he and Juric did a hell of a lot of trading. They were having too much fun traveling around, spreading Juric’s treasonous message.”

  “What do you mean by treasonous?” Kressa asked, wondering if Connie had left out some critical information about Juric Azano.

  The colonel leaned back and rested an elbow on the back of his chair. “Oh, Juric had these wonderful wild ideas about a free galaxy. He came from a long line of highly successful businessmen, but he didn’t much like the way the profits went to only a small percentage of the people. He wasn’t exactly a revolutionary—he didn’t travel around fomenting rebellions or anything like that. He just happened to have different ideas than the establishment and the money to get those ideas listened to.”

  Kressa recalled what Connie had told her about Azano’s death. “It cost him his life, didn’t it?”

  The colonel’s eyes narrowed, and he straightened in his seat. “What do you mean?”

  “Azano was killed during the Patrol attack on Arkana,” she said. “They wouldn’t have attacked if Arkana hadn’t been backing the Free Worlds. Don’t you think Azano’s words had something to do with that?”

  “How do you know so much about him?” he asked, a hint of suspicion in his tone.

  “Records on board the Conquest.”

  His features relaxed, and he leaned back in the chair again. “Juric only told people what they already knew. The discontent existed long before he came around. And even if it was partially his fault, I think he thought his life was a small price to pay for what he believed in.”

  “Conquest of the United Galaxy?” she asked, purposefully using Connie’s terminology.

  The colonel studied her for a moment, eyes hooded. “Something like that,” he said slowly.

  Kressa shifted position on the bed. Had Cameron Thorne shared his partner’s opinion of the value of his life, or the lives of his family?

  “Don’t you agree with what the Free Worlds are trying to do?” the colonel asked.

  Kressa detected a touch of resentment in his voice. “I don’t know. I don’t like the United Galaxy, that’s for sure, but what’d the Free Worlds ever do for me?”

  He sneered and crossed his arms before him. “Living up to your heritage, huh?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, unsure what he was implying, but certain she didn’t like it.

  “You aristocrats never were much for looking beyond the ends of your own noses,” he said, his voice filled with contempt. “As long as life’s good for you, it must be good for everyone else, right? And don’t ever stop to wonder where that good life is coming from or who might be suffering to keep you comfortable and fed and surrounded by luxury.”

  “What?!” Kressa sprang up in the bed, then snatched the covers around herself when she realized she wasn’t wearing anything.

  The colonel continued his angry, low-voiced tirade, seemingly oblivious to her state of undress. “Don’t you realize what it takes to support the billions of people on the United Galaxy’s worlds—worlds too overcrowded to support themselves? Who do you think grows your food and makes your clothes and keeps you neck-deep in luxury items? Who—?”

  “Don’t!” Kressa spat, and then took a firm grip on her anger. “That’s not me you’re talking about, Colonel. I grew up on the streets. I never had any luxuries.” She met his suddenly confounded gaze and held up her left hand, the inside of her wrist turned toward him to reveal the pattern of thin white lines burned there by a cutting laser—the mark of the Wolfpack, the gang she lived with after leaving the Academy. “I pay my way!”

  * * *

  Halav stared at Bryant, shocked by the cold anger of her words and the even colder look in her dark eyes. He did not understand the significance of the mark on the pale skin of her wrist, but he suspected she’d paid a hell of a price to be able to show it to him.

  His anger dissolved. “I’m sorry.” He barely resisted the urge to take her hand as she lowered it to the bed. “I thought… I mean, the way you look…” His eyes searched hers for forgiveness. “I guess I was wrong.”

  “Guess you were,” she said, her voice as cold as her expression.

  “Colonel?”

  He looked up at the call from the doorway.

  Sergeant Kucera stood in the opening, gazing uneasily into the room. Calin stood behind her with a pulse gun in his hand.

  “Everything all right in here?” Kucera asked.

  Halav nodded. “Everything’s fine. We just had a little—misunderstanding. Get back to your posts.”

  They left the room, and he returned his attention to Bryant.

  She was staring out the open doorway after Kucera and Calin, eyes narrowed thoughtfully, her icy expression of moments before gone. Finally, she looked at him again.

  “Those guns the Pattys found on the Conquest were for the Guard?” she asked.

  “They were. Cameron ran a lot of things like that for us. He was good at it.”

  “Not good enough.”

  He glanced away to hide his frown. “Someone sold him out.”

  Bryant watched him for a long moment, expressionless, and then nodded. “I know how that goes,” she said solemnly.

  Halav studied her, amazed by her reaction. The comprehension on her face and in her voice seemed out of place on a young woman with looks like hers. Hell, they’d look wrong on any woman her age—at least any he’d encountered. She was a paradox; a beautiful, almost too-perfect outer shell housing a strong, independent interior that seemed to understand all too well the price life often demanded.

  “So, what happens to me now?” she asked. “Am I free to go?”

  “Go where?” he asked, suddenly uncertain he wanted her to go anywhere before he got the chance to learn more about her.

  She met his eyes brazenly. “Back to the Conquest. Off Arecia. As far as I can get.”

  “That may be a little difficult. The Patrol’s watching the Conquest, and you’re supposed to be dead.”

  She looked at him askance. “According to who?”

  “The local authorities, the media. The Patrol. We put the word out this morning that we found your body in the city. We’re hoping the Patrol will think you escaped on your own, then got yourself killed. That way, they won’t be looking for you or thinking you told anyone about their operation.”

  “Am I a prisoner, then?” she asked, some of her earlier coldness returning to her tone.

  “That’s your word, not mine. As soon as we’re done with our operation here, we’ll turn you loose and you can do what you like.”

  “What about the Conquest?” she asked. “I brought her here like Thorne asked.”

  “Well, we haven’t got a lot of extra credits floating around—Cam always did his runs for free—but we can probably scrape together some kind of finder’s fee for your troubles.”

  “I don’t want money,” she said icily. “I want the Conquest.”

  “That’s one hell of a request.” He let a touch of the irritation he was beginning to feel color his words. “Do you have any idea what a ship like that is worth?”

  “Twenty-eight million credits,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

  “That much?” he asked, taken aback.

  She nodded. “That much. But she won’t do you any good, Colonel. I’m the only one alive who can fly her.” She met his eyes, her expression stern. “I want the ship.”

  Halav considered how to react. He’d tried to be nice, to look at the situation from her point of view, but that got him nowhere. Perhaps a change of tactics was in order. He rose to his feet and glared down at her. “I’m not interested in what you want, Bryant. I appreciate what you did for Cam, but you should be happy we got you away from the Patrol and let you live. Now, I have work to do. We can discuss what you want another time.” With that, he swept from the room and slammed the door behind himself.