Kressa wasn’t sure what kind of drug was on the needler darts or what effect it was meant to have, but she was fairly certain it was not intended to hold a person on the twilight edge of consciousness, allowing them to see and hear what went on around them while leaving them unable to move or speak. But that was what it did to her.

  It wouldn’t surprise her to learn that was not the intended result; she had experienced unusual responses to drugs in the past. Halav believed her odd reactions were a result of latent psi abilities inherited through her mother’s royal Nepurhan bloodlines combined with the prenatal genetic manipulation that had assured her elitist parents that their daughter would grow up strong, healthy, gifted, and beautiful.

  Kressa agreed with the first half of Halav’s argument, for many children of Nepurhan royal families exhibited psi abilities before societal pressures convinced them that pursuing the use of those abilities was dangerous. Kressa had experienced enough strange occurrences over the years to believe she had real potential. She did not, however, believe that psi abilities were inherently dangerous, and on more than one occasion she had promised herself she would one day seek out someone who could help her tap her potential. Unfortunately, that was a hard promise to keep. Suspicious of anything they could not control, the United Galaxy’s ruling admirals had outlawed the teaching of psi abilities long ago.

  The second half of Halav’s argument was another matter. Kressa detested her parents’ high society and did not like to think that any potentially beneficial result could come from it.

  At that moment, however, she was less concerned with the origins of her odd drug response than she was with having to endure its results, including being completely aware, but also completely helpless, while Nait and two other men—one of them smelling enough of sweat and grease for Kressa to guess he was the man who had been working on the freight lift—carried her into the warehouse to ride the clanking, shuddering, newly “repaired” lift to the top floor.

  They took her to a room and dumped her on her back on something soft and musty about a half meter above floor level. Her head rolled to one side, providing a hazy view of the room’s doorway through half-opened eyes. Seconds later, two more people entered the chamber.

  “Ent, Clennan,” one of the newcomers said in a voice Kressa recognized as the female Patrol commander from the roof, “go help Lisha search for any of our prowler’s friends, and then take up a post on the roof. Nait, Theo, you two stay here with me.”

  Two figures left the room.

  “Any idea who she is?” the commander asked.

  “She had this ID on her,” Nait said.

  “Doesn’t tell us much, does it?” the commander said after a moment. “Any idea how she got on the roof or how long she’d been there?”

  “She must have gone up the stairs,” Nait said, “but I can’t say when. None of us saw or heard anything.”

  “We’ll have to take extra security measures until the meeting,” the commander said. “Make sure there are at least three people on watch at all times.”

  “Between the six of us, that shouldn’t be hard,” the second man, Theo, said.

  “There’ll be seven of us once the old man shows up,” Nait said. “That should be enough people to be sure we don’t have any more unexpected visitors and still allow us to get everything ready for tomorrow night.”

  “What are we going to do with our present visitor?” Theo asked.

  The commander started to answer, but muffled voices outside the room interrupted her.

  “That could be the old man now,” Nait said.

  “Go check,” the commander said. “If it’s him, bring him here.”

  Kressa tried to look around, but she only managed to move her eyes a millimeter or so to the side. Still, it was better than nothing, and it suggested the drug might be losing some of its hold on her.

  “What’s this I hear about a prowler?” a new yet vaguely familiar voice asked from the doorway.

  “Dahl, I’m glad you could make it,” the commander said.

  “Sorry I’m late, but I had something interesting show up at the port this afternoon. I thought it might be the Arecian contact we were hoping for. I had a couple of people follow her when she left her ship. I was waiting for their report. Unfortunately, they lost her.”

  “Her name didn’t happen to be Massera, did it?” the commander asked.

  “Yeah, it was,” Dahl said with a hint of surprise in his voice. “At least that’s what her ID said. It was a fake. So were her ship docs. But they were damn good. Few people would have realized they weren’t genuine.” He paused. “Yeah, that’s the card. Where did you get it?”

  “She’s our prowler.”

  A figure stepped in front of Kressa and reached down to turn her head. She struggled to bring their face into focus. Sure enough, it was Port Supervisor Jiunta.

  He let her head fall back. “That’s her, all right. What happened to her?”

  The commander chuckled. “Nait’s needler.”

  “Will she be all right?” Dahl asked.

  “As long as I give her the antidote within an hour or so, there should be no permanent damage,” Nait said.

  “Why all the concern for her?” the commander asked.

  “Like I said, I thought she might be our Arecian contact.”

  “Why?”

  “According to her ship’s registry she’d just come from Arecia. Plus the fact that she was traveling under an assumed identity.”

  “Did you try soliciting the pass-phrase?”

  “Twice. She didn’t respond. But does that prove anything? With all the jamming on the comm channels, I’d be surprised if even half of our messages are getting out.”

  “Any idea who she might really be?”

  “If I had to make a guess, I’d say she’s Kressa Bryant.”

  A gasp caught in Kressa’s throat. How could he know?

  “Bryant, huh?” the commander said. “I’ve heard of her. What makes you think this is her?”

  “Her ship mostly. I’m sure it’s Bryant’s freighter, the Conquest.”

  “How do you know that?” Nait asked.

  “I helped design some of her systems.”

  Kressa almost choked as a second surprised gasp lodged in her throat. The Conquest had belonged to Halav’s friend, Cameron Thorne, who had inherited the vessel from its original owner, Juric Azano. Halav had given the ship to Kressa after a series of events left Thorne dead and Kressa the only person alive who Connie would obey. Everything Kressa knew about the ship and its history came from records on board the freighter. She had never met anyone who knew anything more about the vessel, let alone someone who had helped build her.

  “How do we find out if she really is Bryant?” Nait asked.

  “We could ask her,” the commander said.

  “And if she won’t tell us?”

  “Then I’ll take her to the Cheops and find out there,” she said. “That’s part of the plan anyway, to get the best of the rebels to the ship.”

  Worry replaced Kressa’s surprise. She tried to move and managed to feebly flex the fingers of her left hand; she couldn’t even feel her right one.

  “Let’s wake her up and see how cooperative she’s willing to be,” the commander said decisively. “Nait, give her the antidote.”

  “Shouldn’t we tie her up first?” Theo asked.

  Nait stepped up to where Kressa lay. “Don’t worry about it. This is a slow-acting antidote. And even if it were fast, she won’t be in any shape to do much of anything.” He pressed something cool against her throat and stepped back.

  Despite Nait’s claim that the antidote was slow, Kressa’s limbs grew instantly warm and began to tingle. She counted slowly to ten, and then, with a moan that was only half feigned, she opened her eyes fully and looked up.

  The commander stood beside Nait, looking down at her. Kressa returned her scrutiny.

  The woman’s features were small but well proportioned for her round face with its mane of wavy brown hair. She had replaced her Patrol uniform with a dark green, thigh-length sweater and black leggings tucked into calf-high boots. Her body was slender, compact, and muscular, and Kressa could sense her wiry strength even standing still. She estimated her age somewhere in her late forties.

  “You’re Kressa Bryant?” The woman’s question drew Kressa’s attention to her intense brown eyes.

  Kressa said nothing.

  “Are you Kressa Bryant?” The woman spoke each word slowly and concisely.

  “Who are you?” Kressa asked, her voice stronger than she expected.

  The woman cast a glance at the three men standing nearby, and then looked at Kressa again. “You can call me Esora.”

  “From the rebels?” Kressa asked.

  The woman nodded. “What about you? Are you with the Arecian Guard?”

  Kressa ignored the question and surveyed her surroundings. She lay on an old sofa, its cushions tattered, threadbare and smelling of dust. It stretched across the full length of the small room’s back wall and took up nearly a quarter of the floor space. Nait, Port Supervisor Jiunta, and a third man she assumed must be Theo stood in front of the open doorway. She glanced at each of them briefly, displaying what she hoped was the right mixture of recognition and surprise when she came to Jiunta. Beside the opening, her gun and ID card rested on a small table.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  She forced her gaze not to linger on the weapon and let her eyes drift back to the commander.

  “What were you doing on the roof?” the woman asked.

  “Enjoying the view.”

  The commander gave her an exasperated frown. “What are you trying to hide? If you’re from the Arecian Guard, we’re glad you’re here. We were hoping you’d make it.”

  “Why?” Kressa sat up slowly, her gaze locked on the woman’s. “So you can grab me with the rebels tomorrow night and ship us all off to your friends on the Cheops?”

  The woman’s brows shot up.

  Kressa glanced at the three men. They appeared relaxed but watchful. Nait held his needler ready.

  Clutching the sofa cushion as if she had to use every ounce of strength simply to sit up (in truth, she felt surprisingly good), Kressa glared at the woman. “I know who you are, Esora. And I know what you are, Commander!”

  As she snapped out the rank, Kressa dove for the woman’s knees and swung the cushion toward Nait. She released it to continue its trajectory toward the dark man—and hopefully block any needler darts—then she wrapped her arms around the commander’s lower legs and twisted, throwing herself and the commander into the men and knocking at least two of them off their feet. She rolled again, forcing herself through the tangle of bodies, and grabbed a leg of the table. She jerked it onto its side. Her gun crashed to the floor, and she lurched toward it. Her hand closed on the grip, and she started to roll again, to bring the weapon to bear on her captors.

  A heavy weight landed on her back, slamming her to the floor and forcing the breath from her lungs.

  She tried to swing her arm back, to point the gun at whoever was on her, but something closed around her wrist like a vise.

  Desperate, she pulled the trigger.

  The shot screamed in the small room, and someone spat a curse.

  “Get the gun!” one of the men yelled.

  Something hit her wrist hard, and her hand and forearm went numb long enough for someone to wrest the gun away. She tried to twist her knees under her to lever the weight off her back, but someone else threw their body across her legs. She struggled to dislodge the two people who held her. A third person joined the effort and helped pin her to the floor. Then someone pressed the still-warm tip of her gun against the back of her neck, and she ceased her struggles.

  A brief moment of stillness passed while her captors caught their breath, then the commander spoke from the far side of the room. “Let her up.”

  “Are you crazy?!” Theo gasped. “She tried to kill us!”

  “I said let her up.” The woman moved closer. “When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man grumbled.

  “Give me the gun,” the commander said.

  The weapon’s warm tip left the back of Kressa’s neck, and the men relaxed their hold. She rolled over cautiously and sat up.

  The three men stood around her, hair and clothing disheveled, watching her carefully. Nait kept his needler pointed at her.

  The commander stood at her feet with Kressa’s gun held loose at her side. The woman raked her free hand through her hair in a vain attempt to smooth it. Running footsteps drew her attention to the doorway, and a man dashed into view.

  “We heard a shot.” The newcomer’s worried look grew as he surveyed the room. “Is everything all right?”

  “We’re working it out,” the commander said. “Get back to your post.”

  He cast a baffled look around the room and turned away.

  The commander looked at Kressa. “You were on the roof when I arrived, weren’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “You saw the uniform.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Kressa nodded again. “I saw it.”

  The commander pursed her lips and picked up the cushion Kressa had thrown at Nait. She plucked out a needler dart, dropped it to the floor, and ground it to powder beneath one booted toe.

  “Are you from Arecia?” she asked.

  Kressa clenched her jaw.

  The commander tossed the cushion into place on the sofa and sank down onto it. With a sigh, she leaned her head back. Her eyes widened with surprise.

  Kressa followed her gaze to the smoldering hole she’d blasted in the ceiling with her desperate shot.

  The commander sat up and began to examine Kressa’s gun. “For the sake of our rather one-sided conversation," she said, "I'm going to assume you are either with the Guard or some similar group, otherwise you wouldn’t be trying so hard to protect the people you work for. I’ll also assume you came here to check out the location of tomorrow night’s meeting. Being a loyal and very thorough soldier, you decided to really check out the place and wound up on the roof around the time I showed up.” She looked at Kressa. “Have I got it right so far?”

  Kressa remained silent.

  The woman scowled half-heartedly and leaned back again, holding Kressa’s gun in her lap. “Seeing a Patrol commander at the location of the meeting forced you to draw some mistaken conclusions about what must be behind the whole Esora thing, so when we found you, you tried to shoot your way out. Twice. And you almost succeeded.” She gave the hole in the ceiling another brief, respectful glance, and then met Kressa’s eyes. “So, to sum it up: Yes, I am Esora. And, yes, I am a Patrol officer. Commander Dania Vel, first officer of the heavy cruiser Cheops, to be precise. But I’m also Vsunan… No, not also. I am Vsunan, first and foremost.” She narrowed her eyes, and a dangerous look smoldered in her expression. “And I don’t like what the United Galaxy is doing to my home or to my people.”

  Kressa considered the woman’s words, almost believing them. Wanting to believe them. But she remembered some of the things she’d heard Vel say. “Nice try.”

  Vel arched her brows. “You don’t believe me?”

  Kressa shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  “I heard what you said up there on the roof, about how perfect this place is for your little scheme. About how isolated it is, with limited access and no civilians around to get hurt if something goes wrong.”

  “So?”

  “So you’re planning to trap the rebels here, then you’re going to take them to your ship for interrogation, to help you root out the rest of their people and put an end to the resistance on Vsuna. But it won’t work, Commander. Even if you kill every active rebel on the planet, others will rise up in their place and—”

  “Thank you,” Vel interrupted Kressa’s speech with her two quiet words.

  “What?”

  “I said thank you, for your faith in my people. You’re right, they will keep fighting. That’s what I’m counting on to win back my world. As for my selection of a meeting place, I can understand how you might see it as a trap. But turn that around, stop thinking offense and think defense. With only a few people watching from the roof we can see every route to this place: land, water, and air. No one can get near without us knowing about it.”

  “I got near,” Kressa said, but she saw the woman’s point. Kressa had come looking for a trap, and that was exactly what she found. When looked at the other way, Vel’s explanation made sense, too.

  “True, you did,” the commander said. “But you’re only one person, not a troop of soldiers or a flight of attack craft, and we aren’t expecting trouble until tomorrow night. Actually, we aren’t expecting it then either, but we will be watching for it.” She paused to study Kressa. “You still don’t believe me, do you?”

  “I'm not sure,” Kressa said honestly. “It makes sense, but…” She glanced at the three men.

  They met her curious look.

  “Nait, put your needler away,” Vel said. “Back off a bit.”

  The dark man holstered his gun and took a few steps away from Kressa. Jiunta and Theo did the same.

  Kressa looked at the commander again and then at the gun the woman held idly in her lap. “I heard what you said about taking the best of the rebels to your ship.”

  The commander looked bewildered. “I said no such thing.”

  “Yes, you did,” Kressa said. “You said it was part of the plan.”

  The commander glanced at the three men.

  “You did say something like that,” Nait said. “When we were talking about finding out if she’s Bryant.”

  The commander gave Kressa a wide-eyed look. “You were unconscious.”

  She shook her head. “I was awake the whole time.”

  This time it was Nait’s turn to look surprised. “That’s impossible, Commander. One of those darts can bring down a man twice her size, and I hit her with two.”

  “Maybe you’d better check them,” Vel said. “She did recover awfully fast.” She looked at Kressa again. “Did we have anything else interesting to say while you were supposedly sleeping?”

  “Plenty.” Kressa cast a quick glance at Jiunta, and then returned her gaze to Vel. “So what about your plan?”

  “About getting the best of the rebels on board the Cheops? Just what I said. I need them there to help me take over the ship. If we can’t get control of the flagship, we’ll never be able to control the fleet.” She rose to her feet and looked down at Kressa. “And I’ll tell you something else, kiddo. If you care anything for Vsuna or if you just don’t like the Patrol, I’d like you on the Cheops with me. I can use people with your abilities.” She held Kressa’s gun out to her, grip first.

  Astounded, Kressa stared at the weapon. Could she have been so wrong in her assessment of the situation? She thought back, trying to come up with some hole in Vel’s story, something else she said that would indicate Kressa had not made a terrible mistake. But there was nothing.

  She looked at the three men again. Their tension had dissolved, apparently trusting Vel’s judgment. As her gaze came to rest on Jiunta, Kressa realized Vel must be telling the truth. The man had known her ID and other documents were fakes, yet he had let her go. No one loyal to the Patrol would do that.

  “Well?” the commander said. “Do you want the gun or not?”

  Kressa took the weapon and holstered it, then took Vel’s hand when she offered it and let the woman help her to her feet. The top of her head barely reached Kressa's eyes.

  Vel looked up at her. “So, will you do it?” she asked. “Will you help me take the Cheops?”

  Kressa met the woman’s eyes and hoped she wasn’t being misled by the honesty she saw in them. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

  * * *

  It amazed Kressa to learn the full extent of Commander Vel’s plans. Nearly everyone and everything was in place and ready to go. There remained only the meeting tomorrow night to go over the final details, and the transfer of Vel’s handpicked rebels—Kressa among them—to the Cheops the evening after that. Unfortunately, that timetable meant Kressa’s offer of assistance from the Arecian Guard came too late.

  “As much as I appreciate the offer,” Vel said, “I probably wouldn’t have accepted it even if it had come weeks ago. There’s simply no way to get enough people onto Vsuna and in place to make a difference without the Patrol catching on, and the only types of ships that would do us any good would be impossible to hide from the fleet. But we will need help after we’ve taken the planet. This could turn into a very ugly battle if things don’t go precisely as planned, and I’m not fool enough to believe they will. We’re going to need ships and people to help with evacuations, clean up, medical assistance, stuff like that. Would the Arecians be willing to do that?”

  Kressa assured her they would and spent the next hour composing several messages that would let Halav know of Vsuna’s needs while being innocuous enough to be ignored should the Patrol intercept them. Vel promised that her people would send the messages over the next day or so.

  Jiunta offered to send some of them from the spaceport, as well, and asked if Kressa would like a ride back to her ship. She accepted, eager to talk to someone who had been involved in the Conquest’s design, even if the talk lasted only the few minutes it took to drive to the port. But those few minutes turned into an hour when Kressa invited the port supervisor—who insisted she call him Dahl—for a tour of the ship. One hour stretched to two when he started telling stories of Juric Azano, the rich and somewhat eccentric businessman who’d had the Conquest built to his specifications. Dahl then spent another several hours talking to Connie, discussing the modifications Azano had made after taking delivery of the freighter. Dahl finally left just before sunrise, after arranging to drive Kressa to the meeting and promising they would get together again afterward to talk.

  Exhausted by the evening’s adventures and the long night of visiting, Kressa crawled into her bed just as Vsuna’s sun was rising over Tranur.