CONTENTS

TITLE PAGE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

AUTHOR’S PLAYLIST

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PREVIEW OF HOPE’S FOLLY

ALSO BY LINNEA SINCLAIR

COPYRIGHT

To my readers, thank you for waiting for the rest of Chaz’s and Sully’s story, which started with Gabriel’s Ghost.

To the cherished members of my Intergalactic Bar & Grille on Yahoo Groups, especially David, Brantley, Velvet, Paula, Jen, Robin, Mikey, Patty, Kathleen aka KPON, Teresa, Ray, Bill, Mary, Maya, Thomas, Mo, Frances, Alecia, and all the rest of you lunatics…and with very special thanks to Skipper skippy. You guys rock my world!

With heartfelt thanks for their suggestions and input: to author Stacey Klemstein, critique partners Donna Kuhn, Lynne Welch, Michelle Williamson, and Chris Galan. Special thanks to the sharp science fiction eyes of Marcia and J. J. Pierce.

To my editor, Anne Groell, and my agent, Kristin Nelson, because you’re simply the best.

As always, to Daq-cat and Miss Doozy fur all their help. And to my husband, Robert Bernadino, who after nearly thirty years still finds me amusing and continues to believe in me.

d.a.v.e:// - Compjacent

DJ Lithium - Now and Forever, Galactica

www.blacktigerrecordings.com

Delerium/Sarah McLachlan - Silence (Airscape Mix)

Third shift and I couldn’t sleep. I loved the big wide darkness—it’s been said I was born for a stellar helm—but I usually don’t love it enough to give up a warm bed and an even warmer man after the normal aggravations of onboard duties. Yet that’s exactly what I did, slipping out from under the sheet, away from the heat of Sully’s body so I could stand in the crisp recycled air at the back of the Boru Karn’s bridge and wonder what felt so terribly, horribly wrong.

Besides the obvious. We were fugitives with a high price on our heads, largely due to the man whose bed I’d just left: Gabriel Ross Sullivan, a rare human Kyi-Ragkiril whose secret telepathic and telekinetic abilities were hated, even feared. However, thanks to the rather large amount of honeylace he’d indulged in earlier, those abilities were dormant at the moment, or I’d not have the luxury of being on his ship’s bridge at this hour, unquestioned, watching the starfield spatter elegantly across the forward screens, watching Verno’s large furred hands move with surprising grace over the glowing control screens, and listening to the soft beeping and trilling of the ship’s systems—sounds that were almost as much a part of me as my own breath, my own heartbeat.

My breath had lately become a little too tight, my heartbeat a little too rapid. So I needed to stand in the shadows of the bridge and I needed to do so without Sully’s knowing I was here. And why.

“Are you sure I can’t call up some tea, Captain Chasidah?” Verno’s voice, like most Takas’, was a rumbling growl, guttural without being harsh.

“I’m just a bit restless. It’s okay.” Those emotions that swirled through me were one of the downsides of being Sully’s ky’sara. He sensed all my thoughts and emotions, and could transmit his. It had been almost three months since I’d granted him permission to become so intimately a part of me. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him. I did, beyond all measure—words he often used to describe his love for me. It just took some getting used to.

A stream of red data on a blue-tinged screen to my left snagged my attention. We were on the outer fringes of an Imperial GA-7’s signal—a data relay drone normally not accessible to renegade ships like the Karn, and definitely not at this distance. But this was the Karn, Sully’s ghost ship that routinely defied government regulations and just as routinely ignored ship’s specs. So I slipped into the vacant seat at communications and executed the grab filter with an ease that even Sully would have been proud of.

Captain Chasidah Bergren. One-time pride of the Sixth Fleet and staunch defender of the Empire, illegally hacking into a GA-7 beacon.

Verno glanced at me, a thin-lipped, knowing grin carving a half-circle in his dark-furred face. “Sully-sir is anxious for those scores in the Baris Cup finals, is he?”

Sully’s penchant for gambling was well known among his crew, as were his losses to Ren—something I still hadn’t quite figured out. A telepathic Kyi-Ragkiril losing to a blind empath? It made no sense, but that wasn’t what puzzled me at the moment. My issue lay much deeper, something I couldn’t define except that it was a haunting, disturbing feeling.

Stress, my rational mind informed me. Sully handled the stress his unusual talents put on him by numbing them now and then with a glass or two of honeylace. That same amount would put me flat out on the decking. I always handled stress by doing something quantitative. Like downloading ship advisories, fleet movements, and the latest news.

“Sully gave Ren the Walker Colonies and four points,” I told Verno. Being on third shift, he might not have heard Sully’s latest betting strategies, expounded upon several hours ago in the galley. It also kept us off the topic of what I was doing here on third shift, while Sully slept alone.

“Ren should have asked me about Walker’s team.” Verno’s voice almost held a purr. His vocation as an Englarian monk—that is, when he wasn’t helmsman of the Karn—had done nothing to quash his love of sports, especially zero-G racquetball.

“You want in on the bet?”

“Not me, Captain Chasidah.” Verno’s sharp chuckle rumbled around the bridge, vibrating loose a few screws, no doubt. “Ren’s the gambler in the family.”

Intraship trilled. Aubry, I saw from the small icon on the screen before me. A routine update from engineering. Verno answered it and I returned to my pilfering, Verno’s gravelly voice and Aubry’s higher-pitched one fading to the back of my mind. I shunted three news reports on the first round of the Cup finals to Sully’s and Ren’s in-boxes, headlines of “Celebrations on Walker” telling me all I needed to know. Sully would not be pleased, yet I could almost hear him intone, “It’s not where you start but where you finish.” The series wasn’t over yet.

Then I snagged a packet of ship movements through Calth and Dafir. In spite of Sully’s passion for sport, these were infinitely more interesting and the real reason for my perusal of the data stored in the Imperial drone. We were hunting a ship breeding monsters before those monsters started hunting us.

Humans weren’t the only ones threatened. Takas—Verno’s people—were being slaughtered in an attempt by two very powerful men—Hayden Burke and Darius Tage—to secretly re-create mutant beasts banned decades ago in the Empire. These beasts were called jukors, a name that was an amalgam of science terms I no longer remembered. But I could never forget their rotting-garbage smell, their strong wings that looked like brittle glass, their razor-clawed talons. Their towering hideousness. Loosely fashioned in the image of mythical soul-stealers, they were developed during the Boundary Wars by Imperial leaders fearful of the intrusive telepathic talents of Stolorth Ragkirils. A jukor’s primitive yet structured mind couldn’t be controlled by Stolorth Ragkiril methods. It was the one last thing the Empire needed to ensure that Stolorths—like humans, yet in their six-fingered, blue-skinned way, so not like us—could be licensed and controlled.

The fact that there were also human Ragkirils was never even considered—at least not by any expert I’d known at Fleet HQ.

But there were human ones. I’d left one sleeping in my bed.

After three months of searching—and listening and bribing—we’d uncovered a source of information on the illegal gen-lab ship and its whereabouts. That’s what brought us here to the Empire’s edge, not quite a shipday past the Calth-Dafir border, heading for Narfial Starport.

“I’ll tell Marsh to bump up that port grid on the repair schedule.”

Aubry’s thin tones over intraship broke into my thoughts and made me realize I’d been staring at nothing for several minutes, while information continued to download into the Karn’s secured file storage.

“Noted. Will do,” Verno answered.

There’d been some brownouts in the port section of a secondary power grid that fed the galley and the recyc system. A fairly routine occurrence on a ship composed of refurbished parts. That’s why Verno and Aubry’s conversation hadn’t fully snagged my attention, though it had registered. Anything about a ship always does.

I waited until Verno closed intraship before glancing over my shoulder at him. “Walker took game one.”

The shaggy head jerked toward me. “Ah! Ren will be pleased. But Sully-sir…” The rumbling groan that followed was the Taka’s version of a theatrical sigh.

I turned back to my data and started the grab-filter’s disconnect sequence. A subject tag in a final news feed caught my eye. A name. Bergren.

It was my name, my family’s name. An oily, cold sense of foreboding flooded my veins. Captain Chaz Bergren was a fugitive, a disgraced member of the Imperial Fleet. There were at least a dozen reasons why my name might be in a news headline.

But the headline wasn’t about Chaz. It was about my older brother.

“Commander Thaddeus L. Bergren Charged in Conspiracy Plot at Marker Shipyards.”

I stared at the words, dread and disbelief rising inside me. My breath caught, my heart hammered in my chest. But this time, for a very definable reason.

Thad and my ex-husband, Admiral Philip Guthrie, had damned near risked their lives and careers to save me, Sully, Verno, and Ren a few months back on Marker when we’d destroyed the first jukor lab. Now it seemed Thad’s actions had caught up with him, despite Philip’s assurances that wouldn’t—couldn’t—happen.

I scanned the article’s brief summary as I quickly tagged two copies of the download, just in case one skewed through the filters. My name wasn’t mentioned but Sully’s was: renegade mercenary Gabriel Ross Sullivan.

We were in big trouble. If Hayden Burke’s henchman or First Barrister Darius Tage’s interrogators used one of the licensed Stolorth Ragkirils to pull information from my brother’s mind, Thad could die for what he knew about Burke and Tage. And for what he knew about Sully. I doubted they’d use anything as benign as a zral—a simple mind-probe. No, they would probably use a zragkor—a probe that ultimately erased and killed the mind.

Thad was one of the few in the Empire who knew what Sully was. If that leaked out, our entire mission to destroy the gen-labs would slam to a halt. The fear of mind-ripping talents was even stronger in the rim worlds than in-system, where licensed Stolorths were tolerated. If it was revealed that Sully was not only a Ragkiril but a high-level Kyi, our contacts and most of our safe havens and hidey-holes would disappear.

And more than half of Sully’s crew would mutiny. If they didn’t kill Sully first.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and shoved myself to my feet.

“Captain Chasidah?” Verno turned in his seat, my sudden movement no doubt catching his attention.

“Trouble, Verno. Tage arrested Thad. Hayden Burke’s involved, I’m sure of it.” I waved toward his console. “I sent you a copy of the summary I found. Read it and erase it. I have to wake up Sully and get the full article decoded.”

Verno’s fixed stare told me he was as shocked and troubled as I was. He knew about Sully’s Ragkiril talents and accepted them. But he also knew well that Gregor, Marsh, Aubry, and Dorsie wouldn’t.

“Admiral Guthrie won’t let anything happen to your brother,” he said as I headed for the corridor.

But what my brother knew would also implicate Philip. He’d be stripped of rank and face a court-martial far worse than the one I had months before. With Burke and Tage pursuing him, even the old and illustrious Guthrie name wouldn’t be able to save him.

Fists clenched painfully tight, I strode over the bridge’s hatch tread then bolted down the corridor.

“Chaz?”

Sully propped himself on his elbows, the pale green bedsheet sliding down his bare chest as cabin lights, reacting to my presence, glowed dimly around the edges of the ceiling and floor. I reached back and palm-locked our cabin door as the first trickle of our deep mind-link blossomed open. I felt his presence much as I would a welcoming arm across my shoulders.

He sat up straighter and suddenly thrust a hand through his short dark hair. “Thad. Son of a bitch has Thad.” He ripped the sheet away. “What else?”

The fact that he was asking and not culling that information from my mind told me the deadening attributes of the honeylace hadn’t fully worn off yet.

“That’s all I know.” I dropped into the chair in front of the cabin’s computer console then keyed the lights up brighter. “Right now,” I amended. “It came in the last news dump. I haven’t decoded it yet.”

Warmth flooded me as if two strong arms now encircled my body, but Sully was still across the cabin, naked, pulling a pair of black pants and matching long-sleeved shirt from one of the drawers lining the bottom of his closet.

I sent back what warmth I could, but a chill gripped me and refused to let go. My straitlaced brother, blue eyed and ginger haired like our father. And until my reappearance in his office on Marker, distant and disapproving like our father. Or so I thought. But what I’d taken for disapproval was Thad’s way of working behind the scenes to keep me alive after my sham of a court-martial, which had sentenced me to certain death on the prison planet of Moabar.

Rediscovering that my brother loved me had given me a renewed sense of strength.

Now loving me could kill him.

“I won’t let that happen.”

I recognized that tone in Sully’s voice. His “Gabriel” tone I called it—his Kyi-Ragkiril nature coming to the fore. Strong, unshakable, focused. Sometimes too much so. His belief in his invincibility was also a defensive cloak that had the ability to blind him.

“I am aware of the risks,” he countered, obviously reading me with ease now as he yanked the hem of his shirt down around his waist. He unlocked a chair from the cabin decking and slid it over next to mine. His eyes—dark and infinite—studied me. Not a threat but a promise.

“We need to read the full article,” I said as he sat. “Then, I don’t know, chance a contact with Philip.” I don’t know because Sully and Philip in the same galactic sector was never a comfortable situation. But Philip had status and deep, reliable sources in the Empire. We didn’t. If Tage was behind this—we already suspected he was using billionaire Hayden Burke as a front—Philip was in a far better position to garner information than we were at the moment.

I turned back to the decoded data, aware that Sully’s lack of comment on Philip was more of a comment than if he’d damned my ex-husband with words.

Admiral Philip Guthrie wasn’t mentioned in the article. But Thad and his involvement “aiding and abetting the escape of the renegade mercenary Gabriel Ross Sullivan” were. There was a brief but damnably accurate recounting of Sully’s movements through Marker’s core after firebombing “the illegal weapons factories” there. There was no mention of me, and I had no idea if that was Philip’s doing or a deliberate oversight. If Burke and Tage knew this much about Sully’s escape, then they knew I’d been part of it.

Further investigation tied Sullivan to longtime Farosian terrorist Zabur Lazlo, the article continued. Lazlo was dead and probably rolling over in his grave at the purported alliance. Lazlo was not remotely associated with the Tos Faros–based supporters of Sheldon Blaine’s bid for the throne. He had been Hayden Burke’s bodyguard.

If there was one thing neither First Barrister Tage or megalomaniac Burke wanted, it was the Empire in Blaine’s hands. Tage and the current emperor, Prewitt III, had spent too much time and money disproving Blaine’s claims that Prew was not legal heir to the throne.

And Burke, an outspoken supporter of Tage’s Legalist Party, wanted to see the man and the party that his family had financially endorsed for years firmly in power.

Burke also wanted Sully dead. That had been Lazlo’s actual mission, to kill Gabriel Sullivan because Sully not only stood in the way of Burke’s claim on the Sullivan fortune but had found proof that Burke was illegally breeding jukors.

Then the news, the very bad news. Rage battled with hopelessness as I stared at the words on the screen. Thad was scheduled to be transferred from a lockup on Marker to Rawton, the maximum-security prison inside a mountain range a few hours outside Port January on Calth Prime. The exact opposite direction we were now headed. But the article didn’t say when the transfer would take place. For all I knew, he was already there.

“There are ways,” Sully said, but I was already shaking my head.

“I’ve been there. Calth Prime isn’t Baris Starport,” I said harshly, remembering my small holding cell, and the lights flickering as Sully had tried to disconnect the starport’s power grid. Not that I’d known what was going on at the time. “It’s not a matter of muddying the thoughts of a few guards, making them think they never saw you.” Which was what Sully had done on Marker, impressing even Philip. “This is an almost flawless system of human, Takan, and computer checkpoints.”

“And Stolorth,” he added.

My eyes narrowed. “You’ve been to Rawton?”

“I’ve not had the pleasure, but I do make it my business to know how and where the Empire uses those Ragkirils who will work for them. And yes, Rawton is a name often mentioned.”

Sully had once told me the Ragkirils he’d read of or studied could fit in this ship, and we’d all still have room. Which had led me to believe that powerful Kyi-Ragkirils—not benign Ragkir empaths like Ren—were a rarity in spite of the claims from those like Sully’s pilot, Gregor, who’d stated there were teams of them.

I was career Fleet, and knew that it wasn’t above using exaggeration for its own purposes.

But at Rawton? If there was a Ragkiril interrogation team, then Rawton would make sense for their location. The climate on the main continent of Calth Prime was far more amenable to Stolorth physiology than Moabar’s—my prison world’s—was.

My fears of my brother dying after a zragkor resurfaced.

We still have options, angel-mine.

Sully’s deep voice resonated in my mind and this time very real arms did encircle me. The warmth I felt was from not only within but without. Sully, sensing my pain, soothed it with the balm of his presence in a way no one else could. He made my weariness his own, replacing it with his energy—something he seemed to have an unending supply of lately.

I leaned against him. “What’s our best move?” A dozen plans had already formed in my head—I’d been Fleet for too long—but I had no right to ask that we sideline our search for the gen-labs just to rescue my brother, especially when we’d finally found someone willing to talk to us. It would be four, possibly six shipdays to get back to Port January from our present location. And we’d miss the meet with our source in Dafir.

Sully brushed one hand tenderly over my face, then down the braid that reached almost to my waist. “You have every right. But you have to realize they’re fishing and Thad is the bait. They can’t find me, so they’ve done the one thing that will bring you out into the open. I’m guessing Berri Solaria may have imparted information on our relationship to Hayden before she died. Actually, I always assumed she had.”

Sister Berri Solaria. Devout and persistent. Like Verno, a member of the Englarian church. But she’d shed her robes at Hayden Burke’s command and functioned as Lazlo’s accomplice, if not his or Hayden’s lover. “Demon’s whore,” she’d called me in the shuttle bay on Marker, just before I’d ended her life with my laser pistol.

She’d almost ended Philip’s and Sully’s.

Yes, she was undoubtedly aware of my relationship with Sully. She’d been on board the Karn.

“Let me contact Philip—”

“They’d expect you to do that, so I suggest not, angel-mine,” he added, softening the hard tone that briefly crept into his words when Philip was mentioned.

But he was right. Philip was more than my ex-husband. He was Thad’s friend. Tage would be watching Philip closely. “Jodey, then,” I offered. Jodey Bralford was Philip’s former first officer and now captain on the Krista Nowicki. I’d known Jodey for years and considered him a good friend. “He could reach Philip, determine Thad’s location, and, if they’ve not moved him, what the timeline is.”

And there was no reason for Sully to have the same negative knee-jerk reaction to Jodey as he did to Philip. A reaction I felt had hampered us more than once, but this wasn’t the time to bring that up again.

“I’m worried about Thad too.” Sully cupped my jaw and another spiral of warmth trailed across my skin. “But all we have right now is this news report. We don’t even know how factual it is. Your brother might not be sent to Rawton at all. Let’s not play into their game…yet.”

His eyes narrowed for a moment. They were that infinite shade of dark—like fathomless obsidian—that signaled he was accessing his Kyi-Ragkiril side. Then he nodded. “Ren’s awake. We need to bring him up to date.”

I secured the cabin’s computer and double-locked the data on Thad while Sully pulled on his boots. Then I caught up with him at the cabin’s door.

“Walker took game one,” I told him, feeling slightly guilty for even bringing up something like that when my brother’s life was at stake. But the malaise that had dragged me out of bed and onto the bridge earlier now felt like a cocoon, wrapping me in a death grip. I needed a respite, even if only for a few seconds.

Sully’s frown deepened then he shook his head, one edge of his mouth quirking up. “It’s not where you start but where you finish.”

I hoped—prayed to God and the stars—that was true. Thad sitting in Rawton was the worst possible start. And the path to the finish line didn’t look any more promising.

Ren’s cabin, like the one I shared with Sully, was on the bridge deck. It was smaller than Sully’s but in the same blues and pale grays, with the same separate salon and dining area that bespoke the Karn’s previous life as a luxury yacht. Ren’s door opened automatically at Sully’s touch to the palm pad. The sweet, fragrant scent of freshly brewed tea met me as I followed him in.

“Chasidah. I’m so sorry.” Ren’s voice had an odd musical quality that belied his size, which was average for a Stolorth but topped Sully’s human frame by several inches. And Sully was tall for a human.

I accepted Ren’s outstretched hand and the resulting warmth as six fingers wrapped gently around mine. A few months ago I’d jerked away at his touch, and even his blindness hadn’t been a reassurance of my mind’s safety in his presence.

But that was a few months ago, and my mind and I had learned many things.

“I know I’m wearing my worry colors,” I admitted as a tinge of his warmth drifted over my skin and through my mind. Ren’s talents, unlike Sully’s, were strictly empathic. And what I called “colors” was his way of reading a person’s aura: that emotional resonance that Ren used to distinguish not just someone’s moods but also his identity. He’d mentally linked to Sully for so many years that a secondary link to me—as Sully’s ky’sara—was almost unconscious.

“Fully understandable,” Ren said, the tones in his voice like the gentle pattering of soft rain.

I released his hand and folded myself down onto the soft couch. Sully was already helping himself to a cup of tea. He’d known Ren for almost twenty years and clattered around the galley nook as if it were his own.

“Chaz?” Sully held up an empty mug.

“Not yet, thanks.” I settled back against the cushions and worked on controlling my worry colors. We had a number of important things to decide here and I didn’t need Ren, or Sully, distracted by the fact that I couldn’t unclench that tightness in my chest.

I knew Sully sensed the dozen options already whirling through my mind. Fleet training dies hard and when confronted with a problem, my initial response was always to start quantifying solutions. In the twelve years since I’d first put on a uniform, I’d faced everything from weapons point-blank in my face to dead jumpdrives in the middle of the big wide darkness. I’d survived them all.

But this was something else, someone else. My brother was being held hostage for something I’d done. For someone I loved.

Sully put Ren’s mug on a side table then sat next to me, clutching his own mug with two hands.

“We need to know what’s factual in that report,” Sully said as Ren, reading the tea’s thermals, wrapped his long fingers around the mug’s handle. “It came in through CCNN.”

Sully’s mouth pursed as he said Central Calth News Network’s acronym. CCNN had a reputation for exaggeration, following the old “bad news sells” methodology. I knew that the moment I saw the news story. But that still didn’t mean Tage didn’t have Thad in custody, and I said so.

“Nothing from the other news agencies?” Ren asked.

I shook my head. “The story came in as I disconnected from the beacon. Judging from the time stamp, it just hit the feeds. I know we need an update, but heading back to the beacon”—and Fleet-sanctioned, Fleet-patrolled space lanes—” doesn’t seem the best idea right now.” Especially because Thad had been arrested. They’d be looking at all unregistered mercenary vessels that fit one of the many conflicting profiles on Sully’s ship. Why this particular ship was illegally grabbing data wasn’t a question I wanted to answer.

“Plus, we only have five days to make the meet on Narfial.” That wasn’t the kind of thing you could just reschedule. Pardon me, I know you’re risking your life to get us this information but we’ve had a slight change of plans. Can we do it next month? “That’s why I suggested contacting Philip. Or Jodey.”

“Sensible suggestion.” Ren nodded.

“I can contact Drogue,” Sully said, before Ren’s final syllable sounded. “A large portion of prison guards are Taka, and a large number of those are Englarians. Drogue as Guardian—” and he raised one hand, halting my protest that the affable monk was assigned to the Moabar prison system, which was even farther out than the rim worlds. “Drogue can make inquiries, even from Moabar.”

I looked from Sully to Ren. Sully was not going to bring in Philip or Jodey at this point. But using Drogue was workable, and if I hadn’t been mediumly wretched, I’d have realized that sooner. Yes, he was on Moabar, but his status as Guardian meant his influence wasn’t limited to his current location.

Then another problem popped into my mind. “Do we know if Rawton’s Englarian temple is Purity or Reformed?” Berri Solaria had been Purity Englarian—a small overlooked fact that had almost gotten us killed. Drogue was Guardian of the Reformed sect. Decidedly less xenophobic in an empire that liked to forget that humans were latecomers in the neighborhood.

“Verno and I can find that out,” Ren said. “But even if they’re Purity, the Takas will still talk to us.”

To Verno, I thought. One of their own. And more so if they’re Purity. Human Purity Englarians viewed Takans as sentients to be guided—because they were incapable of guiding themselves. “Benign domination,” I’d once heard Ren call it.

As for Stolorths, Abbot Eng had made a name for himself centuries ago by beheading those Stolorths he believed were Ragkirils. “Purifying them by separating their filthy minds from their bodies,” was how Berri Solaria had explained it to me.

And now we chased another kind of fanatic—one who wanted to unleash monsters not only to eradicate Ragkirils but to hold a growing rim-world population in thrall. And all because, we suspected, some political promises made behind closed doors during the Boundary Wars hadn’t been kept.

“It will take three, four hours for my message to reach Drogue,” Sully said, leaning his elbows on his knees. “That or more for his answer to get back to me, depending on his schedule. For now, we’re going to keep heading for Narfial.” He turned his face toward me, his voice softening. “We have to.”

“I know.” I did. I gave him a tight smile, telling myself things were not as bleak as they seemed. The wheels of justice—or injustice in this case—turned slowly in the Empire. No one was going to requisition a special ship just to transport Thad to Rawton. He might well sit in Marker lockup for a week or more, waiting for the legal preliminaries to be finished. And if he had a good barrister…

That thought stopped me. Thad’s situation was different from mine. There was no bad blood between him and our father, Lars, now retired from Fleet. Lars may have turned his back on me when I was sent to Moabar, but he would—had to—be helping Thad, keeping him away from Rawton and the Stolorth interrogators as long as he could.

A weight, small but noticeable, lifted from my shoulders.

Sully pushed himself to his feet then headed for Ren’s desk and computer terminal. Ren’s terminal and Sully’s were the only two on the Karn that had full override capabilities and a private transmission beam. That was a security measure Sully installed after our escape from Marker. The ease with which Berri Solaria had been able to manipulate his crew and almost destroy his ship troubled Sully. This fail-safe setup was his answer.

And my father was mine and Thad’s. I tried to convince myself of that as I followed Ren to his galley nook and helped myself, finally, to a cup of tea. I was hungry and back on duty in a few hours. Breakfast was a good idea.

“I’m going to head down to the galley and see if Dorsie has any baked bright-apples,” I said.

Sully glanced up from the terminal. “Ren and I will meet you there in ten, fifteen minutes. I want to make sure—”

An alarm blared, wailing through Ren’s cabin, echoing in the corridor. Three discordant tones from the ship’s short-range scanners—short-range!—signaling the appearance of an unfriendly. I shoved my half-empty cup of tea onto the nearest table and bolted for the door.

“Shields at full,” Verno announced as I lunged through the bridge’s hatchway, Sully and Ren on my heels. “Weapons system online.”

“Acknowledged.” I slid, temporarily, into the pilot’s chair behind Verno. My adrenaline spiked then receded. This was familiar territory. “What’ve we got?”

“What in hell happened to long range?”

Sully’s question overlapped mine as I tapped the link live on the chair’s armrest console. Gregor would be here in seconds and, in spite of the situation, wouldn’t miss a chance to take umbrage at my location in his seat. I didn’t want his job, but I needed information. The pilot’s armrest console, with feeds from all stations, was the best place for me to find answers.

“Farosian Infiltrator,” Verno said, answering my question and Sully’s as well.

An Infiltrator. A Farosian covert scoutship—Elarwin in design, judging from the elongated bridge and deltoid thruster grid aft, a hint of which I could see outlined on my screen. Sleek, fast, deadly, and with the annoying reputation for jamming scanner signals. Sully’s wasn’t the only ghost ship out there in the big wide darkness. I shunted the data over to the auxiliary console next to Sully at navigation. The alarm ceased abruptly. Then hard footsteps sounded behind me.

Two men appeared, both in nondescript spacer gray coveralls like Verno wore: one tall, lanky, and pale; the other squat, muscled, and dark-skinned. Gregor and Marsh. I pulled myself from the pilot’s seat, not missing Gregor’s eyes narrowing at my location or the similarly withering glance he shot at Ren at communications. We could deal with that later—if at all. Right now we had an unexpected visitor. Gregor’s continuing problems with me and Ren were the least of our worries.

“Farosian Infiltrator,” Sully repeated. “Twenty-two minutes out.”

Gregor dropped into the pilot’s seat. Marsh hustled over to the engineering console.

“What do they want out here? Besides us, that is,” Marsh grumbled. I understood his question. Tos Faros was in Dafir, but out by the Walker Colonies. We were on the opposite end of the sector, heading for Narfial. Not an impossible location for the often-violent supporters of Sheldon Blaine’s claim to the throne, but not their usual one either. At least that’s what Fleet intelligence had taught me to believe.

Of course, much of what had transpired in my life in the past few months confirmed that a good portion of Fleet intelligence was wrong.

Blaine was imprisoned on Moabar when I was, but the chances that the Farosians knew that and further knew I was on Sully’s ship…That thought set me back for a moment. But I could tell them nothing useful. I never saw Blaine.

That they might have an old grudge against Sully was a more likely possibility—one that Marsh’s grumbling comment told me he knew as well.

I studied what little the Karn’s data sweeps were bringing us then checked on our status. The only good news was that the Infiltrator’s weapons’ ports read cold. Even so, Marsh was already coordinating with Aubry belowdecks, committing additional power to the sublight engines. Sully worked on tagging the closest jumpgates. The bridge was quiet except for the occasional human or Takan grunt of frustration, because we still had no definitive ship ID on our visitor. No one spoke until we had options and exits all clearly defined. The Karn could defend herself, but she wasn’t a warship. We needed a way to get out of here quickly, if those ports turned hot and our visitor turned nasty.

Farosian terrorists had never been lauded for their manners. And Sully had been rude to them on several occasions.

“Closest gate and second best, if they get aggressive.” Sully sent a flurry of data to my screens and everyone else’s. “For now, let’s play dumb until we know if they intend to talk to us or shoot at us.”

Running from an Infiltrator in anything smaller than a Maven-class cruiser was a good way to get shot at.

“They’re holding at eighteen minutes out,” Verno intoned.

“No comm signals from them,” Ren added, one hand cupped over the comm set ringing his right ear.

And no ident data that either I or Sully could find. Not even a false one, like ours.

What do they want? I sent the question to Sully along with a deliberate glance, because I still wasn’t sure how to tell when he was mentally listening to me.

Depends if their scans picked us up as the Karn or ID’ed us as a supply freighter.

We had nicely counterfeited registry docs that broadcast us as the Darvo Tureka, under contract to Border One Export. But the Infiltrator had slipped past our long-range scan’s warning sensors. It might have punched holes in our identity as well.

I’d prefer to think not, but if they have, then it’s likely old business. Since they no longer believe I’m dead.

Tage made sure the newshounds disseminated that information three months ago.

But Hayden’s kept me too busy lately to have time to bother with Blaine’s Justice Wardens, Sully continued, and through our mental link I could feel the sneer in his tone at the label the Farosians used for themselves. And yes, they probably know you were on Moabar, but I doubt that’s why they’re here.

I broadened the parameters on my scanning string, swept the Infiltrator again. Nothing. Damn. Do they know I’m on this ship?

Your faith in my mind-reading skills thrills me, my angel, but the fact is I can’t tell at this distance. Seriously, he added, as I bristled at his teasing response. They should not have any reason to know you’re on my ship. If they do, then we have a crew problem again. And I’m going to have to do some poking around, and that will cause us even more problems. But let’s deal with that after we deal with them.

Sully’s “crew problem” would require using a telepathic probe on his crew with Ren as decoy. Last time he had to do that, we almost had a mutiny on our hands. But it was a mutiny because Gregor and Marsh believed Ren was a Ragkiril. Having to use Ren in that manner and then feeling the vicious backlash directed—wrongly—at Ren had troubled Sully deeply. I didn’t want to see Ren go through that again. I didn’t want to see Sully go through that again.

I hoped the Farosians just happened to be on a similar course to the Darvo Tureka.

“You want a little more distance between us and them, Sully?” Gregor asked.

This was Sully’s normal method—keep pulling away, grabbing up speed, working magic with his sublights that still amazed me, and then punching it, hell-bent for a gate.

Sully glanced over his shoulder. “Keep us at the eighteen-minute range until we can pick up the gate’s outer beacon. I don’t want them pushing in to close the gap, thinking we have something worth chasing, when all we might have here is an aborted jump transit. Let’s play nice, stupid freighter minding its own business. The reason they’re out there may have nothing to do with us.”

An aborted transit that landed you just inside another ship’s short-range grid usually was cause for immediate comm contact and an apology. Even a request for aid, because aborted transits played hell with ship’s systems. But Sheldon Blaine’s terrorists never requested anything. They took.

Though I’d have preferred Gregor’s suggestion for a bit more room—just because I disliked the man didn’t mean I invalidated his expertise—that eighteen-minute separation was enough to keep them from easily taking data from us. At the same time it gave us a workable distance from which to gather data on them.

“Incoming comm transmit,” Ren announced suddenly. “Audio only.”

Sully leaned back in his chair then swiveled toward Ren. “Let’s hear what Emperor Sheldon’s Justice Wardens have to say.”

Ren spoke softly into his headset, giving the command to open the transmission link. There was the usual short double-chime, then: “Mr. Sullivan. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

So much for our nicely counterfeited registry docs. The voice emitting through the speakers was female, with a noticeable drawl common to most of the worlds and stations in Dafir’s Quadrant 3. She had a thicker accent than Guardian Drogue but I’d not heard enough of her voice to place her age. My mind ran through the Empire’s list of known female terrorist leaders, but Sully’s response pinpointed her identity for me.

“Nayla Dalby. Should I be thanking you for the flowers sent to my funeral? Regrettably, I was unable to attend.”

“Flowers?” She barked out a harsh laugh. “If I sent anything, it’d be a plasma torpedo.”

“Such a high-priced offering. I’m flattered.” Sully swiveled back toward me and winked.

Clearly, he wasn’t worried. I was. Commander Nayla Dalby was a ruthless assassin the Empire had yet to apprehend. She was two years my senior. I knew her age because, like me, she’d been part of Fleet. She went AWOL and joined the Farosians about five years ago, taking with her a considerable amount of top-secret data. Data that was never to have left HQ on Aldan Prime. I had no idea what that data was—my clearance wasn’t high enough. Philip’s was, but I never asked him. I just had a standing order to kill her if she came within my ship’s sights.

“Don’t be flattered,” Dalby said. “If I had my way, you’d be eating that torpedo now. But we’ve decided you might be useful.”

“To Blaine? Sorry. Can’t support Sheldon’s bid for the throne. His politics and his proclivity for torture annoy me.”

“More than you’re annoyed by Darius Tage and your dear cousin Hayden?”

Sully’s eyes narrowed slightly then he shrugged, his expression blanking. “What’s your point, Dalby?”

“Don’t you know? The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Limited thinking. Reality has shown that the enemy of my enemy is one more enemy I have to account for.”

“But this enemy doesn’t care that you pulled an Imperial officer off of Moabar. Or that you firebombed one of Burke’s little experiments on Marker.”

Sully sat up straighter. A sudden emptiness told me he’d cut his mental link with me. I swiveled toward him, but I don’t know what worried me more: his mental silence or that Dalby knew about the jukor labs. That meant the Farosians had someone in Tage’s office, Burke’s organization, or—and I shuddered at the thought—on Philip’s ship, the Morgan Loviti.

The Farosians infiltrating Fleet had been a longstanding concern. Blaine’s supporters worked with limited resources. What ships they did have were like the Infiltrator, small and fast, but nothing that could seriously threaten a starport or station. But if they were to ever get a heavy battle cruiser, like the Krista Nowicki, or a destroyer, like the Loviti, the situation would get that much more dire. They could go from being hit-and-run terrorists to a workable force to be contended with.

That was one of the reasons Fleet wanted Dalby dead. She knew too much about those kinds of resources.

“In fact,” Dalby was saying, “we’re damned pleased.”

“Your point?” Sully repeated, his tone controlled. The energy I could feel vibrating from him—even without the link—was not. I glanced at my console. The Farosian ship still had weapons ports showing cold.

“We can help you take down Tage. Stop Burke’s jukor labs.”

“And why would you help me?”

“Because you can persuade the Imperial Fleet to side with us.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it quickly before my voice betrayed my presence. The Farosians would never settle for allying with Fleet. They wanted Fleet’s power, Fleet’s ships.

Sully laughed harshly. “Fleet hates me, Dalby. Maybe as much as they hate you.”

“But they don’t hate Chasidah Bergren. Or should I say Chasidah Bergren Guthrie? Wife of esteemed Admiral Philip Guthrie. I have my sources, Sullivan. Her arrest created serious schisms in the ranks. Oh, yeah, it was hushed up. But you weren’t the only one who made plans to spring her from lockup on Baris Starport.”

Sully was very still. I shot a glance at Ren. He leaned forward, shoulders stiff, silvery eyes narrowed as he listened intently.

“And you weren’t the only one trying to get her off Moabar,” Dalby was saying. “You just got there first.”

Thad had told me he’d been trying to get me transferred off Moabar. Then Philip admitted the same thing. Is that what Dalby referred to, or were there others? Sparks, my engineer, had opted for early retirement shortly before my court-martial. I remembered the pained, angry transmit he’d sent me, damning Fleet’s actions. It wouldn’t have been beyond him to rally some of my crew. But enough to create the schisms Dalby mentioned? It didn’t seem possible. I was a good officer, but I didn’t have the kind of adulation that was part and parcel of the Guthrie name.

“Far-fetched,” Sully said, leaning back in his chair, steepling his fingertips together. “Even if I could convince Captain Bergren to plead Blaine’s cause to her former comrades—and I doubt she would—there’s no guarantee that would persuade the entire fleet to mutiny against Prew.”

“If the Admirals’ Council ordered it, it might.”

“She’s not married to Philip Guthrie anymore.”

“Oh, but he’d listen.”

If Dalby thought bringing up Philip’s name would sway Sully to her side, she was very wrong.

“No,” he said firmly. “It you want to stop the jukor labs because it’s the decent thing to do, because your own people on Tos Faros will suffer if you don’t, or because Tage is likely to let a few loose on Moabar to tear Blaine to shreds, then fine. But I’m not going to help you put Sheldon Blaine on the throne. Trading one lunatic despot for another is not an improvement.”

“Even if the trade involved Thaddeus Bergren?”

This time I went very still and cold. Stop Tage and Burke, destroy the jukors, save Thad. It was all such an incredibly attractive package, there had to be a catch—a big fat ugly one. But even if there wasn’t, putting Sheldon Blaine on the throne and his Justice Wardens in charge of the Empire was not something I could live with.

Sully was looking at me, brow creasing. I waved away his concern. It was time to make my presence known.

“You overplayed your hand, Commander Dalby,” I told her. “I have no reason to believe you’d deliver on your promises. I do have every reason to believe, though, that you’d use my brother as your hostage. I’m not going to have my family or the Empire held prisoner.”

“Captain Bergren.” Dalby’s voice held a slight note of surprise, but whether it was because I was on this ship or simply at the bridge at this time I didn’t know. “We will have this conversation again, soon. And your answer will be very different. Trust me on that.”

Two chimes sounded.

“She cut the link,” Ren announced.

“The Infiltrator is changing course, Sully-sir. They’re moving away from us,” Verno added.

Sully stared at the main screen, eyes narrowed.

“Sure would like to know how they picked up our trail,” Gregor said finally, breaking the silence. He angled back in his seat, glancing toward Sully.

Sully nodded slowly but said nothing. Ren turned back to the communications console. Data flickering over my screen told me Marsh was shutting down the sublight emergency overrides.

“Might be something we should look into,” Gregor continued.

The tension on the bridge was palpable, most of it coming from Sully. If Gregor hadn’t been so intent on pinning the Infiltrator’s appearance on me—which I was sure was the reason behind his comments—he’d have noticed that. And shut his mouth.

Gregor drummed his fingers on the armrest. “Sensor logs might show something. I could look into that, boss.”

“Sure.” Sully shoved himself to his feet. “I need to get back to that Narfial data. Chaz?”

Our mental link was still quiet. I had no idea what Sully wanted or where we were going other than I was very sure it had nothing to do with Narfial. I secured my station and followed him off the bridge.

He hit the palm pad for the ready room and, as we passed under the room’s brighter lights, he seemed oddly drained. His coloring was pale, the lines at the edges of his eyes more pronounced. He slid into a chair at the round table and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes as I sat.

I wondered if Dalby’s appearance bothered him for more than the usual reasons. Then he spoke.

“He didn’t question the remark about your brother.”

It took me a moment to follow his train of thought. Then I realized what I’d missed and what worried Sully. Gregor, my perpetual nemesis—who grabbed every chance to resurrect my connection with the Imperial Fleet—had left Dalby’s comment about Thad unquestioned. “How come some Farosian terrorist knows your brother?” should have been the first thing Gregor asked.

“Maybe he wasn’t listening when Dalby said that?” I offered.

“He knows something.” Sully leaned back in his chair, one hand clenched into a fist on the tabletop. For a moment, a barely perceptible pale haze flickered briefly in the air around him, then it was gone. The Kyi—the energy fields a Ragkiril like Sully manipulated. But he rarely did that in a room easily accessed by crew who didn’t know what he was. I was surprised to see even the flicker of it I did now.

“I probed as best I could without…well, he knows something,” Sully repeated. “He’s lying. And he’s scared.”

He probed as best he could without touching Gregor and without using the Kyi. That explained his silence, his concentration.

“What could you get?” I remembered his reading the security guards at Marker three months ago. He’d been able to discern their moods and whether they viewed us as a threat. But he couldn’t read specific thoughts without a direct link, physical touch, or drawing on the Kyi. None of which he’d done on the bridge of the Karn or I would have seen it.

“He wasn’t surprised by Dalby’s appearance—or, should I say, the Infiltrator’s appearance. He didn’t seem to know Dalby, but she didn’t bother him. That was the first thing I picked up, even before she mentioned Thad.”

“Then he knew the Farosians were following us. He probably supplied them with our ID.”

“Those thoughts weren’t in his mind, so I don’t know. He was concentrating on making sure this ship stayed in range.”

It briefly occurred to me that Sully had gathered a lot more information from Gregor’s mind than I would have thought he could. But maybe Ren—who also had been silent—was helping. And maybe the small confines of the bridge made it easier.

Still, how Sully had obtained Gregor’s thoughts concerned me less than the content of those thoughts. “Why would Gregor support Sheldon Blaine?”

“It might not be so much supporting Blaine as hating Prew and Fleet. And the Admirals’ Council.”

Fleet had long been the means by which the emperor enforced his authority over the worlds and sectors from Aldan through the rim world bordering Dafir, and past that even to the No-Name Sector and Moabar. The Admirals’ Council ran Fleet, and interfaced with Prew and the other governmental ministries. Prew and the Council were actually autonomous but most people saw them as different halves of the same entity. Fleet did the bidding of the emperor; therefore, Fleet was the emperor. Gregor evidently subscribed to the “enemy of my enemy” philosophy.

“And Gregor hates me,” I added.

“I had a few chats with him and thought that was under control.” Sully glanced past me at the door to the bridge as if he could see through the metal plating to the man seated in the pilot’s chair. “Evidently not.”

“That’s how Dalby knew I was on this ship.”

“I felt no sense of recognition from him when Dalby spoke, but there was a very pronounced lack of surprise.”

“If you bring him in here for an interview with Ren, you’re going to have a fight on your hands.”

Sully’s gaze was still on the door panel, and our link was still silent. I wondered if he was trying to probe Gregor, possibly through his connection to Ren.

He shook his head. “I’m not going to involve Ren this time. And I’m not,” he continued, when I started to ask just what he intended to do, “going to confront Gregor right now. He’s responsible, somehow, for that Infiltrator showing up. I want to make sure we’re well out of its range before I take any kind of action. And I’m going to have to have the bridge lock-out program running. If Gregor causes problems, the last thing I want is for him to be in control of my ship.”

He turned toward me and clasped my hand. Our mental link opened, flooding me with warmth, but the line of his mouth was grim. “Come, angel-mine. We have work to do.”

Part of that work was sending a message to Guardian Drogue—a message that had been delayed by the arrival of the Farosian ship. I sat at the desk in our cabin and opened the code files to initiate the bridge lock-out program. The message could have been intercepted by the Farosians. They already knew far too much about Chasidah Bergren.

“I warned Drogue about the Farosians,” Sully said from the console on his side of the desk.

“You think they’ll try pulling Blaine off Moabar again?”

“Given that they mentioned getting you off-planet, yes.”

“They must have learned about that from Gregor. That’s why they wanted you to work with them.”

Sully glanced at me from over the top of his deskscreen, the screen’s glow harsh against the planes of his face. His lean jawline still echoed his father: Winthrop Burke Sullivan, an incredibly wealthy and powerful man when he was alive. But Sully’s dark coloring, his thick hair, and his sensuous mouth were pure Rossetti, his mother’s family. She’d been an elegant beauty. I’d never seen Sully in anything other than a shipsuit or spacer’s leathers, but I could imagine him in a cream-colored watersilk dinner jacket and dark pants, or a tuxedo, looking every inch as elegant. And sexy as hell.

His frown swung upward into a lopsided grin. “I’ll buy one if you’ll take it off me.”

My face heated. “You shouldn’t be peeking!” I chastised, but my mouth curved as I said it. Embarrassed by fantasizing over my own lover. Another form of stress relief.

“I wasn’t peeking. You were sending. Very directly.” He arched one dark eyebrow.

I sighed, bring my emotions back under control. “Let’s get back to the problems at hand. Gregor. My brother. What Drogue can or cannot do.”

Something cascaded lightly through me—a gentling, a suffused glow. If love could be morphed into a physical element, this would be it. It was strength and yet it was vulnerability. It was all-encompassing and yet it was freedom. It was a wall of protection. It was wings of trust and faith.

It was Gabriel Ross Sullivan, answering the questions I couldn’t ask. Not that everything would be okay, but that everything in his power would be done, and we’d face whatever outcomes there were together.

“As bad as it is to know Gregor is working against us,” Sully said quietly, “it does provide answers to a number of issues I’ve not been able to figure out to this point. The good part is that he is in our control and outnumbered. That’s why, instead of giving in to this overwhelming desire I have to flatten him against a bulkhead until he can no longer breathe, I’m going to watch him, read him—at least for the next few shifts. Let him think he’s safe because I’ll learn what I need to know.”

It was a dangerous game, but Sully had never shied away from them before. “I thought that Farosian ship knew this was the Karn,” I said, restlessly tapping my fingers on the desktop. “But now I bet Dalby was told to look for the Darvo Tureka.” Sully’s bogus ship IDs were damned-near impenetrable. It made more sense that Gregor had given the Farosians the name we’d be traveling under.

“I’ll take that bet and raise you ten. Not only was she given the Tureka’s name but she’s been supplied with our coordinates at key points.”

Like when I grabbed the data off that beacon. Something must have been sent at that time.

“We need to look at every transmission Gregor’s sent or received since we left Dock Five,” I said, calmer now, feeling my Fleet training kicking back in. Spies and enemy agents were entities Fleet had dealt with for generations. “And anything sent from any terminal when he was on duty.”

“How long will that take you?”

“An hour, maybe two if he used a code I can’t break and I have to ask you for help.”

That Sully grin was back. “Are you sure you can afford my fees?”

I lobbed my lightpen at him.

He ducked. “You’re cranky. You must be hungry.” He swiveled his chair around then stood. “I’ll go hit up Dorsie for a couple of baked bright-apples.” He turned for the door then swung back and, leaning over the narrow desk, cupped my face with one hand. His mouth covered mine, heat and passion spiraling through his touch.

He broke the kiss with obvious reluctance. “I will do whatever it takes. Believe that,” he said, his voice a deep rumble.

I knew he would. But I waited until the door closed behind him before wondering—with not only Tage and Burke to contend with, but now the Farosians too—if it would be enough.

Gregor was a damned fine pilot. He’d been with Sully for at least seven years, though where he’d been before that Fleet either couldn’t or didn’t care to find out. I didn’t know if Gregor was his first or his last name, or a moniker he simply bestowed on himself when he went AWOL. Of that last fact, I was fairly sure—over and above the fact that he bragged about it. He had a way of doing things that were Fleet-issue. I recognized them because I was one too.

So I broke into his personal files the same way I would any Fleet officer’s, knowing where the fail-safes and trip-alarms likely were, knowing how the files would be structured. Gregor had improvised, customized over the years. But academy training was hard to undo.

Sully brought a steaming, spicy bright-apple and mug of tea while I worked, watched over my shoulder for a while, then left again.

It felt good to have a soluble problem to solve. Hayden’s lab was a cipher; our informant on Narfial an equal unknown. Repercussions from Thad’s arrest were still unfolding. But digging out Gregor’s transmits was something I could do.

The uncoded, general transmits were the easiest and, logically, the most innocuous: confirmations of personal supplies ordered for pickup on Ferrin’s or Dock Five or one of the other rim-world depots Sully felt fairly safe in frequenting. Even so, I read all seven he’d sent or received in the past ten days and then backdated a week and read four more, scanning for hidden codes. A purchase order for a zippered jacket might be just that, or it might be something more.

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. I cross-referenced his few purchases with withdrawals made through the ship’s crew funds. Both Dorsie and Sully had signed off on all items as required. I’d double check by confirming with Dorsie’s logs, but seeing Sully’s approval codes made me feel more certain nothing here was forged.

It took me longer to get into Gregor’s personal transmits. Fleet had several fail-safes that destroyed the content of a transmit if tampering was detected—adaptations of which could be bought from any number of backdoor techies on Dock Five. Smugglers loved to use Fleet’s own programs against them.

Gregor had three different transmit accounts, very uncreatively labeled One, Two, and Three. Or perhaps not so uncreatively. Open the wrong one first and the other two go poof.

A sound at the doorway made me look up.

“You’re frowning,” Sully said, ducking his head slightly as he entered.

I waited until the door closed behind him before answering. “I’m trying to remind myself not to underestimate Gregor.”

Sully crossed the cabin’s soft gray carpeting then perched a hip on the edge of the desk. He studied the databoxes on my screen. “Aidanar’s Triptych.”

I’d recognized it too. “Gregor strikes me as more secretive than clever. But a triptych fail-safe is fairly elementary-level Fleet methodology. Do you know how long he was with Fleet, and where?”

Sully nodded. “Not quite five years as a transport pilot for Imperial Fleet Security Forces, working Ferrin’s and the ass-end of Baris. He doesn’t know I know, of course. He told me he worked for ImpSec on Port Sapphire on Aldan Prime. He did, but only for a month near the end of the war.”

Ferrin’s Starport was about as ass-end as you could get without being on the rim. “So he never actually worked for ImpSec?”

“Never earned the coveted blue beret. His charming personality held him back. Shame, because he had all the makings of a top security officer. He ended up being a glorified taxi driver.”

“You’ve seen his personnel file?”

“I have.”

I didn’t miss the smug tone of his voice. Fleet personnel records—especially ImpSec’s—were supposedly sacrosanct. But this was Gabriel Sullivan. And he’d quoted mine almost verbatim when he’d found me on Moabar. “His name’s really Gregor?”

“Meevel Gregoran. He doesn’t know I know that either.”

“Meevel? As in Meevel Peevel Goes to School? I hated those books when I was a kid.” The Meevel Peevel series had been around for years. Soppy, preachy children’s stories. No wonder Gregor was always in such a foul mood. He even looked like an adult version of Meevel Peevel—lanky and sharp-faced.

“I guess his parents were fans.”

“What did he tell you his name was?”

“His ID docs—decent forgeries, by the way—state Gregor Verrill.”

“The books, again.” T. Alston Verrill was the author of the Meevel series.

“If you’re going to lie,” Sully said, “keep it simple, logical, and something you can remember.”

Like Ross Winthrop, an alias used by Gabriel Ross Sullivan, whose father’s name was Winthrop.

“So do you think Meevel’s skilled enough to have safeguarded his files with a triptych?” I asked, leaning back so Sully could view the entire screen again.

“If he’s brash enough to think he can play with the Farosians behind my back then, yeah, he’d start investing in some serious fail-safes. Let me take a look.”

I slid out of the seat. I’d been working on Gregor’s files for almost two hours and it felt good to stand. I grabbed the plate with the remnants of the bright-apple meal and stepped toward the galley alcove, thinking of Thad. I reminded myself that Drogue would shortly be alerted to the situation. That was a good start. Though I longed to send Thad a message myself, it would only make things worse. Even if Thad and I never experienced that psychic bond siblings are supposed to have, I prayed he knew that I was not abandoning him. Sully and I would do everything we could to help.

I shoved the dish into the recyc and latched it, then leaned my palms against the counter and stretched out the backs of my calves. I should probably head down to the Karn’s small gym, work off some stress on the treadmill—

“Well, this is interesting.”

I rounded the counter separating the galley and the main room, then sprinted the few short steps to the desk and Sully’s side. He’d opened the account labeled One. And as no icons flashed wildly and no random codes streamed across any of the databoxes, either there were no fail-safes or Sully had disabled them.

Disabled, his voice confirmed in my mind. Easy. I’ll show you later what you missed. Then out loud to make sure I didn’t miss his distinctly affronted tone: “And you complain about my gambling.”

Gregor was in deep trouble, as evidenced by a series of notes sent to him demanding money, and others he’d sent to friends and crew, asking for loans. Nothing about the Farosians, but Blaine’s Justice Wardens could well have provided an answer to some of Gregor’s financial problems.

“And I pay Gregor well. Better than I should, considering…” Sully let his word trail off and leaned away from the screen, as if disgusted by what he saw there.

“So you think he sold out our location for money?”

“Likely.”

“You want to confront him.” I could feel the tension emanating off him. “Unless you’re willing to lock him in the brig until we get to Narfial, and then risk letting him off there with all he knows—”

“After I confront him, he’ll know very little.” Dark eyes glanced up at me, narrowed.

Yes, Sully could do that, wipe a mind clean of its past. While I hadn’t forgotten that, it wasn’t something I liked to dwell on.

“That’s why I have to wait for him to make a few more moves,” he continued, his focus back on the screen again. “I need his contacts, and I need to know what he’s promised them. Now let’s see what’s in box number two.”

Boxes Two and Three held more interesting information. Gregor had been researching Ragkirils and ways to counter a mind-probe. Those files dated back several months, though, to when Sully and Ren questioned the crew. Neither Sully nor I could tell if Gregor had been thinking back then of contacting the Farosians and feared Ren might find out, or if this was simply in response to Sully’s interviews with him.

Sully perused the mind-probe-blocking recommendations Gregor found. “Wasted time and money on those,” he scoffed and left it at that.

More recent transmits showed that the Farosians were providing money. Though there wasn’t any one transmit that said that in blatant detail, the missives for “special packages” and “important contributions” from an aunt and uncle Gregor didn’t have told it all.

I used the data Sully found to locate records of bank transfers that I’m sure Gregor thought he’d deleted. Lesson one: nothing is ever really deleted in a system—especially a system keyed to keeping you alive in deep space. Even after Berri Solaria had loaded a near-fatal worm program into the Karn, Sully and I were able to retrieve or re-create almost all the lost data.

I created another kind of tracker worm to record all of Gregor’s communications and transmits—internal and external—from this point on, with the external actually being sent only if Sully or I cleared it. If he requested a slice of pie, we’d know about it. If he sent data to the Farosians, we’d know about it.

We had the proof. And a little more than four days to Narfial. In every sense of the word, Gregor’s days were numbered.

With the basic question about Gregor and the Farosians’ appearance handled, Sully left the cabin to make his usual rounds. Even though it was his ship, he wasn’t a passenger. Neither was I. We both had duties beyond our mission to find Hayden Burke’s jukor labs and try to stop the Empire from spiraling into what could be a vicious civil war: Takas against humans and everyone against the Stolorths. Part of me still believed the Empire was worth fighting for and that Prew—Emperor Prewitt III—was capable of governing wisely with the help of the Admirals’ Council.

Sully was more—in his own words—pragmatic. Prew was a puppet, but if the Empire fell and xenophobes like Tage and Burke took over, the worlds and colonies on the rim would suffer horribly. A high percentage of the population on the rim was Takan. And young Gabriel Sullivan, alone in the midst of his parents’ lavish, palatial estate, found the only ones who really cared about him were Takan. His role as a smuggler had been a guise by which he helped those most desperately in need.

And, of course, annoyed those in authority for whom he had no respect.

I brought up the ship’s locator log on my screen. Gregor and Marsh were still on bridge duty. Verno was sleeping. Ren was in the hydro for his required soak—Stolorths’ aquatic heritage required them to absorb water into their bodies through their gill slits every forty-eight hours. Aubry was off in the gym. The galley’s power grid icons glowing at 90 percent told me Dorsie was cooking. Baking, probably. The short, jovial woman—who was also Marsh’s aunt—turned up her nose at sustenance replicators. The scents of cinnaspice, sweet basmatt, and flowery kevar often wafted tantalizingly through the Karn’s lower deck.

Aubry had finished repairs to the secondary power grid. I scanned his report with less of a practiced eye than Sully would. Aubry’s repairs looked fine. And I knew Sully would double check them because if Gregor had a friend on board, it was Aubry.

Not that I’d consider them close, but Aubry tolerated Gregor more easily than Marsh, Dorsie, or Verno did. And Ren…Well, Gregor hated Ren with a passion, as he hated all Stolorths. That the animosity wasn’t mutual meant nothing to Gregor.

So in essence, Aubry—a short but muscular man in his late thirties—was Gregor’s only friend. But enough of one to assist him with the Farosians?

Computers and codes were something I was good at. Fifteen minutes later I’d cleared through Aubry’s transmits and found nothing noteworthy. Aubry might be Gregor’s friend but I found nothing to state his loyalty wasn’t to Sully.

I went back to the rest of my duties, reviewing ship’s status and performance. Then, when Gregor logged off the bridge, I waited a few minutes for him to clear the corridor before exiting the cabin and heading for the command sling.

“All’s quiet, Captain Bergren,” Marsh said when I stepped over the hatch tread.

While not as warmly friendly as his aunt, Marsh Ganton had treated me with respect from the moment I boarded the Karn. His relationship with Ren had cooled since the crew interrogations, but his allegiance to Sully was strong. But strong enough to withstand the truth?

“I always like good news,” I told Marsh as I slid into the seat at the auxiliary command screen.

“Hope the guy on Narfial has some,” Marsh said. “Dorsie got a transmit from my mother right before we left Dock Five. Food shortages hit home again. She said if it wasn’t for the support Dorsie and I send her, she’d be hurting worse.”

Marsh and Dorsie were rim-worlders out of Umoran in Calth—not far, relatively speaking, from Ferrin Starport in Baris. In the past five years, the agri-regions of the planet had their massive citrus groves wracked by droughts and then infected by a series of virulent cankers. The canker spread to the soil, killing off attempts to grow alternate crops. Requests for additional funding and assistance were voted down by Tage’s Legalist politicians because, it was rumored, Umoran’s independent agricultural collectives were well known to be anti-Legalist.

For very personal reasons, Marsh didn’t want Tage or Burke in control of the Empire.

“Sully feels this is the best lead we’ve had so far,” I told him.

Marsh nodded. “My family’s always been grovers, you know? That’s where Dorsie gets her love of cooking. So it’s not like they can go north and work the mines. Some of their friends have, but with so many farms being closed, the mines aren’t hiring as many unskilled. We have no choice but to stay with the farms, hope they start producing again.”

“How’s your nephew? Did he make the team?” Last I’d heard from Dorsie, Marsh’s nephew had a chance at making right-wing on a regional hoverblade team.

The cloud of worry lifted from Marsh’s dark face. “Rand’s doing great. He got picked up by the Chargers. He’s got a helluva slapshot for a seventeen-year-old.”

“Don’t tell Sully. He’ll probably start placing bets on him.”

Marsh snorted out a laugh. “I hear it’s up to almost five million.”

“It” was the running debt Sully owed Ren from their continual card games.

“Four million, six hundred and fifty-two thousand. Give or take,” said a voice from the corridor. Boot steps came closer and Sully ducked through the hatchway as I turned in my seat.

“Not that I’m counting,” he added, grinning. “I may yet make a comeback.”

That started a bit of off-color banter that left me shaking my head and, more than a few times, groaning out loud as the Karn streaked at specs-plus-ten through the big wide darkness.

Then an incoming transmit signal pinged at communications.

Sully leaned over the back of the empty chair at the station. “Ah! Dredosh the bookie never fails me. Could be time to celebrate. Chaz?”

“The Baris Cup’s far from over,” Marsh warned as I turned.

Drogue, Sully told me silently. Our cabin. Then out loud: “Come with me.” He faced me, one hand extended, a twinkle in his dark eyes. But tension radiated through our mental link.

I played the part, even though my heart started thudding in my chest and Thad’s image was the only thing in my mind. “Across hell and back, forever, Mr. Sullivan.”

I took his hand and he took the opportunity to pull me closer and then slap me on the rump. “Smart ass.”

“Don’t you be abusing the good captain that way, Sully,” Marsh chided.

“Mind the store, Ganton,” Sully called back as we stepped into the corridor.

Drogue’s image on the deskscreen showed the monk’s usual, placid demeanor. His message was more fretful. I perched on the desktop, propping one boot against the arm of Sully’s chair, and listened.

“Commander Thaddeus Bergren is scheduled for Rawton. Actually, he was set for transfer yesterday but there were two attacks on human women in Port January this past week. The entire city’s in a near lock-down. The Takas.” Drogue sighed softly, frowning. “It’s just a small group doing this. Most don’t agree with these violent actions, but now there’s talk of removing all Takas from all local security positions. That will only exacerbate the situation.”

The situation was the mysterious deaths—or so it was labeled by investigative officials—of Takan females, while giving birth to…something. We knew what that something was: jukors. Hayden Burke was using Takan females as surrogates. Birthing the jukors ripped the mother apart.

The authorities denied this was the case. The current official theory was a deranged serial killer.

But Drogue had seen holos, as had Sully, of the women’s bodies, bits of jukor wing still visible in their wounds. Those images had been circulated in the Takan communities weeks before Drogue saw them, and now a small group of Takans were taking revenge on human women.

If Tage and Burke wanted to disrupt the Empire, alienating the Takas would be a good place to start.

“So for now,” Drogue said, folding his hands on the tabletop, “the best I can determine is that Commander Bergen is in the security compound in Marker, still pending transfer.”

Marker Five, I told Sully mentally, just as his voice echoed the information in my mind. Also known as Marker’s Outer Terminal, it was the official embarkation point for all of Marker Shipyards, where my brother had been posted for the past seven years. It also housed a very secure holding facility on Level Three.

Not that secure, Sully intoned.

There was truth to that. I’d grown up in Marker. And whatever codes I knew that no longer worked, Sully could handle. Plus they’d be short-staffed if the Takas were taken off-duty. There was almost an irony in the fact that the very thing Burke was trying to do—manipulate the Takas to disrupt the Empire—might actually help Thad.

“And yes,” Drogue continued, “Chasidah’s father has been to see him, as has Admiral Guthrie.”

My father and Philip. Two powerful resources. I dwelled on that as I listened to the rest of Drogue’s message and his acknowledgment of Sully’s information on the Farosians.

“As I get updates for Chasidah, I’ll contact you,” Drogue promised as he signed off. “Praise the stars.”

“Well?” I asked as Sully finished transferring the message into a secure file. I wasn’t really sure what my question was. Only that I had several dozen of them. And they were all clothed in my worry colors.

“Between Guthrie and your father, things may go better than you think,” Sully answered. “They’ll make it appear that I threatened Thad. I’m guessing they’ll end up putting him in protective custody on Marker and then wait for you or me to try to spring him. Which we will,” he added. “Just not in the way they expect.”

“And just what way will that be?”

Sully grinned. “I have no idea. But trust me, angel, I will think of something. And it will be the last thing they’d expect.”

That much I did believe. My knowledge of Marker and Sully’s widely unorthodox creative streak—plus his talents—were damned near unbeatable.

As was Sully’s charm. While that would play no part in Thad’s situation, it did wonders—temporarily at least—to assuage mine. We’d finished our shift duties, Gregor’s monitoring, and dinner. A light yet exotic melody whispered through the cabin’s speakers when I came out of the lavatory, my robe belted around my waist, my skin damp from the shower, a wide-toothed comb in my hand. Sully took the comb from me then pulled me onto the edge of the bed.

My hair was almost dry but he combed through it slowly, taking the time to let the fingers of his free hand trail down my neck. The warmth that followed pulsed, increasing. It spiraled through me, knowing just where to settle as if drawn to my most intimate, sensitive spots.

My breath hitched slightly. Seduction by Sully was still a unique experience, though much less surprising than a few months ago. Then, feeling his pleasure as if it was my own and knowing he could sense mine, had left me exhausted. Deliriously exhausted, but exhausted just the same. Because he was in my mind, he knew just where to touch, caress, nibble. And for how long. And with what intensity.

I was still learning to do the same for him, but it was far easier for me to lose focus, to immerse myself in his and my sensations, not knowing where I ended and he began.

His soft chuckle sounded in my thoughts as he pushed me back against the pillow. The comb clattered against the nightstand. Must you analyze everything?

God, I was doing that, wasn’t I? I bit back a self-conscious smile as sure fingers slipped under my robe and deftly worked their way up my side to stroke my breasts. Perfectly. Absolutely—

Oh, Sully. My mental plea was infused with a moan of delight.

So was his, because he wasn’t the only one with deft fingers. Mmm, Chasidah.

His lips moved from my neck to my mouth, his kiss hard, deep, and demanding. He knew when I was tired and wanted it gentle and slow.

This wasn’t one of those times.

I returned his kiss with equal intensity. He tasted like the tea we’d shared a half hour before. I sensed his intoxication with the citrusy scent of my shampoo. Our awareness mixed, melded. Flowed.

Passion surged, flaring, spreading from between my thighs and his, skin slick now. His roughness. My velvet dampness that needed…Oh, God. Yes. Right there. Like that, like…

I arched into his hand, as much aware of my own readiness as I was of his need, his desire. We pulsed, throbbed, spiraled, lost in a pleasure that drew us upward. It felt as if a thousand wings beat in a sensual trembling over my body, the sensation so exquisite I longed to cry out, but could only gasp his name.

“Gabriel—”

Chasidah. Love. Trust me.

With my heart. With my life. Gabriel—

I was on the edge. So was he. I recognized a silken heat twining tightly through us. The energies of the Kyi intensifying everything yet cocooning us in its powerful, tender grasp. But it was stronger than last time, or any other time. My breath caught hard at its unexpected potency but I wanted more. More of Gabriel, more of whatever this was I felt now. I didn’t know it. I didn’t recognize it. But I wanted it. Dear God, I wanted him, I wanted this power…

Yes, love. Take it with me.

Our bodies surged, joining. Our thoughts spun together like colors on a wheeling palette. Our senses reached to infinity and everywhere we touched, pleasure exploded, a million stars dancing behind my eyelids. Wave after wave urged me higher than I’d ever been. And what small part of my mind could still piece together a rational thought wondered how and why this was so.

But then that thought was gone. There was no more thought. There was only Gabriel, there was only love as a molten, flowing substance, searing pleasure into my soul. Into Chasidah. Into Gabriel. Into ky’sara and ky’sal.

The galaxy whirled around us. Gabriel plucked a twinkling star and pressed it into my hand. His eyes were infinite darkness lit by a thousand galaxies shining in their depths.

I want to give you everything. I can, now. If you trust me.

I love you, I told him. I closed my fingers around the star.

He covered my hand with his. His voice was rough, aching with tenderness. All that I am, is yours.

All that I am is……yours.

When the waves of pleasure finally subsided, I peeked through fluttering lashes at the bedside clock. Almost four hours. We’d been making love for almost four hours. We—

Hush, Chasidah. Gabriel brushed the side of my face with his fingers.

My eyes closed.

Then they opened, the pungent, insistent aroma of hot tea nudging my body awake. I checked the red numbers again. Another four hours had passed. Time to get up, get back to my duties, check on what Gregor had done—

Stars be praised, last night had been incredible. The sensations washed over me. Not like last night’s riptide. This was simply a memory, but it was enough to set my body tingling. I sucked in a deep breath and watched Sully pad into the bedroom, mug of tea in one hand.

He put it on the bedside table and, smiling, bumped his hip against mine. I inched over then levered up on my elbows. He was shirtless, wearing only his black pants. In the room’s half-light, I could almost swear his skin…glowed.

I blinked. Was I still dreaming? Was I still spiraling through the intense pleasure of the Kyi with him?

He lowered his face to mine and brushed my mouth with a slow, lazy kiss that curled my toes even as my mind fought for balance.

“Mmm, Sully,” I said when he pulled back. I vaguely remembered saying, “Mmm, Sully” a lot last night but with considerably more force. “Is it just me, or was what we did last night…” My words trailed off. I didn’t quite know how to phrase it. What happened last night? sounded so crass.

“Complaining?” His mouth quirked.

“No, but—”

He tilted his head slightly. One eyebrow arched challengingly. “Was my lovemaking so boring before?”

“No!”

The eyebrow lowered, the smile softened. “What happened was I love you, angel-mine. Never forget that. Now, tea’s ready.” He retrieved the mug and handed it to me as I sat up. “Drink up, then we’ll go see what my traps caught Gregor doing while he thought we were asleep.”

I took a big mouthful of tea and watched him pull a shirt from his closet. The lethargy that surrounded me upon waking fell away like a cloak dropping from my shoulders. I felt strangely electric, very alive. The aftermath of good sex? Or…I sniffed the tea. Smelled normal. I took another sip.

Sully tossed me clean underwear and my long-sleeved dark green shirt.

Great sex, I decided, seeing his eyes darken in appreciation as I slid, naked, from under the covers. I put the tea on the nightstand, grabbed my clothes, and headed for the shower. Just a light rinse-off.

Sully’s head appeared in the open doorway. “Aubry wants me to check something on the secondary power grid. I’ll pick up breakfast from Dorsie on the way back.”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I called through the spray.

“I have Gregor’s adventures up on the deskscreen. Nothing interesting yet. But take a look.”

I saluted. He blew me a kiss and ducked out.

I dried off, dressed, then sank down into the hard-backed chair in front of Sully’s deskscreen and scrolled through eight hours’ worth of data on Gregor. Sully was right. Nothing out of the ordinary, but then we’d already been intercepted by the Farosian ship. That part of Gregor’s job was done, and we were headed for Narfial. Something Gregor knew before we left Dock Five, something he’d already told the Farosians.

Unless we changed course, he’d probably stay silent for the next three and a half days.

I sipped at my now-cold tea and pulled up the files Sully had filched yesterday. Sully had scoffed at Gregor’s attempts to subvert any Ragkiril mind-probe. Curiosity pricked at me. I wondered where Gregor had gone for answers, wondered if he’d somehow come across the Guthrie family’s files.

Philip had known, when Sully had confronted him in Thad’s office months back, that Sully was a Kyi-Ragkiril. Had known because the Guthries had made it their business years back to learn all they could about sentients linked to an energy field that most of the Empire considered mythical. Philip had known there were human Ragkirils.

Even Fleet had yet to admit that.

The research Gregor obtained was bare-bones, almost Fleet-issue in its discussion of zrals and zragkors. There was also discussion of hypnosis as the real culprit, and the Ragkiril legends nothing more than a smoke screen used by crafty con artists.

But no con artist could whisk me up the center core of Marker 2 without any visible means of propulsion, other than using the energy fields of the Kyi. I’d seen the Kyi, experienced it. Sully and I had made love there as we had last night—

“The Bond-Slave and Addiction to the Kyi.” The title of the article caught my eye. I paged up. I recognized only one of the authors’ names: a woman who’d lectured a few times at the Academy’s Non-Human Cultures classes before retiring from her post as a researcher with West Baris University’s Xenocultural Department. She’d been a bland, unassuming woman, her name linked with some minor scandal my brain refused to remember.

What I found more interesting was that funding for her study had come partly from the Harmony-One Project, under direction of the Guthrie Foundation. Philip’s family.

The domination of a Ragkiril over its non-Ragkiril subject is often solidified by the drugging of the subject’s mind through intense pleasure. As with addiction to any other artificial stimulant, the mind of the ky’sara—the bond-slave—craves more, and the Ragkiril is capable of expanding its energies to provide new and ever-increasing sensory diversification, thereby cementing the addictive experience. Sexual activity—especially involving the energies of the mystical state of the Kyi—is the usual method by which domination is enforced, though there are reports of other dependency transactions that, in the beginning stages of the relationship, can work equally as well.

However, all inevitably end in the death of the bond-slave when the bond-slave can no longer provide the Ragkiril with the entertainment it seeks, or when the bond-slave dies of exhaustion.

I knew all that. Philip had tried to scare me with that information, warning me that Sully would only use me until he became bored. Then he’d kill me.

But Philip hadn’t known about the ky’sal bond—the bond Sully had with me. An equal bond, not the parasitic fatal relationship Philip and these purported scholars saw the ky’saran bond to be.

I paged down the report, discounting it as so much biased, incomplete information. Then I saw the word ky’sal.

There are several documented reports from Stolorth scholars of an equal exchange of energies with a Ragkiril. Known as the ky’sara–ky’sal function, it represents an exclusive mental and sexual relationship. This is believed to be a life-bond between two Ragkirils of equal or near-equal strength. Breaking the bond is purported to result in the death of one if not both parties, depending on the balance of power at the time, unless a third Ragkiril is brought in as a substitute mate. However, the newcomer must be of greater strength than the original bond pair—most likely an intensely powerful Kyi-Ragkiril—in order to effect the transfer. Stoloth legends from the Forty-First Century Ayirr Dynasty tell of a Kyi-Ragkiril guri (supreme mentor) who demanded the transfer of his students’ ky’sara to him as a gesture of submission and obedience. Contemporary Stolorth officials deny this practice still exists.

I remembered being trapped in the shuttle bay on Marker 2 under fire from Burke’s followers, Philip at my side.

“There are supposed to be ways to break a ky’saran link,” Philip had told me. “I’ll help you.”

Is this what he’d known?

A trilling sound jolted me out of my thoughts. Incoming transmit—incoming private transmit—via my deskscreen. I moved quickly to the other side of the desk, tapping at my screen as I swiveled my chair around.

A message was waiting for me, tagged urgent. From Admiral Philip Guthrie.

Oh, God. Thad.

Right after Sully and I had left the Loviti and returned to the Karn, I made sure Philip had both Sully’s and my secure, private transmit links. Philip was a source of information even Sully agreed we couldn’t afford to ignore. But Philip hadn’t tried to contact me until now.

With Drogue’s comment that both Philip and my father had been in to see Thad fresh in my mind, I brought up the message file. It cycled through Sully’s security filters. Then Philip’s image appeared on my screen.

He didn’t look as pale as I’d last seen him, but of course at that point he’d had med-broches plastered over most of his body, having barely survived Berri Solaria’s attempt to kill him. His expression was grim but other than that he was the usual impeccable Admiral Philip Guthrie, his trademark prematurely silver hair cropped short, the blueness of his eyes only adding that much more interest to an already classically handsome face. He was forty-five, ten years my senior. He’d been my mentor, my commanding officer, my husband, my ex, my friend. I wasn’t sure what role he was playing now.

“I hope this reaches you in time, Chaz,” Philip said. He was seated behind a desk in his private office on the Loviti. “And Sullivan, if you’re listening to this—and I have to assume you are—yes, I used every security measure and then some to make sure this transmit is not intercepted or decoded.”

He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. Philip didn’t like Sully any more than Sully liked Philip, and neither took great pains to hide that fact.

“I’m assuming you know about Thad’s arrest,” he continued. “It’s been on the news feeds. What you need to know is I had no advance notice or I obviously would have taken some kind of action. Jodey actually learned of it before I did. Thad didn’t attempt to contact me. Perhaps things would be different if he had. Perhaps not.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I didn’t at all like the sound of Philip’s “perhaps not.”

This was one of the problems with civilian deep-space transmits. No real-time communications. Only Fleet had the technology and permission for that. I wanted to reach through the screen and shake the information out of him. All I could do now was wait as Philip leaned forward and folded his hands.

“Thad’s turning state’s evidence. Against my advice, your father’s on his way now to make him tell everything he knows about you and Sullivan.”

My stomach hit the floor, my hands turned to ice, and for a moment, my head spun dizzily. Something grabbed me, centering me, concern and strength flooding my senses.

Chasidah?

I slapped the pause icon on the screen. Sully needed to be here and hear this.

A transmit from Philip just came in, I told him, now sensing a secondary calming presence in my mind. Ren. Wherever Sully was, Ren was with him. Bad news, I continued. Can you—?

On my way.

It wasn’t quite fifteen seconds and the cabin door opened, Sully surging in. I’d already restarted the transmit and, at his nod, let him listen from the beginning.

“Your father’s on his way there now to make him tell everything he knows about you and Sullivan,” Philip’s image said again. “I understand the need for self-preservation, but I never thought…” His mouth thinned and he shook his head. “I’ve known Thad for too many years. He’s an intelligent, capable man. But Lars…Thad won’t cross him. And Lars was adamant in his conversation with me that he wasn’t going to lose both his adult children. He said he wasn’t going to tolerate any further damage to the Bergren name. He still has your half brother, Willym, to worry about.”

Lars didn’t lose me. He disowned me. Abandoned me. Not that that surprised me. I’d been a traitor from the day I decided I preferred to live with my mother after their divorce. Marrying Philip Guthrie had briefly brought me back into the realm of acceptable. Being court-martialed had taken me clearly out of it again.

Whatever information my father now knew about Sully and myself only pushed me even farther out, if that was indeed possible.

And if Thad was in Tage’s camp, then it was very possible Lars knew it all.

I had seen my father as Thad’s salvation. I never suspected that I’d be sacrificed to the cause.

A hand gently caressed my shoulder. A warmth spiraled through me. Sully standing next to me, feeling my pain, wanting me to know I was loved. I reached up and threaded my fingers through his.

“If Tage and Burke didn’t know that Sullivan was a Ragkiril before,” Philip continued, “they’ll know now. I think that’s a given. I think it’s also a given that this will alter how they’ll deal with you, both of you.

“I’ll repeat what I said three months ago: Chaz is safer with me, even though I’m no innocent in this mess. But I’m a Guthrie. Tage will have to tread carefully around that fact. What you are, Sullivan, will not make them fear you. It will make them hunt you.” He leaned back in his chair. “The Loviti has legitimate business on the A-B that will put us within a shipday’s range of Dock Five. We’re scheduled for a meetpoint at Raft Thirty in about six shipdays. Meet me there, let Chaz transfer to my ship. At least until the Admirals’ Council can do something about the information you gave me about Burke’s jukor labs.”

Philip held up one hand. “Don’t say no, yet. Think about it. Raft Thirty. Until then, for God’s sake, be careful. I am. Tage has a lot of power and Burke has a reputation for playing hard and dirty. You know how to reach me if you need me.”

The screen blanked. I half-turned in my chair to glance at Sully and caught a flash of something that looked like anguish on his face. Then it was gone. A light warmth still trickled through my senses, but he’d pulled back.

A sigh of exasperation blew through his lips. “This is not good news.”

“I never thought Thad would do something like that.”

“I should have.” His voice was bitter, thick with blame.

“Sully—”

He waved away my comment before I could make it. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t omniscient.

He stepped away from the desk.

“Sully.”

Hush, Chasidah. Let me think. He paced to the outer bulkhead wall and stared out the viewport, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders stiff. I didn’t need any kind of mental connection to guess at what was whirling through his mind: the rejection by his crew, his contacts, possibly even Drogue if his Ragkiril talents were revealed. No, not if. When.

“If we have to,” I said softly, “Verno, Ren, and I can run the Karn.”

He turned, then leaned back against the wall. “The problem is larger than that. People on the rim—people who work outside the Empire’s laws, as I have—don’t trust easily. It’s taken me years to develop contacts like Pops, Junior, and Newlin. Like Nathaniel Milo.” He dropped his gaze, staring at the carpet for a long moment. Captain Nathaniel Milo’s Diligent Keeper was supposed to be my ticket off Moabar, but Milo was killed by Ministry of Corrections officers, tipped off the ship was going to be used in a prison break. Not mine—Sheldon Blaine’s. The MOC would never have taken such aggressive action over mere Captain Chasidah Bergren.

The false lead had come from Burke’s people, of that we were fairly sure. But even though it was false, Milo had died because of us. That had affected Sully deeply. And, judging from the tight line of his mouth, it still did.

“If my damned crew doesn’t mutiny on me,” he said, raising his gaze back to mine, “then the dockhands on the rafts or Narfial will sell me out because they’ll believe I manipulated them.”

I thought of the money he’d won playing cards with Junior on Dock Five. Stolorths were banned from Imperial casinos for that reason.

“Does Drogue know you’re—?”

“I doubt he’d offer sanctuary, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I was and he wasn’t reading my thoughts. He shut himself off from me again, his usual reaction when he was hurt or angry.

“Drogue doesn’t know,” he continued, “and while professionally he’d accept what I am, personally it would destroy our friendship. Not just because of what I am but because I never told him.”

I knew that feeling. When I’d found out Sully was a Ragkiril, all I’d wanted was to put as much distance between him and myself as possible. And I wasn’t a follower of a religion that believed Kyi-Ragkirils were spawns of hell.

He straightened. “We’re going to have to push for Narfial now. If Tage releases that information about me, I don’t know if I’ll even be able to make dock there, let alone get this Del to talk.” Del was the name of our contact on Narfial. That was all we knew about him: a name. “We have to get there before Tage makes any kind of move.”

“Specs-plus-twenty?” Specs-plus-ten—the way Sully could push a ship to outperform even its design by 10 percent—was damned near Sully’s middle name. But I didn’t know if even the Karn could handle plus-twenty.

His mouth twisted, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “If I have to. But there are some gates out here at the C-D. Old smugglers’ routes. That might be better.”

I wasn’t sure. I’d heard the rumors: quick and deadly. The jumpgates traded safety for speed.

“All the more reason I’ll want you in the pilot’s chair and not Gregor when we use them,” Sully said when I voiced my objection. A brief flare of warmth, a sensation of confidence floated through me.

I appreciated Sully’s support, but it didn’t negate Gregor as a potential problem. “He’ll try to alert Nalby when we change course. And he’ll be expecting a response or new orders from them.” Which he wouldn’t get because we’d blocked his transmits. “Unless we wait until he’s asleep. He’ll be off shift in an hour.” Then he’d probably take a meal, spend some time in the gym. Or playing cards with Aubry in Dorsie’s galley. “Where will we be in four, five hours?”

Sully was already heading back to his desk. “Too far from the gate I want to use,” he said after a few moments of leaning over his deskcomp and tapping at it. Then he ran one hand through his short-cropped dark hair. “Okay,” he said, his tone suddenly grim. “I need him out of the picture.”

Something chilled in me at his words. I was Fleet, military. It wasn’t something I liked, but when it was necessary I’d taken lives in the line of duty. But knowing how Sully would do it—a zragkor, ripping Gregor’s mind apart—made my breath freeze in my lungs. Yes, Gregor had sold us out to the Farosians. But to cold-bloodedly murder him…Part of me still believed in a fair trial, even if I’d not been granted one.

“I’m not a murderer, Chasidah.” Sully’s voice was flat. “I’m just going to give him a bad case of stomach cramps. Or at least, make him think that’s what he has.”

Shame flooded me for jumping to conclusions. And for not realizing that he was linked to my thoughts. “Sully, I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” He turned quickly from me, emotions simmering around him, tainting the link between us with anger and pain. He slapped at the doorway palm-pad with more force than necessary and vanished into the corridor.

“Five minutes to hard edge, Captain Chasidah,” Verno said, working helm and sharing navigation with me.

“Five minutes,” I echoed, watching ship’s data on the pilot’s armrest console. Sully was at communications, muddying our signal in case the Farosians were interested, and monitoring long-and short-range scanners. Marsh worked engineering. Aubry and Ren were off duty. Gregor, last I heard, was passed out cold in his bunk after puking his guts out for almost an hour.

Dorsie had given him tea with a small dose of honeylace to make him feel better. At Sully’s suggestion, of course. We’d be a bit more than a shipday in jump. Gregor might be waking up just as we exited. If we exited.

I didn’t like the look of this gate or the jumpspace it configured at all. It looked slippery—a term I’d heard helms officers and navigators use since I was small, denoting the fact that the gate beacon’s signals were diffuse and inconsistent. They “slipped” off the narrow, safe path ships needed to traverse the neverwhen. I’d programmed in two additional gate fixes—both Imperial—as emergency relocators. But there was no guarantee when we were in jumpspace that I’d still be able to receive their signals. That was another problem with being slippery. Communications’ signals were skewed.

“Hypers online,” Marsh said.

That, at least, looked good. Between Marsh and Aubry, the Karn’s sublight and jumpspace engines were as pristine as Philip Guthrie’s dress uniform.

But this gate…I watched signal strength and purity spike, flatten, and spike again. Shit. I retracted vanes and scanner dishes, aware of the low beeping sound from Sully’s station as communications went offline. I didn’t like this at all. It gave me sweaty palms, but I couldn’t afford to take my fingers off the console to wipe them down my pants leg.

And Sully…no, I didn’t need to think about Sully now. We hadn’t had a chance to talk about anything personal since he’d left the cabin an hour and a half ago to find Gregor. When he returned, he seemed to have shed his hurt feelings, but all we had time for was a crash course in slippery jumpgates. Crash course. God, why did I choose that word? One thing I did not need right now was a systems crash.

And one thing I did not have was an old entry record for the Karn for this gate. Sully had used a few of the older gates before, but never this one.

“Two minutes to hard edge.”

“Thanks, Verno.” The Karn was performing flawlessly, adjusting inertia and mass as it leeched on to the energies of the neverwhen. Then a little shimmy, something slightly out of phase. Shit!

Chaz?

Sully’s familiar warmth filled me.

I’ve got her, I sent back. It’s just not going to be pretty.

You’re the best, angel-mine. I’m here if you need me.

Think you can stabilize a gate in under ninety seconds? I tried to send a wisecracking smile along with my words but I was too busy to concentrate on that. Then, among the spikes and valleys of the signal, I thought I saw something I could use. Something the Karn could use.

And people said there was no value in pub-crawling with the old-timers.

Ships didn’t always have the sophisticated systems they do now. Starfaring was vastly more risky in the decades before I was born. “There’s always one part of a gate signal that screams the loudest,” I remembered a silver-haired freighter pilot telling us, her pilot’s braid longer than mine was now. Her name was Kimber An, and she was something of a legend around the pubs on Marker 3, for both her stories and her drinking skills. “Don’t matter it’s whipping around like a polecat’s ass end. Grab it. It’ll pull you through.”

The Karn wanted a nice consistent signal. I keyed in some quick reconfigurations, taking that choice away from her. And locked her onto the strongest one.

We lurched through the gate. That’s probably the kindest way of putting it. Shuddering, shimmying, ship’s stats inching uncomfortably toward the red zone, we skittered through. No alarms wailed, though. Nothing sheared, broke, or hissed out coolant. It was not the most elegant of gate entries, but we made it.

One saving grace: the gate’s inconsistent signal wash would eradicate any ion trail we left behind. If the Farosians were looking for us, they’d not know where we went.

Then five minutes later: “Communications temporarily offline,” Sully announced.

“How temporarily?” Marsh asked. He’d been through older gates before.

“I’ll have to wait until gate-exit to collect my Baris Cup winnings,” Sully replied.

Or to have any idea of what Tage and Burke were doing. There’d be no updates from Philip or Drogue, no clue as to what Thad may have told Tage.

“Optimist,” Marsh shot back, grinning.

There was that. For the next shipday, the crew would have no idea that the man they were traveling with and had sworn allegiance to was a human Kyi-Ragkiril. It bought Sully a little more time, but in truth only delayed the inevitable.

Sully stopped by my chair on his way off the bridge, brushing the top of my head with a kiss. He’d shut off our mental link when I’d been concentrating on getting us through the gate and hadn’t reinstated it, so I could only read his thoughts as I would any other person’s. He was no longer upset by my rush to judgment earlier, but there was still an element of hurt. His mental silence told me that much.

He was also worried about how and when Thad’s revelations would be released. I didn’t need a mental link with him to know that. And it was something I knew I’d have to force him to face before we left jumpspace. Even if it meant angering him again.

But I had work to do. This was my duty shift, and the slippery space around me didn’t make it an easy one. The Karn wasn’t used to such inconsistent conditions. Sometimes being too high-tech could come back and bite you in the ass.

I voiced my concerns about her performance with older gates after Sully left the bridge.

“Used ’em two, three times in the past couple of years,” Marsh said. “We never liked using the smugglers’ routes unless we had no choice. But like Sully said, we’re not going to get a second chance at this information if they get to this guy before we do.”

That was our stated reason for the change in plans: a threat against Del, our informant. The meeting had been moved up. Which was partly true. Only Sully was the one doing the moving.

At two hours in, I logged off for a break. Verno, who logged off shortly after Sully left, came back on. Leaving the Karn in Marsh’s and Verno’s capable hands, I headed for the corridor seeking not Sully but Ren.

No one knew Sully better than Ren did. Sully had at one time been Ren’s tutor. Lately I’d begun to wonder if the student wasn’t wiser than the teacher.

Ship’s locator system showed Sully logged into the gym and Ren in the galley. He’d been slowly rebuilding his friendship with Dorsie. It had almost collapsed due to his part in the deception Sully had pulled months ago. If Ren and Dorsie were playing cards or just chatting, I’d get a cup of tea and go back to my cabin and try him again on my next break.

I found Ren in the storeroom off the galley’s main room, talking to Dorsie. Their voices were light, amiable. I almost turned around and left, but Dorsie saw me and waved me in.

“We just finished up inventory,” she said. “Can I get you something, Captain?”

She sashayed past Ren. Dorsie was a short, plump, dark-haired woman with sparkling eyes, an infectious laugh, and a perpetual mischievous swing to her hips. There was a strong resemblance to her nephew, Marsh, in the tilt of her eyes and the wideness of her mouth, but her skin tone was lighter than Marsh’s nut brown. And Marsh with his crooked nose and scarred left eyebrow could at times look foreboding. Dorsie was just pretty.

Not that Ren could actually see that. He read a person’s rainbows: thermal energy fields all sentients emitted. I imagined Dorsie’s rainbows danced. I know Ren liked her a lot.

“Just taking a break. I thought if Ren wasn’t busy, I’d borrow his copy of the Eternity Six concert. But I can pester him for it later.”

A light warmth trickled through me, ending with a question mark. The tall, elegant Stolorth leaning against the storage cage hadn’t moved, nor had his slightly bemused expression changed. His six-fingered hands were clasped before him. But his question and concern drifted over me like mist carried on a summer breeze.

“Now is an excellent time,” he said. “I fear Dorsie was about to have me start peeling vegetables.”

“You do want srorfralak pie, don’t you?” Dorsie planted her hands on her hips, but she was grinning.

“When you bake it, it is a true nectar of the gods,” Ren replied.

“Damned straight it is.”

“I can get the music later—”

“The vegetables are still soaking,” Dorsie said, jerking her chin toward the main galley. “Won’t be ready for peeling for another half hour yet.”

Ren pushed away from the storage cage then stopped in front of Dorsie and executed a flowing bow. “Then I shall return to do your bidding shortly.”

“Just don’t run off and play cards with that scoundrel Sully,” she warned in mock sternness.

Ren arched one eyebrow. “My dear friend Dorsie, you know that when it comes to gambling or srorfralak pie, your pie wins every time.”

“Twenty to one?” Dorsie quipped. “Off with you. Be back in a half hour. If the pie’s not right, then Verno can blame you, not me.”

Dorsie’s pies were nothing less than perfect. Although the Takan vegetable delicacy wasn’t my favorite, both Verno and Ren were enraptured by it.

“My quarters?” Ren asked when we were in the corridor and out of Dorsie’s hearing. He knew very well I didn’t want his copy of the concert. I had my own.

“Please.”

We took the narrow ladderway up one deck in silence.

“You heard that Thad has probably told Tage everything?” I asked when Ren’s cabin door closed behind me.

With a sigh, Ren nodded, then sank down on the arm of his sofa. “I fear there are some very unpleasant times ahead for Sully.”

“Has he discussed with you what he plans to do?”

“Chasidah, these are things—”

“That I should be asking him?” God, how many times had Ren and I gone back and forth, only to end up at this same point? “I try, Ren. And he is opening up to me a lot more. But there are still things he holds back. Things he won’t discuss. I can feel this tension, this fear in him. Then I can’t get through. But you’re like him. He doesn’t have to explain to you what it means to be a Ragkiril. What it means to be feared or scorned. He feels he has to with me. I know that’s a big part of the problem.”

Ren’s silver-eyed gaze studied me for a long moment. “I’ll try to get him to talk to you,” he said finally.

That would be a start. “Thank you. I mean that.”

I turned for the door to the corridor then stopped and glanced back at Ren. “Can you at least tell me if there’s anything I should be worried about?”

“I hope not, Chasidah,” he said, his voice carrying echoes of a twilight storm. Distant thunder fading but yet a slight chill to the wind. “I hope not.”

I didn’t have much time to ponder Ren’s remark. Our slippery space was making the Karn very annoyed. Marsh and Verno needed me back on the bridge. Autoguidance, seeking fixes that weren’t there, kept sending us off course. It had been a long time since I’d had to hand-fly a ship in jumpspace, but that’s what I ended up doing. And doing it solo. Normally two pilots would take shifts. But our other pilot was facedown and snoring. If I ended up spending an entire shipday in this seat, I’d be of little help when we reached Narfial. But if I didn’t, we might not reach Narfial at all.

Sully sat at navigation, frowning, running data from other similar transits through the computer, trying to give me whatever edge he could. He kept a light—very light—mental touch with me. It was reassuring without being distracting, and it kept my thoughts my own. Because they did on occasion wander back to Ren’s I hope not.

I would never view Sully as impulsive. For all his flamboyant reputation, he rarely took action without planning, without knowing his escape routes if things went wrong. I considered that one of his strengths. But he could be careless of his own safety, push himself too hard, justifying the end as worth the means. I saw that when we were trapped in the shuttle bay on Marker and he revealed his Ragkiril side to Berri Solaria and Zabur Lazlo. His diversion kept me and Philip alive. It could have just as easily gotten Sully killed.

Sometimes Gabriel—the Kyi-Ragkiril—forgot that Gabriel Ross Sullivan was also human.

“Try this.”

Sully’s voice drew my attention off my console screen and made me glance at navigation. He pointed to my console so I split the screen and watched his latest snippet of data scroll across. It took a moment for me to see what he’d created. A bit of code that just might trick autoguidance into thinking the abnormal was the norm.

It could also veer us dangerously deeper into slippery space.

“I need a fail-safe, on both ends.” I highlighted the areas of the program I wanted him to work on and sent it back to him.

“Slave driver,” he murmured sufficiently loudly to garner a short bark of laughter from Marsh.

“Don’t encourage him,” I told Marsh and he grinned. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Even though Aubry could spell him, he wasn’t any happier with our current location than I was.

Bootsteps sounded in the corridor behind the bridge. I felt Ren before I saw him. Ren’s mental presence always held an element of water. Most times it was like a light mist, like the spray of water off a stream cascading down a rocky hillside. Now, however, the stream was more forceful, the mist colder. Sully must have felt it too, because he turned just after I did.

“Coming to join the party?” Sully asked. His tone was light, but because I knew him or maybe because of the link we shared, I could sense a tension. Its source could be anything on a growing list, including the fact that the usually placid Ren was somewhat disconcerted. If I could feel that cold mist, so could Sully—perhaps more so. I hoped Ren’s renewed relationship with Dorsie hadn’t hit a bump.

“Finished with galley duties?” I asked him.

The cold mist abated, warming. So what troubled him wasn’t Dorsie.

“Pie’s baking. It’s the best one yet, Dorsie said.” Ren nodded to Verno, who’d angled around. There was no need to define what kind of pie for Verno. “I can hold a station if someone needs a break.”

Ren usually worked communications, which was fully integrated with a voice-prompt interface that also allowed him to monitor basic functions at nav and helm.

“Autoguidance is misbehaving,” Sully told him. “Chaz and I are stuck here until we can patch in a fix.”

“Aubry’s due on in half an hour.” Marsh looked at Sully. “But I can stay longer, if you need help. Damned bad time for Gregor to turn up sick,” he added.

Sully shook a finger at Marsh. “Now you know why I’m always harping at my crew to keep their immunizations current. You never know what’s been crawling around Dock Five or Ferrin’s.”

That launched a dialogue of horror stories that I tuned out while I kept the Karn on course and worked on bits of the guidance override program Sully sent over to me. Forty minutes or so later, I felt we had something feasible. Something that would at least permit me to get out of this chair for a while. The Karn might wander off course, but alarms would start screaming. And she wouldn’t, thanks to Sully’s magic, be permitted to wander too far.

Aubry was now at Marsh’s station. Ren was at communications. I let Verno take the command sling and then showed him the basics of the guidance program while Marsh—reluctant to leave—watched over his shoulder.

“We’ll handle her, Captain,” Marsh said.

“Not to worry, Captain Chasidah. Sully-sir,” Verno added as Sully stepped up next to me.

I looked from Marsh’s dark face to Verno’s dark-furred one. To Ren’s blue-skinned visage. To Aubry’s confident smile. And it hit me for the first time since I’d put my boots on the Karn’s decking. I was their captain. Not because I was Sully’s lover, but because I had earned their respect and the right to be their captain. It was something I thought I’d never regain after the court-martial. After the dissolution of my career that, for years, was the most important thing in my life. Chasidah Bergren, captain of the Imperial Patrolship Meritorious had become Chasidah Bergren, captain of the Boru Karn.

I functioned fine on starports. At times, I even enjoyed being dirtside. But I was born to be at a stellar helm, to be a captain.

Perhaps it was time I started acting like one.

Strong fingers threaded through mine. “We need tea,” Sully said.

We did. And we also needed to talk.

“The ‘need to know’ dictum doesn’t apply here, Sully. They will know, probably sooner than later. You have no control over that. How they view that knowledge, however, is something you can control.”

Sully stood at the darkened viewport in our quarters, his back not quite to me. But he wouldn’t look at me as I tried to make him see what needed to be done. He had to tell the crew his story his way. Before Tage and Burke gave the facts an ugly twist.

“Marsh and Dorsie have been with you for years,” I persisted. “They—”

“Exactly. Years, Chasidah.” He glanced at me, his mouth a thin line. “I’ve lied to them for years. That’s going to be foremost in their minds. Then they’ll wonder how much I’ve manipulated them. And whether they’ll live long enough to jump ship when we hit Narfial.”

“Ren, Verno, and I will be there to tell them you’re not some kind of monster.”

“And they’ll believe you?” He huffed out a hard sigh of frustration. “They’ll think I’ve planted those words in your minds. And if they’ve heard the usual stories about Ragkirils, the fact that we’re lovers will only make things worse.”

“You’ll have a chance to counter that. You won’t have that option if they hear it from the news feeds or on the docks. And if they hear it on the docks, we might not have a ship to come back to.”

His shoulders slumped slightly. “I can lock down the primaries when we leave.”

“Then we’ll come back to a ship and no crew.” I stepped closer to him, wanting very much to touch him, let him feel how much I loved him, but I could also feel that barrier between us. A barrier of fear. And of shame. “Would you rather have them believe the lies?”

He said nothing for a long moment. Then he spoke, his voice hard. “They’re not all lies.”

“No, of course not. But—”

“You’re not listening to me. They’re not all lies.” He swung to face me, his eyes dark, fathomless. A familiar silvery haze flickered over his skin.” You don’t know what the truth about me is. I’m not even sure I know the truth about me. But I do know that this is in me.”

He jerked his right hand up, palm out, and a ball of light flared blindingly bright from between his fingers. The energy flowing over his skin, black shirt, and pants intensified, like a sparkling silver wave.

I sucked in a hard breath before I could stop myself. I’d seen him manipulate Kyi energy only once before, in the Marker shuttle bay, and it had been nothing like this. It took all my training not to lunge back. But I knew to do so would shatter him. Something was happening—I didn’t know what or why, only that it was important. And I wouldn’t get a second chance.

“Ren said to tell you everything,” he continued harshly. “How in hell can I do that when I don’t even know what everything is?”

He closed his fingers over the glowing ball. The energy surged up his arm like a dozen angry comets streaking under his sleeve. A tremor shook his body. He clenched his fist tighter, then let his arm fall by his side, his gaze downcast. The sparkles faded to the familiar haze.

“God.” His voice rasped. “Chaz, I’m sorry.”

“Sully.” I said his name softly and reached for him.

But he was shaking his head, turning away.

“Sully, don’t shut me out.”

“Sometimes I think you should have stayed with Guthrie.”

That stopped me, my heart constricting, and for a moment all I could do was stare at his back as he walked toward the bedroom, at the silver haze pulsing around him, at the stiff set of his shoulders. Something was wrong—more than Thad’s defection and Tage’s threats and Burke’s jukor labs. More than whatever this stronger energy was. It had to be a different form of the Kyi. I’d seen his Kyi form dozens of times in the past few months. I’d made love to him. All that I am is yours. Once I’d accepted what he was, there had never been this anguish. This shame.

“You hate Philip,” I called after him.

He slowed, took one more step, then turned. His chin lifted. “I hate that he is the better man for you. And that I’m too selfish to give you up.”

I don’t know why, but his words frightened me. And when I get frightened, I get angry. “What in hell is that supposed to mean?”

He raised his hand again, palm up, and looked at his fingers as if he’d never seen them before. The blaze of energy erupted into existence, growing larger, coiling sinuously through his fingers and around his wrist like a glistering snake. He stood there frozen, glowing, breathing hard, the mist around him thickening into a miniature, self-contained starfield. Our mental link was closed but the power around him was palpable, moving through the air between us like a hungry beast. I held my ground, ignoring the warning tingle from the Grizni dagger-bracelet wrapped around my wrist. This was Sully. He’d promised he’d never hurt me. Even though every muscle in my body tensed for flight, I believed that.

Suddenly, he closed his fist. The energy surged back into him, like lightning blazing through the hard muscled planes of his body. He stared at me the whole time and only as the brightness dissipated, dissolving into a mist, could I see the damp trail left by tears running down his face.

It tore my heart in half.

“Are you all right?” I stepped quickly toward him.

“Physically, never better,” he said hoarsely. He swiped at his face with his sleeve but this time didn’t back away when I grabbed for his arm, bringing his body against mine. The energy of the Kyi faded. He was just Sully, leaning heavily against me, his face in my hair, his arms circling my shoulders. When his rapid, choppy breathing steadied, I dragged him over to the sofa and pushed him down into it, then knelt on the cushion beside him.

“What’s going on?”

He leaned his head back and looked at me. His lashes were still wet. “I can’t separate fact from legend,” he said after a moment. “For all I know, I’m losing my mind.”

Not unless it was a shared hallucination. “Does Ren have any answers?”

He shook his head slowly. “Maybe humans aren’t supposed to be Ragkirils. Maybe our bodies don’t adapt well. Or adapt too well.” He gave a small, mirthless laugh. “It seems like I’m getting stronger. I could also be dying.”

“Don’t say that!”

“It’s like I’m on overload. I don’t know how else to explain it. It won’t stop. I can’t stop.” He closed his eyes.

“Did you run a medistat?”

“Useless.”

“Do you know what triggered it? When did it start?”

His eyes fluttered open but he stared past me. “A few months ago,” he said after a long silence.

A few months…Moabar. The hellish jump into the gate, cold hypers and hot sublights torquing my ship. We were knocked unconscious—at least, I was. Then the second accident. The Meritorious almost ramming the Karn, exploding far too close off her flank. Ren had almost…No, Ren had died. Sully—Gabriel—had brought him back to life. Just as he’d fed life into Philip on Marker.

Ragkirils can kill, Sully had admitted to me before we hit Marker. But they can also heal.

Had those actions stressed him, changed him somehow? It didn’t make sense. Sully was more than a Ragkiril. He was a Kyi-Ragkiril, more powerful even by Philip’s own admission.

What price power? ran through my mind. But it was only my own thoughts, not Sully’s. He was still blocking me.

“A lot’s happened in the past few months,” I said.

“Ren and I have discussed that.”

“Has it been getting better or worse?”

His gaze flicked to mine. “Is it better that I can read people’s thoughts at a greater distance? Is it better that I didn’t even have to be on the same deck as Gregor to set an infection in his body? I had no idea I could do that. I didn’t know whether to be overjoyed or disgusted.” He turned his face away.

“I can make the crew stay with us, Chaz,” he continued before I could respond. “Sitting right here, without even moving, I can hear—feel—every goddamned one of them. I can essentially enslave them to me, and it won’t matter what Tage discloses.” He flexed his fingers, closing and opening his fist. “Part of me wants to do that so badly, it’s like a hunger. The other part,” and he paused, his mouth tightening for a moment, “the other part wants to throw up.”

He shoved himself upright, his arm sliding through my grasp as he stalked away from the couch. I rose, mind whirling. I had to talk to Ren again. But more than that, I had to get ahold of Philip’s family’s research on Ragkirils. When things go wrong, I’m a veritable demon for gathering information. And things, I had a bad feeling, were going very wrong.

Sully stopped at the galley counter and turned. No silver mist wavered over his form but his eyes had snapped to that infinite darkness that I knew signaled that he was accessing the Kyi.

“I’m not telling the crew anything at this point,” he said. “When we hit Narfial, I’ll deal with whatever Tage has told the media. But I’m not going to throw Dorsie, Marsh, and the others into a panic, knowing they’re trapped on a ship in jumpspace with a hell-spawned soul-stealer.”

“You’re not—”

“But I am, angel-mine.” His mouth quirked into a sad smile. “That’s exactly what I am.”

I wanted to throw something at him in frustration, but I didn’t get a chance. The wail of an alarm erupted through the ship. Slippery space had just grabbed the Boru Karn.

“One minute we were on course, the next we weren’t,” Aubry said in a strained voice as I grabbed the pilot’s chair armrest and swung around into the seat. Sully, inches behind me when we left our cabin, sprinted to navigation. I checked the data streaming in from the nav comps. We were more than off course. We were way off-course, streaking through slippery space.

I disengaged the guidance program, turning my controls and Verno’s back to manual.

“Get me our last true fix signal,” I told Sully.

“Already working on that,” he answered. Then: link with me?

He had to ask? It had been automatic, as natural as my own breath to me these past few months.

Yes. I have to ask.

Because of what had happened in our quarters just now. Don’t be an ass, Sullivan. I still love your filthy, soul-stealing self.

Emotions flooded me—passion, acceptance, relief. Stow that, I warned him. I can’t handle the distraction and hand-fly this beast. I’d slowed our slingshot ride into the nether regions of the neverwhen, but we were far from out of trouble.

Perversely, the Karn herself had never handled better. Other than the angry data spilling down the nav screens, the ship was performing at optimum plus ten, as Sully liked to say. Hypers purred in contentment. Enviro whispered sweet cool air through the ship. Comps executed the data even before the commands left my fingertips.

Coordinates flashed on my screen at the same time as an analysis flashed into my mind. Sully thinking into me was the only way to describe it. His knowledge was mine, and mine his. My expertise at problem solving. His experience with older gates and slippery space. Scenario, solution, application, or rejection. I knew, now, what slippery space felt like, what it did. I’d lived through it because Sully had. I wasn’t integrating his experience. I had it.

Marsh and Ren streamed onto the bridge, but it was more for moral support or in case something unexpected erupted. Dorsie even came by, wiping her hands nervously on her long overblouse, asking if anyone needed water or tea. Only Gregor was absent.

He woke when the alarm went off, Sully told me. He’s back to sleep now.

I didn’t ask how he’d accomplished that and he didn’t volunteer.

I worked through a series of fixes with Verno, triangulating our position from where we’d been and where we were trying to go. It was like bucking a current, being buffeted by waves that came unexpectedly from different directions. It was nothing you could feel; the Karn never shimmied, not like entering or exiting a gate. It was strictly guidance data—numbers and headings whipping this way and that like that proverbial polecat’s tail.

But it was a polecat Sully had played with before.

When we were finally back on course, we’d lost over two hours in transit time. Not a huge amount, but I was tired and I still had to find out what had gone wrong with the guidance program.

“Ten-minute break?” Sully said, swiveling toward me in his chair.

I shook my head. “I need to get that program fixed.”

“Verno can hold her on course for ten minutes.”

“Twenty, thirty, more if you need me to, Sully-sir. You and Captain Chasidah aren’t even supposed to be on duty now.”

“Emergencies have a way of messing up duty schedules,” I told Verno with a wry grin.

Sully was tugging on my braid. “Ten minutes.”

I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Sully—”

Now.

I sighed. He pulled me out of the pilot’s chair, warmth spiraling up my arm from his fingers around my wrist. “If you’re thinking of shoving me under a cold shower,” I warned because Philip had done that once in a training camp when I was flat-out fatigued, “you’ll regret it.”

Philip had.

Sully only smiled, was still smiling when he guided us back to our cabin down the corridor from the bridge. The door closed behind him. He drew my hands against his chest, pinning them there with his left hand, then rested the fingers of his right on the side of my face.

“Chasidah,” he said, his eyes shifting through infinite shades of dark, silvery mist drifting over his shoulders. “You’re tired. I think I can help. Trust me. Please.”

“Ten minutes, Sullivan. I have work to—”

Energy poured into me, making the shock of a cold shower mild in comparison. I sucked in a hard breath. It tempered, slowing.

Sorry. Still learning.

The bright blaze Sully held in the palm of his hand earlier flared briefly between us then disappeared. Sully seemed more in control this time. And I thought of when he made love to me last night, and the vision I’d had of him offering me the twinkling star in his hand.

Prescience?

Playing, last night. I’m not always sure how to tell you things. Words, when I use words, seem so wrong, so inadequate. What I am, I cannot always explain.

Lethargy leeched from my body. The power of the Kyi was…intoxicating. Every inch of me quivered with energy. I leaned into him because I didn’t know how to lean into it.

Where our bodies touched, they blazed. And two things occurred to me simultaneously. One, Sully was pulling off my pants. And two, we had only ten minutes.

Silver haze swirled between us as I kicked off my boots.

He pinned me against the bulkhead. I wrapped my legs around his waist. His kisses were frantic, deep, searing. He thrust inside me and I felt my own heat encompass him, just as he felt my pleasure at the way he filled me. The way he stroked, they way we…I…he…

Oh. God. Sully.

Chasidah. Mine.

Sensations roared through my body, my release and his exquisite, blinding, more intense than anything I’d ever experienced. We were sweaty, panting, then his fingers slipped between us and I was soaring all over again. His touch was literally electric. I was on the edge of the galaxy and he plunged into me, harder than before, throbbing pleasure, wanting me, needing me, needing him, wanting more, giving all.

He cried out my name and we went nova together, shuddering, gasping, the Kyi like a spiral of stars, so bright I had to close my eyes. I clung to his shoulders. He brushed kisses down my neck.

“Chasidah,” he said hoarsely in my ear. “Feeling better?”

I opened my eyes and there was that damned, wicked Sully-grin.

The clock glowing red from the galley said twelve minutes had passed. All that in only twelve minutes. I felt like I could easily run fifty laps. Or make love for another five hours.

Praise the stars, I felt great.

Technically, I couldn’t fix the guidance program. What I could do was amend it so that when it wanted to malfunction, it initiated a self-correcting program and sent out a warning notice that would rouse me from sleep, pull me away from the dinner table or out of Sully’s arms so I could reset the program and get us on course again.

“Just you?” Sully, on the bridge at nav, studying last available traffic and route data out of Narfial, voiced his objection. You’re not General Manager of the Universe, angel.

But I am captain of this ship. And it’s only a few more hours to exitgate.

Delegate.

He was right. That had long been a problem with me; one that hadn’t escaped Philip’s notice either.

Ah, but Guthrie was interested in maintaining Fleet policies. I’m just here for the sex.

I was about to take a sip of tea at the moment. Had Sully’s comment come seconds later, I would have spewed out my mouthful. Or snorted it in a very uncaptainlike way out my nose.

“If Verno or Marsh wants to be added to the alert list, I can do that,” I said out loud, shooting a quick, sideways, narrow-eyed glance at Sully’s back.

Verno, on duty at the helm, immediately volunteered. Marsh, off duty but in his cabin and monitoring bridge activity, relayed his interest via intraship a few minutes later. I created a quick tutorial, ran Verno through it. He’d teach Marsh.

Sully logged off duty while I was going over the guidance program with Verno.

I’ll be at Ren’s, he told me. I feel a streak of luck coming on.

His never-ending card games. Sully’s stress relief and a source of much amusement for the crew. Despite his notable losses, I was glad he’d started playing cards with Ren again. It signaled to me that the old Sully was returning. His emotional episode with this stronger version of the Kyi a few hours ago in our cabin worried me. But my acceptance of it, and my refusal to let an instinctive fear surface, seemed to reassure him. He was not a monster.

Maybe I could still convince him to confess to the crew.

I left Verno in the command sling and wandered to the ready room behind the bridge. A lot had happened in the past two days and for some reason the ready room seemed the better place for me to sit and sort it out. Part of the reason was that the energy Sully had shared with me still danced brightly in my veins. I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to.

Instead, I brought up the data on Narfial Sully had been working on but stared at it with unseeing eyes. Everything I was truly concerned about replayed in my mind.

Was it only two days ago I’d stood in the back of the bridge, trying to understand the source of my disquiet?

I think I understood it now.

Sully’s changing relationship with the Kyi and its increasing power fields impacted me. We were linked, often when I didn’t know it. He’d been using honeylace more frequently at night. I knew why; I could feel why. He was overcharged. Honeylace nullified that, at least somewhat and at least temporarily. Personally, his growth in power fed his male ego—something Sully would not all that begrudgingly admit he had. Privately, it frightened him. I’d vehemently rejected him when I first learned he was a Ragkiril—a soul-stealing demon, a mind-fucker, human variety. He’d saved my life, anyway. He’d loved me, anyway. He’d even saved the life of my ex-husband, his acknowledged rival.

My acceptance of Sully—human—and Gabriel—Ragkiril—became Sully’s acceptance of himself. And now here we were at the crossroads again. Only this time he had no idea who or what he was asking Chaz Bergren to love and to trust.

I saw that very clearly. He didn’t know himself. And he didn’t feel he had the right to ask me to come along on his ride toward self-discovery. Because it was dangerous?

Yes, it could be. Gabriel Ross Sullivan was not a man who frightened easily. Yet the power coursing through him had brought tears of fear and shame to his eyes. That alone made me pause: both his fear and his willingness to show me his vulnerability. He’d never done that before.

Now he was back to the joking, flirtatious Sully-the-rogue, the handsome bastard with the seductive smile. His usual role. I needed to know more about the man who’d dried his tears in my hair. But pushing, I knew from experience, would only make that part of him hide more deeply in the shadows.

I logged off the Narfial data and brought up the Ragkiril research Gregor had done. I reread the articles but found nothing Sully hadn’t told me, nothing Philip hadn’t warned me about. The facts about Ragkirils were tightly interwoven with the legends of soul-stealers. The facts about the Kyi version of Ragkirils were even more cryptic.

It worried me that Sully’s hit-and-miss experimentation as he tried to understand what was happening to him might have serious consequences. I needed access to the data Philip said his family had gathered for years. I just didn’t know what lies and promises I’d have to create in order to get that.

Which led me back to the one subject I did not want to think about, the one I’d been avoiding thinking about. Thad. And my father.

My brother had betrayed me. Part of me still wanted to believe Philip’s information was wrong, his conversation with my father a misinterpretation. I couldn’t reconcile the man who’d offered Sully and me sanctuary on Marker with the one who’d reveal Sully’s secrets to First Barrister Tage—and by so doing, put my life at risk. Under torture, under a Ragkiril mind-probe, yes. But not voluntarily.

Yet put my father into the picture and everything changed. It didn’t matter that Thad and I now out-ranked him. Lieutenant Commander Lars Bergren, recently retired from the Imperial Fleet, Aldan First Battle Group, exuded an air of authority that admirals envied. To describe him as dedicated and unshakable was an understatement. The men and women he’d served with had nothing but praise for him. But he could also pin you with one glance and wither you with one word.

Thad might outrank him, but Lars was in charge. Which was why I’d reassured myself he’d never let anything happen to Thad. Lars would do anything to save his son.

Even kill his own daughter.

Exiting through the gate for Narfial, the Boru Karn performed flawlessly.

Less so Gabriel Sullivan, her owner of record, though Ren and I were the only ones who knew that.

Ren noticed after a few minutes in the ready room, but I knew more than an hour before Ren did because I was stuck in the captain’s quarters while Sully paced, fidgeted, and argued with me.

No, for the last time, he would not tell the crew, especially because Gregor was now awake and back in the pilot’s chair. If anyone was bound to react violently to the word Ragkiril, it was Meevel “Gregor” Gregoran.

I didn’t discount that. And the reality was, Sully was more concerned with the crew’s feelings than he was with his own.

“I can handle their hatred,” he’d said. “They shouldn’t have to handle their fear.”

And if someone downloaded the news—assuming Tage had released the information—before we hit Narfial?

“That’s why I have Gregor on the bridge. He’s not going to check the news vids on duty.”

That meant I was off duty along with Ren, Verno, and Dorsie, who was sleeping. Sully sat at the table in the ready room, two chairs away from me on my left, tension all but vibrating from his body.

The Karn received the first packet of messages within five minutes of clearing the gate exit—proximity to the gate always muddied if not blocked transmits—but it would be a good forty minutes at sublight before we intercepted a data beacon. The first transmit packet held no surprises. Not even a thank-you to Gregor from the Farosians. Sully and I vetted them in the ready room before releasing them to ship’s systems.

Sully relaxed a little but kept checking with nav as to our position relative to the nearest data beacon. I began to question whether he really could handle the crew’s hatred if—no, when—it came to that.

“On open dock, yes. Here?” He leaned his elbows on the room’s large table and scrubbed at his face with his hands. “Here, I’d want to side with them. I wouldn’t want to be stuck with me on a small ship either.”

I wanted to tell him he was blowing things out of proportion but I couldn’t. I remembered too clearly when the crew believed Ren to be a fully functioning Ragkiril. I remembered the loathing, the fear.

But Ren being Ragkiril had been a natural assumption.

Sully being one wasn’t, and I said so.

“Then use that to your advantage,” Ren advised, his voice soft and soothing. Gentle waves lapping at the shore of a safe harbor. “Human Ragkirils are rare. If you say your talents are minimal, I doubt anyone can provide evidence to the contrary. I’m willing to—”

“No.” Sully cut in sharply, darting a glance at me and Ren. “No,” he repeated, more calmly. “I won’t do that again. Ever.” He turned back to the screen slatted through the tabletop.

The incoming transmit signal pinged. Sully jabbed at his deskscreen. One transmit.

“Drogue,” he said but I already saw the monk’s smiling face filling my screen and his.

“Some good news I thought Captain Bergren might like to hear,” Drogue said. “Her brother, Thaddeus, has been transferred out of Holding Block Three into much nicer quarters. Protective custody is what I think they’re calling it, but it’s an apartment, not a cell. He continues to be guarded, but I’m hopeful this signals a change of heart and mind by the authorities. I’m sure they realize the charges against him were in error. Prayers do get answered because I’ve been praying they’d come to this conclusion.” Drogue was nodding. “That’s all I’ve heard through our people there. If I learn more, of course, I’ll send immediately. Blessings of the hour upon you. Praise the stars!”

The screen blanked without showing the official arch-and-stave of the Englarian Church. And the transmit ID confirmed it was sent through Drogue’s private communications system. The government, for the most part, left the Englarians alone. But there was no sense in taking chances.

Sully leaned back in his chair. “They’re planning on us coming after him. An apartment on station is far less secure than lockup.”

For a moment a small hope blossomed. Thad hadn’t really turned state’s evidence, caving into pressure from Lars, telling Tage all he knew about me and Sully. Tage only said so to draw me, to draw us out. Putting Thad in a vulnerable location was another step in that plan.

I could almost believe that, if Philip hadn’t told me my father was involved.

“They probably assume you’d send me,” Sully continued, “and I’d kill him, rather than risk his talking further. I’m who they’re after. They’d love to add murder to whatever list they have with my name on it.”

Thad and I were just different versions of bait. I knew that.

“They might kill him anyway, through a zragkor, and blame me for it,” Sully added, his voice softening. “It’s something you need to consider, angel-mine.”

The truth in Sully’s words hit me. A light warmth comforted me from two directions: Sully and Ren. I accepted it, but it didn’t take the worry away. Or the realization that no matter what happened, my brother’s life was at risk.

I still wasn’t 100 percent sure he had betrayed me. There were always half-truths, just enough to make Lars and Tage believe he was cooperating. But even if he told everything, he was still my brother. I may have lost respect for him. I may never want to speak to him again. But I didn’t want him dead.

Yet the more I thought about it, the more I realized Thad knew too much. There was no way Tage or Burke would keep him alive.

Philip. He still might be able to do something. “Sully, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I need to talk to—”

“I know.” He reached across the vacant chair between us and closed his hand over mine. “Until we hit Narfial, it’s just too risky.” I’ll work on it. I promise.

I understood. The closer we got to our meeting on Narfial with a contact we knew only as Del, the tighter our security had to be. Sully’s contacts in the Takan community—many through Verno and the church—had brought Del’s name to Sully’s attention. Verno didn’t know him. Drogue knew of him but had never met him. We didn’t even know if he was human or Takan. We only knew the Takas trusted him and sources seemed to prove he was as interested in stopping Burke’s jukor labs as we were.

That he was part of the Takan “Circle of Life Breeds Death” brigade was also possible, though we had no proof of that. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be associated with someone who viewed rape as an answer. Neither did Sully. It would be akin to working with the Farosians. So for the moment he fell into the “enemy of my enemy” category.

But he was an enemy of my enemy with information we needed: ship’s ident on Burke’s jukor lab and crew.

Sully brought up a hologram of Narfial Starport through the viewer in the center of the table. It was cylindrical like Marker 3 but less than half the size, with a section of gangly looking protuberances near its base to accommodate ore tankers and other large ships. As we were running under the ident of a small commercial supply ship, we’d be docking on the opposite axis and probably a few levels above. Ore tankers—often overloaded with cargo and less-than-sober crew—had an unpleasant way of hitting things on their way in and out of stations. Wise captains knew to stay clear.

“We need to go over some scenarios,” Sully said. “We have ten, fifteen minutes yet before we hit the first data beacon.” And all hell breaks loose.

Sully. My mental admonition was echoed by Ren’s. So he was linked to both of us at the moment.

“I’m a realist,” Sully said out loud with a sigh of exasperation.

The tension of not knowing when and what Tage would release was wearing on him.

“Most likely we’ll dock on Level E, but maybe F.” Sully pointed his lightpen at the holo, illuminating the areas. “We have to assume things might go wrong. We have to assume this might even be a trap. We need to know at least three ways back to the ship.”

“I could never believe Drogue would betray us,” Ren said.

“Drogue’s a messenger, not the source,” Sully pointed out. “The trap could also be for Del and have nothing to do with us. Plus, if Tage puts a high enough price on my head, we could find ourselves with a whole new problem. Which is something else we need to discuss.”

He drew in a deep breath. “If the problem is me, then I’m not coming back to this ship. Not right away,” he added when I sat up straighter, startled by his words. “Maybe not for…a while. I’ve left instructions in our cabin, Chaz. What to do, whom to trust, all my financial data. It’s there. It’s all yours.” He paused. “The crew trusts you, respects you.”

The finality in his voice scared me, and I realized he hadn’t gone to play cards with Ren at all. He’d been planning his funeral.

“I’m not leaving you on Narfial,” I said firmly.

“You may not have a choice.” His tone matched mine.

“Sully—”

“I can handle myself. I can’t handle myself and watch after you.”

“I didn’t rise to the rank of captain because I look good in uniform,” I shot back. “I’m capable of watching out for myself.”

A smile twisted his lips. “You look damned good in uniform. Even better out of it.”

“Damn you, Sullivan!”

“You’re forty years late on that.”

“Children.” Ren drummed five of his six fingers on the table. “Behave.”

Sully leaned across the chair between us again, grabbing for me. I made a fist. He brushed a wet, sloppy kiss across my knuckles. “We can wrestle over this later,” he said, his eyes dark.

“I don’t like this defeatist attitude that keeps cropping up,” I told him, pulling my hand out of his grasp. “Or the way you try to trivialize it.”

“I don’t like it either.” His expression sobered. “But things are coming fast and hard at me right now. I’d be an idiot not to face that. I’ll also lose my mind—more than I already have—if I can’t somehow make light of it.”

This time I was the one letting out a sigh of exasperation. “I know. I understand.” I did. “It’s just that—”

“We’re not Fleet? There’s a comfort in protocols. We lack that here.”

“Sully’s not used to having anyone worry about him,” Ren put in.

“There’s that too,” Sully admitted. He arched one eyebrow as he glanced at Ren. “When did you get so wise?”

He was at it again. Sidestepping what I wanted to discuss, glossing it over with a wry remark. No, Gabriel Sullivan was not remotely Fleet, and that was part of the problem. I may be his captain, his lover. His best interfering bitch, as he’d often named me. But he took others’ counsel only when it suited him.

What had he admitted to me when he’d pulled me off Moabar? That his best advisers had voted against the action. He’d come after me anyway.

A shrill pinging interrupted Ren’s rejoinder. Sully spun back to the deskscreen. “Beacon,” he announced, then launched the commands to grab the news banks, updated nav advisories, and anything else residing in the beacon’s systems at that moment.

I waited, forcing myself to breathe. What information would Darius Tage release? Everything Thad told him, or would he hold some back, waiting to see if Sully responded? Had Tage even believed Thad? Oh, by the way, my sister’s run off with a human mind-fucker wasn’t something most people would accept without proof.

But Tage could get the proof. The Guthries had it. And they moved in the same circles, professionally and personally.

I hoped Tage hadn’t believed Thad. People in lockup, especially under threat of treason, could say a lot of things to get released. I hoped Tage would take a very long time obtaining that proof…long enough for us to meet with Del on Narfial, long enough for us to pick up the trail of the lab ship, long enough for us to destroy it. To reveal Tage’s part. To give control back to the Admirals’ Council. To stop the stranglehold on the rim worlds.

“Data’s in.” Sully pursed his mouth. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

He brought up news headlines first, linking the list to my deskscreen. They were sorted alphabetically, with small abstracts as the only clue to content. He reset the parameters to a chronological listing, oldest first, as I watched, and I was aware, for the first time, of Ren seeing everything through Sully’s eyes. I’d known they’d done this before but had never been party to it until now.

Does it disconcert you, Chasidah? That was Ren, a soft whisper in my mind. His connection to me was through Sully.

Not at all. It was simply a new sensation. I tried to send rainbow-flavored warmth and received some in return.

The headlines sorted. Sully scrolled right past the sports scores but stopped briefly at a headline about riots at a depot in the Walker Colonies. Food and medical supply shortages. Three dead, seven injured. He tagged it for later perusal.

Two more similar abstracts were tagged, the last one boldly proclaiming “Emperor Prewitt Has Lost Control” with a subheading of “Admirals’ Council and Imperial Legislature Set Special Sessions.” And I remembered what Philip had told his then first officer, Jodey Bralford, right after the incident in Marker: “It’s started.”

It had. Tage and his Legalists—of which Burke was one—were vying for control against the Admirals’ Council. Tage wanted to remove the Council’s autonomy, have them wholly under the emperor’s—and his—command. But then there would be no checks and balances. Only the emperor and, in Prew’s current distracted state, that meant only Tage and his chosen few making decisions.

Then we were at the end of the list. Sully’s twinge of surprise matched my own. Nothing about Thad. Nothing about renegade mercenary Gabriel Sullivan being, in fact, a mutant monster.

“I don’t know if that’s bad or good news, or I missed something,” Sully murmured.

“Name search,” I said. “Yours and Thad’s. Hell, throw in Tage’s. He might not be revealing identities yet.” Especially as the Legislature was set for special session. The media coverage there would guarantee a wide audience.

A few minutes later Sully, looking a lot more relaxed, leaned back in his chair. There was nothing in the news banks to date mentioning Thad or Sully.

“So he’s waiting,” I said.

“Or perhaps your brother hasn’t told him what we feared he would,” Ren said. “Admiral Guthrie only said that your father would make sure Commander Bergren was cooperating. We made the inference that meant he would tell what he knew about Sully. We may be wrong.”

I prayed Ren was right.

I managed to catch a few hours’ sleep. I think Sully slept as well, but I couldn’t be sure. We’d not hit another data beacon until we were on the outer perimeter of Narfial Traffic Control. All incoming communications were locked down due to an “internal system calibration reset,” as Sully told the crew on intraship, promising things would be back to normal by the time we made dock.

“What in hell is a calibration reset?” I’d asked him when he closed the link.

He’d shrugged elegantly. “Damned if I know. Which means they don’t either. It buys us a couple hours.”

But when I woke he was gone, his side of the bed cool enough that I judged he’d been out of it for a while.

I pulled on a pair of clean black pants and tried to “think” his location. Ky’sara or not, I’d yet to devise a workable methodology of mentally finding him. Sensing nothing, I tossed a long-sleeved, V-necked gray shirt on the unmade bed, ducked into the lavatory to wash my face and brush my hair, and when I came out found our quarters as empty as I’d left them.

Except for an angel of heart-stars playing card tucked under a corner of the light on my bedside table. One of Sully’s unique love notes. Had he been in while I washed up? No. I’d not closed the door. I would have seen or heard him. I must have missed it in my just-waking grogginess.

I picked up the card. Warmth suddenly traveled up my arm, sheathing me. It was as if he were here in the room. I spun, waiting for him to pop up from behind the couch, grinning like the handsome devil he was.

Nothing.

I looked at the card. It didn’t seem in any way unusual yet it carried “Essence of Sully”—or maybe “Essence of Gabriel”?—as clearly as the heady, distinctive scent of an expensive perfume.

He’d never done that before, imbued an inanimate object with a sensory presence. At least, not that I knew of. I thought of the bright, sparkling, much stronger Kyi energies flowing over him hours ago. Was this part of that energy?

I tucked the card in my pants pocket and finished dressing, thinking of a cup of tea and a baked bright-apple from Dorsie’s galley. Or maybe a slice of cold srorfralak pie, if Verno and Ren hadn’t finished it off. The Takan vegetables, pungent when hot, were pleasantly sweet when cold.

I pulled the coverlet up over the bed linens, fluffed the pillows, and stepped into the main salon. A roiling wave of emotion hit me. Then pain. I staggered against the couch, my breath catching, my head spinning with sounds, images, smells.

Anger. Hatred. Death.

Sully. Sully!

No answer.

I grabbed my laser pistol and holster from the wall peg by the door, smacked the palm pad, and bolted into the corridor.

I pounded down the stairway to the lower deck, toward the small shuttle-and-cargo bay, wrenching the holster’s belt around my hips as I went. I followed the blaze of emotions unerringly, as if it were a fix for a jumpgate beacon and I was the best damned nav system in the universe. I knew where Sully was, though it wasn’t conscious knowledge.

It was instinct, and something beyond instinct. Beyond rational thought and explanation.

I slapped the palm pad on the right of the bay’s wide double doors then stepped sideways, dropping my hand to the pistol before I moved forward again. My right shoulder slammed against the doors when they didn’t open. Locked. Fuck! Holster pistol. Hit palm pad again. Hit icon for voice commands. “Bergen, Chasidah. Emergency override.”

“Retinal scan required,” the Karn answered softly, in that unknown female voice that still irked the shit out of me.

I tilted my head back and stared at the recessed scanner. “Open the goddamed doors,” I spat out between clenched lips.

I lunged to the right as the doors opened. Never stand in an open doorway in the line of fire. This time when I pushed forward, I kept going, no locked door stopping me.

The bay’s overheads were dimmed, the main flood-light over the shuttle off. The shuttle itself was a dark void limned by workstation lights set into the bulkhead. Grunts, thuds, and curses filled my ears. The sound of flesh hitting flesh, the hard thump of something hitting a bulkhead. Then a crash. It sounded like a toolbox hitting the floor, breaking open, wrenches and bolt cutters scattering, but I couldn’t tell for sure. Heart pounding, I ran for the shuttle. The noises were coming from the other side. I held my laser, set on stun, tightly against me. With one flick of a finger it would be set to kill, but I didn’t know what was going on. Stun made it easier to ask questions later.

I felt Sully before I saw him—felt pain, felt anger. Our verbal link was closed. I couldn’t hear his thoughts. I could just feel him. And going on feel, I crouched down and skirted around the shuttle’s wide stern.

A blur of movement met my gaze through the slanted glare of the workstation lights. Three figures. Sully. Gregor. Aubry. Sully had Gregor by the throat, pinning him against the shuttle. Aubry was swinging a long wrench, aiming for Sully’s head.

“Drop it!” I took a firing stance, arms locked. “I’ll fry your fucking brains, Aubry. Drop it! Now!”

Aubry’s arms jerked, his movement faltering. He half-turned, half-tripped backward, but he didn’t let go of the wrench. I fired. He was only about ten feet from me. The charge hit him in the shoulder because he was still moving, teeth bared, eyes narrowed.

Those same eyes blanked and he dropped like a crate of unsecured cargo when gravity kicks on.

Gregor’s eyes were wide. Sully still had him pinned against the shuttle with one hand. I sprinted forward and only then saw the blood dripping down the side of Sully’s face and matting his hair.

“Chaz,” he said, his voice noticeably strained. “How nice to see you.”

“Sully? You okay?”

“I’ve been better.” He wiped some blood out of his eyes then pointed to his captive. “Couldn’t sleep. Went for a little walk. Look what I found.”

Gregor made a gurgling noise.

I glanced down at Aubry. Still out. Should be for at least another ten minutes. I stepped over him, keeping my gun trained on Gregor. “What do you need me to do?” I asked Sully.

“I should probably ask you to fry his fucking brains, but I won’t. Can you reach Verno? We might need help getting these two to the brig.”

In spite of the fact that he should be dead, Sully refused to let Ren and me take him to sick bay and instead chose to collapse on the couch in our quarters, booted feet splayed on the low table, head angled back, eyes closed. His breathing was slow and labored, his skin clammy. The medistat in my hand beeped and trilled as readings raced uselessly across its screen in a nonsensical pattern.

The medistat had no settings for a Kyi-Ragkiril in healing mode.

I shut it off and sank down onto the couch next to him.

He’d been beaten, bludgeoned by a wrench, and shot. The last had been a grazing wound, charring a small area of skin on his left side about the size of my palm. It would have put me in sick bay for a full shipday or two, with med-broches pumping in painkillers and anti-infection agents. His wound was almost healed.

The concussion and ruptured spleen were taking a little longer.

He opened one bruised eye and peered at Ren, who was sitting nervously on the edge of the cushioned chair next to the couch, hands clasped tightly together. “Last time we go on a drinking binge, eh?” Sully rasped.

“It was foolish,” Ren said. No rushing waters in his voice. It was muted, parched. “I should have known better. Discomfort or not, it placed you at great risk.”

The discomfort was the fact that Sully’s increasing abilities kept a restless energy surging through his body, an energy he’d not yet learned to control. Because he couldn’t, he’d taken to numbing it with honeylace. Lots of honeylace. More than I’d realized.

This time, Ren had joined him. An hour later Ren was numb and falling asleep while Sully was wide awake and, in his own words, unable to stop the tiny explosions ricocheting around in his body. He’d almost returned to our quarters to wake me—lovemaking was a kind of explosion he enjoyed—but he knew how little sleep I’d had in the past few days. So he did what Sully usually did when he was nervous. He paced. And he paced right into Gregor about to abscond with not only the Karn’s only shuttle, but a large amount of information on Sully and this ship as well.

He had no idea Aubry was in the bay too, until the short man hit him on the side of the head with a wrench.

That’s when Gregor shot Sully. And Sully found out that he’d ingested just enough honeylace that most of his Kyi-Ragkiril defensive talents were essentially offline. He couldn’t manipulate energy fields, he couldn’t levitate, he couldn’t create ghostly apparitions to threaten his attackers, and he couldn’t sway his attackers with his mind. He was still stronger and faster than a normal human but he bled and burned like one too.

He’d even tried to link to Ren and me and failed.

“When you showed up,” he said, wincing as he turned his face toward me, “I thought I was either hallucinating from the pain or I’d finally managed to shift some of the Kyi energy to make it appear help had arrived. Although honestly I think I would have manifested Verno, not you, angel. No offense.” His mouth quirked slightly.

“How did you know it was really me?”

The twist of his lips turned into a grin. “No one threatens to fry someone’s fucking brains quite like you do.”

“I should fry yours,” I murmured.

“It occurred to me you might feel that way.” His voice rasped again and he coughed. “Is that why you were wandering around the lower deck, armed?”

“I wasn’t wandering. I felt you either get hit or shot. I just followed the pain.”

This time he frowned. “You shouldn’t have been able to do that.” He shifted slightly, glancing at Ren for confirmation, and I felt the mental questioning nudge flow between them.

“The ky’saran link may run deeper than you realize,” Ren said after a moment.

“You said it’s also a life link,” I reminded him. “If your life was threatened, I’d know.”

“Knowing I’m injured is not the same as knowing where I am.”

Ren shrugged. “There are only so many places you could be on this ship.”

“No.” I looked from Ren back to Sully. “I knew exactly where you were. And I knew you were in trouble, and that I needed to be armed.”

“You’re not supposed to—” Sully huffed out a short sigh, but if it was frustration or pain, or both, I didn’t know. “Everything I’ve read about nullifying a ky’saran link shows honeylace, or some agent like that, to be an effective barrier.”

“Likely its effects were wearing off,” Ren said.

Sully didn’t comment. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back into the cushion again.

And then I realized what he’d said—everything I’ve read about nullifying a ky’saran link—and something tightened in my chest. A few hours ago, I’d thought he was planning his funeral. Now it sounded more like a divorce. But he couldn’t divorce me. We weren’t even married.

Looking to get rid of me, Sullivan?

I let the question hang in my mind. I had no idea if he was reading me or not.

Suddenly something heated against my thigh. My hand slid down, my fingers finding the outline of the playing card in my pocket. The one he’d left on my beside table.

I love you beyond all measure, Chasidah. His voice in my mind was a husky whisper. The tightness in my chest began to abate. But I am concerned when I no longer know who or what I’m asking you to love in return.

I brushed my hand down the side of his face. His skin was still chilled. “Try to sleep for at least an hour or two,” I told him. “Ren and I are going to take a look at what Gregor filched from our databanks.” And how Gregor was able to do it. “We’ll bring you up to date when you wake.”

His eyes fluttered open. They were fully dark again, fathomless. He nodded, then closed them. I stood and, with Ren’s help, shifted him so his legs were on the couch and his head against the armrest. I tucked a pillow under his head then brushed his lips with a soft kiss.

A small heat danced over my skin. Then a silvery glow flowed over his.

I followed Ren into the corridor, heat fading and worries flanking me like a contingent of the emperor’s most formidable bodyguards.

We were twelve hours from Narfial. Twelve hours from another data beacon. Twelve hours from either our best hope to date or our worst nightmare in a man we knew only as Del.

And the price of our mission was growing steeper by the hour.

“How is he?” Dorsie was waiting for us outside the door to the ready room. She had a red apron dotted with various stains over the long dark tunic shirt she usually wore, and a recognizable bulge on her right hip. She’d taken to wearing a weapon again. “If I was in the galley like you, Chaz, I might’ve heard the fight. I could’ve done something, maybe. Worthless sons of bitches.”

Visions of Dorsie charging into the shuttle bay, frying pan in one hand, fruit peeler in another, brought a small smile to my lips. I draped an arm over her shoulder and hugged her. “He’s better. He’ll probably be up and around in a few hours. Not that he should be. But you know Sully.”

Dorsie did. She’d been with him for several years.

“I can’t believe Gregor shot him.”

“Missed, mostly.” We’d had to downplay Sully’s injuries or there’d be no way to explain his rapid healing. Just as we’d lied about how I’d found Sully.

“Worthless son of a bitch,” she said again, then glanced up at Ren. “If those two slag-heads think I’m sending them anything good to eat, they can kiss my ass. Scraps and peelings are all they’re getting. Now, Sully!” And she brushed at the stains on her apron. “I have all his favorites whenever he’s hungry enough. Good food makes you stronger.” She switched her gaze to me. “We going to dump those assholes in a lockup on Narfial?”

“We’ll discuss that with Sully when he wakes up,” I told her.

“You’re not going to just let them go?”

“They know quite a bit about our mission, about Sully,” Ren said. “We have to be careful.”

“You can be careful. I’ll poison the bastards.” Dorsie gave me a brief hug, started to pat Ren on the backside, then caught herself and clasped his arm. She winked at me—there was no way Ren could see her aborted gesture—then headed down the corridor for the stairway.

I followed Ren into the ready room and waited for the door to close before I spoke. “A zral. Sully could wipe their minds of everything that’s happened since they signed on with him. Then it wouldn’t be a problem if we leave them on Narfial.”

“That’s an option,” Ren agreed, taking his usual place on the right side of the round table. “But there are people who know that Gregor worked for Sully for years. They might find sudden amnesia a cause for questions.”

“If Tage releases Thad’s information, they’ll have their answers.” I took Sully’s seat at the table’s midpoint—even though it was round. But it was midpoint to the room, back almost to the wall, with a clear view of the room’s two entrances. Never sit with your back to the door. I pulled up the deskscreen.

“You still think your brother will tell Tage about Sully?”

“My brother’s a smart man. He’ll bargain with the information that’s the most useful.” I could think of nothing more useful than finding out the mercenary you hunted—who in many ways had become a hero in the rim worlds and whose livelihood to a great extent depended on his acceptance there—was in fact a hated human Ragkiril. “I hope he’s smart enough to realize that no matter what he tells them, Burke will probably have him killed anyway. Thad knows about Sully. But he also knows about Burke’s involvement with Tage.”

“They may just subject him to a mind-wipe,” Ren said after a moment. “Then he’d no longer be a liability.”

I hoped that’s all they would do. Thad might even forget all the trouble I’d caused him. At some point, if he still remembered I was his sister, we could be friends. But that seemed a very long way off. We had more immediate problems in Gregor and Aubry.

When Sully had confronted Gregor in the shuttle bay, the man at first acquiesced, offering Sully a nervous, rambling explanation of what he was doing there. Honeylace notwithstanding, Sully’s empathic senses had picked up the lies immediately. His logic told him that shutting down ship communications had made Gregor skittish about his relationship with the Farosians. He’d ordered Gregor to dump out the contents of a duffel he’d been holding. Among other things, there were several portable data archivers, each about the size of two of Ren’s fingers. Small things, pocket-sized. But he had five of them. And he needed his pocket for his gun.

I had those archivers now and, one by one, I carefully loaded their contents into a protected section of the Karn’s computer. I had to assume there were traps. I had to assume they were coded in such a way that only Gregor could retrieve the information.

I assumed wrongly. For once, something was not going to be a mind-grinding challenge. Praise the stars. I shunted two of the archives over to Ren. He had his deskscreen on voice commands and slipped on a headset. I set my screen alarm for forty-five minutes. I’d check on Sully at that point, try to convince him to sleep a little longer. I didn’t anticipate that being an easy task.

Gregor had been gathering data for a while. One section I saw went back at least two years but there were older lists: ship names Sully had used, ports he’d docked at, contacts he had there. I saw Nathaniel Milo’s name, captain of the Diligent Keeper.

This older section was also the only one marked with colored tags: red, blue, yellow. I didn’t see any apparent pattern. That would take some work.

But I did see that a lot of the information in that archive and the second hadn’t been classified. Gregor’s position as pilot allowed him access to ship names, docks, and contacts. But other information seemed to be notes hastily made on overheard conversations.

Son of a bitch was an eavesdropper, or else had bugs planted. I made a note to check on that, sending a copy to Ren, which he listened to through his deskscreen’s transcriber and headset. I watched one eyebrow arch and then he shook his head sadly.

“It’s not like Sully to underestimate someone,” he said, pulling off his headset and holding it between his hands.

“At least we understand why Gregor reacted so vehemently when you and Sully did that mind-scan after the ship’s systems failure. He did have something to hide. It just wasn’t what we were looking for at the time.” Gregor had also threatened to leave then, obviously because he believed he’d no longer be able to keep his spying activities safe from Ren’s abilities.

But it hadn’t been Ren with the abilities.

Ren was nodding. “If Sully had performed a true mind-probe, he might have found out what Gregor was doing. I couldn’t convince him to do that, not even with me as a shield. Sully’s very uncomfortable with that part of himself, and was even more so then.”

“Because I didn’t know what he was,” I said softly. “We have that problem again, you know.”

“Sadly, Chasidah, it may be worse.” Ren put the headset down next to the deskscreen and leaned back in his chair. “Sully accepted his basic Ragkiril talents. He only feared your reaction. Now, he truly has little understanding or acceptance of what’s happening to him. He not only fears losing you, but he fears himself.” Ren huffed out a short sigh. “And I’ve been unable to be much help to him. Other than getting him drunk, and almost getting him killed.” His deep voice dropped lower.

“It’s not your fault—”

“Fully, no, but I am complicit. It…I…feel helpless.” Ren suddenly shoved himself out of the chair with a forcefulness and fluidity that reminded me that there was another side to Ren Ackravaro beside the gentle-voiced monk. Ren’s ancestors were predators, lithe and speedy underwater, and equally as commanding as hunters on land. Their clans’ histories were full of wars and conquering. I didn’t know anything personally about the Ackravaros—Ren’s clan-of-region—but if there was royalty in his blood, it wouldn’t surprise me. He often reminded me of a young warrior-prince, elegant and yet strong. He was anything but helpless.

As he strode to the far bulkhead, I wondered how powerful a Ragkiril he might have been had he not lost his sight as a child.

“I often feel helpless around Sully,” I told him. “He doesn’t like to listen.”

Ren’s broad shoulders slumped slightly and some of the stiffness left his spine. “There is that,” he agreed, turning. He leaned against the bulkhead then folded his arms across his chest. “My apologies, Chasidah. I’m not usually prone to tantrums.”

“You’re overdue.” I smiled and tried to send warm rainbows. “Don’t discount that whatever Sully’s going through is unsettling you. You link to him. You’re sensing his mood swings, just like I am. I’m not sleeping well either.”

“There are scholars on Stol who might help. They won’t speak to me, of course.”

Ren’s blindness was a condition considered a heinous sin, punishable by death on his home world.

“I’m his ky’sara. Would they answer a query from me?”

“Possibly. But they’d want to see Sully, test him. And I don’t see that happening in the near future.”

Traffic between the Empire and Stol was tightly regulated, all transit documents subjected to the highest level of scrutiny. Even if Sully’s forgeries could get him through the first two levels, the bioscans at the third would have him in lockup.

“Then we just have to do what we can with what we have,” I said as Ren took his seat. I turned back to Gregor’s files and a thought struck me. Gregor’s personal transmits contained the information he’d gleaned on Ragkirils. “Have you ever heard of the Harmony-One Project?”

Ren tilted his head thoughtfully. “No. Should I?”

“It was a study of Ragkirils done by the Xenocultural Department at West Baris University, in conjunction with Philip’s family. When I checked Gregor’s personal transmits, I found some articles he’d requested from there. Would you look at them later, tell me if there’s anything workable?”

“Absolutely.” Some warmth returned to Ren’s voice. He was being useful again.

My screen pinged. “I’m going to check on Sully,” I said, rising. “If he’s awake, I’ll tell him what we have so far. And try to convince him to go back to sleep, at least for another few hours.”

“You have my sympathies on the last one.” A light spatter of rain on bright blossoms was once again in Ren’s voice.

I slipped out into the corridor. It was empty but I could hear Verno’s voice coming from the bridge. Then Dorsie’s. Marsh was off duty, shift schedules shorter now with a limited crew.

Eleven hours to Narfial.

Sully was sitting at his desk, screen up, when our cabin door closed behind me. I bit back a sigh of frustration. He was wearing his favorite threadbare green-striped bathrobe, open to the waist so I could see the fading bruises mottling that finely sculpted chest, and an equally ratty pair of black pants. The robe’s sash was coiled, forgotten, at his bare feet.

“Hello, angel-mine,” he said. His voice was raspy and pain etched tight lines around his eyes.

“Shall I spout chapter and verse stating you shouldn’t be up? You should be resting, healing.” I crossed the short distance to the desk.

He tapped at the screen, blanking it, but not before I caught the word Ragkiril several times in the text.

“It’s the healing part that drains me, honest. I’m better than I look.”

I grasped his chin and tilted his face up. He must have showered because the matted blood was gone from his face and hair, though the stubble of his day-old beard prickled against my fingers. But at least he was no longer chilled. In fact, heat danced down my arm, over my shoulders…caressed my breasts with such expertise that my breath caught.

He winked. “Told you.”

I released his face. “I don’t know how in hell you managed to be celibate for all those years.” I’d seen him in his sand-gray monk’s garb, the same kind Ren and Drogue often wore. Even as Brother Sudral he managed to look sexy.

“Waiting for you. Making up for it now.”

I hiked myself up on the edge of his desk and sat. “How are you? Really?”

He looked up at me, eyes black, and without glancing down splayed open his hand. A small ball of light exploded over his palm. He closed his fingers, extinguishing it. “Doing better.”

I tapped the screen. “Finding answers?”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Gregor and Aubry are my more immediate concerns. What did you and Ren find?”

I told him what I had so far. He agreed about the possibility of some kind of listening device, punctuating his comments with several choice epithets that questioned Gregor’s parentage and size of—or lack of—manhood. “I have a hand-held that will neutralize any snooping devices.” He started to rise. I put one hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.

“I’ll get it. Tell me where.”

“Waiting on me, hand and foot now? I could get used to this.”

I slipped off the desktop then patted the gun at my side. “Don’t push your luck, Sullivan.”

“We can discuss exactly what I want to push and where later, if you like. But for now, what you’re looking for is in the back of my closet, bottom right drawer. Access code is your birth date.”

“Recently recoded?” I called out over my shoulder as I headed into the bedroom.

“Since before Port Chalo.”

I was squatting down in front of his open closet. I leaned back on my heels and looked at him. He responded by arching one dark eyebrow.

Port Chalo had been more than three years ago, right when Philip and I had divorced and I’d run in to Sully in a dark little bar where no one ever asked about rank or allegiances or outstanding arrest warrants. I’d seen him there before—mostly alone, though once or twice with Marsh. But that night had been just Sully. It was also the first time he’d kissed me.

My addiction to Fleet protocols had made me dismiss the entire encounter as something that happens when Chaz gets drunk. But that wasn’t what had been going on at all.

I tapped the keypad and opened the drawer. An interior light blinked on. Wow. The glint of at least a dozen high-tech devices caught my eye, neatly nestled between padded separators. I recognized some as Fleet special issue. Very special issue. Others were unfamiliar.

Top row, third from the left. An image came into my mind. I matched it to a small unit.

You know, I told him as I palmed the device that clearly wasn’t Fleet issue, I can’t tell anymore when you open and close your link with me. I used to be able to. Now, you’re just there, or not.

Silence.

Sully?

Umm, yes. Sorry. That’s part of the ky’saran link we have. It’s just natural, effortless after a while. Does it bother you?

I closed the drawer, heard the lock cycle on. Only when I need you to be listening and I’m not sure you are.

Husbands never listen to their wives. That’s part of our job.

I exited the bedroom, not about to raise the issue—again—that a ky’saran link is not a marriage. At least not in the edicts of any church I knew. He watched me approach, eyes hooded.

“I need to know when you’re listening,” I repeated out loud. “It could come in handy the next time someone tries to beat you senseless in a shuttle bay.”

“I don’t intend to let that happen again.”

“That’s not the point.” I handed him the unit.

He took it. How it operated and the functions of the various icons on its screen appeared in my mind as he flicked the power button. I knew what he knew, just as I had in the slippery space of the jump.

See, there are positives.

I heard the defensive tone in his voice. It was small but it was there. Or maybe I felt it. It was becoming hard to tell. “I’m not complaining. I’m trying to get better at this link between us. You know so much more about it than I do.”

He snorted. “Don’t count on that.” He angled the unit out and moved it in a wide, slow arc. Colors danced over the small screen. Delightfully simple yet accurate. Green areas are clear. Red dots are snoopers. Yellow dots are deactivated snoopers, or ones set to time-delay signals.

Our quarters read clear but I took the unit and marched around with it, including into the lavatory, until I was fully satisfied.

I turned the power off. “Nice to know Gregor wasn’t listening in on our bedroom antics,” I said as I pocketed it. I’d sweep the whole ship shortly.

“Shame he wasn’t. He might have had more respect for me.” He folded his hands over his bare stomach and crossed his feet at the ankles.

I leaned one hip against the desk. I thought about sitting but I needed to get back to Ren and the rest of Gregor’s data. “What are we going to do about his and Aubry’s lack of respect?”

“His doesn’t surprise me. Aubry’s…” and he hesitated, shaking his head. “God, that’s a huge disappointment. I don’t know if he’s that good or I’m that stupid, but I had no idea.”

“You’re not alone. I considered it and dismissed it too, if you remember.”

“Yes, but now I’m starting to question my policy of never fully checking my crew’s minds. There’ve been times in the past when I could see a problem coming up, usually after a long stay at dock and they’d been out drinking, bedding prostis, that kind of thing. Someone comes home with their feelings hurt. Maybe a black eye or two. So I’d poke around, lightly, see what the grudge was about because I knew damned well no one was going to tell me. Or there’ve been times when I knew Marsh was upset. You know his family’s had some bad setbacks.” He glanced at me briefly. I nodded.

“He won’t tell me those kinds of things easily.” His attention was back on the wall again. The wall and a galaxy a couple of million light-years away. “So I’d peek and find out there was a money shortage. Or a medical problem. And I’d give him a bonus. Hell, I’d make up some reason why. Marsh is very proud. If he knew I was being charitable, he’d probably punch me in the mouth. But I won’t scan my crew for their loyalty. I don’t…like being in people’s minds that much—or that deeply.”

“Why?”

Silence. A shrug.

“Is it painful? Disorienting?” I remembered Sully accessing the Kyi’s powers on Marker. It tired him, drained him of energy. But that hadn’t happened lately.

He moved his gaze down to his folded hands. “It’s addicting,” he said finally. “I told you.” His voice held a harsh note and he looked at me, his expression blank, almost bleak. “I can do more than listen. I can control. That’s how a zral—a zragkor—works. I can put thoughts in their minds and those thoughts become their own, the same way I showed you the scanner unit just now. You accepted everything I sent. Immediately. I could have sent you the command to put your gun to your head and press the trigger. You would have done it, without question. It’s that easy.”

He turned his face away and focused on that distant galaxy on the wall.

“But you don’t do things like that,” I said gently.

“The only reason Gregor and Aubry are still alive is not that I don’t do things like that, Chasidah. But my damned drunken stupor blocked what I wanted.”

But those were extenuating circumstances! “Sully—”

“You asked what I wanted to do about Gregor and Aubry. I’ll tell you what I want. Do not, under any circumstances, let me near them. Because this time I will kill them. And it will not be slow, pleasant, or pleasurable, in spite of all the crap you’ve been reading about Ragkirils.”

Fear. I don’t know if it was his or mine, but I felt it, and the Grizni bracelet around my wrist tingled in warning. The woman named Chaz wanted to march out the door. The woman who was Captain Bergren held her ground. I can’t say I’d faced worse fears, but I’d faced enough. And running away only made them surface again at some later date.

It took a few moments of heavy, tense silence. Then, sadness. Sorry. Lately I excel at being an ass.

I shook my head. “Do you remember what you told me on the Loviti? That the hand that caresses can also kill? I know you feel different as a Ragkiril, but you’re not. I’ve spent my life working with fully armed crew members, any one of whom could have shot me in the back without warning. They didn’t. A gun or a Ragkiril’s mind still needs the desire, the intent, to push that trigger.” I hesitated then grabbed onto something he’d just said and turned it back on him. “Stop letting that crap you read about Ragkirils define you.”

The stiffness left his shoulders. Slowly, he turned his face toward me. “Do you have any idea,” he said quietly, “how much I love you?”

The undisguised emotion in his voice and on his face made a small lump form in my throat. My voice was husky when I answered him. “Enough, I hope, to keep talking to me. Keep being honest with me. Even if you think I won’t like what you have to say.”

He reached for my hand and brought it to his lips, then closed his eyes, his mouth warm against my fingers. “Beyond measure,” he said finally. He released my hand. “Go zap those snoopers, angel.”

“Dorsie’s anxious to see you. She’s been in a culinary frenzy. I hope you’re hungry.”

He gave me a small smile. “Give me a minute, then send her in.”

“You have five,” I told him as I squatted down, then picked up his robe’s sash from the floor. Rising, I wound it into a ball, then tossed it against his bare chest. He grabbed it as I turned for the door. “And put on a shirt. It’s bad enough how she ogles Ren. I don’t need her fantasizing about you too.”

I looked back to find his grin broadening.

“The best way to a man’s heart—”

“—is one clean shot from a Stinger, point blank, set to kill,” I said, tapping the pistol on my hip. Then I ducked quickly, darting into the corridor as the balled-up sash whizzed by my head.

I zapped three red snoopers. The first one was in the galley dining area, where I sent a gleeful Dorsie up to see Sully with a large covered tray of things that smelled awfully good. The second was in the corridor just outside Ren’s door. Gregor’s paranoia over abilities Ren didn’t have. The third was on the bridge.

Marsh had come on duty. “Fucking piece-of-shit slag-head.” He slammed his fist against the back of the empty pilot’s chair. “I never liked him, never trusted him, not since the day Dorsie and I came on board. Slimy bastard. Even Fleet didn’t want him. Oh, sorry.” He glanced sheepishly at me, remembering I was something else Fleet didn’t want.

“No offense taken.” I waited until he was out of arm’s reach of the chair before I slid in. I brought up ship’s course and speed. Less than eight hours to Narfial and the next data beacon. How would Marsh feel when he found out his boss was a Ragkiril?

For a moment I considered telling him. The entire crew had been through a lot. Too much. It didn’t seem fair to have one more thing sprung on them, one more thing to tear away the trust they’d had as a working unit committed to a common goal. In Fleet, we’d have called a general crew meeting by now. There was a need to know.

But this wasn’t Fleet.

“Aubry,” Marsh was saying, “now he was always a little strange, but he never bothered anyone. He did what he was told and he did it well. It wouldn’t surprise me if Gregor blackmailed him into helping. That would make more sense than his turning against Sully like that. I mean, Sully’s a real prince. He does everything for us. All of us.”

Marsh stopped and wiped one large hand over his mouth. “I’m not supposed to know about the money he’s sent to my family on Umoran. Every now and then, I hear about this unexpected deposit that shows up in my mother’s account. Once it was even a new enviro unit for the house. Truck pulls up, says here you go, Miz Ganton, drives off. Brand new. Top of the line. Better than the governor has, I swear.

“Sully doesn’t know I know. Don’t tell him.” Marsh looked at me. “But that’s not why I stay with him. It’s not bribery. It’s Sully. What he is, what he does. He’s just always there. He’d die for us. I know that. We all know that. Or I thought we did.” He shook his head sadly.

I headed back to the ready room, my mind sorting through the variations of Gabriel Sullivan: mercenary, philanthropist, pirate, teacher, monk, poet, mutant, lover, friend. A man at odds with his world and himself. A man who would die for his friends—if they didn’t kill him first. A man who loved me enough to risk the most intimate link that could be shared between lovers. A man who loved me enough to send me back to my ex-husband in order to keep me safe from harm—and from himself.

Ren raised his face as I entered and pulled his headset down around his neck, partly obscuring the faint lines of his gill slits. “Not sleeping, I take it?”

I shook my head and sat. “Researching Ragkirils, from what I caught a glimpse of. But he knows he needs to rest. I think he will. Plus Dorsie was bringing him a feast. Any surprises from Gregor?”

Ren sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “The good news is I don’t see anything that could have been in Sully’s confidential files. Except for that first unit, which seems to be old data, it looks like Gregor simply copied anything he could over the last four months. There appears to be no pattern. It was quantity over quality. That leads me to believe he didn’t initiate this, but rather was acting on someone else’s instructions.”

“Like the thief who steals the imitations along with the gems.”

“Using that analogy, he took everything, including the furniture. I don’t think he knew what he was looking for. But whoever was to receive this would.”

“And whoever was to receive this has gotten data on Sully before,” I said, not liking what I was hearing at all.

“That’s my guess. But there’s another problem.” He hesitated. “I used the visualizer to examine these units. It’s not a perfect method, but it’s the only way I can do it. I need you or Sully or Marsh—if you trust him—to look at them. I don’t think they’re from the same manufacturer Sully usually uses.”

“They’re not from Pops, you mean,” I said, naming the affable, bald-headed man whose ship’s supplies and repair services Sully had used for years. I’d met him and his daughter—who ogled Sully much in the same way that Dorsie ogled Ren—on Dock Five. Sully trusted Pops implicitly. And Pops knew Sully was also Ross Winthrop.

“Pops may well carry these units. I just know they’re not ones Sully buys.”

“That would make sense. If Gregor used ship’s inventory, it would show archivers as missing. I’d guess the Farosians supplied him with these.”

“They’re not of Tos Faros manufacture,” Ren said. “That much the visualizer confirmed.”

I picked one up. I’d seen dozens of archivers in my career. This was a nice, sturdy unit but I couldn’t see anything remarkable about it. “So whose are they?”

“I was running searches on that when you returned. If these units are indeed Vadny-Vier archivers, they’re sold mostly in Baris and Aldan. Two of the largest customers in the past five years are the Englarian church—I recognized their procurement office codes—and Guthrie Global Systems.”

I sat very still. “That’s crazy. Why would the Englarians care what Sully was doing? He was helping them, sending medical supplies to their clinics on the rim!”

“You forget the church is now split, Purity and Reformed. Drogue is Reformed. But Purity still upholds the necessity of beheading all Ragkirils. For the most part, it’s done symbolically in temple services, but I’ve heard talk of a radical movement. A violent one. They’d be after Sully not as a Ragkiril—I doubt they’d know—but because of me. Or his friendship with Trel.”

I thought of Sister Berri Solaria, certainly one of the more violent Purity Englarians in the empire. I could easily see her commanding a warship, had she lived. I didn’t think she knew Trel, the Stolorth bartender on Dock Five. But she’d hated Ren.

And then there was Guthrie Global Systems. Philip—but it wouldn’t be Philip. Admiral Philip Guthrie was the anomaly in his family. He hadn’t followed his siblings and cousins into the moneyed business careers that made up the conglomerate known as Guthrie Global Systems—which was Empire-wide, not just global in scope. I knew very little about Guthrie Global. Sully would know more.

And Sully would love to prove Gregor had been hired by my ex-husband.

“We need to know who else Gregor was working for. And Aubry.” I couldn’t discount him.

“Sully can find that out.”

“Sully,” I told Ren, “specifically states he won’t do that.”

Ren tilted his head slightly, regarding me quizzically with his sightless silver eyes.

“He told me he won’t be able to stop himself from killing them. And not nicely,” I said quietly.

“He doesn’t really mean—”

“He does.” I ran my hands over my face. “Ren, whatever’s happening to him is tearing him apart. He doesn’t trust himself. He’s even mentioned sending me back to Philip for my own safety.”

“Then we have serious problems, Chasidah. These archivers that Gregor had: three of the five are copies. The data you decoded showed embedded transmission date headers. Two were sent just before we left Dock Five, but the last Aubry sent out right before Sully found Gregor and Aubry in the bay. We never thought to block Aubry’s transmits. Whoever received those knows what ship we are, who’s on board, and that we’re scheduled to dock at Narfial.”

“It has to be the Farosians. They already intercepted us.”

“That interception was in Gregor’s data. The full audio feed as well. I don’t think the Farosians pay to be informed of what they already know.”

No, they wouldn’t. And each archiver had finite data storage space. An audio feed ate up a lot of that. So someone else was following Sully. Someone who would pay to know the Farosians were too.

The possibilities were legion. But it kept coming back to three: Tage and Burke; a radical, violent movement in the Englarian church; or the Guthries, who’ve been studying Ragkirils for decades and just might like a rare human specimen. Dead or alive.

“You’re going to have to convince Sully to probe Gregor and Aubry,” Ren said quietly, “or we may find a very unpleasant and unexpected problem waiting for us at Narfial.”

Sully had put a shirt on. Black long-sleeved thermal shirt, black pants, boots. Weapons belt holding his Carver-12 hanging at an angle around his waist. He’d shaved and was clearly on his way out—back to the bridge, engineering, ready room, somewhere—when Ren and I stepped through the opening door into the captain’s quarters.

He looked up in surprise, then his face blanked.

“No.”

I didn’t know if he was reading Ren or me. It didn’t matter. He knew why we were there.

I grabbed his forearm and dragged him away from the door, back in the direction of the couch. I had no intention of conducting this conversation within earshot of the corridor.

The remnants of Dorsie’s ministrations were stacked on the galley counter. Three large plates, all empty. A bit of brown gravy and a crust of bread were all that was left. Sully had always had an amazing appetite.

“You inhaled that in record time,” I said.

He ignored my comment. “No, Chaz. I can’t. You know why.” He switched his gaze to Ren, who leaned against the edge of the desk much as I had earlier. “You do too.” His voice hardened. “I shouldn’t even have to explain this to you.”

“Dorsie went to a lot of trouble to cook all your favorite dishes,” I said. I still held on to his arm. I gave it a little shake, bringing his attention back to me. “And I’ve just spent forty minutes on the bridge, listening to Marsh sing your praises. You owe it to them, to keep them safe.”

“Not that way.” He slipped his arm out of my grasp then ran one hand through his hair. “If nothing else, I’m not 100 percent yet.”

Wonderful time for him to admit that, yes, he should still be in bed.

“We have a few hours—”

“Sully.” Ren cut into my offer of more time, echoes in his voice of a river rushing relentlessly downstream. “Gregor sold out to more than just the Farosians. This is our problem.”

Sully’s hand dropped down from his hair, his eyes snapping to black, taking in Ren, taking in me. Suddenly my brain felt as if it were a comp system on maximum download. Images, information whipped through—all of Gregor’s data, things I didn’t even remember reading, the tiny Vadny-Vier logo imprinted on the archivers, Marsh’s words: He’d die for us. Nayla Dalby’s voice. The red snooper, blinking in Dorsie’s galley. And more. Berri Solaria’s angelic face. Philip’s worried frown. The article on Ragkirils from the West Baris University professor. Then Gregor’s colored-coded list. And the embedded time stamps showing transmission of the data.

“Fuck.” Sully turned away and strode for the bulkhead viewport.

I didn’t realize I was wobbling until Ren grabbed my elbow, steadying me.

“For someone who’s not 100 percent, you sure did that easily enough,” I said, anger vying briefly with amazement.

Sully made a fist against the viewport. “You’re ky’sara to me, Chasidah. It’s impossible for you to say no, to block me.”

All that I am is yours. The phrase surfaced from memory, not from Sully. And it just took on a whole new meaning.

“Gregor and Aubry,” Sully continued, still facing the big wide darkness beyond, “will fight it. Gregor especially. He’s been around both Ragkir and Ragkirils in Fleet. You saw his transmits. He’s tried to learn more, especially blocking techniques. Not that they’ll work.” He shook his head then angled around toward me. “Remember when I read Guthrie in your brother’s office? He knew. He tried to block me. Idiot. And I wasn’t even half then what I am—” He stopped, lips thinning.

What are you now? I wanted to ask but didn’t. He probably heard the thought, anyway. And I knew he didn’t know the answer.

“If you need to rest for an hour, then do so,” Ren said. “But it appears our assumption that Gregor and Aubry were running to the Farosians may be in error. And that error could cost lives. The Purity Brigade is not something to trifle with.”

Sully stared at us. “We don’t know it’s them.”

“Exactly,” I said, meeting him stare for stare.

A tense silence filled the room.

“Fuck,” he said again, softer this time. He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and dropped his gaze to the floor, then brought it up. “Let me think about this.”

“If you want me there to act as if I’m doing the probe, I’m willing,” Ren said.

“You think I give a damn that Gregor finds out what I am? He’s not going to remember shit when I finish. But I can’t risk that I might—” He stopped, lips thinning once more. “Things could go wrong. Very wrong.”

“Nothing went wrong when you did the zral on Kingswell and Tessa Paxton,” I reminded him. When we’d hijacked the Meritorious from Moabar Station, Sully had erased the memories of our presence from the two officers on board. Except for some disorientation and a block of time that would never return, they were fine.

“And if the zral I try on Gregor turns out to be a zragkor and I kill him? Can you live with that, Chasidah? Can you live with me? Damn it all, woman. I don’t know if I can live with me!”

I turned from the pained expression on his face to Ren. “If you’re there, can you balance him somehow? Hold him back?”

“If he’s there,” Sully said harshly, before Ren could answer, “I could kill him too. He’d be linked to me, Ragkir to Ragkiril. It doesn’t matter at that level that he’s blind. If what’s in me views him as a threat, just the mere act of thinking about pushing him away could kill him.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Do you understand now?”

The Grizni bracelet tingled around my wrist. Fear had filled the room, an almost suffocating sensation. And it was coming from Sully, centered on Sully.

“You could be overestimating your abilities,” Ren said quietly.

Sully gave a short, harsh laugh. “I wish to hell I was.”

“You didn’t kill Gregor when you made him sick before jump,” I pointed out.

“No, I just damned near made him comatose for a full shipday. And I wasn’t even in the same room with him. That was half of a thought. Half of half of a thought to do that.”

And the fact that he could do that disgusted him.

“Okay,” I said. “So you’re not overestimating your abilities. Then you’re underestimating yourself—your humanity, your compassion. It bothers you that you can do these things. That is your check and balance, right there. When it stops bothering you, then I’ll kick your ass out of my bed. But until that time, we need your help.”

He walked over to me, put two fingers under my chin, and tipped my face up. “I don’t underestimate my humanity or compassion. You are my humanity and compassion, angel. You’re the only thing keeping me sane anymore.”

“Then have Chasidah in the interrogation with you,” Ren said.

His fingers slid from my face, fisting. “She doesn’t need to see that side of me.”

“She won’t. You’ll control yourself because of her. And as your ky’sara, and a human not a Ragkiril one, her link with you can’t be perceived as a threat.”

Sully started to turn away but I grabbed his fist, wrapping my fingers around his. “I’m willing to be there. We have to at least try.”

He stood stiffly, not pulling out of my grasp but not responding in kind either. “How much time do we have?” he asked finally.

“About nine hours to Narfial’s outer beacon. I don’t want to cut it too close, Sully. We’ll need time to react to whatever you learn from Gregor and Aubry.”

This time he did pull away. He dropped down on the sofa, elbows on his knees, and scrubbed at his face with both hands.

“And we also need to get some sleep,” I added. “You didn’t get much last night. Neither did I. Even if whoever Gregor’s working for isn’t an immediate threat, we have Del to deal with. And we’re shorthanded. This is no time for us to be working on the edges of exhaustion.”

I waited for him to quip that he could help with my exhaustion, but he didn’t. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, his mouth pressed against his fisted hands. Several minutes passed before he nodded. “Let’s get this over with.” He shoved himself to his feet.

“I’ll get Verno to bring—”

“Not the ready room. The storage room next to the brig. We use that. I don’t want crew around.” His face was impassive but his eyes were fully dark.

Ren extended his hand. “If you need me…”

“I need you to pray, my friend. Just pray. Hell is a dark and lonely place. The two of you are the only light I have.”

He strode for the door, stopping only to strip off his weapons belt. He looked over his outstretched arm at me and Ren as he hooked it on the peg. “That will get Gregor thinking. He’ll wonder why I’d risk confronting him unarmed. By the time he figures it out, it won’t matter anymore.”

I heard his bitterness clearly. I could almost taste his fear. “Sully—”

“Lower deck, Chasidah. Five minutes.” He slapped at the palm pad then disappeared into the corridor.

Gregor and Aubry may have been in the brig, but it was Sully who was the caged animal. The storage room was empty save for a heavy square metal table and four chairs. Sully had dragged one chair out to the corridor. He would talk to Aubry first, then Gregor.

He might as well have dragged two. He wouldn’t sit. He stood, arms folded, back braced to the wall. Then hands shoved in pockets, boots splayed wide, head bowed. Verno was waiting for my signal to bring in Aubry. I needed to make sure Sully was ready to do this.

Don’t give up on me, angel-mine. No matter what you hear or see. Remember, please, this isn’t the only thing I am.

Aubry tried to kill you. Whatever he and Gregor are doing has hurt all of us. And you remember. I’m Fleet. We’re used to a little pain.

This could be a lot more than a little.

Are you forgetting who was fighting by your side in the shuttle bay in Marker?

He stopped staring at his boots and lifted his head slightly. A sad smile played over his mouth. You’re a half-decent shot. For a girl.

I took the reemergence of his quips as a good sign. I reached over and tapped the brig icon on the intraship panel on the wall. “Ready, Verno.”

“On our way, Captain Chasidah.”

Sully swore softly and, arms crossed over his chest, leaned back against the wall again with a thump.

“Bergren. Sullivan.” Aubry’s high-pitched voice held no note of nervousness as he stood stiffly on the other side of the table. I was no longer Captain Bergren to him. I wondered if I ever was.

“Sit down,” I told him. He glanced up at Sully, towering behind me, then sat. His gray short-sleeved shirt was ripped and stained. His thick short hair—not quite brown and not quite ginger—stuck out in odd spikes. The bruises on the side of his face were dark and ugly. They hadn’t healed as quickly as Sully’s. It looked as if Sully had fought back.

Kicked the shit out of him, until Gregor shot me.

“Would you like to make a statement before we begin?” I asked Aubry.

He frowned then shrugged. He’d never known Fleet or its protocols. “I didn’t steal nothing. I’m just tired of this, okay? I want out. Off the ship. Gregor said he did too, so there we were. You want to put me off on Narfial, that’s fair. You go your ways. I go mine.”

“You tried to kill me.” Sully’s voice was quiet, hard.

“I thought you was going to kill Gregor. I mean, you was like crazy or something. I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted to leave.”

I heard something in the back of my mind. It was the smallest of sounds. A whisper, little dust motes of words. Don’t tell. Run. Won’t know. Stupid. Fear. Asshole. Can’t kill me. Leave. There’s time. Lies.

I fought the desire to shake my head to clear it.

Ignore it, Chasidah. Sully’s voice. Clear, gentle. The word-motes hushed, hushed…

“Who’s paying you and Gregor to steal information from my ship?” Sully asked.

Aubry snorted. “Paying me? What, you think I’m working for Fleet or something? She’s the Fleeter.” Aubry jabbed one finger in my direction.

Blame her. Bitch. Gregor knows. Fucks Sully. Fucks Ren too.

Energy vibrated through Sully.

Down, boy, I told him.

“Who is paying you and Gregor to steal information?” Sully repeated, more slowly this time, spacing the words out as if his teeth were clenched. I didn’t doubt they were.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The word-motes changed tone. Not Aubry thinking but Aubry remembering what Gregor said. Got something good. Big money. He’ll never know. Fuckin’ Burke’s a waste. Real money. Ship. Weapons.

There was more, but I couldn’t catch it. It was so small, muted, I wasn’t even sure what I heard was correct.

Behind me, Sully shifted, leaning down so his palms were flat on the tabletop. He was shoulder to shoulder to me. Almost eye level with Aubry. I couldn’t see Sully’s eyes. I didn’t have to. He said two words.

“Hayden. Burke.”

Aubry twitched slightly. “What?” Then he froze, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

And suddenly sounds, voices, faces, colors, smells…everything raced past the edges of my mind in a nauseating blur. I tried to focus on it but I couldn’t. It would suck me in, down.

I stared at my hands, surprised to find they weren’t shaking. I wasn’t even sure they were my hands. So I wrapped my thumb and forefinger around the Grizni, feeling its smooth cool surface.

My world righted itself. The word-motes kept streaming by at impossible speeds but for some strange reason, as long as I held on to that bracelet, I was balanced.

Silence. Then a huge exhalation of air. Aubry, head bowed, forearms leaning against the table. He swayed, sucked in more air. Shuddered some out.

I looked over at Sully, and for the first time saw the silvery haze floating around him. I followed its path. Tendrils of it coiled over Aubry’s head, chest, and shoulders. Sully was in profile to me, his face impassive as Aubry shuddered and swayed, the tendrils moving with him—or moving him. I couldn’t tell.

Something told me I should be very afraid. I didn’t want to think about that right now. Aubry was someone who’d hurt us. He’d tried to kill Sully. And Sully had done this before, this zral, this retrieval of information. This removal of a memory.

We could leave Aubry on Narfial. He’d find work as a drive mechanic on some other ship. But he’d never remember Gabriel Sullivan or Chasidah Bergren.

Aubry’s head dropped onto his arms. I looked closely. He was breathing, his eyes closed.

“Sully?” I said his name softly, almost as softly as the word-motes that had raced through my mind.

Sully was still braced against the table but his head was bowed. And he was breathing hard, his chest heaving. I didn’t know if I should touch him. Just like when he’d saved Ren’s life, and Philip’s. His head had been bowed then too, his breathing ragged.

And just as when he’d saved their lives, he edged one hand toward me, turning it, palm up. Asking. Needing. I took his hand. A rush of heat flowed into me then out of me again, back to him.

Still with me? Angel?

You’re stuck with me, Sullivan.

Damn. Slowly he lowered himself onto the chair. That’s the best news I’ve had in decades.

I contacted Verno again and he carried the slumbering Aubry back to the small lockup. Gregor had his own cell but we wouldn’t talk to him for at least fifteen minutes. Sully needed water, lots of it. And we needed to talk.

Sully sprawled in the chair, a large bottle of water in front of him that had been full minutes ago. Now it was almost empty.

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. I didn’t remember him being this tired after he’d read Philip’s mind on Marker. But he had been drained after the zrals he did on Kingswell and Paxton, so maybe reading thoughts and erasing them were different. And he was still healing.

“Who’s Aubry working for?” I asked him.

He huffed out a sigh of frustration. “Gregor. All that work and the son of a bitch doesn’t know a goddamned thing that we hadn’t guessed. Gregor tells him what to do and he does it, for the stated fee.” He shot me a glance. “Aubry’s not exactly a self-starter.”

“But you mentioned Burke!”

“Gregor rambled about a lot of things to Aubry, one of which is the fact that Tage and Burke want me dead. Gregor feels the whole thing’s about my family’s money. He’s fascinated by my money—or Burke’s money, as he sees it. He told Aubry a couple of times that whatever he could get out of me, he could get double out of Burke, if he wanted to. He said he had plans. But he never told Aubry what those plans were, or if Burke was part of them.

“So it could be Burke. It could be the Farosians. It could be someone else entirely. The thing is, Aubry never bothered to ask. He didn’t even know what Gregor had in the duffel.”

“Where were they going with our shuttle?”

“Walker Colonies, for starters. Gregor told Aubry he had enough money to get a ship. Gregor would pilot. Aubry would keep the engines running. They’d split the take on whatever jobs they did.”

“What kind of jobs?”

“Whatever Gregor told him to do.”

I must have had a completely incredulous expression on my face because Sully reached over and patted my hand. “Chasidah. I could tell you the man’s a moron, but that would lead you to believe he has more intelligence than he does. I’ve been in his mind. Trust me. Except for what he knows about ship’s drives, it’s all vacant real estate in there.”

“A little more vacant, now.”

The fingers that had been stroking mine stilled. “He’s stupid enough to say something. I couldn’t take that chance.”

“Sully.” I paused after his name as he had after mine. “The man tried to cut your brain in half with a wrench. The fact that you left his with a few new holes is nothing you need apologize for.”

He squeezed my hand then brought it to his lips.

“Was it painful for him? For you?” I knew I was still processing that I’d been part of a zral. Despite what we’d been taught at the academy, it hadn’t left Aubry writhing on the floor in pain. Still…

“I’ve seen him drink. He’s likely had worse hangovers.” He was holding my hand tightly. “He was easier than I thought. There was no resistance. So I did everything I could to make sure there won’t be problems. I don’t like this, Chasidah. I really don’t. You know that.”

“You want to take a break? An hour?” I was worried how much Aubry seemed to drain him, though the color had come back to his face now.

“I want this finished,” he said. “And I don’t want to have to do this again.”

Gregor said nothing when Verno closed the door behind him. So I decided to give him something to think about. After all, that was why we were here.

“Sit down, Mr. Gregoran.”

Like Aubry, his clothes were torn and stained, his face bruised, and a dark crusted trail over his mouth and cheek suggested a considerable nosebleed. His thinning brown hair was plastered to his head. He stared at Sully, once again leaning against the wall behind me. Then his gaze dropped to me.

He’s wondering if you’re armed, Sully told me. He’s delightfully puzzled that I’m not.

Does he honestly think he can make a run for it?

He’s sizing up the situation, getting his lies in line.

Evidently satisfied with what he saw, Gregor eased down into the chair.

“Would you like to make a statement, Mr. Gregoran?”

“What is this, fucking Fleet?”

I gave Sully a mental nudge. Is he even wondering how I know his name?

I received an affirmative mental nod.

“Meevel.” I used his first name deliberately. “Would you like to make a statement?”

Gregor’s gaze darted around the small room. “Where’s the blue-skinned mind-fucker?”

The tiny whispers of word-motes started again. Reading me. Another room. Behind me? Fuck them. Bitch.

I was less surprised by their appearance this time and tuned them out, including his various intimate and insulting descriptives of my anatomy. His command of profanity was impressive, but it wasn’t anything I’d not heard before somewhere, sometime on the decks or the docks.

“We have the archivers. We found the snoopers,” I told him. “We know about your gambling debts. It must be difficult keeping up with those, even with what Sully was paying you.”

“That’s my business.”

“It becomes mine, Meevel, when you put the Farosians on our tail. But then you sold them out too, didn’t you?”

He leaned his elbow on the left arm of the chair. “I got nothing to say to you, Bergren.” He all but spat out my name.

“Then talk to me.” Sully’s voice was low, flat, angry. He took one step forward and out of the corner of my eye I could see him standing, his arms still folded over his chest. I couldn’t see his face. I didn’t have to. His voice said it all.

“Sure, Sully.” Gregor’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Here goes. Fuck you.” Kill. Space me anyway. Alive. This long.

“You think I’m going to kill you, space you anyway,” Sully said, parroting Gregor’s thoughts back to him. “Why have I even kept you alive this long?”

Gregor’s eyes widened briefly. Ren. Back room. Transmitter.

“Ren’s not on this deck. There is no back room. No transmitter. It’s just you and Captain Bergren. And me.”

A high-pitched sound squealed softly through my mind. It halted. Started again. Halted. I realized Gregor was creating the sound and Sully was stopping it.

“That’s a useless technique,” Sully said, a tone of dry amusement in his voice. “I hope you didn’t pay a lot of money for it.”

Gregor’s widened eyes narrowed then he frowned. Blind. Mind-reader. Can’t kill. “I don’t know what you’re talking—”

Silver haze suddenly erupted through the room. Gregor flew backward in his chair as if hit by a blast from an ion cannon. His head smacked against the wall, spittle flying from his mouth.

Gripping the edge of the table, I half-rose out of my seat, a surge of adrenaline almost forcing me to my feet. The silver haze evaporated as quickly as it appeared.

Sully hadn’t moved.

“Now you do,” Sully said, his voice deathly quiet, as I sat down again. “Now you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Gregor struggled to right himself, grabbing onto the arms of the chair. His eyes were wild. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Sully said. “We can do it the easy way or the hard way. You’ve just had a very small taste of the hard way. Choice is yours. Make it. Now.”

Sully? I could fear Gregor’s fear. But I also felt Sully’s anger simmering rapidly. Anger that hadn’t surfaced against Aubry.

It’s okay. Gregor has to be handled differently.

Sully had warned me when I first arrived on the Karn that the only thing Gregor respected was physical force. But the physical force of a Kyi-Ragkiril was considerable.

Trust me.

We just need who he’s working for, I told him. Who’s waiting for us at Narfial.

That’s all I want too.

Gregor gripped the arms of the chair but didn’t pull back to the table. It was a distance of only three or four feet. But he seemed to need that space between Sully and himself. No, not Sully. The word-motes still whispered of Ren.

“Why do you need me to tell you,” Gregor ground out, “if your pet mind-fucker can pull that stuff from my head?”

“I don’t,” Sully replied. “But pulling will entail pain. Lots of it. That doesn’t bother me at all. Captain Bergren, however, objects.”

I do. Something prickled over my mind, my skin. I could actually feel Sully’s power building. I could feel the dark regions of the Kyi calling him, seducing him.

It’s okay.

A wave of warmth tumbled through me, a gentling. This was Sully. Not that seething darkness…

Gregor wiped a hand down his thin face, his eyes suddenly wary. Snippets of Ragkiril lore filled the word-motes, popping in and out of my mind like a thousand tiny bubbles.

“Let’s start with the Farosians,” Sully prompted.

“You didn’t know Nayla Dalby,” I added, “but you knew the Interceptor would find us. You helped it find us. Why?”

“I hate Fleet. Fleet hates Dalby,” Gregor said but some of the bravado was gone from his voice. “Simple enough.”

“No, it’s not,” I told him. “Fleet hates Sully. How long have you been feeding the Farosians information about the Karn? About Sully?”

Gregor’s gaze jerked up to Sully. “You should’ve listened to them, worked with them.”

“I’m not interested in getting you a bigger bonus,” Sully replied smoothly. “Seventy thousand, was it? Sorry. Your loss.”

Once again, Gregor frowned. Once again, the fear around him thickened. Fear and confusion. The word-motes were running amok.

“And how do you think the Farosians will pay you,” Sully asked, his voice dropping to a menacing tone, “when they learn you’ve sold them out?”

“Fuck you!” Gregor leaned forward in his chair. “I still got things to trade, things you can’t get to. If something happens to me, if I die, that information’s out there, Sullivan. You hear me? You space me, and there’ll be nowhere you can run. They’ll get you. They’ll get your Fleetie whore. All of you.”

The high-pitched tone started again. I waited for Sully to stop it but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled out the chair next to me and sat, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. I didn’t know what information Gregor had. If it was that Sully was a Kyi-Ragkiril, he was incredibly stupid to be pulling the stunt he was now.

But I also knew there were things, whole duro-hards of things, I didn’t know about Gabriel Ross Sullivan.

“I’m not going to space you,” Sully said, folding his hands on the tabletop. “But I can make you wish I had.”

Gregor snorted. “Gonna break my nose again?”

I held my breath, waiting for Sully to lash out. He had little patience for insolence—though he was a master at it himself. But more than that, I could feel energy coiling and uncoiling inside him.

Get the information, I told him, not even sure he was listening. Wipe his memory of us. We have a lot ahead at Narfial.

Something glinted briefly in the air. The Kyi, I realized after a moment. Not the silver haze but the sparkling, hungry version Sully had been wrestling with. It drifted from Sully’s hands, hovering between the three of us, just a tiny eruption of light.

Gregor rubbed at his eyes, telling me he saw it too.

He just didn’t know what he was looking at. Until he focused on Sully’s outstretched hand.

Sully opened his fist, energy mushrooming from it so quickly I sat back in my chair, even though there was no physical sensation.

Gregor jerked back too, but there was nowhere he could go. His chair was against the wall. And the glittering energy stalked him like a fiery silver shadow.

“All that time and money you spent researching Ragkirils,” Sully said quietly, his eyes that infinite shade of dark, “and you don’t even recognize a real live mind-fucker when you see one.”

Gregor inched back, his hands slipping off the arm-rests of the chair as he tried to literally climb the wall. The silver energy coiled closer. Gregor lurched to his right, the heel of his boot catching on something, the leg or edge of his chair. I didn’t know what. I just saw his knee come up, I saw his body weight shift in the chair. I saw the stark terror in the death-mask grimace on his face. Then the chair tilted and I fully expected Gregor to tumble to the decking with it.

He didn’t. He launched himself over the small table, his hands grabbing Sully’s throat.

I saw Sully falling backward, Gregor’s hands locked on his throat. I saw black-clad arms gripped around the stained, sweaty back of Gregor’s gray shirt. I was standing, Stinger set to stun, but I couldn’t get a clear shot. Sully and Gregor, tangled together, pushing and shoving, toppled into the small space between the table and the wall.

Ignoring the grunts and curses, I shoved the table away with my boot, giving Sully more room. I didn’t know why he didn’t just blank Gregor’s mind, shut him down then and there, but he didn’t. Instead, he yanked on Gregor’s arm, wrenching it around. Gregor turned, knees coming up. Sully jerked sideways, Gregor moving with him. If Sully wasn’t going to use his Ragkiril methods, then I needed a clear shot. But they were too close.

I danced out of the way of a swinging leg just as Sully flipped Gregor over on his back, pinning his shoulders to the floor. A chair skittered sideways, fell.

Move, Sully. I have a shot! “Stop it, Gregor, now!” I took aim.

Gregor reared up, bellowing a guttural cry. Sully swung, smashing his fist in Gregor’s face. Gregor thrashed back, bleeding, cursing, twisting, reaching—

Something glinted in his hand. I saw the thin edge of the knife. “No!”

The room exploded.

I was flash-blinded, seeing nothing but light. I dropped to the floor, shielding my face, waiting for the intense heat from the detonation to roll over me. But I felt nothing. Heard nothing.

I jerked my face up, blinking. Light melted into haze. Still clutching my gun, I pulled myself onto my hands and knees. Sully was three, four feet in front of me, down on one knee next to Gregor’s body, fingers splayed. The silver fire of the Kyi whipped all around him, flowing over Gregor and past me, but it was nothing compared to the luminescence radiating from within Sully.

Sully? For a moment I wasn’t sure who I was looking at.

Jagged streaks of lightning striped his face like blazing tattoos, one down each cheek. More streaks disappeared beneath his black shirt, which barely contained the heated glow. It was Sully’s profile, it was Sully’s clothes. But this was not a Sully I’d ever seen.

I stared at him. His focus was fixed on Gregor.

The only movement on Gregor’s body was a thin trickle of blood flowing from his left ear. His gaze was riveted on Sully’s hands. His mouth was open in a silent scream.

This was not supposed to happen. You’ll control yourself because of her, Ren had said.

This was not control. This was…I shook myself, trying to process what I was seeing. The only thing I knew for sure was I had to stop this. Sully. Back off.

No answer.

Gregor’s chest jerked up, his body arching unnaturally, almost as if Sully’s fingers pulled him up. Pulling the life from him. Kyi energy sparkled in small bursts all around me.

Was this what would eventually happen to Thad?

“Sully!” I hissed. “Enough!”

Gregor’s gaze moved to me. He heard me. God. Gregor was still alive. Stark terror showed in his eyes. His throat moved convulsively. He panted in short, hard gasps through his gaping mouth, sounding more animal than human.

Another abrupt jerk on his body. Then Gregor’s right arm came up smoothly as if guided by the thick silver haze around it. His hand clutched the knife, bringing it toward his own face, his own throat—

“Stop this! Or I will!” I levered up on my knees and raised my Stinger, taking aim at the man who was ky’sal to me. And I screamed, in my mind, for Ren.

For two, three heartbeats, nothing happened. Then Gregor’s fingers spasmed. The knife fell, sliding off his arched chest, hitting the floor with a muted clink.

Keeping the Stinger on Sully, I grabbed blindly for the knife with my left hand, then shoved it across the floor behind me, toward where I remembered the door being. I wasn’t going to turn around and check. And in this silver haze, I wasn’t even sure I could see that far.

Stupid, I told myself when I heard the knife hit against something metallic. He wants a knife, he can think a thousand of them into existence.

Sully turned suddenly, his expression of intense concentration shifting to one of an almost detached curiosity. No, this wasn’t Sully, mercenary, poet, and lover. But Gabriel, shape shifter, telepath, Kyi-Ragkiril.

I had no way of knowing if he heard my mental comment or had suddenly noticed I was there. But it was the first time he’d looked at me. A chill ran up my spine. I didn’t know this man kneeling a few feet away from me, this luminescent demon with lightning glowing in flashes under his skin. But I could taste his power. It was a cold thing, thick and astringent. It had no mercy.

And I had no choice.

“Gabriel, let him go.” Silver tendrils still writhed around Gregor’s partly suspended body. “I will shoot you.” And I swear, if you rip this gun from my hands, or in any way stop me from stopping you, you will be sleeping alone for the rest of your very miserable, very celibate life.

Another flicker of light limned Sully’s face from within. His quizzical expression didn’t change, not even as he stared at the Stinger in my hands. Then Gregor’s body went limp, thudding softly against the floor. He groaned. His eyelids fluttered, his mouth closed. Short, panting gasps abated, but he was breathing. That didn’t mean he wasn’t dying. It just meant I didn’t know.

Sully sat back on his haunches. The energy of the Kyi pulsed and flowed, part of it pulling away from Gregor. It gathered at Sully’s feet like a colony of netherats swarming to the nest. Flashes of lightning reflected in those fathomless eyes. Then he frowned. Chasidah? There was a noticeable uncertainty in his voice, a lack of recognition framed by dipped eyebrows.

I didn’t want that voice in my mind, not this stranger’s. “I’m Chasidah. And I don’t know who in hell you are, but I want Sully back. Now.”

The Kyi around me darkened to a molten silver. It curled around my knees where I crouched by the upended chair. Its coldness warmed, caressing me. It stroked my thighs with the surety of a lover, a lingering yet insistent touch. Demanding. Sensual. Sexual.

I knew where this was going. I lurched to my feet. “Call off your pet. I’m not interested.”

Sully rose too, a distant, searching look in his eyes. Then the brows that dipped, arched slightly. A small smile touched his lips. Confusion lifted. I felt his recognition of me, of what we were, of what I was to him. Chasidah. His voice was deep and husky. He stepped toward me, the warmth around my body growing into a familiar heat, the heat spiraling into surges of pleasure, caressing, drawing me…

“Shut it down. I mean it!” My body throbbed in response to a deep hunger I could far too clearly feel emanating from him.

He was an arm’s length away, his eyes hooded, the glow of his skin making his lashes that much darker, the silver in his hair that much brighter. He reached toward me, palm upturned, two fingers extended as if he intended to raise my face to his. Passion flared in anticipation of mouth on mouth, breath mingling with breath, heated skin—hard to soft—stroking…

I took another step back, bumping against the edge of the table. I was shaking, his exquisitely enticing mental foreplay threatening to make my knees collapse. This had to stop. Now. I gripped the Stinger with both hands.

Angel-mine, he whispered as lightning traced the edges of his jaw. I’d never hurt you.

“I know, Gabriel. I’m sorry.” I fired.

His chest was sore. Coming to full consciousness, he moved his arm up over his head and his muscles responded in pain. That made his eyes flutter open, but by that point I’d already risen out of my seat at the deskcomp in the middle of sick bay, and was walking toward the small cubicle where he lay, feeling every twinge and throb that results from being shot close-range by a Stinger on stun.

We were still linked. I sensed his confusion, watched memories flash by, saw my own face as he’d seen me: hard-eyed, pale, lips pressed in determination as I fired the Stinger.

Then a different pain. Not physical but one borne of shame and fear and rejection. An overwhelming despair. A sense of helplessness. A fury at a twist of fate that had endowed a human with Kyi-Ragkiril gifts, that had damned a man named Gabriel Ross Sullivan. That had made him love a woman named Chasidah Bergren.

He lay motionless, the beeping and trilling of sick bay’s equipment the only sound, and watched me approach.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, even though I knew. The closer I came, the more I felt emotions twisting in his gut, pushing against his heart, threatening to choke him. If I let it, it could overwhelm me, drag me under. I couldn’t let it. There was too much at stake.

“Is Gregor alive?” His voice sounded rusty and harsh.

His question surprised me. He wasn’t reading me. I didn’t think it was that he couldn’t. More likely, he didn’t want to. Yet he hadn’t closed off to me completely or I’d not feel his pain or see his recollections.

Now I knew why he’d used physical force, not his Kyi talents, when Gregor launched over the table at him. He’d known what seethed beneath his own surface and didn’t want to let it out until he’d had no choice. Until Gregor pulled the knife.

I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, motioning to the med cubicle on the other side of sick bay in answer to his question. “Room A. He has a lot of internal bruising, and is missing a few teeth.”

He closed his eyes briefly. Worry, fear tumbled from him. “How much of his mind did I destroy?”

He definitely wasn’t reading me, and he wasn’t reading Gregor. He’d shut himself off like that before, though, under circumstances that were not dissimilar.

“Ren doesn’t think it’s too bad, but we won’t really know until Gregor comes out of sedation. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes.”

He frowned, glancing at the clock on the diagnostics panel on the wall, then shook his head. “Time moves at a different pace in hell.”

I leaned on the edge of the bed. He regarded me warily, more in uncertainty than in distrust.

I raised my hands, palms out. “Weapon’s holstered.”

“You should have used it on full power, not stun.”

“Ren said you’d say that.”

He stared pointedly at me. “Do us both a favor and don’t make that mistake again.”

I narrowed my eyes. He dropped his gaze and turned his face away on the pillow. A dull ache grew between us.

“What went wrong?” I asked him.

He turned back with a bitter, quiet laugh. “Nothing, actually. You saw a Kyi-Ragkiril at work, doing his job. You just weren’t supposed to see it, that’s all.” His voice dropped off. “Ren was wrong. What I am is stronger than what I want to be.”

“You could have killed me. You didn’t.”

He shook his head slightly. “You’re my property. That would be wasteful.”

“You let me shoot you.”

A noncommittal shrug, a rustle of shirt fabric against the bed’s thermal sheet. Then: “I knew it was set for stun.”

“When I told you to stop hurting Gregor, you did.”

A short sigh. “Kyi-Ragkirils are highly motivated by pleasure. Sleeping alone for the rest of my very miserable, very celibate life didn’t appeal to me.”

“So you’re just here for the sex, is that it?”

“That’s it.”

He wanted me angry at him. I wasn’t going to take the bait.

“What’s Gregor here for? Who’s he working for?”

He wet his lips before answering, his demeanor and emotions shifting from defeat to disdain. “Get an archiver. This isn’t going to be a short conversation.”

When I returned from the desk, archiver in hand, he was sitting up, arms crossed over his chest, one leg dangling off the edge of the bed.

“Do you remember,” he asked, without any preliminaries, “what Bralford said to us on the Loviti?”

Jodey Bralford, Philip’s second in command at that time, had said any number of things to us when we escaped from Marker. But the main focus had been Philip’s belief that the Empire was about to be blown wide apart because of political promises made in secret committees after the Boundary Wars. Those promises hadn’t been kept. That had festered over into Tage’s Legalists struggling for power against the Admirals’ Council. Struggling for control of Prew, an ineffectual emperor whose loyalties shifted with his fears: the Farosians, the Stolorths, the Takas. Xenophobia ran deep. So did greed.

Control of certain worlds meant control of resources. Prew had the power to bestow those worlds, and whatever mining or agri rights that came with them, to his favored few on a whim. That’s what we suspected comprised those promises not kept.

Sully’s father, Winthrop Burke Sullivan, had been one of the powers behind those promises, decades ago. So had the Burkes and the Guthries. But many of the old guard died off. Winthrop Sullivan was dead, as was his exotically beautiful wife, Sophia Rossetti Sullivan.

Jerisina Petroksi, Maida Bell, and Ademar Javieros were gone. And not all had died of old age.

That was something else Jodey had commented on.

Hayden and his father, Morley Burke, were still alive. And as the ranks thinned, they gained power, but also fears. When the rights to those worlds were finally doled out, what if they found themselves shorted?

“Gregor was working for Hayden Burke?” My guess shocked me. I’d seen vids of Sully’s older cousin. Darkly handsome like Sully, but with light eyes and a polished, almost artificial demeanor. And where Sully was sensual, I found Hayden smarmy. Though according to the celebrity gossip commentators, he rarely lacked for noteworthy female companionship.

But Burke hiring Meevel Gregoran? No, that did make a bit of sense. Hayden wanted the Sullivan fortune, badly. Knowing where Sully was would be important to him.

Sully was shaking his head. “Cousin Hayden had Lazlo. He didn’t need Gregor.”

“Then who?”

“The one person Guthrie trusted. The one person he confided in. The one person who suddenly came to Hayden’s defense after Marker.”

“Tage.” First Barrister Darius Tage. A man who’d had the ear of the emperor for over two decades. Yes, a Legalist who was in opposition to the Admirals’ Council, but known for being a middle-roader. A peacemaker. A man most believed kept the government running when Prew became increasingly unfocused and uninterested in the problems of a rapidly expanding empire that neither the economists nor the military could quite control. The worst criticism I’d ever heard of Tage was that he was a benign despot.

Even Philip had liked him.

Had.

“But you read Gregor after our systems failure. How did you miss that he was working for Tage?”

Sully let out a short sigh. “One, I read him through Ren, if you remember. A fine example of my cowardice at the time. Two, we’re not talking a zral or zragkor here. We’re talking a basic truth scan. Three, I was specifically looking for information on Lazlo, Burke, or Ilsa. Four, out of all my crew, Gregor has the most knowledge about Ragkirils. He also was the most agitated when Ren and I interviewed him. I thought that his agitation was because he’d seen Ragkiril interrogators. Which was to a great extent true. It never occurred to me to ask if he knew Tage. There was no reason to.”

I still couldn’t see it. “How did he hook up with Tage?” If I’d thought Gregor and Burke were a mismatch, Gregor and Tage were even more so.

“He didn’t. He’s never met Tage. He works peripherally for Pol Acora, who for quite awhile now has specialized in recruiting Fleet dissidents for the Legalists to put on parade as examples of why the Council should be disbanded. Probably the only reason Acora didn’t get Dalby is that the Farosians got to her first.”

I didn’t know Acora but I knew of the groups he purportedly fed information to. If an ensign ends up in a bar fight on liberty, then Acora’s group releases data showing the mass brutality rampant in Fleet ranks. The free medical clinics established and run in the rim worlds by the Admirals’ Council are ignored until one med-tech out of hundreds is caught stealing illegal drugs. Then all Fleeties are thieves and addicts, preying on the poor at the behest of the Council.

His people were all over my arrest and trial. I was the perfect example of the mindless killer mentality fostered by my military family and encouraged by Fleet. Another stellar example of the failure of the Admirals’ Council to police its own.

“I didn’t know Acora worked for Tage,” I said. Though it wouldn’t surprise me if I found out he was part of CCNN. They echoed his opinions almost verbatim.

“There’s no proof he does. Tage isn’t that stupid.”

“So what do Acora and Tage want with you?”

“You have to understand I only know Gregor’s beliefs in this. Not unlike Aubry, he does what he’s told—to an extent. And Acora isn’t going to confide in the likes of Meevel Gregoran. Tage sure as hell isn’t even going to talk to him. But Gregor’s recollections tell me that he came to Acora’s attention when I decided to play dead two years ago, on Garno. I buried the Karn in a salvage depot on the rim. Gregor, Marsh—they all knew I needed four to six months of not existing, of letting things quiet down so that I could reestablish a relationship with Sophia, my mother.”

And with me. Ren had revealed that and Sully had confirmed it. After our brief encounter in Port Chalo, Sully knew a mercenary and pirate had no chance with the likes of Captain Chasidah Bergren, pride of the Sixth Fleet. So he faked his own death, giving him a chance to reinvent himself for his mother and for me.

“My father was dead,” he was saying, “And, yes, there was an enormous amount of money involved—an inheritance my father denied me. Did I want that? Of course. But not to be like Hayden, not to live like Hayden. I wanted it for different reasons, not the least of which was to reward Marsh, Dorsie, and Gregor for their loyalty. Or what I thought was their loyalty.”

He shook his head. “They didn’t know that, of course. I told them to have patience. I continued to shift funds to their usual accounts. I just asked for some time. Gregor thought I was running out, selling out, so he decided to do one better. When Acora’s people found him, looking for information on me—apparently about a week before I faked my death—he knew that was his way to do it.”

Pieces began to fall into place. “That’s how station security knew Nathaniel Milo was waiting for us on Moabar Station.” Gregor told Acora’s contacts who told Tage who alerted the Ministry of Corrections.

Sully nodded. “And that’s how Burke’s people knew we were headed for Marker. Gregor to Acora to Tage to Burke. Berri Solaria was just Burke’s little bit of extra insurance. It might also be that Acora doesn’t fully trust Gregor. For good reason.”

Gregor was also now working for the Farosians. Greed was one hell of a motivator.

“Did he know Berri beforehand?”

Sully shook his head. “But once she came on board, she identified herself to him. We thought they were getting cozy. They were just comparing notes.”

“But he was threatening to leave the ship at that point.”

“Evidently Berri told him a big move was being planned against me. He had no desire to get caught in the crossfire.”

“So why did he come back for us after leaving us on Marker?”

“Orders. If we’d been captured on Marker, he was to deliver the Karn and my crew to Acora’s people. We weren’t. He was told to stay with us.”

“Goddamned son of a lousy bitch!” I muttered harshly under my breath.

Sully smiled ruefully. “It’s no excuse, but maybe now you know what made me lose control with him.” His mouth thinned. “I wanted him terrified. I wanted him to suffer. To a Kyi, revenge is almost as seductive as pleasure.”

“The desire for revenge is nothing unique—”

“No, but my methods are. Unique and dangerous. Because he has been holding back one nice tidbit of information. A fail-safe, if you will. And this fail-safe information will be released if it appears something’s happened to him.” He paused then answered the question before I could ask it. “He has proof that I killed my mother.”

“No.” The word came from my lips hard and definite. I could believe many things about Gabriel Ross Sullivan—being a Kyi-Ragkiril came with both power and price. But I could not see him being in any way responsible for killing his mother.

It’s not that Sully had never taken a life. He had. So had I. And both of us would again. But each death pained him, diminished a part of him, as it did a part of me. Duty and protection made it necessary. It didn’t make us like it.

But I could never see him killing his mother, even if she attacked him first. There was always something in his voice when he spoke of her, in spite of the fact they’d never been close. Sophia was the socialite, Gabriel the obligatory heir. But he admired her. That wasn’t hard to do. For all her wealth and glitter, Sophia Rossetti Sullivan was an admirable woman. From what I’d heard, she’d been highly intelligent, scrupulously fair, and unfailingly kind. Sully’s charitable streak was all Sophia. Her servants worshipped her. Her rivals grudgingly respected her.

There was a lot of Sophia in Sully.

He could never kill her.

He was watching me with an odd mixture of emotions on his face, his gaze zigzagging as if he was reading lines of data between us. Which he was, I realized.

“No,” I said again. “That I will not believe of you.”

A long exhale, a thinning of the invisible wall between us. It hadn’t shattered yet—there was still anger, shame, and fear—but it wavered. “Thank you,” he said, his voice catching. He studied his hands for a moment, cleared his throat, then looked back up at me. “Unfortunately, most people won’t share your sentiments.”

“What kind of proof does Gregor have?”

“Circumstantial, courtesy of my own stupidity. My mother died in a shuttle accident on her way to keep an appointment with her barrister. That was fact. Investigators stated she was going to change her will to name Hayden as her legal heir. That’s not fact, but I can’t disprove it. ‘Client wants to discuss inheritance issue’ was what was in the barrister’s logs.

“It was right before I put the Karn in salvage. I’d opened a dialogue with her a few shipdays earlier, for the first time in years. Then in her next transmit she tells me,” and he hesitated, his gaze drifting to a distant, undefined point somewhere, “that she needed to talk to Halli Rillman. Rillman was head legal counsel for the firm that had handled Sullivan matters for decades. Sophia already had an upcoming appointment scheduled weeks prior. She’d use that to discuss what she’d recently found in my father’s personal effects. It disturbed her. She wouldn’t tell me what it was and as we were conversing via transmits, I couldn’t read her. But she was very adamant that I not be involved. She was frightened.” He shook his head as memories washed over him, some I could see: his mother’s face on the deskscreen, elegant brow furrowed, mouth pinched. A beautiful woman under a terrible strain. And there was nothing Sully could do. He was on his ship. She was in her estate on Sylvadae in Aldan.

“She said she couldn’t deal with this issue and with me at the same time. It was too stressful. I tried to tell her I could help, I had sources and resources she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. I couldn’t tell her, yet, what I was. But if what I was could help her, then I wanted to be there.

“When my next two transmits bounced back to me, I got angry. I sent another. ‘Shutting me out is the most dangerous thing you could do. You’re forcing my hand here,’ is what I think I said. I gave her a planetary day to return my transmit, ‘or else.’

“I was in the ready room, the door to the bridge open, when I sent that ultimatum. It was just a short transmit, a few seconds. I left the ready room right after because, well, I have a hard time sitting still when I’m angry. Anyone else overhearing it would have no idea where the transmit went or who it went to. But Gregor was on duty. He archived it, saw who it was sent to, made a copy as a fail-safe.” He shook his head. “It was his insurance policy should I ever find out about his deal with Acora. And later, with the Farosians.”

“That transmit doesn’t prove you killed her.”

“It puts me high on the list of suspects. I had motive, means, and opportunity. And I’d made a threat. Couple that with her purported change of will, and it looks very convincing.”

“But your father disinherited you years ago!”

“From the Sullivan monies, yes.” He looked pointedly at me. “My mother was a Rossetti.”

And the Rossettis were almost as obscenely wealthy as the Sullivans.

“My grandfather died about six months earlier,” he continued. “Natural causes. He was in his nineties. She’d come into a large inheritance from him. Part of it was specifically earmarked for me.” A small smile found its way to his lips. “He was a bit of a rascal. He found my mercenary lifestyle amusing. But the Rossetti estate wasn’t why she was going to see Rillman on that particular day, even though that’s what was originally calendared.”

“Did Rillman know the real reason your mother was coming to see her?”

“We have no way of knowing. It was Rillman’s private shuttle that crashed. She’d gone along with her pilot to pick up my mother. When you’re a Sullivan and a Rossetti, you get that kind of special treatment.”

And someone also makes sure you can’t testify that Sophia Sullivan’s appointment had nothing to do with changing her will.

“Sully, your mother was murdered.”

“Quite obviously. But if I ever tried to open an investigation, I guarantee that all evidence would point to me. Especially now that I may have sealed my own death warrant with what I did to Gregor.”

“He’s not dead. You just wiped his mind.”

“But whoever’s holding a copy of that transmit will know something’s happened to Gregor. I was not,” and he closed his eyes, his mouth thinning in self-condemnation, “kind to him.”

“You don’t know who has the copy, do you?”

He shook his head. “I missed that one vital piece of information. A small matter of a very sharp knife at the time.”

“Do you know where the copy is?”

“Dock Five. I assume we have a fairly decent window of time before whoever has it releases it. It depends on how often Gregor checked in. I doubt it was daily. When I get a chance, I’ll go back over his personal transmits, see if I can’t find a pattern.”

I hoped it was monthly. But Dock Five. We’d just come from there, and were now less than seven hours from Narfial. I sagged against the edge of the bed and blew out a loud sigh of frustration.

“Don’t relax yet,” he said, sarcasm clear in his voice and the pursing of his mouth. “It gets worse.”

I straightened. He pushed himself off the bed.

“We know that before we left Dock Five, Gregor sold the fact we’re headed for Narfial to someone. And that we’re going to be meeting with an informant who will help us stop Hayden and Tage. I’m guessing now that was sold to one of Acora’s contacts. That’s why Tage hasn’t released what I am to the newshounds. I guarantee you he wants us on Narfial. We’ll lead him right to Del. He’ll have us all, nice and tidy.”

“Then we abort the mission. We have to.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? What do you intend to do?”

“Give Tage what he wants. He’s just going to get more than he bargained for.”

Gregor, like Aubry, was locked in the brig, sleeping under light sedation, mental faculties rearranged courtesy of Gabriel Sullivan. But unlike Aubry, who would wake when we hit Narfial with memories of being on a commercial transport on his way to find work on the rim, Gregor would not have such an easy future. His older memories were intact. Everything from the past fifteen years was gone.

Sully, with Ren’s help, interlaced in basic current events. Gregor wouldn’t remember how to pilot any ships of newer design, but at least he’d know who’d won the Baris Cup in the past several years, and which slender but buxom woman was this year’s hot vid star.

He was Meevel again. That’s who he’d been fifteen years ago. He’d probably spend the rest of his life as a dockhand, loading cargo. His coworkers would find him brash, if a bit simple. And he had a comfortable bank account to fall back on if he couldn’t find work right away, courtesy of his recently deceased great-uncle Ross.

Sleep was impossible but I was dozing, cabin lights dimmed, when Sully came in. We had only a few more hours until Narfial. He slipped off his boots then sat in the armchair kitty-corner to the couch, head in his hands. I knew he wasn’t coming to bed.

I sat up, hugging the pillow against my chest. “He tried to kill you, Sully. He’s lucky to be alive. People get shot on Dock Five all the time for less.”

“I had no right to torture him.”

“That wasn’t you.”

“Don’t be naive, Chasidah.” He raised his head but didn’t turn toward me.

“Your failing, Gabriel, is not in what you are, but that you don’t know how to properly use what you are. You almost killed Gregor. But a few months ago, you saved Ren’s and Philip’s lives. And you just spent two hours putting Meevel Gregoran somewhat back together. That is a huge gift.” I paused. “Did you ever think of going to Stol for training?”

“Getting there is a bit of a problem when the government wants your head on a platter.”

“We’ll put it on our to-do list. Come to bed.”

“I need to send Drogue another note. Then I want to see if I can pick up who Gregor’s fail-safe partner is on Dock Five. I’ll close the doors so it won’t bother you.” He padded to the wide opening, tapped at the door sensor, then padded back, a gray, indistinct silhouette fading into the shadows of the cabin as the closing bedroom doors slowly obscured him from view.

I woke, hungry and thirsty, realizing I couldn’t remember when I last had a real meal. I looked at the clock. It was near the end of third shift. Four more hours and we should be picking up the signal from the Narfial beacon.

I rolled over, reaching for Sully mentally and physically.

The bed was empty.

I thought I knew why. I was having a hard time pushing that luminescent image of a lightning-edged Kyi-Ragkiril from my mind. My rational mind had shoved him into yet another of those mental duro-hards and sat on it until it closed securely. But my emotional self still saw flickers of him in the shadows. I loved Sully. But there was also Gabriel.

My mental duro-hards were not Ragkiril-proof.

Which was also why I’d wanted him to come to bed. Yes, I knew he was hurting. Yes, I knew he felt my uncertainty. Showing him I loved him would help him get past that. But it would also help me.

There’s the first time in every fighter pilot’s life when her ship betrays her, skitters out of control, systems failing. God willing, it happens in simulators where there’s no loss of life, no property damage. But God isn’t always willing and many a green pilot has wrecked out in a bay or dirtside landing strip, very sure she’d never be able to have the courage to sit in the pilot’s seat again.

I’ve been there. I had to force myself to climb back in and throttle up for launch, convinced I’d clip off much more than a wingtip and forward landing strut this time, taking bay crew with me, ending my own life in a ball of flame.

The longer you wait, the more difficult it becomes.

At least if you wreck-out in bed, nothing will catch fire, I told myself sagely as I threw the sheets off my bare legs. Then again…

When I came out of the shower, the bed was neatly made. An angel of heart-stars card rested on my pillow.

Sully? “Sully?” I poked my head into the main salon area. Empty. I grabbed underwear, pants, shirt, and pulled them on, then went back for the card. I palmed it, warmth spiraling up my arm.

If Tage, Acora, and their minions didn’t gun us all down on sight when we made Narfial, I’d work on motivating my Ragkiril with a little pleasure when we got back on board. We needed to find each other again.

I was in the pilot’s seat when we approached the Narfial beacon. Sully was in the ready room, having been fussed over by a concerned Dorsie who offered to poison Gregor, this time for pulling a knife on Sully. Too bad the bastard didn’t die when Chaz shot him. Obviously, we’d had to change the story a little, adding that Verno and Ren would transfer Aubry and Gregor to Narfial lockup once we docked. It was all settled.

Sully was distinctly unsettled, in spite of the fact he believed he’d identified three possible sources for Gregor’s “fail-safe partner.” But what might come over the news feeds from the Narfial beacon worried him. The fact that he’d not had an answer from Drogue in several hours worried him even more.

Communications to Moabar are rarely reliable, I reminded him as I watched the boards light up with the increasing traffic. Verno was at helm, Ren at communications. Marsh was sleeping because he’d be on duty, guarding the ship after we docked.

We were no longer the Darvo Tureka, independent freighter out of the A-B. Now we were the Fair Jeffa, under contract to Core-Em-Ex, a division of Core Central Medical Suppliers. Our beautifully forged manifests showed we had duro-hards full of bedpans, thermal sheets, and insta-splint samples, plus two medical supplies salespersons doing catalog distribution.

Core-Em-Ex was a real company. Our false sales personal were Gregor and Aubry, who’d be left behind. But our documents, in typical Sully style, were damned near infallible.

I still would like to make sure the Purity Brigade isn’t also there to greet us, Sully told me, bringing me back to his worries over Drogue.

Here’s an idea, I told him, keeping my tongue firmly planted in my cheek. We’ll position ourselves with the Brigade on our left and Tage’s friends on our right, and when they both raise their weapons to fire, we’ll duck.

A lightpen sailed onto the bridge through the ready room’s open door and smacked the back of my chair. Not one of Gabriel’s tricks. Just Sully’s good throwing arm and dead-eye aim.

Seriously—

Seriously, I interrupted him. We’re picking up the beacon’s signal, starting data download. Let’s see what the news tells us. We might find our answers there.

I switched captain’s controls over to the ready room’s deskscreens, then slid out of my chair, stopping to pick up Sully’s lightpen from the floor. I tossed it back at him. He caught it in midair. Only as I took the seat next to him did I realize it still floated there.

If Dorsie comes in that might be a bit hard to explain.

He plucked it out of the air and put it back in the slot in the table with a tense smile.

I held out my hand.

He frowned, not understanding, and reached for the lightpen.

No.

I clasped my hand around his and tried to send warm rainbows.

He stared at me for a long moment then shook his head lightly, bemusement lighting his eyes. He brought my fingers to his mouth and for an even longer moment we sat there in silence, his breath warming my skin, his energy heating my soul. His eyes were closed, his thoughts, silent. But the agitation and worry he’d worn for hours lessened, at least a little.

Words scrolled through a databox on my screen. He released my hand. “Abstracts are in,” I said. I had them sorted into chronological order, then scanned for any mention of Sully, Tage, and Thad. I got a hit on Thad right away. I sucked in a hard breath, ignored the abstract, and went straight for the text version of the news clip. It was quicker to load. But it was old news, and almost as brief as the abstract: Thad was maintaining his innocence and cooperating with authorities. No examples of what that cooperation entailed.

“Nothing more?” Sully asked.

“Not yet.” The second download was just finishing.

But Thad was alive and, I had to assume, well. It occurred to me that the longer it took Tage to release the information on Sully, the longer Thad would live. He’d be a star witness and no use to him dead.

“Wait. Here’s something.” Sully was performing his own perusal of the newsfeeds. “Englarians ask Admirals’ Council to investigate alleged abuses against Takans,” he read the headline out loud, mentally sending me the article citation. I pulled it up on my screen, reading as he did. It was another damnably brief article, noting a preliminary meeting between “official church representatives”—unidentified—and key members of the Admirals’ Council. Philip’s name was one of three listed. It had been a video conference, not unusual for a preliminary, with concerns expressed that current investigations into the deaths of Takan women in the Walker Colonies were being mishandled. The Englarians requested the investigation be taken away from the Ministry of Justice and placed under the Admirals’ Council due to “information the church has recently seen suggesting these attacks are not confined to the Walker Colonies or other locations in Calth, but may infect the entire Empire.” A larger investigation was needed.

Tage was a senior member of the Ministry of Justice.

“This may be why you haven’t heard from Drogue,” I said.

Sully faced me. “Thad knows I sent a copy of the data on Burke’s labs to Drogue. We have to assume Tage knows that.”

“Thad also knows Philip has a copy.”

“Drogue’s not a Guthrie. He’s a nice, kindly man with a deep faith and strong desire to right wrongs. He’s totally unprepared for the kinds of things Tage can pull.” Concern, anger shimmered through our link. “Damn it, I specifically told him not to go public with any of this. Not until we met with Del, had that second lab and more proof.”

“He has to do what he feels is right.”

“What’s right will get him killed.”

“Philip knows Drogue’s at risk. If it was Drogue who contacted the Council, it might actually be the smartest thing he could do at this point. Questions will be raised if something happens to him.”

“He works in a prison colony. No one will think twice if some inmate slits his throat.”

I leaned back in my chair, unable to deny the truth in Sully’s words. Drogue was likely still on Moabar Station as the blizzard season was in full force dirtside right now. But there were prisoners on station, awaiting transfer. Drogue could be in a lift or in a corridor at the very right yet wrong time. And no one would think twice.

Ren’s voice came over intraship. “We’ve linked with Narfial Traffic Control, Captain.”

I shared a brief, anguished glance with Sully then swiveled my chair around. I had work to do. And we had an appointment to keep.

The last time I docked at Narfial Starport was about eight months before my arrest and court-martial. It wasn’t my usual sector but, like many patrol ships, we often did double duty. We’d been ordered to transport an enviro-tech repair team out of Corsau Station to Narfial, wait while they did whatever an enviro-tech repair team did, and bring them back. It had been an uneventful two and a half days.

I had no such belief that this time it would be the same.

Aubry and Gregor—Meevel Gregoran—were waiting by our hatchlock that connected to the station’s tubeway on E-level, looking slightly tired and confused. Sedation was wearing off. I walked up wearing plain spacer grays with no ship’s patches, my hair pulled back in a bun. It was wet, looking darker than its usual ruddy auburn, and I’d slipped a brimmed black cap—the kind dockworkers often wear—over it. Deliberately.

Verno, in his monk’s hooded robe, stood off to one side, behind them. Just another passenger looking to depart. Ren was farther down the corridor.

“Good luck with your new postings, gentlemen,” I said, databoard in hand, pretending to log off our “paying” passengers.

“Thank you, Captain…?” Aubry’s voice drifted.

“You might want to stay away from the drinking and card games for a while,” I put in with a wink.

“Right, that’s right,” Meevel Gregoran said, shouldering his duffel. “No more celebrations. Time to work, now.”

“And blessings of the hour to you,” I said, as Verno and Ren shuffled forward. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.” I hit the code for the hatchlock and the door chugged sideways with a grinding noise. That too was planned, making the Karn appear to be an old lugger. Not a pristine luxury yacht that the likes of Meevel Gregoran could little afford.

The four of them ambled down the tubeway as I watched. Verno and Ren would keep them in sight for the next half hour or so, guide them to a traveler’s hostel if need be, then return to the ship. Aubry and Gregor were no longer a threat.

Everyone else on station was.

I went back to the ready room. We’d made station ahead of schedule. Sully had the deskscreen up, elbows on the tabletop, one hand fisted against his mouth. He nodded absently when I came in but didn’t turn. Nothing hung in the air between us to make me think there was some new problem.

I swiveled a chair around, sat, then pulled off my cap and tossed it on the table.

He glanced at me. “Baris Cup scores are in.”

Ah. Intense concentration, hand fisted over mouth. The fate of the Empire may well rest on what we do in the next several hours, but Baris Cup scores are in.

He arched one eyebrow. “I’m up, two to one.”

I unwound my bun and shook out my damp hair, finger-combing it as I spoke. “It’s best of seven, Sully.”

“Two back-to-back wins. I like that.”

“An omen?”

“Too early to tell.” He paused. “We need to win, Chaz. But if we can’t, we really need to make them lose.”

I knew he wasn’t talking about zero-G racquetball. I angled my head for a better view of the databoxes on his deskscreen. The Karn was synched to the station, information coming in on a steady stream. Not like the snatch, grab, and go programs we used to filch things from the Imperial beacons. We were legitimate here. For now.

Sully had more than just the sports scores on live feed.

“Nothing on Thad or us?” I asked.

“Preternaturally quiet. That concerns me. Your brother’s arrest and capitulation should be getting more airplay than it is.”

“Maybe Drogue’s coming forward was a good thing.”

“If it was Drogue, it may make them change some tactics. It won’t stop what they’re doing.”

“Which is what, honestly?” I fished a hair tie out of my pants pocket and pulled my hair back in a long tail. “I’ve been thinking about Burke, Tage, and the jukors. We’ve discussed how Tage wants to take power away from the Council. I still can’t understand how jukors fit into all this. Do they intend to breed their own little army, faithful only to them? I don’t think those monstrosities have any allegiances. I’ve heard they’ve even killed those who feed them.”

“Remember when that shipment got loose on Corsau Station ten years ago?”

I nodded. The devastation was horrific, given the short amount of time. Then, widespread panic. Fleet, which was transporting them, was blamed, and for weeks all Fleet ships were banned from the area. Corsi freighters even took to firing on us. There were ugly whispers it was a ploy by the Admirals’ Council to try to gain a civilian commercial station so it could be used for Fleet’s own purposes.

Insane, stupid rumors. If Fleet wanted a station in that sector, it’d build one.

But emotions screamed louder than facts.

“You’re telling me Hayden Burke was breeding jukors back then?”

“No, and when I first realized Hayden was involved, that’s what didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense until Tage came forward in support of him. Hayden may be the money behind this project now, but it’s been in the planning stages for a very long time.”

“To what end?”

“Two weeks ago I might have given you a different answer to that question. But I finally got some information back on some of Tage’s private meetings.” He tapped at a databox on the screeen. “And projects and people he’s quietly sponsored. I need to dig a lot more, but my basic feeling is this: Tage wants to destroy what little faith people have left in the Empire. Whether it’s Prew or Sheldon Blaine, Tage still has to deal with an emperor by lineage sitting on the throne. Destroying the emperor himself won’t work, but destroying the institution of the imperium will. Tage wants the Empire in an uproar, locked down under martial law, and he wants to be the one calling the shots when that happens. He’ll gut Fleet. He’ll gut the ministries. He’s almost created a civil war with the Takas. The Boundary Wars alienated the Stolorths. Tage wants to knock it all down and then build it all up, in his image.”

“But jukors?”

“Mass hysteria. Slaughter of innocents. Jukors were created during the war on the emperor’s orders. They’re an official Imperial product. At least, that’s how the populace views it. Half will blame the emperor for not saving them, and the other half will blame the emperor for trying to kill them. Then they’ll revolt. And Takas, who form a very large part of our security forces, won’t be at their posts to stop it.”

There was already talk of removing Takas from security positions. A picture began to form in my mind. And it was a bloody one.

“Corsau wasn’t an accident, was it?”

“Right now I can’t prove that but, no, I don’t think it was. I think it was a test run. They didn’t like what they saw, so they went back to the labs and designed a better jukor. This time, they’ll start on the rim where people are expendable, and work their way in until that revolt puts them in power. They’ll claim lands, resources under martial law. Or spoils of war. Take your pick.”

I remembered Jodey Bralford saying that promises hadn’t been kept after the war. Mining and trade rights that were supposed to go to certain individuals, certain families, hadn’t. Now, Tage was insuring they would. Permanently.

And not just mining and trade rights, but an entire empire.

“Sully, destroying Burke’s lab isn’t going to be enough,” I said, suddenly realizing how difficult this was all going to be. I’d been considering it a search-and-destroy mission, but I was wrong. “We’re going to have to get inside and get proof, first.” Which meant I was going to have to face jukors again. I suppressed a shudder, my stomach twisting with the memory of their putrid scent, their hideous fanged faces.

“That’s why we need Del. I was told he has ship’s schematics, crew info, everything. We won’t have to waste time searching. Get in, get the data, then blow it to hell and beyond.”

With jukors, I wasn’t even sure hell and beyond might be enough. It was just a damned shame we couldn’t send Tage and Burke along for the ride.

Sully shut down the deskcomp then stood. “Get your gear. It’s time.”

We were logging out at the hatchlock and about to enter the tubeway when Dorsie’s voice in the corridor made me turn around. She’d been on the bridge with Marsh when Sully and I left the ready room ten minutes before. Now she was hurrying toward us, face creased in anger, wiping at her eyes with the edge of her long apron.

“Dorsie?” I asked stepping toward her. Something was wrong. I could almost feel it.

Then Sully edged past me, reaching for her with one hand, his other coming firmly to rest on my shoulder. And I knew. Something was very, very wrong.

“Dorsie.” His voice was soft, gentle yet firm. Trust me, I’m here for you was a strong, palpable undercurrent.

So was her horror.

“The depot at Grover’s City. They got out. No one knew how it happened. No one knew how they got there!”

Jukors. I saw flashes of images from Sully, who was pulling and processing the information much faster than I could from Dorsie’s mind.

He took both of Dorsie’s hands in his own, holding them tightly. “Tell me what happened,” he said, even though he now knew.

“News flash came over the feeds not five minutes ago. I was on the bridge with Marsh, looking for the sports scores for you.” She tried to smile, her face raised to Sully’s, but failed. Tears flowed down her cheeks. “God, it was horrible! They were torn apart. Those damn things—those jukors—they tore people apart like they were paper!”

More images including a devasting scene caught by security cameras: a young mother and her children reduced to a bloodied, unidentifiable mass by razor-winged creatures in a mindless killing frenzy.

Sully’s anger roared through me. It was a deep and bitter thing. I felt Gabriel’s lightning flare within its depths.

“My brother,” Dorsie gasped. “Second day on the job there. No work at the groves, now. Took what he could to feed the family. He’s dead, gone.” And she collapsed into Sully’s arms, sobbing.

Tears pricked my eyes as I put my arm around her shoulder, hugging her as Sully held her. Then I caught a glimpse of movement by the bridge hatchway. Marsh, his dark face grim, his eyes puffy, his hands fisted at his side.

“You got to stop those bastards, Sully.” His voice cracked, broke. “Please. They killed my father.”

We had time, yet, to make our meeting with Del. Still, Marsh urged us on, assuring us he’d take care of Dorsie and the Karn, but there was no way Sully and I could walk off the ship just then. Their pain was too deep, too fresh, even though the “accident” had happened six hours ago.

I didn’t think it had hit Baris or Aldan yet. It didn’t have to. I was sure Tage and Burke already knew.

I was pouring Dorsie a shot of Lashto brandy from Sully’s private stock when the hatchlock signal flashed on the deskscreen in the ready room. I checked the visual. Ren and Verno returning, both looking troubled. They’d probably heard the news.

They have, Sully told me. It’s on every kiosk on station.

It’s a message to us, isn’t it? I didn’t want to ask the question but I had to.

I wish to God I could say it wasn’t. I don’t know. I can’t rule it out.

We left Dorsie crying on Ren’s shoulder, and Marsh sitting next to Verno, hands clasped between his knees. Silent and angry, we headed for the tubeway to the station, Sully watchful, scanning the minds of those around us as I watched hands for weapons. We knew Tage’s people knew we were here—though we had arrived ahead of schedule.

Still, I didn’t discount encountering another shipment of jukors. Or a line of Burke’s armed thugs. Or even the bright lights of a news-vid team. All were within Tage’s power and all were equally lethal.

We picked up snatches of the news story as we traveled cautiously down Level E’s narrow corridor, passing a kiosk here, a group of dockhands talking in hushed tones there. Dozens of ships had come dirtside to the Grover’s City spacedocks that morning, but only two freighters and an Imperial Fleet ground transport had used Warehouse R-12 to offload cargo. The last of the ships to depart was the Fleet transport. Not a half hour later, the warehouse exploded. Emergency crew rushing to the scene were met by jukors streaming out.

Some of the creatures were shot. Others were crushed by the spaceport’s rescue trucks. But enough managed to make it to the main terminal.

Officials were still trying to resconstruct what happened: who dumped two dozen or more jukors in the warehouse; who triggered the explosion to set them free. And who concurrently hacked into the spacedock’s computer systems, mangling the records of all incoming and outgoing traffic for the past planetary day.

Automatic backup had a glitch, recording nothing.

Shock and fear were on the faces of everyone we saw.

Narfial was a newer station but strictly utilitarian: gray decking and bulkheads, minimal viewports. Lift banks were fewer, lines were longer. Unlike Dock Five, the escalators worked. But they were single-file models and, like the lifts, there were fewer of them.

Sully drew me in front of him as we waited for a lift in a crowd of twenty or more people. Dockhands, freighter crew, shop workers. Some people stared almost trancelike at their feet, their thoughts far away. Others cried softly. One woman, farther behind us, spoke in hard, angry tones, her Dafirian accent clipping her words.

I glanced briefly over my shoulder at her, and was surprised to see she was speaking with a tall Stolorth man in a black shipsuit. She was human, tall as well, probably near Sully’s height with skin as dark as Marsh’s and short white hair, tightly curled and cut close to her head.

I looked away quickly, instinctively, my friendship with Ren notwithstanding. Humans don’t stare at Stolorths. Period.

This is the rim, angel, Sully said. I know of at least two Stolorth trading houses that maintain an office here.

No Purity Brigade in residence, then?

Not at the moment. But no Ragkiril talents either. I’d know.

He would.

The crowd shifted impatiently. Sully wrapped his arms around my middle, resting his face against my hair. Heat pulsed through me. He was breathing hard. The tightness in my chest could have been mine, his, or both of ours.

He felt responsible for what happened.

Stop second-guessing yourself, I told him, not even sure he was listening until he sighed.

Del damned well better have something we can work with.

Could the Farosians have engineered this? I thought of Dalby’s veiled threats.

Where would they get the jukors?

I wouldn’t put it past Tage.

Tage using the Farosians? Sully paused thoughtfully. Doesn’t ring true to me at this point. The Farosians have too many supporters here on the rim. They hate Tage. Plus I think their price would be higher than even Tage would be willing to pay.

Don’t discount it, I warned.

I discount nothing.

We had seven minutes to make the meet on Level H. Lift doors opened, ten, twelve people flowing out. Ten, fifteen shoved their way in. We weren’t one of those.

Stairs? I suggested.

We’ll be on the next lift.

We were, the last two in with Sully squeezing me against him. That meant juggling our position when the lift stopped at G, but we were first off at H.

This way. Sully took my hand, pulling me to the left.

We hadn’t known the meetpoint until we made station, and then a coded transmit came into Sully’s secure, private in-box naming the place: a baggage claim area that serviced two of the commercial liners that docked at Narfial. It was fairly wide open, less likely to hold an ambush. It might also not be where Del was, but only the location of the next missive with another meetpoint. “Respond to the name Sudral” were the instructions in the transmit.

I saw Drogue’s hand in this in the choice of name. When Sully was a monk, he was known as Brother Sudral—the name of Abbot Eng’s holy cloak that bound the demon Ragkirils.

I slowed as we approached the baggage claim area, pulling away from Sully by prearranged plan. I’d watch his back until he gave me the all-clear. If Del was here, he might be nervous finding two of us. If he wasn’t, I’d also be able to see who else was watching Sully and alert him through our mental link. Of all the things we might encounter, we felt that one thing gave us the advantage. We didn’t have to be within shouting distance to help each other.

I slipped on my black cap, tugging the brim down, shading my eyes, and veered away behind a group of travelers as Sully strode forward.

Love you, angel, he whispered in my mind.

I needed to hear that. Love you too.

H-Level was one of the few decks that extended completely across the station. It was like a large, open circular promenade with commercial baggage claim taking up one third of the pie. The biggest visual obstruction was the metallic cylinder housing station’s core in the center. Then there were the usual pylons, kiosks, clusters of seats, and the occasional grouping of glass-fronted offices.

Cargo ’droids and antigrav pallets whisked, whirred, and shuddered by. Two flights were in. People were crying, hugging, or walking around looking dazed. The news about the Grover’s City attack no doubt had been broadcast on the flights. Three tall Takan security guards were visible. I wondered briefly if one of them was Del. It would be a good, safe cover.

But there were Takas as passengers too. I saw a family with a long-limbed young girl in a pale purple tunic dress, her fur a glisteny gold like her mother’s. Her father was grayer, reminding me of Verno.

Humans were all sizes, shapes, colors, and ages. I was surprised by the number of families, but Narfial was a popular hub. It was one of the newer stations out here and people put up with the delays knowing there’d be working enviro, decent restaurants, and functioning lavatories. Unlike Dock Five.

As I came closer to the designated meetpoint, I again watched hands, not faces. It was one of the first things I’d learned in the academy. Hands could kill. I watched for hands tucked in pockets, under coats or vests. Hands that could grasp weapons.

Sully, his thumbs hooked in his pants pockets, moved easily through the crowd as it flowed toward the two baggage belts. His Carver-12 rode in his shoulder holster, hidden by his black jacket. But he didn’t need to have a weapon in his hand to kill.

A light flashed over the furthermost baggage area and a vidscreen displayed the flight information. The crowd surged toward it, mothers with children in tow, groups of young men and women in the plain coveralls of itinerate dockworkers, a few others better dressed. Shopkeepers, perhaps. Or students.

Everyone was focused on getting his baggage. No one paid much attention to Sully. There were two women, however, standing off to one side. Humans, my age or a little older. Late thirties to midforties. Both had their hands where I could see them.

I positioned myself by a flight data kiosk and pretended to study the station’s directory.

The shorter woman had a definite military bearing in addition to being exotically beautiful—a beauty that was barely marred by her narrowed eyes and down-turned mouth. She was pale-skinned, her chin-length hair almost blue-black. The other, taller woman wore a long light green skirt unlike her companion in dark blue pants, and seemed nervous, tired. She was round-faced, her curly brown hair pulled back in a messy braid, and she shifted from foot to foot.

Sully noticed them too and drifted in their direction. The attractive one glanced over at him with the minutest arching of eyebrows. Her hands didn’t move but she looked him up and down thoroughly.

I didn’t think the women were a threat or Sully would have acted. Could Del be a woman? Just my luck she would be, and be gorgeous as well. Sully had said “he” all along. I’d never questioned. Stupid, because—

“Captain Bergren.”

A deep male voice said my name, very softly, behind me. And no one here should know my name.

Sully!

“Don’t turn,” the voice continued in a low whisper. “Don’t react. Show no alarm.”

Sully! I nodded, pretending to comply and let my hand drift to the Grizni on my wrist as if I were frightened and hugging my arms to my midsection. Had Tage’s people found me? Or was this one of Dalby’s people, carrying through on her promise that we’d talk again?

“Release the Grizni, Captain. I’m not a threat.”

I’ll be the one to determine that, I thought, then: Sullivan! Why in hell wasn’t he answering me? Probably because he didn’t want me to know he was staring at the gorgeous woman. Of all the times to shut down our link. If I lived through this, I was going to kill him!

I moved my hand away, slowly. I could get to the dagger quickly enough if I needed to. I also had my Stinger. And thanks to the gym on the Karn, I hadn’t lost my touch at hand-to-hand combat. I just would really like a little help from Gabriel Ross Sullivan. If he wouldn’t mind.

Sul-ly!

A Takan male in a shipsuit ambled by, stopping to glance briefly at the kiosk’s screen, then kept moving.

“If you’re not a threat,” I asked when the Taka departed, keeping my voice as low as his, “then why are you behind me, telling me not to turn around?”

“Because we’re just two people standing here, discussing flights and delays and looking for the nearest restaurant on the station’s map.”

I listened to his voice, his accent. Not Dafir or Calth, definitely. It was a cultured voice, well modulated with a masculine deep rumble. A newscaster’s voice, one that gets the prime slots, the most impactful interviews.

Shit. Had Tage released the information on Sully to the newshounds?

“Ah, yes,” he continued. “By gate H-12. A decent establishment with an even better bar. Worth a try, wouldn’t you say?”

“Depends. Are you asking me out on a date or are we splitting the tab?”

A soft laugh, like a friend sharing an intimate joke. “It would be my pleasure to buy you a drink, angel.”

I froze, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. I was “angel” to Sully and no one else. Granted, Sully had no patent on the endearment. Others used it freely. But not with me. And not this stranger, here and now.

“I don’t do blind dates,” I said sharply. Sully, damn you! He was still watching the two women, though from a different angle. He hadn’t looked back at me for several minutes now. I was no psychic but I could very clearly see celibacy in his future if he didn’t open that goddamned link and listen to me. Sully!

Chasidah, a voice said in my mind. A man’s voice, deep and well modulated. And it wasn’t Sully’s.

I sucked in a breath. The voice in my mind could be from any of the dozens wandering around the baggage area but I knew it wasn’t. It was the man behind me.

What do you want? I hated sharing a mental link with him but I was hoping, praying Sully would decide to finally notice me. I needed him to hear what I was hearing, and feel what I was feeling.

Fear.

There was a Ragkiril standing behind me. And Sully didn’t know.

Join me in a drink, Chasidah. I would find that a pleasurable event.

An invisible hand stroked my cheek, lingering on my neck as warmth tumbled through me.

His warning be damned, I jerked around, my fingers hitting the pressure points on my Grizni. It sprang into my hand as I braced myself against the wide kiosk.

A tall Stolorth male stared down at me, his full lips curved in a bemused smile. His eyes were a stunning deep blue-green; his skin, a silvery-blue, lighter than his hair, which was pulled back from his face—a face that was every bit as elegant as Ren’s, but more so. His arms were crossed loosely over his chest. I caught a glimpse of a pale gray shirt—and what could be the edge of a shoulder holster—under the long black leather coat that fell almost to his ankles.

He moved slightly and I tensed, but he only re-crossed his arms, showing me the Grizni bracelet on his left wrist.

We have more in common than you realize, he told me. But please, put the dagger away. Before we attract unwanted attention.

It might not be unwanted by me.

Yes, it would. We need to collect Brother Sudral. Grover’s City was a tragedy that could have been prevented and must not be repeated.

I stared at him. Who are you?

The dagger, Chasidah. Please. A six-fingered hand wrapped gently around mine, folding the dagger back around my wrist. I couldn’t stop him even if I wanted to.

Sorry, he said. I felt a twinge of regret as if he really was. Then he brought my fingers to his mouth, brushing them with a light kiss.

This time I did yank my hand back and nothing stopped me.

“Who the hell are you?” I was tired of talking to him in my thoughts. Sully wasn’t listening and that frightened me, because I knew why. A Stolorth Ragkiril had just slipped into my mind and controlled my actions with only the barest delicate whisper of a presence. He had also somehow shut Sully out.

The man inclined his head slightly, his unfathomable dark blue gaze never leaving my face. “I am Regarth Serian Cordell Delkavra. In most places, just Captain Regarth. But for you and Gabriel, I’m the one known as Del.”

Del. Or he was lying, having pulled the information from my mind.

He sighed. “I accept your chastisement, your censure for misbehaving. But you are such an unexpected treat.” He smiled warmly and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I am here at the meetpoint searching the area for potential threats. And then I find this ky’sal and his ky’sara looking for me. A trap? I assumed as much so, forgive me, but I needed to probe. For my safety. For yours. And then I realize the ky’sara is human and you are this ky’sara. So how does a Stolorth male approach a human female without creating an incident? An armed human female? Carefully, yes?

“But you’re apprehensive. I did handle this badly, I see that now. When I spoke to you, you wanted to call for him. I couldn’t permit that, not here, not being what he is. It would be dangerous for us both.” And Del looked past me to where Sully was walking toward a stack of antigrav pallets, the beautiful dark-haired woman—I hoped—forgotten.

“So very rare,” Del murmured.

“You shut off my link with him.”

“I had to, Chasidah. Instinctively, he’d perceive me as a threat.” Had I known he was a Kyi I’d never even suggested a meetpoint like this. No one told me.

Drogue—the church doesn’t know.

Wise. Other than creating a near-catastrophe here, that is.

How can you tell he’s a Kyi?

A broader smile. I look at you and know you are a lovely woman. I look at him and know he’s a Kyi.

And what will he know when he looks at you?

Hopefully, that I am his friend. Would you tell him I’ll be waiting for you both at the bar at H-12? I’ll leave now and your link with him will regenerate. Ten minutes, Captain Bergren?

I nodded slowly. Ten minutes, Captain Regarth.

Wonderful. He touched my chin lightly with his fingers. And I will buy you that drink.

He turned, his long coat flowing around him, and strode easily down the corridor, his blue braid swaying sensually as he walked.

Regarth Serian Cordell Delkavra. Del. Captain Regarth. A Stolorth and, I was very sure, a Kyi-Ragkiril.

And there was one more thing I was very sure of. He was trouble.

I watched Sully’s eyes snap to black, his lips thin. His hand clasping mine tightened. Shock gave way to anger, which gave way to something more primal, more male. It tasted of jealousy, possessiveness, dominance.

And all I had said was, “Hello, Sully. I just met Del.”

I poured the encounter into his mind almost as fast as he retrieved it. I held nothing back, not Del’s seductive handsomeness nor the power that fairly seethed beneath his surface, nor the ease with which he rendered me helpless, folding the Grizni back around my wrist.

He saw Del as I had, analyzed him as I had, but with a depth of knowledge about Ragkirils I didn’t have. I saw a Stolorth male relatively the same age as Sully, though Stolorth life spans were longer so my guess could be off. He did appear older than Ren. And I’d gauged him about Ren’s height: six seven, give or take. I hadn’t noticed if he wore flat or heeled boots.

He also appeared more muscular than Ren, but that could have been the coat or it could have been simply that he overwhelmed my senses in a way that Ren never had.

Sully saw, sensed, felt the essence of a mature, confident Kyi who had not only been able to control me but to dominate Sully. Sully had barely noticed the two women. He didn’t remember much of what he had noticed at all until I walked up to him.

Fear laced through him then. It wasn’t an emotion I was used to sensing from Sully.

“Go back to the ship, Chasidah.” His voice was a low growl.

“Why? So the two of you can turn this area into some kind of paranormal battlefield because he flirted with me? Power down, Sullivan. I don’t like him but I learned long ago in Fleet that you don’t have to like someone in order to work with him. His anger over Grover’s City was real. He is here to help, and Drogue’s people sent him. When all is said and done, if you want to fry his ass, I’ll be there cheering you on. But not here and not now. And don’t,” I added watching his eyes shift through shades of black, “try that mental compulsion shit on me. I’m in no mood for it.”

He looked away, pulse jumping in his throat, but he didn’t release my hand. Then he nodded, slowly, some of the bitter iciness flowing between us thawing.

I’m sorry, angel. I’m angry at myself, not you. And I’m…concerned. Ally or not, he could be dangerous.

I snorted softly. Sing me a song I don’t know the tune to.

But neither of us were singing nor even very happy as we made our way down H-Level’s corridor toward the bar.

Del was lounging at a table for three in the bar’s shadowy back corner, a partially hidden duffel at this feet. Most of the activity was closer to the front, near the food vendor’s counter, where people could easily watch others come and go and listen for change-of-schedule announcements.

Or else Del had compelled everyone else to stay away. That wouldn’t have surprised me.

It shouldn’t. He has, Sully confirmed, his arm draped over my shoulders now, hugging me against his side as we came up to the table. “Mine” was in his posture, in the defiant tilt of his chin, in the narrowing of his dark eyes.

I nudged him. You two start pissing on the bulkheads to mark your territories and I’m leaving.

Del snorted out a laugh.

So much for privacy.

“It is to be expected, Captain Bergen.” Del rose, holding a chair out for me. Kyi to Kyi, power to power. It is something we go through. It will pass as we come to trust each other.

“Let’s start by staying out of her mind and mine, Serian,” Sully said tersely as Del and I sat. He was still standing, one hand on the back of his chair as if he was considering hurling it at Del.

“Captain Regarth, or Del,” Del corrected. “Serian is not a name to be spoken out loud. I can explain why, later, or you can ask Brother Ackravaro. And please, sit. It is more difficult to apologize when you tower over me.”

Sully lowered himself stiffly into the chair.

“Now, ale? Wine? Or perhaps some Lashto brandy? Rim we may be, but occasionally some of the finer things do slip our way out here. And as I promised Captain Bergren, I am paying the tab.”

“Lashto and bitter-coffee,” Sully said before I could answer that water was fine.

“Excellent choice.” Del smiled, then raised one hand, signaling the bar ’droid.

A round of Lashto brandy could easily eat up a week’s wages. Del had the ’droid bring the bottle. The bitter-coffee came in the usual small cups with a wand of rocksugar balanced across the top. The aroma was marvelous, reminiscent of roasted amberseeds and chocolate. If it weren’t for the company and reason we were here, this would have been a delightful experience, one to be savored slowly.

Kyis are highly motivated by pleasure.

That from Del, smiling.

“Regarth.” That from Sully making no attempt to disguise the warning tone in his voice. Something else pulsed from him as well. Power, low level.

Del splayed his hands in a small gesture of apology. “Let me state something up front, before we proceed. It may put those concerns you have to rest, at least until you understand all this better and realize you have no concerns. And be assured no one,” and he flicked one long finger toward the patrons sitting at the front of the bar, “can either hear or understand our conversation.

“The only difference between you and I, Gabriel, is that I’m well trained in the use of my talents. That actually makes you the greater threat. I was able to block your link with Captain Bergren because I did not do it on a level of aggression. You perceived no danger because there was no danger. Had she sent out a serious cry of alarm and not just annoyance at my teasing, you would have known, you would have reacted, and I have every belief I would be dead.”

Del met Sully’s gaze levelly, all traces of whimsy now absent from his sensual mouth.

“As her ky’sal, you cannot respond to every twitch Captain Bergren makes. It would drive you crazy, and her. So you consciously or subconsciously filter what you sense from her. It’s necessary. Even when I compelled her to put the Grizni back around her wrist, it was a gentle suggestion. Had she truly fought it, it would have dissolved and you would have been there and I’d likely have her dagger in my throat.

“Captain Bergren is a trained warrior. She has a justifiable confidence in her abilities. Get used to the fact, Gabriel, that she will not come wailing for you to rescue her at every turn. She will always welcome your assistance, but she’s capable of defending herself.”

He folded his hands on the tabletop. “She’s also your ky’sara. You’ve not lived among us, so you don’t know what that means to another Kyi. Harming her would be an abomination to me. However, teasing her,” and a corner of his mouth quirked up, “is something I cannot promise never to do. Aside from the fact I’m an inveterate flirt, the joy between the two of you spills over to me because we are all joined on some basic level through the energies of the Kyi. What you share is something I’ve not seen in a number of years. It could almost make me as giddy as a bottle of Lashto.” He raised his glass. “Truce?”

Sully stirred his bitter-coffee with the rocksugar, eyes narrowed warily. Finally he nodded. “We have a common goal. That eclipses whatever personal differences we may have.”

“We have an extremely serious common goal,” Del said. “And forgive my intrusion, but I perceived you recently lost a pilot. You may find me to be useful to you, in more ways than one.”

It took us almost two hours and three pots of bitter-coffee to finish off the bottle of Lashto and lay out what we knew about Tage and Burke, and review the schematics for the Imperial Fleet P-75 that Burke had converted to a movable jukor lab. The coffee countered the majority of the effects of the brandy. We were sober when we finished, but more relaxed. Sully’s animosity lessened somewhat, though it spiked every time Del touched my arm or my shoulder in an affectionate gesture.

I refused to let it rattle me this time. Not like Sully’s constant small caresses that had unsettled me before I’d known what he was. Ren did it too, though less so. I saw it as an almost subconscious Ragkiril habit. They were highly motivated by pleasure. Physical contact was something they craved.

I’d known humans like that too. Dorsie was one. Maybe that’s why she and Ren got along so well together. Now, if she were to be around Del, we’d probably never get another meal out of the galley that wasn’t geared for the Takan or Stolorth palate.

“So you had no inkling they were going to move on Grover’s City,” Del was saying.

“My gut reaction was that something was coming. But Umoran wouldn’t have been my first guess.” Sully shook his head sadly. “Two of my crew lost family there.”

“Do you think Tage knew that?”

“Fleet knew about Marsh Ganton when I was on patrol,” I told Del. “Our intelligence stated he was a rim-worlder, likely Umoran, but more knowledge than that wasn’t priority. Of course, Tage has access to that intelligence. He could have built on it. And of course, Berri Solaria had met Marsh and Dorsie.” And become quite friendly with Dorsie, I remembered. She might have well passed on the location of Dorsie’s family. “Marsh’s father’s job at the docks was recent, though. To believe they were targeting him in order to get at us seems like an awful lot of work. They have easier methods.”

“Yes, your brother.” Del nodded thoughtfully, lips thinning.

“And they also have whatever Gregor told them,” Sully added.

“You sincerely need to get over this discomfort you have with routinely scanning your crew. Do you see, now, how much of this could have been avoided? Greater good, my friend. Even Fleet operates on that premise.” Del glanced at me then back to Sully.

“That’s not how I work.”

“Hijacking a shipment of synth-emeralds so a clinic in the colonies can fund new equipment, you don’t need to know any more than your crew is capable of following your orders. But this is the largest and most critical humanitarian effort you have undertaken. I’m not saying what you’ve done for the past decade has not saved lives. It has. But we’re talking now about saving worlds. The rules of the game are different.”

I watched the concern play over Del’s face. “Why do you care?” I asked him.

He seemed surprised by my question. “Pardon?”

“You’re Stolorth. The Empire has all but ostracized you. Why do you give a damn what happens here?”

He brushed his fingers across my wrist. “This is my home.”

“But Stol—”

“Is not my home. I am a Serian. You know how our names relay our heritage?”

I did. Ren was Frayne Ackravaro Ren Elt. Ren was his birth name, Elt the name of his grandmother, Frayne, his mother, and Ackravaro, his clan-of-region. That made Cordell Del’s birth name and Serian his clan-of-region. He should be Cordell Serian. Yet he used his mother’s name and a variation of either his birth or his grandmother’s name when referring to himself.

“Serian is—was—a clan of royalty that originated in what you now call Baris,” he said, his voice again taking on that cultured tone. “One of the oldest royal line-ages of Stolorths, predating the arrival of humans. In spite of that, we were known as progressives. We fought for space travel. We encouraged open diplomacy with Takas and with humans, when you came along. So much so that we opened our temples and academies to your representatives. You learned about us. You watched us work the Kyi.” He shook his head sadly. “You became fearful, your fear fueling the likes of Abbot Eng, but he wasn’t the only one.

“Suddenly we were demons, hated. We were driven from Baris and massacred because of the policies the Serians instituted. So my grandfather did the only thing any noble Kyi would. Something that is demanded by what we are. He and his siblings, and my grandmother and hers, took their own lives. It is called rash’mh han enqerma. To give to the gods a sacrifice in exchange for an unspeakable wrong. They returned to the Great Sea. My parents were permitted to live because of my grandparents’ sacrifice.

“I left Stol when I was twenty-two. I’ve never been back. I may not be blind like your friend Brother Ackravaro, but I am as much an outcast in Stol as he.” He reached for his glass of Lashto but didn’t drink it. “So I live now on the fringes of my ancestral home. And once again I see the massacre of innocents on the horizon. I was powerless to save my own people before. But I am not so powerless now. It is time for han rey qer—”

“Revenge for the greater good,” Sully said softly.

Del regarded him through hooded eyes. “You understand.”

“More than you know.” He shifted in his chair then leaned forward. “I find I’m in need of a pilot. Would you be interested, Captain Regarth?”

I understand why Sully made the offer. I just didn’t like it. Maybe it was because Del was a Stolorth Ragkiril, and Fleet training and prejudices still populated the recesses of my brain, my affection for Ren notwithstanding. Plus, Ren wasn’t a Ragkiril. He barely had Ragkir talents. Del was an overwhelming presence. Strong, sensual, confident. Charming. Very much like Sully, and I had my hands full with him.

Though I didn’t mind having my hands full with him.

Del was—

“I’d be honored to serve as pilot,” Del said.

—coming on board.

Del, true to his word, paid the bar tab. I took at shot at making him reconsider. “You don’t have your own ship to attend to?”

“A little beauty!” He adjusted his duffel’s strap on his shoulder. “I negotiated an excellent deal several years ago with a repair yard run by an Elarwin who works a magnificent refit.”

“That wouldn’t be Yagiro, would it?” Sully asked.

“The same.”

“Woman’s a genius.”

I’d been trailing behind them as we left the bar. I sidled next to Sully. “So shouldn’t you—?”

“My crew and my pilot have a mission of their own,” Del said. “Not dissimilar to what we need to do. I can set a meetpoint with her once we have Burke taken care of. Where are you berthed?”

“E-Level,” Sully said.

“The lifts have been abysmal of late. We’ll take the stairs.”

So were a lot of others, but at least people were moving up and down on the metal treads, not standing grumpily in line. This time I was on point, Sully and Del—taller—behind me. The stairwell blast doors were propped open, so I was looking straight out when I passed through, not down at where my hands would have been against the crash bars.

A blue flash of laser fire ripped through my vision.

“Down!” I screamed, but Sully’s hand was already on my shoulder, dragging me backward into the stairwell. My Stinger was in my hand but I didn’t return fire. I landed on my ass instead. Then Sully’s hands were in my armpits, pulling me upright.

Chasidah!

“Fine, I’m fine,” I told him as people barreled past, boots pounding up and down the stairs. An alarm wailed distantly in the corridor beyond the doorway.

“This way!” Del shouted.

We headed down.

I caught flashes of information racing between Sully and Del as we flung ourselves down the stairwell. Our attackers—and they were after us—were a woman and a man, no uniforms.

Feels like ImpSec assassins. That, from Del. Imperial Security Forces meant Fleet, or Tage using Fleet personnel. Not Narfial stripers, then. And not Purity Brigade.

Not Purity. I’m scanning for them, Sully said. We slowed at the next landing because Del did. He was in front now, with Sully and me behind.

Others stopped with us. More kept running. But as far as I knew, only two actually knew who fired the shots and who they were after. Del and Sully. If there were any other Ragkirils, they’d know.

None, Sully told me. His eyes were dark and distant.

Del glanced over his shoulder, his eyes equally as dark—but a deep shade of blue glistened in their depths. Stupid. They don’t know I’m here. Or what you are. I say we take them. And no one will ever know.

A shout above us. A scream dying away. Images darted between Del and Sully, far beyond my ability to grasp.

Behind me, Chasidah. Don’t argue.

I stepped behind Sully but kept my Stinger out, no idea which pairs of boots in the cluster heading for us were our attackers.

Suddenly a man tripped, his legs angling awkwardly. Seconds later, a woman tumbled over him, her pistol flying from her hands, her eyes wide. She screamed, the sound abruptly halting as her head hit the stairwell wall. Her neck snapped. Her body appeared almost pulverized.

The man kept rolling but he was dead long before his shattered body hit the landing.

People gathered around them. Someone shouted that the stripers were coming.

This way. Del moved quickly and silently for the corridor. We’ll take the lift this time.

Stripers were everywhere. Sully wrapped his arm around my shoulders, drawing me against him. Act frightened. They won’t see you as a threat.

I didn’t have to try all that hard. Just because I was career Fleet didn’t mean I liked getting shot at. Or ambushed. Or liked seeing how easily a Ragkiril could shatter someone’s bones, or snap his neck with a mere thought. And not even a flicker of the Kyi whispering around him.

It had all been Del, that much I was sure of. Besides being linked to Sully, I’d been physically touching him when the two ImpSec assassins appeared on the stairs. I felt no additional power surge, beyond what he was using to maintain our link at that point.

And I had felt a slight twinge of surprise from him at what Del had done so easily.

The station was still in an uproar when we reached E-Level, but whispers were going around that the minor crisis was over.

“Couple of pirates on the bad end of a deal,” someone said.

“Damned rafthkra addicts,” intoned someone else a bit farther down the corridor.

“Stripers shot ’em,” a tall man in green coveralls announced to his group standing stiffly by a cargo bay door. “Party’s over. Back to work.”

Marsh stepped back warily when Sully brought Del onto the bridge of the Karn, introducing him as the new pilot. I could understand his thought processes. Ren was blind, safe, accepted. The best or worst he could do was read rainbows, a person’s emotional resonances. But this tall, imposing guy was a fully sighted Stolorth. Who knows what he could do? Maybe nothing; most were empaths. But…

“He has the schematics for Burke’s jukor ship,” Sully added.

Marsh’s frown vanished. He stuck out his hand. “Welcome on board, Captain Regarth.”

“Del,” the Stolorth corrected, taking Marsh’s hand. “Chasidah rightfully holds the title of captain on this ship.”

“I’ve put in our departure request,” Marsh said, looking from Del to Sully to me. “First available slot is in an hour. I took it. Things are backed up because of some kind of accident on station.”

Yes. Someone tried to kill us. Something we couldn’t tell Marsh without revealing what he didn’t know about Sully and Del. “I’ll take her out, but I’d like you on the bridge at that time,” I told Del. “The Karn has some interesting quirks you might need to be aware of.”

Marsh snorted. “She’s Sully’s baby, that’s for sure.”

“Why don’t you finish stowing your gear, then come up to the ready room in fifteen minutes to meet the rest of the crew?”

“My pleasure, Captain.” Del smiled. “Mr. Sullivan, I have a few things you might be interested in seeing. If you’re not busy right now?”

“I’m not,” Sully said. “Chaz?”

“I’ll be in the ready room,” I told him as they headed for the corridor. “I have a feeling I have lots of system and traffic advisories to wade through.”

Warmth cascaded through me, a small message from Sully. We’d made it. We were safe. I was loved. Then those invisible fingers that weren’t Sully’s tapped playfully on my nose.

Don’t push your luck, Regarth.

That’s not at all what I was pushing, Sullivan. Need I give you a lesson in female anatomy as well?

Stop it, boys!

The captain has spoken. I could feel Del’s silent chuckle.

From Sully, not quite annoyance but more like exasperation.

Introduce him to Dorsie, I told Sully, knowing Del heard me. She’ll keep him busy.

Dorsie? Images flashed between the three of us. Ah, Mr. Sullivan. I do approve of your choice of officers and crew.

I very clearly heard Sully sigh as I crossed through the hatchway into the ready room.

Checkpoints and security procedures had doubled, not only due to the “accident on station” but the fallout from what had happened on Umoran. Fortunately, the Karn’s forged documents were second to none. It didn’t take me long to make the necessary changes to the ship’s databanks. I had the news feeds running as well. Nothing on Thad, no revelations about Gabriel Ross Sullivan. Just mourning on Umoran, and a growing list of the dead. Not all of the jukors had been captured yet.

The door to the ready room opened, letting Ren in from the corridor. “Chasidah.” A warm misty breeze filtered his words. “You had an interesting time on station, I hear.” He raised his chin toward the open hatchway to the bridge. I tapped the deskcomp, shutting it. He waited for the soft thump then sat next to me.

“You were fortunate to have assistance.”

“You’ve met Del?”

“Through Sully’s link, yes, we’ve been introduced. I was a bit surprised.”

“That he’s Stolorth? And a Kyi?”

“You don’t know who he is?”

“You mean that his clan is Serian? He told us the story. His grandparents were some kind of royalty.”

“They were. He is.” Ren shook his head, clearly mystified. “He is a prince, Chasidah. Eldest child of the eldest daughter. He is His Royal Highness Prince Regarth Cordell, Serian-Prime, Blessed of the Delkavra.”

“Hell’s ass,” I said, sitting back in my chair.

“Not quite how I’d put it, but I understand the sentiment.”

“He said his family’s lands were taken away.”

“By the current government in power, yes. But you can’t eradicate centuries of history. The exalted lineage is there.” He ran his fingers over the tabletop until he found the tab for the deskcomp. He touched it and the screen rose. “This is a deskscreen,” he said, tapping its edge. “The fact that you didn’t see it a moment ago doesn’t negate what it is. My blindness doesn’t negate what it is. And even if you didn’t know its function, it’s still a deskscreen. Its purpose, its heritage, is not affected by your opinions or knowledge.”

I got his point. The Serians were clearly not pariahs to a great many Stolorths. “Does Sully know this?”

“I didn’t want to embarrass His Highness with such a recital, so no. I’m telling you. At the proper time, you can tell Sully.”

“Are you okay with him being on board?”

“I am honored to be able to serve in his presence.”

“Oh. Well, then.” I didn’t know what to say. Ren was an Englarian monk. Abbot Eng preached death to all Ragkirils. His Royal Highness Prince Regarth Cordell, Serian-Prime, Blessed of the Delkavra, was a Ragkiril. Ren worshipped the prince and Abbot Eng.

“Chasidah, the Serians don’t represent the misuses of Ragkiril talents that sadly do exist among my people.” Ren’s voice held a large helping of patience. “Abbot Eng wanted only to cleanse the abusers. Guardian Drogue has said this, many times.

“The Serians accepted the responsibility even for those not like them, and performed the ultimate sacrifice shortly before Abbot Eng himself died. Had he lived, I truly believe he would have come to understand, as Drogue and Guardian Lon and many others do, that not all Ragkirils are tainted demons. I also believe that there is a place where the stars and the Great Sea meet, and there the Serians and the blessed abbot have made peace.”

“Right.”

Ren smiled softly, then patted my hand, sending a small flurry of warm rainbows through me. Like Sully could. Like Del. It occurred to me that if I survived Tage’s attempts to kill us, I could well suffer from a cuddling overload on the Karn. I hoped Dorsie was willing to work the relief shift.

I opened the hatchway to the bridge again and wandered over to navigation. Sully and Del should be returning momentarily. I really needed to talk to Sully. I wanted to understand what had happened with our attackers. I felt sure Sully knew more. In the meantime, there were some traffic advisories I wanted to make sure were plotted in—

An alarm wailed loudly overhead.

“Shit!” What now? I grabbed the arm of the pilot’s chair, swung in. “What is it, Marsh?”

“Targeting sensors. Someone’s locking on us!”

Data streamed down my armrest console. Marsh—a veteran with situations like this—had already kicked the sublights hot. The Karn shuddered in her docking clamps. I slapped intraship. “Sully! Verno! Bridge, now!”

Ren pulled his headset on at communications but sightless, there was little he could do other than relay what he heard on the communications channels. “There’s a report of a freighter out of control—”

“Out of control, my ass! They’re gunning for us.” Why did I think two assassins were all Tage would throw at us? I heard hard bootsteps in the corridor behind me. “Sully?”

“Here!” He was. He slid into the seat at weapons.

“Del, take nav,” I said as Verno thumped onto the bridge shoulder-to-shoulder with the Stolorth prince, who’d doffed his long coat but not his shoulder-holstered laser pistol. “It’s going to be ditch-and-drop, boys. Dorsie, lock down. This won’t be nice.”

“Secure, Chaz,” came Dorsie’s answer over intraship.

“I need max shields, port side. Sully, fry those clamps on my command. Marsh, I need all three port thrusters on hard burst, overload on the secondary and tertiary if you have to, then keep sublights screaming till jump. Del, get us a goddamned gate!”

“Plotting a course now, Captain,” Del said as Sully swore and the alarm continued to blare.

“Ren, broadcast an all-ship MYA. Sully, on my mark. Four, three…” I checked my screens one last time and saw the freighter careening toward us. The scanner array the Karn wasn’t supposed to have clearly showed her weapons ports powering up, glowing hot. Ren’s MYA—Move Your Ass—had other ships scurrying, and Narfial traffic control pleading with us to hold our position.

Like hell we would.

“…two, one. Sully, fry ’em! Marsh, thrusters, now!”

The Karn jerked hard, alarms screaming in triplicate, overload warnings flashing. The grating sound of metal wrenching echoed off the bulkheads. Snapped power lines whipped past the front viewport as something thumped, hard, and something else thudded, once, twice. The ship lurched then we were thrown sideways, my armrest catching me in the ribs in spite of my safety straps.

“Full shields!” I said hoarsely. Goddamn, that hurt. “Verno, don’t let her spin. Marsh, crank those sublights higher.”

We dove away from station—a hideously ugly departure. Narfial controllers cursed the Fair Jeffa, assuring us the freighter was back on course and was never a threat to us at dock.

“Bite my ass,” Sully intoned.

“Mine too. Make it a double,” Del said as we streaked past incoming traffic, Verno’s sure hand on the helm keeping us free from at least a half-dozen near-collisions. “Two hours, twenty-seven minutes to gate,” Del added.

Two hours? The closest gate in our nav banks was a healthy seven hours away. The one we’d used to get here had been twelve hours out. Two hours?

“At current speeds,” Del amended and damn him, I could feel him grinning. Gloating. He was almost as good as Sully at that.

Royalty shouldn’t gloat. It’s unbecoming, I sent him. If Sully heard and didn’t understand, he would soon enough.

Del’s silent snort sounded in my mind. It’s not gloating. It’s a deserved appreciation of our natural superiority.

And humility, I shot back, noting a flash on my screen telling me we’d cleared Narfial’s outer beacon. Then out loud: “Tell me about this gate a mere two hours away.” Later, I’d ask if he had any inkling the freighter and our attackers were related.

“It’s part of the old smugglers’ gates you used to get here,” Del said.

I felt Sully’s interest, felt data flowing rapidly back and forth between Del and Sully. Disbelief waned, surprise taking its place.

“Whoever’s after us,” Del continued, “won’t think we have the balls to use it.”

Oh, joy.

Forty minutes later, when we were sure no one pursued us, I sent Marsh and Verno off duty. They could handle the ship once we had her set in slippery space. Again. But right now, Sully, Ren, Del, and I had a number of important things to discuss.

It was the noisiest silence I’d ever experienced.

No, neither Sully or Del had had time to run a scan on our attackers’ minds for further plans. There hadn’t even been time to get identities. Only that, yes, the two were hunting one Captain Chasidah Bergren and one Gabriel Sullivan, known mercenary and pirate.

But unknown Ragkiril. Interesting that Tage hadn’t warned his people.

Then we ran all the data we could on the “out-of-control” freighter. It was pitifully small. Ships didn’t sit at dock routinely running their short-range scanners. Not even the Karn. But she did always keep her weapons-seeker program operational. One of the quirks a pilot had to counter for when undocking. The seeker program, however, only alerted us when we were being scanned, targeted. It didn’t gather detailed data on who was targeting us.

’Droid operated, Sully posited.

Del examined the freighter’s movements in slow-motion mode. Quite likely. So not a true suicide mission. Junkyard scrap.

We had no way of knowing who owned that junkyard scrap.

Ren was breaking down all transmissions from forty-five minutes before the incident to when we lost contact with Narfial Traffic Control, hopeful the “distress calls” would furnish something. But chances were very good ship’s name and ID would be as creative as our own. A search on the Fair Jeffa would result in conflicting information that eventually dead-ended. The name that the freighter broadcast, the Glorious Perceiver, dead-ended even more quickly than that.

Did you try…But it could be…And how about… bounced back and forth in my brain, while my ears took in only the normal beeping and clicking of the bridge and the occasional human or Stolorth sigh of frustration.

I’ve been watching Tage since shortly after Corsau, Del admitted, when the topic turned back to the larger picture. I had an inside source about much of what went on in the Justice ministry. There are some Ragkirils working there, as I’m sure you know. Only one Kyi I know of. Or knew of. She may no longer be alive.

Concern flowed from Ren.

Not that way, Brother. She was much on in years. An elegant, intelligent woman. Distant relative of mine. Not Serian. Delkavra. She’d outlived all three of her ky’sals. I daresay she was ready.

Three? I tried not to voice my surprise but it was heard, anyway.

Multiple bond-mates are not uncommon in some clans, Ren said.

Delkavra women are known to be feisty, Del added. You could have been one, Chasidah. My great-aunt Michonna had five at the same time for a good twenty or so years. I often wondered if they were assigned to her bed based on the days of the week.

Sully’s more than I can handle, thank you.

That had better be a compliment, angel, and not a complaint, Sully warned.

Can we discuss business, gentlemen? I shot back.

Then a whisper, the smallest of sounds yet seductively deep, in the corner of my mind: You underestimate yourself, Chasidah.

I pushed it away and filled my thoughts with the data on my screen while Del shared what he knew about Tage, and Sully filled Del in on Hayden Burke, not missing an opportunity to relay the list of seductive vidstars who’d graced his cousin’s bed.

My screen trilled, an icon flashing. “We’re in range of a data beacon. I’ll do the grab.” My voice was oddly loud after so much external silence.

Don’t bother with the scores. No Baris Cup for two days, Sully said, sounding dejected.

Who’d you take? Del was interested.

Garno, of course.

I have Walker, Ren put in.

I logged off the pilot’s console. “Gentlemen, I have work to do. One of us might as well. I’ll be in the ready room when you run out of gambling and multiple-sex-partner stories.”

Touchy, isn’t she? Del asked.

We haven’t had much time for sleep lately. Or anything else. Makes her cranky.

Sully!

Yes, angel?

I spun on my heels at the ready room hatchway, marched the three steps to his chair, cuffed him soundly across the back of the head—he ducked but I countered for that—and then marched back.

Then I shut the ready room hatchway and locked it. Too bad I couldn’t find a lock for my mind.

We skittered through the gate with me in the pilot’s chair and Del at helm, working as second pilot. Ren was already off duty. Sully was supposed to be at nav but instead he stood behind my chair and ran his fingers up and down my shoulder.

Cranky, eh? I knew what he was doing. I guess I should be relieved that he wasn’t pissing on the bulkheads to mark his territory.

I brought up the same guidance program that had held us fairly steady through slippery space the last time. Del reviewed it and pronounced it fit.

Then he turned in his chair, watching me and Sully. He motioned toward the nav station. “Dock Five is next?”

“I need to find Gregor’s fail-safe partner,” Sully said, his hand on my shoulder stilling. “But more than that, I think Acora has a number of people on the dock. Between you and me, we might be able to pin them down, get the information on the location of Burke’s ship. If they don’t know, then they know who will know. It’s a process of elimination.”

“Do you trust me enough to let me review the files on Gregor?”

“You’ve been flying my ship for the better part of two hours. What do you think?”

“I think you put people through a number of tests before you trust them.”

“Don’t you?”

Del leaned to his right, raising his chin toward the open hatchway to the corridor. I don’t waste that much time. I probe, I find answers, I act on what I find.

Sully hesitated, then: “And what did you find about my crew?”

“They’re good.” Marsh Ganton is skittish but right now he’d sell his soul to the devil—which he’s not fully sure I’m not—to avenge his father’s death. But he’s loyal to you, Gabriel. He knows what you’ve done for his family in the past. He envies what you have with Chasidah, but honors you all the more for it. He came from a nice family. A good man to him is one who respects a woman.

“And he’s close to Dorsie, his aunt,” I put in.

And a ripe plum for the picking she is!

But Del was laughing, teasing, looking for a rise out of Sully and me.

Verno knows you’re a Ragkiril, guesses I am as well, Del continued. Takas don’t carry the prejudices humans often do. His energy and focus is impressive. If I needed one word for him, stalwart would do well.

And Ren. Ren is the little brother you should have had but didn’t. In many ways, he represents all that is good about my people.

So then I have no worries, Sully said.

Loyalties can shift in the blink of an eye, my friend. Never forget that.

A noise in the corridor halted our discussion. Marsh and Verno. Ren would come back at midshift. Unless slippery space acted up, there just wasn’t that much to do in jump.

“You’re relieved of duty, Captain Regarth,” I said, sliding out of my seat. “So are you, Mr. Sullivan. I think we could use some downtime.”

“I’ll check to see what Dorsie has in the galley,” Del said, gracing me with a wink as he passed by. The galley wasn’t a bad idea. Some pie or stew sounded good right about now. Lashto brandy and bitter-coffee were the last things I’d had to eat.

Del strode down the corridor toward the stairway, long braid swinging across his broad back.

I slipped my arm around Sully’s waist and tugged him toward the hatchway. Stew, I thought. Hot and steamy. A thick slice of bread. A glass of wine.

Sully came along with a sigh, Marsh’s and Verno’s voices filling the spaces between our footsteps.

“Hungry?” I asked when we’d almost reached our door.

He hit the palm pad then grasped my shoulders, backing me into the cabin. He turned, hit the pad again, and pinned me against the wall as the door closed and locked.

“Yeah, angel,” he said, his body hard against mine, his mouth hot against my neck, my ear. “Starving. But not for food.”

“But, Sully, Del—”

“Knows his limits. And underestimates mine.” A silvery glow spread over his skin as his fingers pulled my shirt out of my pants. Whatever else I wanted to say was halted by the fierce pressure of his lips, the seductive dance of his tongue, the intense heat that suddenly flared through my body, spiraling between my legs.

I gasped.

He kissed me, harder.

His hands found my breasts. The feather-light touch of his fingertips brushing my nipples contrasted with the exquisite, insistent sensations now pulsing between my legs, leaving me weak-kneed and dizzy. And we still had most of our clothes on.

That I could fix. I tugged at his shirt. His deep chuckle vibrated in my mouth as he yanked it up, breaking our kiss only to pull it over his head. Then it was hot skin to hot skin, hands seeking, finding, caressing.

Chasidah. Ky’sara-mine. He arched against me, fully aroused, hard, throbbing. This is what you do to me.

And I knew. I felt everything through our link. Felt the tense excitement of the blood pounding inside him, felt the frisson of sensations as he ground his hips against me. A spike of pleasure jolted me and I heard his breath hitch, hard. I closed my eyes, immersing myself in his desire, his passion—

He grabbed me, turned me away from the wall, lifting me, his face rough against my cheek, his mouth wet on my shoulder. When I felt the mattress under my back, my eyes fluttered open. The energies of the Kyi glowed from deep inside him, surfacing in small flashes of lightning that raced down his bare chest, disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. Another surged up his left arm, striping his left cheekbone before fading into his hair.

He knelt over me.

Don’t be afraid, ky’sara.

I’m not, I lied, remembering only days ago when the blaze of the Kyi in the palm of his hand had shaken him, bringing him to tears—

Do you at least trust me?

—and days later, the surge of lightning beneath his skin. He’d almost killed Gregor. Until I tugged at that link between us. And then all he’d wanted was me.

Did I trust him?

Yes. That was the truth.

Eyes black as the depths of space, he ran one trembling fingertip down the side of my face. The most incredible sensations of pleasure surged through me, arcing, teasing, racing.

“God, Sully!” My voice was barely a whisper.

So was his. “This is Gabriel,” he said hoarsely. “Let me love you.”

I reached for him, wanting the heat of his body against mine, but that damned electric fingertip kept up its journey. He pulled off my pants and left no part of me unexplored. Then his tongue retraced the path and when I was writhing, delirious and completely incoherent, he entered me, stroking, plunging, fire cresting, blazing under his skin.

I clung to his shoulders, the feel of his slick, heated skin under my hands the only way I could tell where he ended and I began. He groaned, shuddering, his mouth on mine, his frantic kisses interspersed with whispered confessions of desire, of wanting me beyond all reason, of loving me beyond all measure. Then his control snapped, the overwhelming sensations of pleasure pushing him—us—over that final edge. He cried out my name as he plunged harder, deeper, taking me with him through the forceful explosion of his release. And for a moment lightning raced under my skin too, and a limitless power filled my veins, hotter and sweeter and more potent than a thousand bottles of Lashto brandy.

He kissed me fiercely, his heart still pounding. Trembling, I brushed my hands up the sides of his face, threading them through his short-cropped hair. He angled his head, nipped at my ear, and I could feel the energies of the Kyi wrap silken cords around us like a heated blanket of star-filled clouds.

I peered over his shoulder through fluttering lashes, momentarily mesmerized by the sparkles. He levered up on his elbows. My hands slid down to cup the sides of his face. He looked at me, his dark gaze searching. He was breathing hard, the glow under his skin just now beginning to fade, the jagged streaks of energy not quite so intense. One danced past my fingertips. I tried to touch it but it was gone.

I knew I should be exhausted, ready for sleep. But just like the last time, I’d never felt more alive.

“Extraordinary,” I whispered.

“Yes,” he rasped, his lips curving into a familiar Sully-grin. “We are.”

I woke a few hours later to the smell of coffee. I sat up in bed, clutching the sheet against me as Sully walked into the room, large mug in his left hand, bowl in his right. I took the coffee from him, sipped it. God. Chocolate and…cinnaspice?

It dawned on me he was fully dressed. I was still naked. I didn’t remember his leaving the bed.

“How long have you been up? And who made this coffee?” I took another sip and let the sheet slip through my fingers. Stars, this stuff was good.

His eyes darkened as a small smile played over his lips. And I remembered that Kyis are highly motivated by pleasure. Even mine with the coffee, apparently.

“It’s Del’s recipe,” he said, easing down onto the bed. He dipped the spoon into the bowl, bringing up something steaming, lumpy, and I knew from experience, wonderful. Dorsie’s hot fruit compote. “Eat. You need the fuel.”

I let him spoon-feed me, then took another sip of coffee. And thought about what he’d said. Del. Not Regarth. “So you and Del have stopped pissing on the bulkheads?” The fact that Del saved our lives notwithstanding, I’d still sensed a wariness in Sully about our new pilot.

Sully sighed. “It’s instinct, two Kyis, probably more so with males. I’d read about it, but I’d never had it happen firsthand before. Fortunately, he knew how I’d likely react, though he only had minutes at meetpoint to process what I was. So we were both a bit off.”

“You trust him?”

“Besides the fact that he took out those two ImpSec agents? He’s been working against Tage for much longer than we have. We knew more about Burke. He knows more about Tage. If I’d met him six months ago, things would probably be radically different in the Empire right now.”

“But do you trust him?”

I felt Sully’s presence sweep my mind. “You don’t because he teases you.”

“I grew up in a military family on a military base. Men being rowdy or bawdy don’t bother me. Believe me, I’ve even out-bawdyed a few. But there’s a line you don’t cross when it comes to someone’s spouse.”

“Ah! So you finally admit we’re married.”

“Sully.” I wanted to smack his arm but I might spill my coffee. That would be a sin.

“He’s a Kyi, Chaz. They’re—we’re—very sensual. Your being ky’sara to me brings you into the realm of our energies. In a way, it’s like being part of a large family.” He raised the spoon again. “Eat.”

I took a mouthful, chewed, swallowed. “That would mean every Ragkiril on Stol trusts every other Ragkiril. Sorry, don’t buy it. I’ve read some of their history. Doesn’t work that way.”

“It does within clans. Del’s been explaining this to me. He was raised knowing he was a Ragkiril. He’s been trained for years as a Kyi. I have a twenty years of learning to catch up with.”

“Ren never told you any of this?”

“Ren told me a lot, but he was cast out of his clan as a child, and the church orphanage on Calfedar is not going to teach a blind Stolorth about Ragkirils. You know this.”

“I just assumed since he knew so much of his people’s history—you do know Del’s some kind of deposed prince, don’t you?”

Sully chuckled softly. “Yeah.”

“Anyway, I just thought Ren knew a lot more about Ragkirils. He did explain the basics to me when I met you.”

“Ren knows what he’s studied since leaving Calfedar. Del’s lived it. Still lives it.” Sully shook his head, his expression suddenly serious. “I don’t know if I can completely describe what it’s like to finally meet someone who is like me, after all this time. It’s a little frightening but, God, it’s also such a relief.” He glanced almost shyly at me. “I don’t feel like such a freak.”

Ah, Sully. My heart constricted at his pained admission. I put my coffee on the nightstand and, framing his face with my hands, kissed him gently.

He licked his lips. “That is damned good coffee.”

“And?” I prompted.

He grinned. “Damned good kisses too. Now, open that beautiful mouth of yours again and finish your breakfast. We have work to do before we hit Dock Five. Del and I have some plans.”

Del and Sully. I was glad that someone could finally help Sully be at peace with the beast within, as I knew he thought of himself. He needed training to understand what he was, use what he was. Del could do that for him. And they were, not surprisingly, similar in age, outlook, and temperament. Del was the deposed prince. Sully was the deposed heir. I could see them as friends.

But it was the things I couldn’t see but only feel on the edges of my mind that worried me. Things that I sensed when I first met Del. Captain Regarth. His Royal Highness, Prince Regarth Cordell, Serian-Prime, Blessed of Delkavra.

He was trouble.

Sully left the cabin for the bridge, where Del was sitting in as first pilot. I went down to the galley for another cup of that chocolate coffee and to thank Dorsie for making the fruit compote. She knew it was Sully’s and my favorite breakfast.

We had a little under an hour yet to the exit gate.

“My God, he’s gorgeous! I’ve never seen eyes that deep color of blue. And an honest-to-shit prince!” Dorsie was rearranging perishables in one of the two large refrigerators in the Karn’s galley. Good thing for her to be doing. We were discussing Del and she was overheating rapidly. “And do you know he gives the most heavenly back massages?”

No, I didn’t. I didn’t want to know. But he was Kyi, motivated by pleasure—which meant, to a great extent, giving other people pleasure so he could experience it too. Dorsie had learned to enjoy Ren’s warm rainbows. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what Del had done to her.

I could guess. Sully did it to me.

But did that mean Dorsie had…been intimate with him? I snorted back a laugh at my own silent euphemism. I was a grown woman. But “fucked him” didn’t seem quite right for the experience a Kyi could provide. And “had sex” didn’t quite cover it either.

I didn’t even know if I could ask such a personal question, but she obviously read it in the expression on my face and snorted out a laugh of her own. “Oh, God, no. I didn’t bed the man. Yet.” She winked. “I was working down here and, you know, he reads those rainbows like Ren does. He told me so. He could feel that my shoulder bothered me so I sat at a galley table while he worked his magic.” She sighed. “And such magic! It’s those six fingers. Must be.”

She turned back to the shelves, pushing some containers to the side.

“What about Ren?” I asked her. Was it only a day or so ago she was ogling his ass? And it was worthy of ogling.

Three small boxes went into the open space. She shut the unit’s door then leaned against it. “I look at a lot of things like I look at food. Ren’s the uncultivated berry you find growing in the woods. Sweet and sun-kissed. Rare. Del is…” She paused, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Del is triple chocolate fudge from one of those high-end confectionaries. Someone made him exactly what he is and spared no expense in doing it. Does that make sense?”

Yeah, it did. But it also made me wonder what his price was, and if we could afford it.

Sully and Del were still on the bridge. I could hear raucous male laughter in the corridor as I exited the stairwell. Marsh said something, Del answered.

Then from Sully, laughing: “Hell’s ass! She’s even better than that.”

I hesitated for no reason I could rationally define. I was raised on a military base. Epithets, gallows humor, cheap-shot jokes rolled off my back. But there was an undercurrent here that was different.

And no one seemed to notice it but me.

Was I crazy?

Hello, lover. Come join us. A deep, masculine whisper traced the edges of my mind. And it wasn’t Sully.

I turned on my heels and fled back down the stairs.

I stopped at the bottom tread, heart pounding, feeling stupid, foolish. Angry. I wanted to march onto the bridge—my bridge—and slap Del’s regally handsome face.

For what? Teasing me?

I leaned my forehead against the cool metal bulkhead. Sanity seeped back in. I was Sully’s ky’sara. Del knew that, honored that. He’d said so. This was simply a family dynamic I wasn’t used to.

But wasn’t I? Thad had friends at the academy who used to flirt shamelessly with me. Their friend’s kid sister. I was fair game, practice material. Safe. I laughed with them, flirted back, blew it off.

That’s all this was.

Chaz?

Sully. Relief tumbled through me. Just had some coffee, been talking to Dorsie.

You’d rather have that coffee than be with me? I’m crushed, angel. Forty to gate. Get your sweet ass up here.

Slave driver. On my way.

Sully was at communications when I stepped onto the bridge. Del was at nav, augmenting Sully’s databanks on the old smugglers’ gates and routes through slippery space. Marsh was in the ready room, door to the bridge open, composing transmits to send to his mother and family via the first beacon we hit after exiting the gate. The death of his father weighed heavily on him.

I hiked myself into the pilot’s chair, tapped on the armrest console screens. Thirty-five minutes to gate exit, everything within normal parameters.

“Here,” Del said, and data appeared on my screen. “We can use this secondary gate and cut down transit time to Dock Five.”

I ran a practiced eye over the data. “That’s one ugly gate, Captain Regarth.” It was. Ugly and old. The guidance beacons predated my father’s time in Fleet.

“Ignore the beacons. We leave them there because it dissuades most people from using it.”

“We?”

“It’s an old Stolorth transit gate, Chasidah. We were here long before you were, you know. What you call Baris Sector was once part of our dynasty.”

Sully leaned back in his chair. “I’d heard rumors of that.”

And I remembered Del mentioning that, back on Narfial. But that bit of information had gotten lost among everything else: the attackers at the stairs, and the out-of-control freighter dead-eyeing us, weapons hot.

“We were spacefarers when humans stumbled on us, centuries ago,” Del was saying. “But we were explorers not conquerors. We had no military fleet. It’s difficult to hang on to your property when you can’t defend it.”

I nodded. “So what do I use for a gate fix?”

“The intrinsic properties of the gate itself. Each one we built is different. It interweaves with the—” And he stopped. I knew what he was going to say and couldn’t, because Marsh came back on the bridge.

“—spectral emissions of the gate,” he finished. Then, in my mind: The Kyi. Gabriel, only you or I would be able to take the ship in. You understand that?

Completely. This is fascinating.

“More slippery space?” Marsh asked, glancing at the data on Sully’s screen as he passed by.

“Don’t ask, Marsh,” I told him. “You don’t want to know.”

“That’s why I love engines, drives, Cap’n. They stay where they belong. Lower deck, aft. And either they have fuel or they don’t. None of this here, not here, partially here, sometimes here shit.” He shook his head, grinning. “I sat nav early on, then realized I was too sane for the job.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Ganton,” Sully said. When Sully filled a role on his ship other than owner, it was navigator. I wondered now if he was drawn to it or had a natural affinity for it because he was a Kyi.

Likely, Dell said. Our earliest explorers all were. It was a requirement.

I felt Sully’s surprise.

Marsh was laughing, oblivious to our secondary conversation.

I rapped my knuckles on my small console. “Gentlemen, let’s deal with this gate before we go playing with any others, okay?”

“I’m almost done logging this in,” Del said. “I won’t desert you in your time of need, darling.”

“I’m sure Mr. Sullivan is touched by your sentiments toward him,” I answered back. Marsh snickered loudly. “Just make sure we’re where we need to be when we arrive back in real time.”

He did. The Karn performed, if not flawlessly, very well. There were two minor course adjustments before exit—slippery space takes a liking to you and is reluctant to let go—but Del caught them, leaving Sully and me free to sweep the big wide darkness in a requisite bogey check.

We’d been cut off from the news feeds for over ten hours. We had no idea of the status of Thad or what new tricks Tage or Burke were trying now. Plus, whoever sent the Glorious Perceiver gunning for us had ten hours to know they failed.

They also had no idea where we were headed or where we’d come out of jump—one of the advantages of ditch-and-drop is no flight plan required—but Dock Five had to be high on their list. Acora and the Farosians had to know by now they’d lost their source in Gregor. Last official point of contact for both had been Dock Five. Acora—especially, if Tage told him that Sully was a Ragkiri—had to realize we could get that information from Gregor’s mind. And that a man like Sully would come after him.

Which is why I argued, without mentioning the Ragkiril part in front of Marsh, that we should go to Garno or even Ferrin’s first, change ships, or grab a ride on one of Chalford’s luggers to get to Dock Five. Someone—several someones—would be looking for the Boru Karn and, thanks to Gregor, knew many of her disguises.

They had on Narfial.

Sully took one last look at the scanner sweeps before turning the system back on auto. The big wide darkness was clear for now. He half-swiveled his chair around. “Dock Five protects their own. And we are.”

“No one stopped Lazlo from hunting you there. And no one stopped Gregor from talking to Tage’s people, to Acora.”

“Lazlo learned virtually nothing about me from anyone on Five. Trel even warned me about him. The only information Lazlo got was from Berri. She was planted there for that purpose.”

“So was Acora. He got to Gregor. No one stopped him.”

“Fivers don’t stop you, angel. They just don’t help you if you’re not one of their own. And we don’t know for sure where Gregor and Acora met up the first time. Dock Five might only be the most recent info drop.”

You should have been able to get that information, Gabriel. Next time, you will.

I glanced at Del. He smiled lazily. I looked back at Sully. “I just think a little caution is advisable.”

“Advice noted.”

“Yes, I know.” I saw the familiar smug smile on Sully’s face. “You rarely listen to your advisers.”

“Acora knows what Tage is planning, I’m sure of it. If we give him too much time, Chaz, he’ll go deep and we’ll never find him.”

Del leaned one elbow on the arm of his chair.” We’re not in a position to make a direct move on Tage or Burke.” He splayed a hand toward me. “They’re too well protected. They’re like the top of the tree. The best way to get them is to start chopping at the roots.”

“I understand, but—”

The data beacon signal sounded. I glanced down, tapped it, opening the news-feed grab. Marsh rose.

“I’d liked to send those notes to my mother as priority. I’ll pay—”

Sully waved his hand, halting Marsh’s words. “Send them double-priority. And I’ll pay. Your family needs to hear that you and Dorsie are safe. That’s most important.”

Marsh swallowed hard, saying nothing for a moment. “Sully, thanks. I mean that. This is…a really tough time right now.”

I shoved my unfastened safety strap behind me. “I’ll handle that for Marsh when I upload the feeds.”

“Sit, Chaz,” Sully said, then nodded at Marsh. “Marsh knows how to send a transmit. We have to finish this discussion because we have a course change coming up. If we’re altering our plans, I need to know now.”

I knew that. “But—”

“Chasidah.” Del leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, expression earnest. “The trail to Tage and Burke is far more useful than either Tage or Burke at this point. I can guarantee you both men have insulated themselves well. Look at how this Lazlo was never connected to Burke but written off as a renegade terrorist because Marker security handled the incident, and Tage is their boss, though obliquely. Plus you went too high up the tree. Your best evidence is dead.

“You should have taken Lazlo alive, worked his knowledge, recorded it. You would probably have been led to Acora. Take his knowledge, work it, record it. Terminate them both when you’re done with them—”

I shot a hard glance at Sully. “We didn’t go into this to be murderers. That’s what they are.”

“—and keep moving up the tree until you have Tage and Burke trapped on top, without support from below. The only thing they can do then is fall. And it’s a long way down.”

“It’s a terrific theory, Del. But sometimes events don’t play out exactly that way. And we weren’t in a position to kidnap and torture Lazlo to get information out of him.”

It’s not exactly torture, Chasidah. I’ve always left them smiling.

I shut my eyes, turning my face away from Del as his words soured in my stomach. And I felt a twinge of anguish from Sully. I was rejecting Del. Therefore I was rejecting him.

“Sully,” I said quietly, but his mouth was already a grim line.

“Sullivan,” Marsh said and his mouth too was a grim line. He stood in the doorway to the ready room, shoulders stiff, hands fisted at his waist as if he wanted to fight. Or run.

God, no. Not more jukors, more people dead. It was the only thing I could think of, but then Sully and Del were rising.

“Sit down, Ganton,” Sully ordered, stepping toward him. “We’re not going to hurt you. We need to talk about this.”

Marsh was shaking his head. He stared at Sully, something wild and fearful in his eyes, his mouth twisting as he spat out the word. “Mind-fucker.”

Oh, God. The news feed. No. Not now.

I heard Sully exhale a hard breath, felt fear and anger race through his mind. Then it stilled. He was silent, controlled.

“A mind-fucker who is trying to shut down the people who killed your father, yes.” Sully slowed in his steps, his voice firm, almost emotionless. “A mind-fucker who is willing to risk his life so no more innocents have to die. That’s exactly what I am. Now sit down.”

“You made us think it was Ren, and then you made us think Ren was harmless. And then you bring him on board.” Marsh jerked his chin at Del. “What are we, Sullivan, your stupid puppets?”

“It’s not like that.”

“What is it like? What in hell did you do to Gregor and Aubry? They never sold you out to the Farosians, did they? That’s a lie. You wanted them off the ship because they’d know what he was. Because they knew what you are!”

My chair squeaked as I pushed it around to the left. “Marsh, if you don’t want to listen to Sully, then listen to me. Gregor did sell us out to the Farosians and to Tage. I saw the archivers he used. I found those snoopers. If you want to see them, I’ll show you.”

“God, Chasidah.” Marsh was shaking his head again. “He’s got you brainwashed. The news explained that, that he’s controlling you. That he’ll kill you.”

“Sully’s not controlling me,” I said softly.

“He is. Even your brother said he is.”

Thad. I could imagine what Thad said, or how Tage used what Thad knew. “Thad lied,” I told Marsh. “Or they made him lie. Did the news article say anything about his working with Darius Tage?”

A very slight nod from Marsh.

“You know they’ve got him in lockup. They’re threatening him with treason. He’ll say whatever he needs to in order to save his life.” Including risk mine.

Do you need him? This from Del to Sully as I talked to Marsh. How critical is he to the operation of this ship? You or I could handle his duties.

Images flashed. Ugly ones.

“No!” I didn’t think. I acted. I lunged to my feet, swinging to my right to face Del. The Grizni snapped into my waiting hand. “This is my ship, Regarth. Power down or get off my bridge.”

Del regarded me through narrowed eyes as if he were amused. Or annoyed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Marsh back up a step. He couldn’t know what Del said, but he knew something was very wrong.

Sully moved toward me, motioning Del away.

“I’ll handle this,” he said. “Chasidah.” He reached for me, palm up, his expression gentle but insistent. Ky’sara-mine. Not this way.

I shifted my stance slightly and held the knife between us. I imagine the look on my face was not unlike my expression just before I shot him two shipdays earlier.

Back off, Gabriel. He wants Marsh. He’s not getting him.

“Marsh,” Sully said, never taking his dark gaze off me, “I can explain everything. If you don’t like what you hear, you and Dorsie are free to go at the next port or dock. Year’s pay. Full docs. That’s a promise. But you need to sit down and listen. Please. Or I think my wife is going to stab me. And obviously, if I was controlling her, that wouldn’t be a pressing issue at this moment.”

Marsh moved again but toward me, slowly. I felt Del’s and Sully’s attention shift, felt the Kyi’s power almost roiling beneath Del’s skin. Sully’s pulsed and simmered. The energy was angry, demanding release.

“Captain Bergren,” Marsh said quietly. “Can you hand me your gun? Or will they stop you?”

“I would not recommend that action,” Del said evenly.

“Advice noted,” I snapped. I switched the dagger to my left hand—I’d trained with both and Sully knew it—and drew my Stinger out of the holster at my hip. For a moment my hand froze, my shoulder locking, unable to move.

Regarth! Sully growled out his name.

My arm moved again. “The man’s afraid,” I said to Sully, as if nothing had happened, as if Del hadn’t locked my body against my will. “For good reason. He wants a little security. He’s entitled to it. But on one condition. You listening, Marsh?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Do not shoot Sullivan without asking me first.”

“Understood, Captain.”

“Thanks for including me under your veil of protection,” Del said dryly.

I slanted him a withering glance. “Sit.” It sounded as if I were talking to a dog. I wanted it to. The man could kill me, easily. I’d watched Sully force Gregor to almost slit his own throat. But this was my bridge, goddammit. My crew. I would not be cowed, and if His Royal Fucking Highness took offense at that, so be it. I have a long memory. I’d see him in hell.

Del shrugged, elegantly, and sat back down at nav.

I looked at Sully. “You too.”

“I’m on your side, Chaz.”

“Prove it.”

He sat.

Marsh, standing beside me, was breathing heavily. I flicked the pistol to stun and passed it to him.

“I’ll start,” I said as Marsh palmed the gun. “And I don’t blame you for not believing any of us. Hell, I’m not sure I can even comprehend everything that’s happened to me in the past few months. But what I’m going to tell you is the truth, what I know about Sully, how I found out.”

I told him how Sully wiped the memories of Kingswell and Paxton on the Meritorious so we could escape, how he’d breathed for Ren so he could live, how he impossibly transported us up the center core of Marker when Berri could have killed us. How he’d saved Philip’s life, knowing he could lose me as a result. How he’d nullify his abilities with copious amounts of honeylace because he hated what he was. And how Gregor and Aubry almost killed him when he couldn’t defend himself.

I told him how I’d feared Sully but loved him anyway. And yes, I was his ky’sara. But he was ky’sal to me. The risk was far greater to him. And Marsh could find documentation supporting that in any number of scholarly files on Kyi-Ragkirils.

Sully had been leaning forward, forearms on his knees, hands clasped, watching me through my entire recitation. Our mental link was silent but not shut down. His emotions surged and ebbed like a storm tide, from fear to hope and back again.

When I finished speaking, he cleared his throat. “Marsh, I’ve lied to you for years. For that I apologize. But for all those years, I was what I am now. You think I’ve controlled you. You worry I might kill you. But we’ve had some differences before. Major ones. You’ve taken a few swings at me. On Ferrin’s, you even knocked me on my ass. Until I knocked you on yours.” He paused. “You’re still alive.”

“Yeah, but now I know what you are.”

“Evidently, so does most of civilized space, thanks to…let me guess. CCNN?”

Marsh nodded.

“If you don’t want to work for a known Ragkiril, I accept that. But I can’t change what I am. I can only try to use what I am to make a difference, just as I always have. To stop people like Tage from destroying the rim worlds, from killing Verno’s people and yours.”

“Does Verno know…?”

“You and Dorsie are the only ones who didn’t.”

“Gregor and Aubry, they found out the hard way.”

“They gave me no choice.”

“Like now?”

Del shifted in his chair, drawing one leg up, ankle resting on his knee, elbow on the chair’s armrest. The pose was languid. This was not a life-or-death matter. It was just another topic to get out of the way. “Consider this, Mr. Ganton. The man you are contemplating rejecting—and yes, he is quite human, not a Stolorth doing some fancy shape-shifting trick—is willing to risk his own life to avenge the death of your father. Can you show me another of your own kind, other than the enticing and spirited Captain Bergren here, who is willing to do that? For you, the baseborn son of an impoverished fruit picker?”

“You have such a way with words, Regarth,” I snapped.

A dark blue gaze that glittered with the mystery of exotic oceans turned to me. Then his lashes dropped seductively. “And you have a fire deep within that is positively enchanting.” He turned to Sully. “Let me again compliment you on your choice for a ky’sara.”

Marsh watched the exchange with interest. When it became apparent that Del was not going to kill me for my insolence, the stiffness in Marsh’s shoulders faded. A bit.

“When I accepted what Ren was,” he asked Sully, “why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“Ren’s not a Ragkiril. He’s the lowest level empath, not even a full Ragkir. That’s different from being a mind-fucker.”

Marsh raked one hand over his face. “Sorry, Sullivan. The term just—”

“Flows so easily from the lips?” Del quipped.

I spun back to him, my last strand of patience fraying. “Off my bridge, Regarth. Now.”

“Del.” Sully straightened. “Your cabin has a nice tub. Go soak.”

Your head, I put in silently. And I wasn’t referring to the fact that Stolorths required water immersion every forty-eight hours.

“That is actually what I need to do,” Del said, rising. He winked at me then strode easily for the corridor with no further comment, aloud or internal. But I had no illusion that meant I had him under control.

Marsh relaxed visibly with Del’s departure. He glanced at my laser pistol in his hand, hefted it, then handed it back to me. “I have my own, will probably stayed armed for now. If you don’t mind, Captain.”

“I understand.”

He scrubbed at his face with his hands then with a new resolve apparent in the set of his shoulders, walked between me and Sully, heading to his chair at the engineering console. He spun it around but hesitated before sitting. “Requesting permission to resume my duties, Sullivan.”

Emotions played over Sully’s face, the link between us thawing, warming. He had to clear his throat again before he spoke. “Permission granted, Marsh. And thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I figured if you wanted me dead, you would have done it on Ferrin’s.”

“You get really nasty when you’re stinking drunk.”

Marsh sat. “I still managed to clock you pretty good.”

“It only shuts down your brain. It doesn’t seem to slow your reflexes.”

“So it was a fair fight? No—” Marsh circled one hand in the air “—tricks?”

I eased myself back into the pilot’s chair and watched two old friends find their bearing again. Marsh wasn’t the only one who relaxed when Del left the bridge.

“Actually, because of what I am, I’m probably somewhat stronger than a guy my size should be. Someone else wouldn’t have been able to level me. But you did.”

“Until you kicked my feet out from under me.”

Sully shrugged. “You were staggering at that point. I just helped nature along.”

Marsh nodded. He was quiet for a moment, then: “Nature played a bad trick on you, didn’t she?”

“Most of my life I’ve hated what I am. But right now,” Sully said, pursing his lips thoughtfully for a moment, “I’m damned glad. Burke and Tage are afraid of me, or they wouldn’t be doing what they have been with Chaz’s brother, or trying to kill us at Narfial.” He hesitated, saw Marsh’s questioning expression as I did. “That’s something else we kept from you, yes. Tage had an ImpSec deuce come after us on Narfial. I couldn’t tell you then because you didn’t know what I was, what Del was. Because how we stopped them, got away, involved what we are. They probably have no idea we’ve hooked up with Del, or what that means. When they do, if they’re smart, they’ll start running and not look back.”

“Captain Regarth. Dorsie said he’s really a prince?”

Sully nodded.

“That brings us to our next problem,” Marsh said. “Now you’re going to have to go through this all over again with Dorsie.”

Sully groaned softly. “She’s going to poison me.”

“Take Ren with you,” I said. He had a calming presence. I wished he’d been on the bridge. I wonder if he knew how his prince would leave his victims smiling.

Sully departed the bridge, one problem if not solved, then at least on the way toward a solution. He had another ahead of him with Dorsie, and more after that—not the least of which was Del.

When I turned back, Marsh was looking at me. “I’m not really sure what to think yet,” he admitted. “I don’t like this. At all. But I’ve known you as long as he has, when you were Fleet, chasing us down. You’re still the same. You don’t take crap from him, from anyone. If I’m here, it’s because you are.”

I remember having a similar conversation with Ren when I first found out what Sully was. My faith in Sully was because of Ren’s trust in him.

“I’d like to read that research you mentioned,” Marsh continued after a moment, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“And I need to study that CCNN news feed.” I pulled up Gregor’s data and others Sully had on file. I sent the three most comprehensive to Marsh’s console with notations where he could find more.

Marsh glanced at his screen then back at me. “He really doesn’t control you. But he could.”

“Marsh, you could pull your laser pistol out of the locker in your cabin and shoot me anytime I walked down the corridor to the galley. But you don’t. All relationships work on an element of trust. You trust me to fly this ship, keep you safe. I trust you to keep the sublights operational and not shoot me in the back.”

“Can he hear what we’re thinking all the time?”

“He’s linked to me, so he knows if I’m upset or in trouble. And yes, he can talk to me, mentally, without being in the same room. But to listen to every thought you, Dorsie, Verno, Ren, and I have, constantly?” I shook my head. “The noise would be deafening, the content inane. It would wear him out.” I wasn’t sure of the last part but it sounded reasonable. And Del had made a similar comment.

“But you can tell when he’s doing that, right?”

“If he’s reading a mind deeply, yes, his eyes go very dark. And,” and I hesitated, not knowing how much to say, but he had the articles. He’d read about it anyway. “And when he uses the energies of the Kyi, you can see a silver haze around him.”

“I saw a vid clip of a Stolorth during the war doing that. It wasn’t real clear, but I know what you mean.” He raised his chin slightly. “So how does he get to be human and be this Ragkiril too?”

“He doesn’t know. No one really knows. There’s a theory that in humans it’s a genetic mutation. Rare. Every four generations or more. But it’s theory.”

Marsh pursed his lips. “Some people say we don’t belong in this sector. This is Takan and Stolorth territory, not ours. Maybe that’s true and maybe the galaxy knows it. It’s pissed off, so it’s changing us into what’s supposed to live here. You know. Evolution affected by environment.”

I’d studied evolution and environment in the academy. But pissed-off galaxies were a new one for me.

“If the galaxy’s pissed off, then it should be changing Burke and Tage into netherats. Speaking of which,” and I tapped my finger on my screen, “I need to examine what Tage released to CCNN. And then I have to track down Sully again because Dock Five may not be the best idea at this time. We need to decide on a course change in the next twenty-five minutes.”

Marsh nodded. “You’re a good person, Chasidah.”

“So are you, Marsh. So are you.”

I read through the brief but damning CCNN article on the “dangerous and mentally unstable mutant human Ragkiril, Gabriel Sullivan,” three times, then moved on to the reports of the “accident” in Grover’s City. Jukors still at large. There was no report of a freighter colliding with Narfial Station so I assumed either damage had been minimal or a course correction had been entered when we were no longer able to be targeted.

No mention of two dead ImpSec agents either. But that didn’t surprise me.

Sully and Ren came onto the bridge when I was finished making notes on what I’d read. I felt him before I heard the bootsteps in the corridor. He was emotionally drained, but there was a definite sense of relief.

“Your aunt has quite an impressive vocabulary,” Sully said, ducking under the hatchway opening. “I didn’t know it was possible to do those kinds of things with my anatomy.”

“She’s knocked me on my ass a couple times,” Marsh said. “Of course, I was smaller then. She’s willing to stay?”

“She needs to protect Ren from my disgusting influence.”

Ren sat at communications, a small smile playing over his mouth.

Sully drifted to my chair and rested one arm across the back, his fingers lightly on my shoulder. Chasidah. He was hesitant. Okay?

I didn’t know if he was asking if I was okay, he was okay, Marsh was okay, or all of the above.

Me, he said. With you.

I’ll try not to stab you with my dagger for at least another shipday.

I can live with that.

“We need to talk about Dock Five,” I said out loud, angling around in the chair to peer up at him.

“Tage thinks he’s just made sure I’ll be shot on sight anywhere we make dock. That’s probably true for a Fleet starport. I can’t let it be true for Dock Five, or the rim. I don’t care if people hate me, but they will respect my captain, my crew, my ship. And when it comes to that, my mission. I’m not going to run away and hide. That’s what Tage wants. I’m not going to give it to him.”

I didn’t want to. I didn’t like it. But I didn’t stop Sully when he set our course for Dock Five.

We were about five hours out of the jumpgate and things, if not wonderful on board the Boru Karn, were at least calmer. Marsh had come to me with a few more questions about what he’d read, but that wild, fearful look was gone from his eyes. Dorsie was angry, protective, and cooking up a storm.

“If that son of a bitch gives you any trouble, you let me know,” she’d said, wagging an old-fashioned metal whisk in my face. “I can’t believe he lied to me. I loved that man like family for years. It’s not him, I know that. It’s that monster that lives inside him.”

Oddly, the monster inside Del appeared to bother her less. “He’s Stolorth. He can’t help it. Ren explained it to me.”

Dorsie had almost rejected Ren for the very same monster she’d thought lived inside him. But going through that process and accepting him again seemed to have cured her of that fear. And only solidified her affection for Ren and all things Stolorth, evidently. Her anger at Sully, not unlike her nephew’s, had more to do with the fact that he’d lied.

So this time Sully’s crew hadn’t walked, though they were tiptoeing now and then. And carrying a big whisk.

I lost track of Sully after dinner. Verno, Ren, and Marsh were on duty. I’d moved schedules again because of Del. I wasn’t going to pair him with Marsh until I was sure he wasn’t going to enslave the man. Smiles or no smiles.

I checked the ready room, galley, storage areas, gym. Ship’s interior sensors showed Del’s cabin empty. I don’t know what made me think of the shuttle bay. Bad memories? But when the hatchway was locked, I knew.

Sully? I’d been mentally calling him for over an hour. But I’d been guessing then, sending out my queries at random. Now I envisioned the bay, envisioned Sully, and put some impatience behind my voice. Sully!

Nothing. I had one last option. I keyed in the emergency overrides, complete with retinal scan and that damned annoying female voice that Sully insisted came with the ship and wasn’t his doing.

The doors opened.

I stepped into the Kyi.

Limitless power surrounded me, rushing through the pores of my skin. For a moment I was floating, nothing under my boots. Then just as suddenly, I was on solid ground. Or rather, I had my feet under me, I was balanced, I could move, but nothing around me resembled solid ground or the shuttle bay where I’d found Gregor and Aubry attacking Sully.

I was inside an enormous silver sphere, up and down defined only by my current location. I knew without knowing how that if I wanted to go to a point I’d define as “overhead,” it would become, when I got there, “underneath.” Static. A workable plane of existence.

There were areas of the sphere where stars clustered, bright as a handful of gems. There were others that reminded me of mountaintops wrapped in gauzy clouds. Others were nebulas. In between it all was the darkness in various shades of gray, black, and deep blue.

Part of my mind told me I should be afraid. Part of me was. The other sensed a deep familiarity. I’d been here before, though not quite like this. It had never hurt me. Still, what if—

Chasidah.

I turned toward the voice, recognizing it with relief. Sully walked toward me, a long black coat billowing out around his legs as he moved. He wore black pants but was shirtless, his bare skin glowing brightly except where the coat covered his arms and shoulders. No light escaped there.

A containment field. I didn’t know how I knew that. I just did.

Del wore a similar coat on Narfial.

Del. I didn’t see him. I didn’t want to try to feel for him. But I knew he was here, somewhere. This…whatever…around me was not Sully’s doing.

He was frowning. How did you get here?

“The shuttle bay door?” I replied, my voice rising not so much because my answer was a question but because I felt my answer was obvious. Didn’t everybody get here through a door?

He was close enough now that I could see the flashes of lightning dancing over his face, his chest. So not Sully, but Gabriel.

“It’s been over two hours,” I told him. “This is not a big ship. When I can’t find you—considering what’s been going on—I get worried.”

Part of me—the rational part, the part whose heart was pounding in her throat and whose hands were sweaty—said the hell with Sully, I should be worried about Chaz Bergren standing in an energy field that never before existed in this shuttle bay, having a conversation with a Kyi-Ragkiril who had lightning bolts running rampant through his body. Whose eyes were infinitely dark. Whose presence exuded a palpable power that expanded like heavy-air turbulence with every step he took closer to me.

The other part of me refused to play the game. I stood my ground. “What are you doing here?”

The frown lessened. Training. Navigation, for one thing.

He was an arm’s length from me. Last time he’d been this close without a bed underneath us, I’d shot him.

If we use the old Kyi gates, he continued, we’ll arrive at Dock Five that much sooner. And if we need to leave, we have options I can use.

“Options are good, Sully. I’m just not sure this method—this place—is the best for all concerned.”

This place is what I am.

“But it’s not the only thing you are.”

Warmth cascaded down the side of my face, brushed across my shoulder. I’d never hurt you, ky’sara-mine.

“I’m far more worried about your safety.”

An elegant shrug, shades of Del in the movement. There’s no need. I’m quite capable. Of many things, he added, and this time the warmth moving down the side of my face was because of his fingertip, tracing my cheekbone, the line of my jaw.

Sensations of pleasure streamed through me. My eyelids fluttered. I leaned into his touch like a flower turning toward light…but this light contained ecstasy and the heat licking between my thighs was beyond erotic.

His mouth closed over mine, his tongue probing, tasting. His fingers pushed into my hair. I felt his body under my hands but I felt his body as if it were mine, felt his hardness throbbing, just as he felt the heat inside me turn liquid.

I splayed my fingers over the ridge of muscles in his chest, the coarse curled hair, rough, his skin, slick.

He pulled me tightly against him, arms like bands across my back. I cupped his face, wanting more of him, deepening the kiss—

No. There was something else, someone nearby…I jerked back, wrenching out of his arms, ignoring the pain and confusion on his face.

“Damn you, Regarth! You are one sick bastard.”

I looked past Sully’s right shoulder. I knew exactly where he was.

He moved out of the shadows with the same grace Sully had, long coat swaying over dark pants, lapels open over a bare chest. His aura was distinctly silver-blue, where Sully’s was pure silver. Blue-white lightning swirled under his skin.

He exuded power, sensuality, more than on the Karn or on Narfial. I could easily see the prince, the Serian-Prime, scores kneeling at his feet, dozens calling him Master.

We were involved in an important lesson when my best student disappeared. The fault is not mine, angel.

“I’m not your angel.”

Sully grasped my shoulder, firmly. I wasn’t sure of the message. Protecting me from Del, or Del from me?

And you were concerned I would compel Ganton into cooperating, Del was saying. That’s quite a link you and Gabriel have.

“It saved his life once.” I wondered if I hadn’t done so again.

Del laughed. Only interrupted his studies. Was I boring you, Gabriel, that your mind wandered, drawing her here?

Chasidah found her own way here.

Ridiculous. The Kyi—

Recognizes her as part of me. It welcomes her. She’s not a threat.

No? A baseborn freely accessing the power? Apparently I’m not the only one who holds minds in thrall.

Baseborn? I was about to make a comment I was sure Del wouldn’t like when I felt a twinge of irritation from Sully. We’ve been over this. There’s no false compulsion between us. Just equality.

Del raised his chin. Except when she demands you not be what you are.

Del knew I shot Gabriel, knew I stopped him from torturing Gregor. My mind couldn’t grasp the content of their discussion. It came too quickly at me. But I clearly felt the tone, the disapproval.

Del suddenly glanced down at me. This is why the ky’saran link is so dangerous, yet so damnably addictive. Beautiful but deadly. And that describes you as well, doesn’t it, angel?

With that he turned abruptly and stalked off, the layers of darkness wrapping around him.

Sully stared in the direction Del had gone. He’s been alone with his power for too long. But then, so have I. That’s why, in many ways, we’re good for each other. He understands what it feels like.

I tugged at his sleeve. “Sully, it’s late. Let’s—”

I have some things to do here yet. Go back to the ship, Chasidah.

Back to the ship? I did not want to analyze that statement any further. I fought the urge to stamp my foot to prove that, yes, there was solid ship’s decking under my boots. And I fought the urge to demand he return with me, proving Del was right. I understood the Kyi was something Sully used. I didn’t want it to be where he lived. “I’m not sure I know how,” I admitted. “Why don’t you come back with me, show me?”

He stopped staring at the star-filled distance and glanced down at me. A deep chuckle rumbled between the silent flashes of lightning in his chest. He grasped my shoulders, pulling me to him. Nice ploy. He kissed my forehead. I’ll be there when you wake.

I rolled over in bed, the sheets cool against my bare back. Sully’s arm was warm and heavy where it draped over my waist. I peered through my lashes. His eyes slitted open, his mouth curving into a smile. Then he kissed me, tongue probing, tasting. Liquid fire surging…

No interruptions this time, he promised.

When the fireworks stopped dancing riotously through my body, and Sully was sated and lazily trailing two fingers up and down between my breasts, I decided that checking the time might be advisable.

Seven and a half hours had passed since I’d walked through the shuttle bay’s doors and into the Kyi. Since I’d somehow gotten back to the cabin.

I was due on the bridge in thirty-five minutes.

I sat up abruptly.

“Relax,” he said. “Del’s in the pilot’s chair.”

I slanted him a glance. “Why does that not make my heart overflow with joy?”

He slanted me a glance back then sighed, stretching as I watched. He was just Sully again. But that didn’t mean he was any less magnificent to look at.

He caught the direction of my thoughts and grinned rakishly.

I blushed. “Can you get me a cup of tea, coffee, something? I need a quick shower.”

“A cold one?”

I hit him with my pillow and pushed myself out of bed.

I was standing under the steamy streams of the ship’s recycled water when the lavatory door nudged open. Sully, dressed in his usual black, leaned against the edge of the sink, sipped from the cup in his right hand, and held another for me in his left.

“I told Dorsie they were both for you so she wouldn’t try to poison me.”

“Find Burke’s lab ship, unmask Tage, and she’ll love you again,” I said, tapping off the water and turning on the dryer cycle. I circled slowly, ignoring Sully because nothing could be heard over the noise anyway.

Except this way, he reminded me. Then: Chaz, Del is not the problem you perceive him to be.

Let’s see. He ambushes me on Narfial, blocks you, wanted to neutralize Marsh, and then locks you away from me in some mystical woo-woo place that used to be a shuttle bay. In between all that, he has an annoying habit of calling me “angel” and “lover,” walks a very thin line between harmless flirtation and practiced seduction, and then has the balls to say I’m touchy. I have no idea why I think he’s a problem.

I shut off the dryer and opened the shower door. Sully handed me the tea.

Do you know how few Ragkirils there are in the Empire? he asked as I took a sip. Even fewer Kyi. He can’t go back to Stol. He’s honestly more grateful to have found us than you realize.

I handed the tea back, then pulled out the clip that had kept my hair in a bun—and dry—and shook my hair loose. “He has a funny way of showing his gratitude.” The dryer was off. No need to talk in mind-speak.

He’s helping us. Helping me.

I took the robe he held out to me and pulled it on. It was his ratty green one. “You said there were two Stolorth trading offices on Narfial. I’m sure he made friends there.” Especially with his charming personality.

Sully followed me into the bedroom. He’s a Serian, Chaz. And not all Stolorths are Ragkirils or Kyis.

I turned, reaching up, and drummed my fingers over his mouth. “This is our cabin. Can’t you talk to me like a normal person?”

I waited for a laugh, a smart Sully-like rejoinder. None came. His eyes darkened.

I’m not a normal person.

I huffed out a short sigh. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He handed me my tea, took a sip of his, and turned away.

“Sully…”

He stopped at the small dining table. “I’m finally accepting what I am,” he said over his shoulder. “Integrating myself. I thought you’d want that.”

“I want you to realize that your genetics don’t matter.”

He turned back. “Then stop rejecting what’s Ragkiril about me.”

“Rejecting?” I pinned him with a hard stare. “The only thing I’ve been rejecting is your clothes. I distinctly remember pulling them off you every chance I get, regardless of which stage you’re in.”

“Being a Kyi is not a stage, Chasidah. It’s not something you grow out of, like an ill-mannered child’s temper tantrums.”

“Sully, please. I have to be on the bridge.” I grabbed my shirt, stuck my arms in the sleeves. “We arguing about trivial semantics here.” I pulled the shirt over my head.

“Trivial.” He leaned against the table, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yes, damn it, trivial.” I yanked the drawer open and grabbed the first pair of pants I saw. I hopped on one foot then the other as I shoved my legs through. “You’re picking a fight with me over meaningless minutiae, just like Philip used to when—”

The temperature in our cabin plummeted. I realized what I said. I’d never compared Sully to Philip before. There was no comparison. But that didn’t matter. I couldn’t call back the words.

“Sully.” I padded barefoot toward him, hand out. “Sully, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

But he was shaking his head, his eyes snapping to full blackness. If he glowed silver and disappeared in a poof from our cabin I was going to hunt him down and shoot him again.

He must have heard me because his lips tightened.

“Fine, go be a Ragkiril. But for God’s sake, try reading my heart and not just my mind! I love you, damn you. But living with you lately is like slippery space. I cannot grasp what you want, but when I see where you’re going, some of it frightens me.”

I tugged at his arms and tried to uncross them from over his chest, make him release his defensiveness.

He wouldn’t budge. And our mental link was shut tight. I felt nothing from him.

“A week ago you wanted nothing to do with being Ragkiril,” I persisted. “Now, it’s all you want. Can you at least acknowledge that might make me a little confused?”

A trickle of frustration slipped through. I understand what I am now. I didn’t then.

“Mind cluing me in?”

I have been. With everything. But you don’t trust me. And I don’t think you really want to hear what I have to say.

“Try me.”

He hesitated. More frustration, a twinge of anger. Everything Del is, I am. And you hate him.

“I don’t hate Del. He’s a damned good pilot. He knows ships. Those gates he showed us are a boon. I truly believe with his help we’ll stop Tage and Burke. Beyond that, I know how important it is for you to be with someone who’s like you, even more than Ren is. But—”

But when Marsh was angry and Del wanted to step in, you assumed he would harm him. You assumed he wanted to kill him. You assumed the worst because to you, that’s what we are.

“That’s not what I think you are.”

Marsh has a violent temper. You’ve never seen it. I have. Did it ever occur to you that Del and I only wanted to protect you?

“Sullivan. I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself.”

He grabbed my wrist so quickly I had no time to react. His hand covered the Grizni. People die in knife fights, even if that’s not the intention. But Del or I could have put Marsh in a partial stasis, let him calm down. No bloodshed. No permanent damage.

He released my wrist.

Gregor was a mistake, he continued when I couldn’t stop the image from rising to my mind. That is what happens when you have an untrained Kyi doing things. You have no idea how much I regret that. That part of me you have every right to reject. I was foolish, stupid, wasteful of my energy. But that’s not what I am anymore, because of Del’s training. Can you at least show him some respect for that?

I sucked in a deep breath. I may not like his words but there was sense in them. “Yes, I can do that.” I could. I spent half my life in Fleet showing respect for people I couldn’t stand personally. I’d dealt with worse than His Royal Highness Prince Regarth.

Sully sighed too, then rubbed both hands over his face. I’m not angry with you, ky’sara.

The link between us was fully open now. I let his words, his regret, and his concern wash over me. Growing pains. That’s all this was. Things were happening quickly. We were understandably slower in making adjustments.

“I know. Me too.” I stood on tiptoe and brushed his mouth with a kiss. He leaned into me as I pulled away, holding the kiss a little longer, warm spirals enfolding me.

I stepped back, knowing what I had to do. Lead by example. Fleet tried-and-true method. Even for ky’saras and ky’sals.

“I’m late. Tell Del I’ll be there as soon as I can find my boots.” Clean socks were in the bedside drawer. Sully trailed behind me into the bedroom. “And then I think he should finish training you on those Kyi gates. We might need them.” I spied my boots, fished them out from under the edge of the bed, very aware of the words coming out of my mouth, words I didn’t want to say. Very aware of the fears rattling the locks on my emotional duro-hards. I could not let them out. “Just tell me when you’re going to be working with him, so I won’t bother you.”

“We’ll start when he goes off shift.”

I stepped into my boots and forced some life into my response. “Great.”

I hoped it was.

For the next three shipdays we streaked through a remote section of Calth toward the B-C, heading for the Kyi gate that would bring us to Dock Five on the edge of Baris. There were no Imperial GA-7 data drones out here. And we kept silent passing those few ships that also hugged the rim, where normally we might have swapped some news. We were a ghost ship on a mission. There was safety in silence.

I saw very little of Del. That was good. I also saw equally as little of Sully. That was something I had to live with. It was temporary, I assured myself. Means to an end became my litany.

Whenever I couldn’t stand it, I sat with Ren.

“You’re going through Sully withdrawal,” he said finally, a tender note in his voice. Placid waters buoying a cluster of maiisar blossoms.

God, I was.

“He will be better, stronger for it,” Ren assured me. “He’ll face much resentment on Dock Five and elsewhere now. He needs to be centered within himself to deal with that.”

I thought of the man standing in our cabin, Kyi energy sparkling in his hand, tears streaming down his face. Resentment from his longtime friends on Dock Five would have crushed him.

Not so the Gabriel Sullivan I glimpsed striding the corridors of the Karn now, only slightly shorter than the towering Stolorth beside him. There was a strength in his stance, a calmness and poise in his posture. He had grown up literally overnight. Even his presence in my mind felt different.

His lovemaking grew more passionate, more fierce. That was really the only time I had with him. In the mornings—my relative ship-morning—I’d wake and he’d be there, watching me through hooded but infinite eyes. Without even a touch he’d have me gasping, trembling, my body arching. When he did touch me, pleasure exploded beyond words. But being Gabriel, the poet, he also had words—whispered confessions of desire, sweet words of passion. Angel of heart-stars cards appeared everywhere in my path, sending frissons of delight when I held them in my hand.

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t Sully. I missed him.

I was worried about him.

But I shut that down, shoved yet another thing into my mental duro-hards and soldered the damned lids closed. I was on the bridge, thirty minutes from gate entrance, and Del and Sully were due up here in ten. I didn’t want them reading my insecurities.

I leaned back and crossed my legs. And then suddenly, without warning, a shockwave slammed full bore into the Karn, almost knocking me out of my seat.

My vision hazed, pain shooting through my side where my safety straps cut into my skin. Air was forced from my lungs as if a boulder had dropped on my chest. I tasted blood and bile, and by the time I found my voice, the ship’s alarms were screaming, almost deafening me.

I clawed my screen console around. “Verno! Marsh!” Both were on the floor, but Verno was already rising. Then he twisted, slowly. My ass left my seat. Artificial gravity controls died.

“Shit!” I threw the ship on manual, slapped open intraship. “Five seconds to reset. Handholds, now! Three, two, one—”

I thumped down, hard. Verno stumbled, wide furred hands clutching the back of his seat. Marsh rolled over, groaning, blood streaming from his nose. Then he coughed and angled upon one elbow. “Captain Bergren?”

“We hit something, or something hit us.”

“That’s fucking impossible,” he rasped, climbing into his seat.

We had scanners, we had sensors, we had shields. We were in the middle of the big wide darkness, far off the usual lanes. Beyond that, this was Sully’s ship. So yeah, it was fucking impossible.

Then the main viewscreen flickered on. My heart lodged in my throat.

A Fleet pinnace tumbled away from us. Four Fleet fighters waited off its port side, moving sloppily into formation, one trailing far back, damage visible on its flank. I glanced quickly at the data on my screen, recognizing a fading energy surge, then back up at the viewport.

“We got tagged by an aborted jump transit. I need status check, damage assessment, and goddamn you, Sullivan! Where the hell are you?”

“Here.”

I jerked around. Sully and Del looking slightly frazzled, ducking through the hatchway onto the bridge.

“Aborted jump transit,” I repeated. “Take a station. Get us working, moving. Get me answers.” I looked over the bridge once more. “Marsh, do you need to go to sick bay?”

“I can handle it, Captain.”

“Don’t play hero.”

“I ain’t pretty but I’m fine.”

I’ll monitor him, Sully told me.

Thank you. I sent a quick rainbow, opened intraship again. “Dorsie, Ren, talk to me.”

“No pie for dinner,” Dorsie said. “Soup, maybe.”

“I’m fine, Chasidah,” Ren answered. “Do you need me?”

“Sit tight for now.” Until I figured out what four Fleet ships were doing out here in the ass end of the B-C, slamming out of jumpspace and almost into us without so much as a by-your-leave.

Which should have come by now. Oh, sorry. Had some jumpdrive issues. Had to abort. Sorry your sensors didn’t pick up our warning signal.

There was no warning signal. I double-checked. I knew what that looked like. It—

A pinnace and four fighters?

Logic. High-profile escort. Someone of importance, wanting to travel discreetly but safely. An admiral’s pinnace.

I raised my gaze back to the viewport again as Sully and Marsh hammered out the Karn’s damage and status around me. The pinnace stopped tumbling, one thruster kicking on with a dim glow.

I stared at it, at the insignia emblazoned down its flank, at the ship’s ident I could clearly read because the goddamned thing had almost landed on my bridge. My heart pounded.

Morgan Loviti.

Oh. God. Philip.

A fighter fired. The pinnace jerked, taking a grazing hit on the port wing.

This was no escort.

I ripped off my straps, bolted out of my chair, and lunged for communications.

Chaz? Sully, concerned.

“The pinnace is from the Loviti.” I keyed in commands and codes I knew by heart. Not the general Fleet transmit codes but the private one. One only Philip or one of his top officers would know and answer to. If the pinnace was stolen, there’d be no answer.

The link went hot immediately, but video was out. Only audio worked.

“Sully, watch those fighters!” I flipped up the comm-set’s mike. “Loviti pinnace, this is Captain Bergren of the Boru Karn. Do you need assistance?”

“Chaz? Sweet God, Chaz?” Philip’s voice, strained, flowed through the Karn’s speakers.

My throat tightened. “Talk to me, Philip.”

“Tage is disbanding the Admirals’ Council, trying to take control of Fleet. That’s what the meeting at Raft Thirty was for. It was a sham, a trap. Bennton is dead. So is Junot. They’re slaughtering my captains.” A pause, a cough. “I got a warning out to Jodey and O’Neil, then they trapped me.”

Marsh swore. The Karn shuddered as Sully fired on Philip’s attackers. The pinnace veered off but her engines were failing. I could see that. So could the fighters, closing now.

“Philip! Change course. I’m opening shuttle bay doors, starboard side. Bring her in. We’ll cover you until I can lock a tow on you.”

“The shuttle’s in there, Chasidah.” Sully’s voice was tense. “Tow or not, he’ll wreck out.”

I muted the mike. My hand shook. “He’ll die either way. We don’t have a choice.” I tapped it on again. “Philip, there’s not much room in the bay. You’ll have to come in hot, even with the tow. Can you handle it?”

A harsh laugh. “Who taught you to fly, nugget?”

Nugget. Fleet’s term for new pilots, trainees. But between me and Philip—

“He could damage the Karn if he misses, if the tow can’t lock on,” Sully warned.

“Then you better keep those fighters off his ass so he doesn’t.” Jaw clenched tightly, I looked back at the viewport. The pinnace was swinging around, fighters closing, firing. But their aim was wild as they avoided the Karn’s counterattack. “Verno, we’re going to have to synchronize with Philip. We don’t have time for a nav integration.” The Karn wasn’t a Fleet ship. Integration would take hours to work out. “You’re going to have to hand-fly her. I’ll handle the tow field when he’s in range. Can you do it?”

“I’ll try, Captain Chasidah.”

“I’ve done it before.” Del rose from his seat at nav. “Chasidah…?” Trust me. I can help.

I stared at him, emotions I had no time for warring within me, then nodded quickly to Verno. No choice. “Give Captain Regarth the helm. Take communications for me.” I needed to be back in the pilot’s seat. This was Philip’s life we were talking about.

I opened the comm-link at my seat as Sully swore out loud with glee. I took a quick check to see one of the fighters shatter apart. “Philip, I’m passing you over to Captain Regarth.”

“I go by Del,” Del said, through the link at helm. “I’ve done this before, Admiral Guthrie. Mr. Sullivan will keep your nasty little friends off your ass. Captain Bergren and I will get you home.”

“It’s Philip,” my ex-husband and former commanding officer said, as the pinnace straightened. “And I’m not going to have time for a test-pass. So we get it right the first time, Del. Oh, and Sullivan, quit cursing me. I’m not going to damage your beloved ship. If I know I can’t make it, I’ve got one finger on the self-destruct. Just keep your shields sweet, got it?”

Oh, God. “Philip—”

“Don’t, nugget. It’s not going to help either one of us right now.”

I swallowed, hard. “Give ’em hell, Guthrie.” Then I focused on the Karn, keeping her systems working, her shields where they should be to allow Philip entry but protect us if he missed the tow’s narrow beam. Or detonated.

Sully cleared a path for the pinnace. But then one fighter veered wildly, suddenly coming at us. “Tell Guthrie to watch for fallout!” Ion cannons slammed into action, the distinctive low growl vibrating through the ship. Then, “Got ’em!”

I shot a quick glance at Sully. He was grinning.

“Damn, you’re good,” I told him, almost breathless.

“Remember that, angel, remember that.”

“Minute thirty,” Del announced. “Philip, you’re looking good, my friend.”

“Acknowledged,” came the answer. “I’m losing thruster two. But don’t give up on me yet.”

“Compensating,” Del told him.

“Tow’s at full power,” I added, watching the guidance computers try to synch with Philip’s seesawing ship while we too were moving. Tow fields were for stationery objects at close range. Not damaged pinnaces coming wildly at you, even with half their thrusters dead. It would be like trying to catch the wind in a net.

“Ganton, I need thruster burst on the A-7 and the A-9,” Del said, six-fingered hands playing rapidly over the console. “Three percent exactly, on my mark. Hold…hold…now!”

Marsh powered the thrusters, nudging the Karn on her axis.

Mouth dry, heart hammering, I watched on my console screens as the pinnace skittered toward us, my tow data overlaying the image. Too fast, too fast. Tow beam guidance couldn’t lock, couldn’t—

I threw it to manual, played the coordinates like the old sim-fighter games I was glued to at the arcade on Marker as a teen. The Karn shuddered. I felt the tow grab, lock, but the pinnace was skewed, coming in at crab angle. She’d never make it. She was too wide.

I quickly altered the tow-field strength, trying to turn her. I could tell Philip was angling his few remaining thrusters, but it didn’t help. “Del!”

“On it! Marsh, A-7, minus-four, now! Philip, kill thrusters, dump your drive core, and brace. Now!”

“Fire foam deployed,” Sully said. “Eight seconds to hard landing, seven…six…five…Hold her steady, Del. Chaz has him.”

I wasn’t breathing. I was playing numbers, working field strength that was so concentrated at the hull of the ship, I could hear field generators screaming at the backwash.

Then a loud thud shook the Karn, setting alarms wailing, lights flashing. Shuttle bay cameras showed white foam flying as a long, pockmarked pinnace, hull scored and blackened, skidded to a stop, nose to ass with our shuttle. There was damage. I knew there was damage. But she was in one piece. Sweet stars above, she was in one piece.

Sully fired the cannons again. Marsh kicked the sublights hot and Del veered us away. There was one fighter left and she was pulling off.

“Philip?” I called in to the comm link. “Philip!”

“Damn, Chaz,” came back the reply. “That was almost fun.”

I released my straps and swiveled my chair around. “I’m on my way down. With Sully,” I added, seeing him rise from his seat at weapons. “Stay—”

Long-range scan emitted a shrill blast. “Shit! What?” I swung back into my chair and saw the familiar signatures of two Maven-class destroyers directly in our path, on a dead-eye heading for us.

“Forty minutes out,” Sully confirmed. “At current speeds.”

“We’re thirty from gate,” Del said.

Sully glanced at me. “Go get Guthrie. Stash him in sick bay or bring him up here. I don’t care. But I need your ass back in that chair in five minutes. We’re going to make a run for that gate. And we’re going to have to blast through two Imperial cruisers to do it.”

I ran down the corridor, took the aft stairs to the shuttle bay two at a time, heart pounding. I knew Philip was alive because I had talked to him. But I didn’t know if he needed medical attention. On top of that, his short report of what happened the past three days while we were cut off from Imperial politics scared the hell out of me: Admirals’ Council disbanded, captains dead. All on Tage’s orders.

What would be waiting for us at Dock Five?

I slapped at the palm pad for the shuttle bay doors and for once they opened without my having to engage the override. The sickeningly sweet scent of the fire foam assaulted me immediately, along with the oily charred odor of burning plastics and metals.

Sprinklers had already kicked on and off, clearing away much of the foam. Coughing, I sprinted through puddles toward the hulking wreckage of the Loviti’s pinnace.

The hatch door slid sideways when I was halfway there. Admiral Philip Guthrie leaned against the edge of the square opening, a tall man with prematurely slate-gray hair and sharp blue eyes. He was almost incongruous standing there in his formal Imperial dress-grays, surrounded by the wreckage, but his uniform was far from spotless. One jacket sleeve was ripped and as I came closer, I could see darkened areas on his left temple and on his white shirtfront. Blood.

His jacket was open. A dual holster wrapped around his hips. He held a rifle, strap dangling, in his left hand.

“Philip!”

“Ramp’s jammed. Catch.” He tossed me the rifle then hunkered down and hung his legs over the edge. He pushed off, dropping the eight or so feet to the deck still glistening with water and foam.

I grabbed him when he wavered. That told me he was injured beyond the gashes on his face. His body was solid muscle. A drop like that normally wouldn’t faze him.

“Sick bay’s this way.”

“Wait.” He had one arm over my shoulder, his gaze searching my face. “Just let me…” His voice was raspy. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

My heart constricted. I did not need to be reminded that things between me and Philip had never completely ended. There was something there. There always would be. I cared deeply about Philip. But I loved Sully. I was his ky’sara.

“I have two Maven-class cruisers looking to dead-eye me. I don’t have time. Sick bay or bridge. I need an answer now.”

He straightened, nodding. He was Fleet, like me. Shut off the emotions, get the job done. Collapse or cry later.

“Bridge,” he said, moving forward, his arm sliding off my shoulder. “And it’s not you they want. It’s me.”

I handed him the rifle. He looped the strap over his shoulder.

“Bring me up to date. We’ve been comm-dead in jump, then out here for three days with no news feeds.” We exited into the corridor. I hit the palm pad to close the doors as we went by. “This is radical, even for Tage. What happened?”

“Sullivan’s on the bridge?”

I nodded as we reached the stairs. I didn’t do two at a time on the way up but kept moving. I had no reason to believe those two cruisers wouldn’t kick their drives hot when they realized what happened to the pinnace.

“Marsh, Del, Verno too,” I said. Philip had only met Verno and Ren when the Loviti pulled us off Marker. “Del’s Stolorth,” I added because I felt he should have fair warning, on that aspect at least.

“Regarth?”

“Yes.”

Philip gave me a quizzical glance then shrugged. “I’ll hold off so I don’t have to say it all twice. But, Chaz, before we get there.” He grabbed my arm and stopped climbing. “Are you all right?”

I looked at him. “You’ve got blood dripping down your face and you’re asking me?”

“That’s not what I mean, damn it, and you know that. Tage released everything your brother knew about Sullivan.”

“We saw.” I moved up the stairs again. So did he.

“His life as he knew it is over.”

I stopped at the blast door to the main corridor. If the situation weren’t so dire, I would have laughed. “Philip, that’s the understatement of the century. But yes, he’s expecting rejection, even retaliation. He can handle it.”

“And you? How will you as his ky’sara handle it?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead. People keep ramming ships into us. It’s kept me busy.” I started to push against the heavy door but stopped. I looked up at him, realizing how odd it was not to be able to hear someone’s thoughts, sense his emotions when you talked to him. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t clearly read his feelings on his face, just as I could when I saw him leaning in the pinnace’s hatchway. Just as I could when he told me he thought he’d never see me again. Being on the Karn was not going to be easy for him, and he had more than a few surprises ahead. He deserved a better answer than my quick quip about ships. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m very glad you’re safe.”

“I wish circumstances were different.”

“So do I.” I shoved the door open and trotted quickly for the bridge, Philip on my heels.

Sully and Del both turned when we came through the hatchway. I felt Sully’s probe sweep over me but then it was gone. If he had comments or questions about Philip being here, he wasn’t asking them now.

I did quick introductions because there wasn’t much time. Philip would have to tell his story while we fought off a pair of cruisers.

“Philip Guthrie, you remember Verno? That’s Marsh Ganton, engineer. Captain Regarth, second pilot and, right now, helm.”

“Sullivan.” Philip looked at the man who needed no introduction. But Philip’s family had studied Ragkirils. Philip knew more than most humans did. I took my seat in the pilot’s chair and saw we were moving quickly at specs-plus for the gate. I wondered if Philip would spot what was different about Sully now. I wondered if he’d realize who Del was.

“Thanks for the lift,” Philip was saying. “I have news—lots of it—and most of it bad. But you have trouble coming. Partly my fault, I’m afraid.”

Sully nodded slowly. “You want a med-kit?”

Philip patted his forehead gingerly then raised an eyebrow at the blood on his fingers. “I must look pretty bad. Chaz asked the same thing.”

“Sit.” I motioned to the empty chair behind Verno at communications. “I’ll get Dorsie up here to work on you.”

“First things first,” Philip said. He pulled the rifle’s strap from his shoulder and held the weapon out toward Sully, stock first. “This might interest you and,” he paused with a glance at Del, “Captain Regarth.”

Del chuckled. “I’ve long found your family’s research on us interesting. Incomplete but interesting.”

Well, that answered one question.

Yes, lover, he’s guessed who I am. The history of the Serians is something the Guthries did manage to record fairly accurately.

Sully was hefting the rifle. I had no idea if he heard Del’s comment to me. He ran one hand down the stock then stopped suddenly. “Fuck.” A spurt of alarm first from Sully, then Del.

I couldn’t catch the details that flowed between Sully and Del, only that the rifle contained something that impacted the Kyi and those who used it.

Philip lowered himself into the seat. “I don’t have to tell you that’s one of the reasons Tage wants me dead.”

“Let me see it,” Del said.

“Cruisers thirty-five minutes and closing,” I announced as Sully tossed Del the rifle.

“I can get you a little more power,” Marsh said, “but I’ll have to pull from the shields.”

“Do it,” Sully said as I nodded.

“How many of these do they have?” Del asked Philip.

“I’ve seen three. I’m fairly sure they’re all prototypes. The others were smaller, lighter in weight, and the power packs were different.”

Dorsie bustled onto the bridge in response to my earlier request, med-kit in hand. We had one on the bridge, but I knew she liked hers from the galley better. I did a quick introduction, and then Philip sat quietly as Dorsie fussed over him, cleaning the dried blood and sticking clear anti-infection patches on the cuts and gashes.

Del tossed the rifle back to Sully, who left his station at nav just long enough to secure the weapon in the locked storage compartment in the ready room. We had more pressing problems. Like the cruisers.

“Strap in,” I ordered. “They just kicked weapons ports hot. I don’t think they’ll be able to intercept us. But they’re going to try to blow some damn big holes in us before we get there.”

The ready room chairs all had safety straps. Dorsie grabbed one by the door. She’d only be in the way on the bridge.

Philip unhooked his straps. “Sullivan, I can work second nav.”

“Take weapons,” Sully said. “Del and I are the only ones who can work nav for this jump.”

I caught Philip’s curious glance as he changed seats.

“It’s a Kyi gate,” Sully told him. “Your family’s research is about to get a little more complete.”

Data I’d been waiting for flashed on my screen. “Got ident on the cruisers. Ghita Day and,” and I hesitated, seeing the second ship’s name on my screen, “the Masling.”

I glanced at Philip, then remembered what he’d said earlier. Captain Cory Bennton was dead. He’d been Philip’s commanding officer for many years. Later, a very good friend. That’s why seeing ship’s ident had startled me. “I can’t believe Cory’s crew didn’t mutiny.”

“A lot did,” Philip said grimly. “But Tage had his people standing by.”

“Enough to staff a cruiser?”

“Fleet’s well below capacity and, mark my words, that will hurt Tage in the short run. But he’s using Prew’s Special Reserves, a lot of whom came through Fleet. We can only hope whoever’s sitting in Cory’s seat now has shit for brains and pie-plates for hands.”

“Prew authorized this?” Sully asked.

“Prew’s made Tage Supreme Military Commander, or some such title.” Philip grimaced in distaste. “I was trying to avoid a one-way trip to Moabar when the announcement came through and wasn’t paying much attention to the festivities.”

That scared me more than the two cruisers ahead of us. The Guthries were one of the oldest, most respected families in the Empire. Moves like that against Philip would cause deep repercussions.

“Philip, what in hell’s going on?”

“Hell, nugget, pure and simple. Now, keep an eye on the Masling. She’s the better ship, just out of refit. She’ll pull ahead of the Day. Olefar is one who quickly swore allegiance to Tage,” Philip continued, naming the Day’s longtime, long-hated captain. “Good riddance. Tage can keep him. He’ll also be one to waste his birds early on. Another reason he hangs back.”

Nothing like a reliable inside source.

I could almost grow to like the man, Del said.

From Sully, a silence I didn’t know how to interpret. And had no time to ponder further.

Philip was right about Olefar. A pair of bogies streaked toward us as the Masling moved ahead. But so did we, dropping secondary aft shields almost completely, Marsh working magic to assure we’d make the jumpgate. It would not be a pretty entrance—if we made it. Max sublight ones never were, the gate’s hard edge playing havoc as a ship switched too abruptly from sublights to hyperdrive. But it was the only chance we had. We had to make jump. The Karn was no match for two Fleet cruisers in a firefight.

Philip countered the first pair of bogies easily, but there were more behind those, and the Masling kicked up to speeds that had me wondering if Sully didn’t have a sibling out there somewhere in engineering.

Philip didn’t like what he saw, but not for the obvious reasons. “Her core will burn out at that rate. And that will be a waste of a damned fine ship.”

“They want you, badly,” Sully said.

“Yes,” was Philip’s answer, but no explanation. I knew one was coming, once we got past this and were just ghosts again in jumpspace. And I had a very strong feeling I wasn’t going to like what I’d hear.

“Seventeen minutes to hard edge,” Del announced.

I felt a new flurry of information between him and Sully. What I could catch was just guidance, gate data. Sully was focused on the nav console, not even raising his head to watch another set of plasma torpedoes burst apart under Philip’s sure hand at weapons.

“Marsh, how are we?” We’d have to engage the hypers shortly. And we’d be doing so at the point closest to the cruisers.

“We’re holding, Captain. But I’m going to need to back down, slough off soon. Unless this gate is different?” he asked Del.

“That will be as you’re used to. But if Sullivan or I ask you to do something, do it. There won’t be time for explanations.”

“Understood,” Marsh said but he still glanced at me, waiting for my affirmative nod before turning back to his screens. He looked nervous, and that wasn’t a demeanor Marsh wore well.

“There are no gate beacons,” Del continued. “You won’t see the gate until we’re almost at hard edge. It will respond to Sullivan and myself but, Chasidah, you will be aware of it. For that reason, it’s safer if you let us link with you. Mr. Ganton, I assume your discomfort with Ragkirils won’t be an issue here?”

Another glance at me from Marsh. “Uh, no.”

“Excellent. Philip, keep those cruisers away from us. And try not to worry about Chasidah. We’ll take good care of her.”

“I would expect nothing less from you,” Philip answered, but I didn’t miss the tightness in his voice.

Now that that’s settled… Del’s voice sounded clearly in my mind. The next minute the floodgates opened and I saw Sully’s console’s data and I saw Del’s and I saw my own, and I felt something distant and very powerful coming closer. The Kyi gate. The viewscreen showed only the starfield and growing points of light that were the cruisers. But overlaying that in my mind was a bright abyss, dead center. It looked like no gate I’d ever seen.

I was lost for a moment without beacon data. The gate had no real-time coordinates. Then I realized that wasn’t the issue. I felt the gate. I felt the ship. It was simply a matter of drawing those two feelings into the same line.

Gabriel, she’s a natural! I knew it! Del was chuckling.

Nothing from Sully, then: She’s always been my best interfering bitch. Born to be at a stellar helm. But there was an odd timbre to his voice. I didn’t know—

The gate pulled me again. We were slightly off course. Then I felt the Karn reposition from a slight nudge from the thrusters. Okay, that was better. Gate, there. Us, here. Nasty-assed cruiser bearing down hard just off our starboard side, at about the one o’clock position. The Ilario Masling. Damn them for killing Bennton! He had a wife and daughter. Now I’d not even be able to pay respects at his funeral.

If Tage even granted him one.

The rumble of the ion cannons sounded. We were close enough to use them, but that also meant those birds Olefar was throwing at us were coming more quickly. Less time to take them out and force the Masling off course.

But we could—

“The pinnace. Philip.” I jerked toward him. “No, keep your eyes on the screens. Just listen to me. Could she still respond to a remote autodestruct?” The Meritorious had.

I felt a startled question from Del. Interest from Sully.

“She can and she will, Chaz,” Philip said.

“Fourteen minutes,” Del announced, but I knew that already.

I turned to the other side of the bridge. “Verno, I need an emergency jettison in the shuttle bay. Eject the shuttle. It’ll take the pinnace with it.”

“It’s only money,” I heard Sully intone through gritted teeth.

Marsh snorted.

“On your command, Captain Chasidah,” Verno said.

“Philip, can you open a link with the pinnace from here?”

He was already tapping on his screens. “It’s hot. On your command, Captain Bergren.” He shot me a quick grin.

“Marsh, we’re going to need aft—”

“Aft shields at 70 percent and rising, Captain.”

I checked position of the Masling, the gate. It would be tight, very tight and I had no idea what the explosion behind us would do to gate entry. I guessed we were about to find out. I just needed it to create a screen when we were most vulnerable.” Dump her, Verno, now!”

Shuttle bay warning sirens wailed once then fell silent, but lights continued to flash. The Karn acted as if there was a fire in her bay or poison in her gut. She evicted everything, spewing pinnace, shuttle, and whatever else hadn’t been locked down out into the blackness behind us.

“Loviti II. Guthrie, Philip. AuthCode 391105-CR.”

I heard Philip continue reciting the codes to initiate the autodestruct sequence, watched the Masling and the Day coming closer, felt the gate, felt the Karn, was Del and Sully working energies that flowed through them as it flowed through me. I had Del’s knowledge of the gate and Sully’s knowledge of the Karn, but I had my experience as pilot, as captain.

“Switching to hypers,” Marsh announced as the pinnace exploded, sending a tremor through the Karn. Chunks of metal shot out into the big wide darkness with nothing to stop them until they reached the cruisers, hurling the Karn’s smaller shuttle along with them.

Some pinged the Karn’s shields but we were moving away from it, not toward it like the Masling and the Day. Their shields would deflect most of the chaff but they’d be busy—and blinded—for the next few moments. And their torpedoes, if they were foolish enough to fire, would be confused by the scatter field.

“Five minutes to hard edge,” Del said.

That was more time than I liked, but it would have to do. I flattened vanes, scanner dishes, verified data on mass, velocity, and inertia as if this were a normal gate transit. But it wasn’t.

A silvery haze drifted through the bridge, small sparkles running down Del’s and Sully’s shoulders. Marsh stared at his console but Philip had turned, his gaze shifting from Sully to Del then to me.

We’ll make it, Del said. This is good. Beautiful.

Then it was there, real, the white abyss I’d only seen in my mind flashing open before us. I heard Philip swear softly—in amazement, not anger. Even Marsh’s “damn” held a tone of reverence.

And we slipped through the Kyi gate and into the neverwhen with all the sweetness of a lover’s kiss.

“I’m sorry about your father, your brother.” Philip cupped his hands around the steaming mug of tea in front of him on the ready room table and looked at Marsh and Dorsie sitting on his left, their backs to the bridge. “Fleet and the Admirals’ Council were unequivocally not behind what happened on Umoran. In spite of the evidence being thrown about.”

We were almost an hour past gate entrance. Ren and Verno were on duty, which was minimal in jump. The rest of us were here in the ready room, door to the bridge open. No one was off shift. No one wanted to miss what Philip had to say. He had been talking almost nonstop for most of that time.

“But that was, for Prew, evidently the defining moment. Though it had been building, with Tage and his people continually feeding the emperor select bits of information, making him believe Sheldon Blaine was only a hair’s breadth away from claiming the throne. Every time a Farosian ship eluded us, it was because we let it. It didn’t help, of course, that Nayla Dalby took the high-security access codes with her when she left. By the time we realized she had them, changing them did little good, although we continued to do so. We’d lock her out for three weeks, maybe two months.” Philip shrugged. “Then she’s back in and she knows ship deployment, position, crew assignments. We can’t stop her.”

A look was exchanged between Sully, in his usual seat on my left, and Del, on my right. Philip was at the other end of the table, to my left.

I know how to deal with her, I heard Del tell Sully. A feeling of self-satisfaction went along with it…and something else. I was trying to figure out just what it was when Del made his offer out loud.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Philip said. “But I want you to understand,” he continued, “that this has been going on for several years. Since before Nalby turned traitor. The Council had been able to keep Prew’s paranoia to a minimum. We thought Tage was helping, was on our side. We found out after Marker,” he said with a nod to Sully, “that we were wrong.

“So what it comes down to is that Tage convinced Prew that the Admirals’ Council is in bed with the Farosians. Every recommendation we made for more representation from and involvement with the rim worlds, Tage twisted into our ‘increasing cooperation with Blaine’s Justice Wardens.’” Philip snorted.

“He might not be far off,” Sully said, leaning back in his chair, absently toying with the lightpen in front of him. “We had a run-in with Dalby over a week ago. She wanted Chasidah to act as their emissary to Fleet.”

Philip arched one eyebrow.

“We turned her down. Now, I’m wishing I’d tried for a little more information. Her timing is a bit too suspicious.”

“I wouldn’t doubt the woman has her sources in Tage’s offices as well as ours. She was brilliant, but cold and cutthroat. While you might think those are attributes Fleet would value, it kept her from rising farther in the ranks.”

But cold and cutthroat fit in very well with Blaine’s Justice Wardens.

Philip took a sip of his tea. I could see a slight slump to his shoulders, shadows under his eyes. It wasn’t hugely apparent, but I knew he’d been through a lot since he was ambushed by Tage’s people at the purported admirals’ meeting at Raft Thirty at the A-B. Plus, I’d been married to him for almost eight years. I could read him, no mind-link required.

“Unless there’s anything else hugely critical, I think you should go to your cabin, rest for a couple hours,” I said to him. “We can fill in the gaps later.” Though I was sure we all were rapidly seeing the picture. A power-hungry politician taking advantage of a weak and emotionally disturbed ruler, feeding the man’s fears, alienating him from anyone Tage deemed to be a threat to his own ambitions. Countering criticism—and questions—with claims of a vast conspiracy by whoever it was who opposed him at the moment. Gutting the military so no one would be there to stop him when he made his final move. Sadly, it was not something unique in human history.

Philip put his tea down, his expression suddenly more weary. I saw his gaze flick from Sully to Del then to me. He stood. “If you all don’t mind, I’d like to speak to Chasidah, privately.”

Marsh pushed away from the table. Then Philip raised one hand. “On second thought, Sullivan, you’d better stay.”

Slowly, Sully nodded. He was reading Philip. And not telling me.

Something cold plunged through me, not from Sully, not from Del. It was my own fear.

“You want something hot to eat later, Admiral Guthrie, you just let me know,” Dorsie said, following Marsh out to the bridge. Del was steps behind. He hit the palm pad for the door, leaving an oddly gentle touch of warmth in his wake.

“Philip?” I turned to him as the door closed, the tightness in my chest threatening to choke me.

He moved behind Sully’s chair then sat in the empty one on my right. I swiveled to face him. Sully’s hand rested on my shoulder, firmly, reassuringly. Warmth pulsed again. But the ice inside me didn’t budge.

Philip pulled my hands off the table and held them tightly in his own.

“I’m sorry, nugget. There’s no easy way to say this. Thad’s dead.”

I heard the words: Thad’s dead. I knew their meaning. I’d faced death before. I’d even been the cause of it. And I knew, deep in my heart, that once Tage got his claws into my brother, chances were very good that association could be fatal.

I just didn’t expect it now.

Tage had just tried to kill Philip. Why did he need my brother dead too?

I realized I was staring at Philip’s hands wrapped around mine. They were bruised, scraped, spotted with dried blood. But they were strong hands. Thick-fingered, not lean like Sully’s. They had old scars. They could hold the stem of the most delicate crystal wineglass with ease. They could also tear open a crate of ammo, load and fire a Val-9 Punisher hand-cannon in the time it took most people to exhale.

We’d done both, Philip and I.

I raised my face. “Are you sure?” My voice wavered.

He squeezed my hands and sighed softly, the lines between his brows deepening. “Suzanne, your stepmother, claimed his body. Lars is sedated. She said they’ll pull through, somehow.”

“But you said Lars told him to cooperate. He must have. I read the news reports detailing everything he knew about Sully. What he saw him do. What happened?”

“The official report is suicide.”

I jerked slightly. Not that. Not Thad. “He’d never—”

“That’s the official report,” he repeated. “My sources tell a different story.” His gaze went over my shoulder then dropped back to me.

I knew. “Zragkor. He died during a zragkor, didn’t he?”

“He was cooperating, but not enough. He initially downplayed what Sullivan could do. What I’d done. But when Tage’s people compared it with what happened on Marker, they knew he’d lied. And they went back, this time for everything.”

I looked down again. But it wasn’t Philip’s hands I saw. Images of a lightning-slashed Gabriel Sullivan kneeling over Gregor’s body rushed unbidden to my mind. The mute terror. Gregor’s mouth open in a silent scream, blood dripping from his ear. The erratic, uncontrollable panting. Then the glint of the knife—

And Del’s silken voice: It’s not exactly torture, Chasidah. I’ve always left them smiling.

A trembling started from deep inside me. I clenched my arms to my sides but it wouldn’t stop. I sucked in a deep breath and felt Sully’s hand tighten on my shoulder. He saw my horror, felt my pain. Sent a warmth, a gentling, but this wasn’t the time for that.

I did not want to be calmed. I wanted to scream and kick something.

Thad hadn’t want to betray me. They’d ripped everything he’d known about Sully, me, and Philip from his mind.

That’s my guess too, angel-mine. Your brother loved you. I know that doesn’t help now. But maybe at some point, that will ease the pain.

I pulled my hands out of Philip’s, wrapped my arms around my waist, and sobbed until I had nothing left inside.

“Drink this.” Sully pushed a mug in front of me. “It will help.”

I was still shuddering but the sobs had stopped. Philip tugged the damp ball of tissues from my hand and pushed fresh ones into my lap. I blew my nose, wiped at my eyes. I grabbed the warm mug and took a deep mouthful.

Fire shot through me. My eyes watered and I coughed, spasms wracking my chest. God. It wasn’t tea. It was Lashto brandy, hot and potent.

“You could have warned me.” I choked, peering at Sully through bleary eyes.

Philip was patting my back. “Breathe, Chaz. Deep breath. Sullivan, get her a glass of water. She’s a lightweight, you know.”

“I…am…not.” I coughed between each word. But I sucked down the cold water greedily. Then I leaned back in the chair and held the warm mug between my hands, resting it against my chest. I closed my eyes. Fumes tickled my nose. I coughed.

I could hear Philip’s soft rumbling sigh on my right. I could feel Sully. Our link wasn’t fully open. Maybe my grief was too much for him, or his fears too potent for me. I didn’t discount the latter, because at some point in my wrenching sobs I’d found myself in Philip’s arms.

But I’d known Philip for so long. And he was Thad’s friend too. It was a mutual pain we shared. Two old friends who cared for each other. Shipmates. Who’d lost one of their own.

Fleet was courageous, staunch, and stalwart, but we grieved deeply.

“Besides Bennton, Junot, and my brother, how many?” I asked Philip. I had to know. I had to cement my hate for Darius Tage.

“I left Raft Thirty about twenty hours ago. I don’t know how many died after that.” But he named the names of those he knew who were injured or dead.

It was far too many, yet truthfully less than I thought. But then, the majority of officers in attendance were from Calth Prime Command. Philip’s sector. Tage had Aldan, Baris, and Dafir to prune yet.

“Who has the Loviti?” I asked.

He shook his head wearily. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to right now.”

“And Jodey?” Captain Jodey Bralford ranked right up there with Thad and Cory Bennton on Philip’s list of close friends.

“I sent him and Kate O’Neil a high-priority coded warning as soon as I realized what was happening. If Jodey got it, then he’s heading for the rim, probably with O’Neil’s P-75 running off his flank. Jodey hand-picked his crew, you know. He had the luxury, the Nowicki being a smaller ship. I know they’d follow him without question.”

“Would he contact us?” Sully asked.

Philip nodded after a moment. “He might. He only has Chaz’s transit code. Not yours. And he wouldn’t do so until he was sure it was safe. God, I hope he is.” He ran one hand over his face. “I’ve lost too many today. Yesterday. I don’t even know what day it is right now.”

I put the mug on the table then clasped Philip’s arm. “Get some sleep. Sully’s not stingy with his brandy. I’ll bring a bottle to your cabin—”

“Dorsie can do that,” Sully cut in.

Philip’s lips twisted into a sad smile. “Sullivan, I’m a guest on your ship. I have more sense than that. And honor.”

I knew they weren’t talking about the brandy. But I didn’t take my hand off Philip’s arm.

“Either Dorsie or I will bring you a bottle of brandy, if you want,” I said evenly.

Philip pulled his arm from under my hand and pointed to the mug. “You going to finish that?”

I shook my head. “Probably not.”

“That’s all I need.” He picked up the mug and stood. “Problem solved. Give me a couple hours of downtime. And if you have a change of clothes, I could use that. Chaz knows my sizes. Then, when you’re ready, we can go over what Tage is doing, what those rifles can do, and decide whether what’s left of the Empire is worth fighting for.”

He ducked down, brushing my forehead with a kiss. “I wish I could tell you things will get better, Chaz. But I just don’t know anymore.”

He strode heavily from the room, a man without a rank, a command, or an empire to show allegiance to. A man with far more problems than solutions.

I turned my head and looked at Sully. “I want Tage’s head on a platter. Tell me what you and Del can do.”

We’d be four days in jump—which was better than over a shipweek through the heavily trafficked and Fleet-patrolled lanes in Calth and Baris—before we could exit the gate and head for Dock Five. More than enough time, Sully assured me, to determine what he and Del could do. What we all could do.

So I went back to the cabin to scrub my face and try to look like a captain again. And Sully went…I don’t know where he went. But I assumed he went looking for Del.

I checked ship’s inventory, found in which bin fatigues and thermal shirts in Philip’s size were stored. I’d retrieve them later, when I was sure he’d had sufficient rest. Then I brought up the news articles on what my brother had “told” Tage about Sully. And everything else that had anything to do with Tage. The majority was so much political posturing. Tage’s friends at CCNN served him well.

I moved on to Gregor’s notes, hoping there was something we’d overlooked, something we could use against Tage and Burke. Philip hadn’t mentioned Burke’s name, but I could feel him behind the scenes. And then there was Acora—Tage’s accomplice, Gregor’s contact. Would he even still be on Dock Five with all that was happening?

And when we came out of jump, how many more people would be dead? From jukors? From Tage?

I realized we were much too late. It had taken us over three months to find Del. But the information he held about Burke’s jukor labs might not be of value anymore.

We’d wasted three months. We should have gone after Burke, after Tage. Top of the tree. Cut them off. Let the rest of the branches fall where they may.

The door to the corridor opened. I looked up, glimpsing the time on the screen’s edge as I did so. I’d been working the data for over two hours. No surprise, that. Researching and quantifying data were what I did when things went wrong in my life.

Sully ducked in, the long sleeves of his collarless black thermal shirt pushed up. “Chaz? Any better?”

His mind swept through me as the door closed behind him. His probe was a light touch not that dissimilar from the vibration you’d feel listening to the string section of a symphony.

I shrugged as he crossed the short distance to the desk. “I’ve been going over the news feeds, Gregor’s notes. It helps to have something else to focus on.”

Don’t wear yourself out.

“Sully—”

Hush. He drew me to my feet, wrapping his arms around me, tucking my face against his shoulder. Warmth pulsed, simmering. He stroked my back, kneaded the curve of my hip. I wanted to do this before. But…Guthrie disconcerts me.

I snuffled a laugh into the fabric of his shirt. “That’s what admirals do. It’s part of their special training.”

And I had things to do that couldn’t wait. But I didn’t want to leave you alone for long.

“I needed some time alone.”

I knew that too.

Yes, he would, tuned to me as he was.

I’ve been leaving you alone a lot lately. I wish I didn’t have to.

I leaned back, pulling out of his arms, my hands trailing down to his wrists. I curled my fingers though his and rested against the edge of the desk. “You have your special training too. Maybe I understand it a little more now, or at least, why it’s important. Tage was able to do what he did because no one could read his true intentions. But you and Del can. You would know who was with us, who wants to hurt us.” I paused. “I assume you’ve read Philip?”

I expected him to fight it, like last time. He didn’t. No mind-fucker epithets.

“Sully.” I leaned forward, face raised. He met me halfway for a long kiss. “Okay, now holding that thought firmly in mind, please do not have a knee-jerk reaction to what I’m going to say. I’m looking at you, listening to you, and your mouth is closed. Don’t be angry with me but, ky’sal-mine, it’s just plain…strange. In bed, in an emergency, fine. But now?”

Dark lashes lowered briefly then he met my gaze. It’s easier. And more intimate.

A little wave of heat spiraled up my body.

I closed my eyes for a moment, arching my neck, reveling in it. I didn’t want him to think he was unappreciated. Then I looked at him levelly. “I don’t need intimate right now. I need answers.”

He cleared his throat softly. “Point well taken. It just feels very good when I’m in your mind.” And your body.

I gave his hands a warning shake. He grinned.

“Is there anything Philip isn’t telling us we should know about?” I asked.

“There are details of what happened to him that he hasn’t shared, but not because he won’t. He can’t. Yet. He’s disillusioned. Angry. Grieving for lost friends and you know him better than I. That’s something he does in private.

“He also doesn’t fully trust me, but he knew who Del was, knew he’s a powerful Kyi. Knowing what I am, he sees us as a benefit that outweighs the risk. And knowing what he is, knowing his knowledge of Fleet, he’s also a benefit that outweighs the risks to us. To me.”

The “to me” was emphasized, and I didn’t miss it.

“Sully, I love Philip as a dear friend. And I respect him tremendously as my former commanding officer. He’s like Ren is to you, but in reverse. Probably the biggest mistake Philip and I ever made was getting married. He should have made me his first officer instead. We work extremely well together. But our romantic expectations just don’t mesh.”

He brushed my hair back from my face. “I made you my captain.”

“I let you make me your captain,” I told him, chin raised defiantly. “But truth is, I’m just here for the sex.”

He smiled wryly and closed the short distance between us, hugging me against his chest. I have to get back to work. He kissed me soundly, his fingers trailing reluctantly down the side of my face as he stepped away. Ky’sara-mine.

I watched the door close behind him and sat on the desk’s edge until the warmth of him faded from my skin and my mind. Then I spent another forty-five minutes organizing my notes before I headed down to the storage room to find a new wardrobe for Philip.

I ran into Dorsie before I got there. She was coming out of her galley and we stood there for a few very long moments, hugging each other. We’d both lost brothers. We spoke of the brevity of life, the importance of friends. But neither of us needed to get maudlin.

“So, you were married to him?” Dorsie asked.

“It wasn’t widely known. Philip and I both kept our private lives very private. With Fleet, it was better that way. And I never really played the role of Mrs. Guthrie.” I could count on one hand the number of society parties I attended with Philip.

“He seems a little stuffy but nice,” Dorsie said.

“It’s called the ‘presence of command.’ He eats large helpings for breakfast.” I smiled.

“Actually, I prefer two eggs and toast,” Philip said, his voice coming from behind me.

I turned. He looked more rested and had doffed his torn jacket. The hip holster was missing but his usual shoulder holster wasn’t, the black edge of his laser pistol clearly visible. Kyi-killer rifle and three laser pistols. Not to mention the knife he always had in his boot. He’d been armed to the teeth when he’d escaped in the pinnace. For good reason.

“Are you sure you should be up and around?”

“Yes, Mother.” He grinned disarmingly at me, reminding me Sully wasn’t the only charming bastard I knew. Philip had a full complement of the famed Guthrie charm. He just dressed his in a Fleet uniform and not a silky, custom-tailored business suit like his brothers.

Dorsie snorted softly. “You let me know when you’re ready, Admiral Guthrie, and you can have three eggs. And my toast is from homemade bread.”

“Just Philip,” he corrected her. “And I’ve been known to whip up a recipe or two in my time.”

Dorsie looked at me. I nodded. “The man can cook.”

“Challenge accepted, Philip,” Dorsie said. “Now I was just on my way to find Marsh.”

“I’m going that way.” I pointed down the corridor. “Clothes shopping. Might as well make yourself useful,” I said to Philip.

“I hate clothes shopping.” He fell into step with me.

“This will be short and painless. Selections are few but the prices are great.”

He followed me into the crew supplies storage room next to the galley, then unlocked the servostairs for me and guided them to the far wall. Crew coveralls and thermals were things most ships supplied, and the Karn was no exception. I rummaged through two large bins on the third shelf, looking for his size.

“Sullivan’s on the bridge?”

“No. Working with Del, I think. Do you need to talk to him?”

“At some point, we have to pick up our discussion, yes. But we have a few days. Jump is damnably good for hashing out problems, but not for acting on them.”

“How’s this?” I tossed him a black thermal shirt.

He held it up against his chest. “Fine.”

“I think the gray ones are in the next bin.” I leaned to my right.

“Just trying to get a feel for your shift schedules too.”

“Sully’s rarely on the bridge. Ready room, a lot. But he has pilots and he has crew. Not that he can’t handle just about every station.” I looked over my shoulder and grinned down at him. “Oh, but he cannot cook. Dorsie’s banned him from the working area of the galley.” I found a gray shirt and a pair of fatigue pants, tossed them down as well.

“He had another pilot.” It wasn’t a question. Philip had the same intelligence on Gabriel Sullivan that I had when I was the captain of the Meritorious.

“Gregor.” I squatted down to access the bin with the coveralls. “We—or rather Sully—found out he was selling out to the Farosians. That’s how Dalby intercepted us. Then we found out he’d been selling information to one of Tage’s people as well. The man had a serious gambling problem. He’d been on the take for some time.”

“Sullivan didn’t know this?”

“If you mean did he routinely probe his crew’s minds, no.”

“I’m special, then.”

I heard the faint note of derision in his voice. I turned and sat on the top step. “That was then, Philip. This is now. Sully is not who or what he was the last time you saw him. Neither is the situation we’re in. It scared me at first, when I saw the changes. But now I think it could well save our lives.”

Philip leaned on the railing and propped one boot on the bottom step. “What is he now?”

“A Kyi.”

“I know that.”

“A very powerful Kyi.”

“As much as Prince Regarth Cordell?”

“You know more about that than I do, but based on what I’ve heard Del say, yes. Or he will be when Del’s through training him.”

“Training him,” Philip said slowly. “In what sense?”

“In the sense of I don’t know.” I waved one hand in the air. “Things Ragkiril-ish.”

“Have you heard Del use the term guri?”

I hesitated. Guri. I knew the word from somewhere. “I’ve heard him call Sully his best student. That’s all.”

Philip wiped one hand over his mouth and turned away for a moment.

I didn’t like that. I knew what it meant: I’m going to tell you something you don’t want to hear. “What?” I demanded.

“Be very careful if you find out Del considers himself Sullivan’s guri. Promise me you’ll let me know.”

“Why?” Guri, guri. I couldn’t place where I’d heard it or read it. “You think Del and Sully are lovers or something? I assure you, Philip, Sullivan is not interested in his own gender. At all. Plus, he’d have no energy to. Not with the way we—” I stopped, suddenly remembering who I was talking to. “We have a very healthy and close relationship,” I finished lamely.

I stood, face burning, and pulled open another bin praying the coveralls were inside it.

“You’re his ky’sara,” Philip said quietly. “I imagine you have a very active and healthy relationship. Kyis are highly motivated by pleasure, both the giving and the receiving.”

Now, where had I heard that before? I asked myself wryly, pulling out two pairs of gray coveralls.

“And therein is the problem, Chaz,” Philip continued as I closed the bin. “Because if Del and Sullivan have a guri-student relationship, then it will be Sullivan’s duty to share you, your pleasure, with his mentor. You will be not only Sullivan’s ky’sara but Regarth’s lover.”

Lover. I could almost hear Del’s deep voice in my mind.

I sat down on the top stair with a thump, coveralls dangling in my hand.

Philip climbed up, took the coveralls, then lowered himself to the step below. “When I recognized Regarth on the bridge, I hoped I was wrong. Let’s put this stuff away then I’ll get us both some tea. I think you need to tell me what’s really going on.”

I sat in the chair in Philip’s cabin, cradling my tea. The cabin used to be Aubry’s. It was roomier than most crew’s quarters, with a private lav, two dark blue cushioned chairs, a small galley alcove, and another alcove, for a double bed. But it wasn’t fit for an admiral, not by any means. It didn’t even have a viewport.

But Philip wasn’t complaining. He’d never been the complaining type.

He sat in the other chair, ankle resting on his knee. He waited.

“I’m not telling you anything I haven’t told Sully,” I said. “He knows Del’s behavior bothers me. You also know,” and I flicked him a glance, “he could be aware of our conversation.”

“I assume as much. Regarth as well. He seemed confident of his ability to link to you on the bridge when we hit the Kyi gate.”

“I’m relatively sure he links to me at times that Sully’s unaware of.” I told him of my first meeting with Del, what I thought of as his ambush of me on Narfial. And of the warmth Del could send through me, like Sully could. And how he’d been calling me “lover.”

“I don’t have my aunt’s complete knowledge of Kyis and guris,” Philip said when I’d finished. “And we’re comm-dead in this jump so I can’t even access her files, if my pass codes haven’t already been deleted.” He shook his head. “But based on my own knowledge, it fits the pattern.”

“Philip.” I closed my eyes briefly, wanting to clench my fists and pound them on the chair’s soft arms. “I know Sullivan. He wouldn’t tolerate that. And it’s not because he’s some kind of possessive, controlling man. He’s not. But he loves me and he honors what’s between us. He respects me.”

And he did. For all that we’d been through, even with our recent spat, there was a sense of deep love emanating from him whenever we were together. And even when we were not. It was as if, in the midst of all my fearful duro-hards, there was nestled something else. Something gentle yet powerful. And it was wrapped in the words all that I am is yours.

“Chaz, he won’t have a choice. It is part of what a Kyi is, what a Kyi does when he or she reaches certain levels of power. Understand that to Regarth, he’s not asking for anything unusual or wrong. It’s his culture. It’s a practice steeped in tradition that goes back centuries.”

The thought of Del made my jaw clench. “Maybe I’m just not an old-fashioned kind of girl.”

“But you are a source of power.”

I frowned, not understanding.

“I did a lot of reading on Ragkirils after you left the Loviti last time. Went through all my aunt’s research, a few other people’s too.” Philip turned his mug in his hands. “Sullivan kept throwing out the words ky’sal and equal relationship. I made it my business to find out if that was true. It was. He wasn’t lying about that. If he had been,” Philip shrugged, “you probably would have seen me long before now.”

“Philip Guthrie,” I said softly. “Defender of the galaxy. Protector of widows and ex-wives.”

Another shrug. “I’m a better ex-husband than husband. And I’m a worried friend.”

“What do you mean I’m a source of power?”

“You want the textbook recitation? It’s probably easier this way, considering the two of us. All right. A Kyi can increase his strength and power through intense sexual activity, especially when the act is performed in the energies of the Kyi. That strength can double, even triple, if the act is between a ky’sal and a ky’sara. The ky’saran link—and Sullivan was correct on that—is a special bond. Sex feeds both parties, but energizes both parties.” He glanced quickly at me. “Am I telling you anything you don’t already know?”

“Uh, no,” I said, chagrined yet astonished. Suddenly I understood. “I need a lot less sleep. So does he. And the few times I’ve been pushed to my limits, had to work back-to-back shifts, he would, well, you know.” God, I’m sitting here with a man I’d slept with for almost ten years and I couldn’t talk about sex. I felt like an idiot.

“He made love to you,” Philip filled in for me.

“Beyond my wildest imagination,” I said, my voice cracking. I took a large gulp of tea. Lashto would be good about now.

“And instead of being more tired…” Philip said, leaving his sentence hanging so I could finish it.

“I could have powered the whole fucking ship myself. Pardon the pun.”

“Triple it,” Philip said. “That’s what he got out of it.”

I was shaking my head. I knew.

“But that’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Philip said.

“Until we bring Del into the picture.”

“It was a way of balancing power, I think, centuries ago on Stol. A strong ky’saran link could make a Kyi extremely powerful. The clan couldn’t afford the imbalance. Sharing the source of power, or offering a source of power as a form of gratitude, became customary. Revered. From what I understand, the power actually grows, instead of diminishing. So Sullivan wouldn’t lose by sharing you.”

I slanted a narrowed-eyed glance at Philip. “How much would you like to bet?”

“Be careful, Chaz. A Kyi in the heat of a power-transfer may not stop to think how much he loves you.”

I’d already shot him once but I didn’t think this was the time to tell Philip that. I put my mug on the table next to the chair. “We’re not a clan here. And Sully’s not a Stolorth. His culture, his belief system is human.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“No. But thank you.” I pushed myself out of the chair.

“If you need me…” He didn’t rise but turned his hand out toward me.

I grasped his hand, held it tightly for a moment. “Thanks, Guth.”

“It’s what I’m here for, Bergie.”

Ten years just slipped by in a second. We were back to being Captain Guthrie and Lieutenant Bergren. The divorce, the pain, was gone. Only the very deep friendship remained.

I hung on to that realization as I headed out into the corridor, amazed at how calm I could feel when the rest of my life was once again spinning out of control.

The bed sheets rustled.

Ky’sara-mine. Sully’s voice, deep and seductive.

Sully’s body, warm, behind mine but skin blazing where we touched. Strong lean fingers stroking, exploring, turning nipples into hard, sensitive buds. Then moving downward, slick over the hip and between my thighs, going liquid, heat clenching.

My breath stuttered.

His was a low, sultry growl.

His mouth hot against my neck, teeth nipping. Lower, one finger’s featherlight electric touch sending pleasure pulsing in relentless waves.

“Oh!” My solitary word was half-breath, half-prayer. All praise.

Heat flared, surging, no longer bound by skin. His power and mine merging, a dance of ecstasy beyond description, almost beyond words. Only sighs, moans, and gasps of pleasure.

I felt him feeling me, feeling me feeling him. It was delirious, it was delicious. I opened my eyes. Silver stars danced and lightning flowed through infinite shades of dark.

Ky’sara-mine.

I ran my hands over his chest, down the taut muscles of his stomach, following the path of lightning, seeking the source of heat. I caressed with my fingers, I teased with my mouth and tongue. Now delirious and delicious had no beginning or ending, and he was shuddering, barely able to keep control, but this was my turn, my time, and this Kyi would beg or die.

From desire.

A deep, knowing chuckle ended in a gasp, a groan. Strong, lean fingers reached for me, twining into my hair.

When he lost control, so would I, so I kept him on the edge, keeping me on the edge and not knowing, moment to moment, whose fingers and tongue worked so enticingly on that throbbing, quivering…

But no. This was my turn, my time, and this Kyi would beg or die.

From desire.

Chasidah, please!

Um, okay. Now would be good.

He—

God, yes, now

—plunged inside me, would be very throbbing, giving, taking—very good. pleasure roaring through our veins. Passion exploding, every sensitive inch of flesh on overload, desire’s floodgates bursting wide.

And we clung to each other, hot, sweaty, panting.

Delirious. Delicious. Sated.

Then soft, heated kisses over my cheeks, my eyelids, my nose, my mouth.

Chasidah. Angel-mine. All that I am is yours.

Dorsie was baking two srorfralak pies. Verno was working solo when I came on the bridge, still tingling from Sully’s kisses. I took the chair, checked ship’s status. Kyi gate or not, this was a jumpspace I was familiar with. So was the Karn. I guess Stolorths had no more fondness for slippery space than humans did.

Verno was chatting with Ren on intraship. Ren was peeling vegetables again.

Takas loved the peelings almost as much as the pie.

“Go,” I told Verno. “It’ll get done twice as fast with your help and then I won’t have to sit here listening to your stomach growl.”

“You sure, Captain Chasidah?”

“Assist Ren and Dorsie. That’s an order.”

He grinned toothily and hurried off.

I shifted all controls to the pilot’s chair and leaned back, straps loose across my chest.

Ship’s internal sensor showed Marsh in the gym. Philip was still sleeping—not surprising, considering he’d worked late with Sully and Marsh on the rifle he’d pilfered. The Kyi-killer, we’d come to call it. Sully and Del were off-sensor, as usual, and were hopefully devising a thousand ways to stop Tage and Burke.

I’d run out of ideas.

Other than this morning, when I’d won against Sully.

Not that our lovemaking was a battle—far from it. And Sully was never controlling in bed. But he had an obvious advantage. This morning, however, was all mine. I didn’t do anything terribly different than I had before. It was my intent against his intent that changed.

Philip’s warnings had given me the idea. So had Del’s. A ky’sara was not without power.

A familiar databox popped on my screen. Well, Verno’s really. But everything was on my console right now. Things to do while in jump. Routine maintenance and systems’ checks. I’d done these thousands of times on various ships in Fleet.

I initiated what the Karn needed then pulled up the nav charts for that remote area on the A-B that housed Dock Five. The one bastion of unruliness right on the edge of pristine Aldan. An abandoned mining raft converted to a way station decades ago, and augmented with more mining rafts and odd appendages. It was an ugly thing, barely legal. But it paid its fees to the Empire so there was no reason to shut it down.

Unless Tage chose to.

There were a few smaller rafts within shouting distance of it. No-namers. Used for depot storage, mostly. A few rafthkra dealers had tried to use one as a dispensary several years back, but Fleet took exception to it. They closed shop very quickly.

Philip had been part of that operation. I remembered hearing his stories, weeks later, when I was back from patrol in Calth and he had a few days’ liberty. He got all the action. I was relegated to playing hide-and-seek with some mercenary named Sullivan who seemed to get the most inane pleasure from teasing me by edging his ship into Fleet-restricted zones. Just barely.

The bridge’s hatchlock thumped softly closed behind me.

Frowning, I twisted in my seat. We never sealed the bridge except for—

Del. All in black, like Sully always wore. Thermal shirt, dark pants but no long coat. I hadn’t seen that coat since the first day he came on board. Except for that time in the Kyi.

He stepped toward me with an easy grace, his long silvery-blue hair pulled back in a braid.

“Problems?” I asked him.

He smiled and rested his hand on the back of my chair. I forced myself not to edge away but I was very aware of the pressure of my Stinger at my thigh. Which meant, very likely, so was he.

“Why do you equate me with problems, Chasidah? Perhaps I just crave the pleasure of your company.”

“Where’s Sully?”

“Ah, Gabriel is an excellent student. I could boast and say I’m an excellent guri, but the truth is, he is responsible for his success.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

“Your helping Sully means a lot to him,” I said, keeping all traces of emotion out of my voice, keeping my rattling duro-hards as still as I could. The man was reading me, sensing me. I couldn’t feel it but I had no doubt.

“We were speaking of his appreciation earlier.” His eyes were hooded. He slid his arm around the back of my chair, leaning closer.

This time I did edge away. “If there’s something you want to talk to me about, I suggest you take a seat.”

A whisper of heat stroked my neck then ran down my breasts.

I unhooked the safety strap with a jerk and pushed myself out of the chair. The Grizni on my wrist tingled. My pistol was one move away. “You’re overstepping your bounds, Regarth,” I said firmly. “I don’t find your company pleasurable.”

He leaned both forearms on the back of the chair, clasped his six-fingered hands together, and looked at me, his smile wistful. “It’s just culture and conditioning, lover. It has no real meaning. Not when I have worlds of delight to show you.”

“I’m not interested.”

“You love Gabriel. I understand that. And he loves you, angel. Oh, how he does. You’re his greatest strength, his consummate addiction. But I can teach you ways to love him more. Make him love you more.”

“The answer is no. It will be no tomorrow, no a week from now, and no a month from now. A year from now. The matter is now closed. If you raise it again, I will lock you in the brig.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Is the bed in there big enough for two?”

“Get off my bridge, Regarth. That’s an order.”

“Consider this.” He unclasped his hands, splaying them apart. “I saved Philip Guthrie’s life.”

“We all worked to save Philip’s life.”

“What would you do, Chasidah Bergren Guthrie, to keep him alive?”

Fear shot through me. I couldn’t help it. Fear and a rage so deep it burned worse than my hatred for Tage. I knew he felt it.

“I would kill you,” I said tightly, “to keep him alive.”

Del smiled lazily. “Interesting answer.”

He straightened, took two steps slowly back, and then turned and strode for the hatchway. It opened—illogically—with a flick of his hand in the air and a slight glittering of silver haze.

I stood by my chair, heart pounding, mouth dry, muscles rigid, hands fisted hard by my side, Grizni tingling with more intensity than it ever had before.

But it wasn’t the Grizni I needed.

I rounded the chair quickly and headed for the ready room, slapping the palm pad so hard pain shot up my arm. The double doors opened. I punched my code into the locked storage compartment recessed in the bulkhead and pulled out the rifle Philip had brought on board. The Kyi-killer.

I closed the storage compartment and slung the strap over my shoulder.

This was my answer. And his.

I didn’t have a lot of time. I didn’t want to be seen walking around with the rifle. I didn’t want questions. I wanted one more answer, and that answer would be a yes to the question: can you duplicate this?

If the answer was no, I’d have to take my chances. Keep it with me or at least stow it where Philip or I could get it easily. This ship wasn’t that big.

I couldn’t spend time thinking about this. I had to act, get it done. Not have my thoughts betray the only chance I had. Philip had. Sully had. Because I knew who Del would force to kill Philip.

I checked intraship again. Philip was still asleep. He’d probably only gotten to bed a few hours ago. Shit. He was such a grouch when you woke him too early.

I pinged Marsh in the gym. “Can you sit the bridge for me for ten minutes, maybe twenty? I have to do some urgent work in my cabin.”

“Sure, Captain. On my way up.”

I hugged the rifle to my side and darted into the corridor then down the forward stairs. Marsh, coming from the gym, would likely use the aft set.

Philip’s cabin door was closed. I keyed in the emergency override and slipped inside, well aware that Del might be monitoring everything I did. I had no choice.

The cabin was dark except for the muted glow of floorlights leading to the lav. It was enough that I saw a large shape in the bed.

“Philip?” I called softly.

Grouch or not, abruptly waking a sleeping Fleet officer was a good way to get your windpipe crushed.

“Hmm? Chaz?” His voice was raspy.

“It’s me. Sorry.” I walked carefully around another lumpy shape I knew was the chair, then stopped at the foot of the bed.

He rolled over. My eyes had adjusted to the low light. He was bare-chested. Probably completely naked under the sheet, unless he’d changed his habits.

“You couldn’t possibly be here for the reason I’d like you to be. At least, not carrying that.” He levered up on his elbows. “Trouble?”

“We need another one of these. And we need it yesterday.”

“Regarth?”

“Yes.”

Philip sat up, the sheet falling to his waist. “Lights, medium.”

The room brightened but not so much a man coming out of a dead sleep would feel pain.

“Can you duplicate it?” I asked. I’d seen him do it before, cobble weapons out of the damnedest things. And the power pack on the rifle was sizable. He should be able to siphon off some of it. I only needed enough for one or two shots.

“What did Regarth do?”

“That’s not important.”

“It’s important to me.”

I sighed and sat on the edge of his bed, angling around to face him. I rested the rifle against my thigh. “He admitted to me that he’s Sully’s guri. He wants to show me worlds of pleasure. The usual crap.”

“This happen just now?”

“I was alone on the bridge. I didn’t hear him come in until he locked the hatch.”

Philip sucked in a hard breath. The muscles on his arms and shoulders bunched.

“He didn’t touch me. At least, not physically. It was mostly…talk.”

“Goddamned Ragkiril filth.”

The last time Philip had used that expression, it had been leveled at Sully, and I’d argued with him. I wasn’t going to argue with him now.

“Philip, I don’t have much time. I need to be back on the bridge. Can you duplicate this?”

He studied my face while I spoke. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.”

He pinned me with his best steely eyed admiral’s glare.

Damn him. He had a right to know. Officer to officer. But sitting here with him half-naked, unshaven and sleep-rumpled, it was easy to let the personal, the protective side, slip in.

“He threatened to kill you unless I cooperate.”

“Me?”

I guess that wasn’t the answer he was expecting. I nodded. “Likely, he’d force Sully to do it. Some kind of test. Final exam. I almost put the Grizni in his back when he left.” Or shot him. Or both. But Del would be expecting that, I was sure. I didn’t want to give him a reason to leave me dying with a smile on my face.

“Does Sullivan know this?”

I shook my head. “I came straight here.”

“I’m thrilled to be your first choice in times of trouble, but it would help if he was on our side.”

“I don’t know where Sully is, Guth. When he and Del do their training, they don’t register on ship’s internal sensors. The whole time Del was on the bridge with me, I didn’t see Sully’s ID anywhere on the ship. So he’s still in that woo-woo place which, the last time I found it, was in the shuttle bay. God knows where they have it now.”

“You found that woo-woo place or Sullivan took you in?”

“Most times he takes me in when we, you know.”

“Make love.”

“Yeah.” I cringed. God, Bergren, grow up. “But the last time I couldn’t find him, Gregor had beaten him within an inch of his life. So when he disappeared again I forced the issue. I walked in the shuttle bay and the next thing I knew, there I was. Everything was all silvery and glittery and strange.”

Philip had leaned forward and was scrubbing at his hair with his hands. “Okay,” he said, raising his face. “Let me get dressed. I don’t like what I’m hearing here at all.”

“But can you duplicate this?” I picked up the rifle.

He leaned to his right and pulled out the bedside drawer. I caught a glimpse of bare hip. Habits hadn’t changed. “I told you there were three prototypes. That rifle and two smaller ones.” He drew out the dual holster I remembered him wearing when he jumped off the pinnace’s broken ramp way, and hadn’t seen since. “These,” he said, pulling out one of the boxy pistols, “are the smaller ones.”

I almost kissed my ex-husband, then and there. “Do they know you have them?”

“Only if they’re reading us now. I’ve deliberately kept them in here so I wouldn’t think about it. And it wasn’t Sullivan I was hiding them from,” he added.

I stood, pulling my laser pistol out of my holster, shoving the small Kyi-killer in. I held out my laser. “Hang on to this for me. Unless you need it?”

He motioned to his shoulder holster draped over the back of one of the chairs. “Got one. Tuck it in the back of your pants, under your shirt for now.”

“You mean walk around like you do?”

He grinned. I used to call him my personal arsenal. Then his grin faded.

“Chaz. I don’t know what would happen if you discharged that. We don’t know range, aftereffects, residual effects. That’s something Sullivan, Marsh, and I talked about last night. Or this morning.” He rubbed his eyes then looked up at me. “Sullivan has to know about this.”

“It could be hours before I see him again.”

“We may have to force the issue. Put the rifle back in the ready room. Is Ren awake?”

Ren. God, yes. I wanted to smack myself in the head with the rifle for being stupid. “He’s in the galley with Dorsie. I’ll get him. Meet us in the ready room. Ten minutes okay?”

“Make it five. I have new clothes I can’t wait to wear.”

Ren was deeply troubled. He sat at the ready room table, hands folded. The winds of an approaching storm churned the usually placid water-tones in his voice. “I left Stol as a child but of course, I’ve read of the traditional guri requirements. But I never thought…” and he turned clouded eyes toward Philip and me. “We’re not on Stol. This is not a clan dynamic. And the Serians—”

“Were rulers for centuries,” Philip put in. He had his double holster wrapped around his hips. His gray coverall was open to the waist, revealing the matching thermal shirt underneath. The coverall’s sleeves were rolled up, showing a few inches of the gray thermal’s sleeves and Philip’s muscular forearms. “Their word was law. Their requests were honored without hesitation. Regarth probably thinks Chaz should be flattered by his proposition.”

“Chasidah, I am so very sorry. I feel ashamed to be Stolorth.”

I sent rainbows across the table. “Del should be ashamed, not you.”

“It is his tradition. That is the only excuse I have,” Ren said. “And I pray this doesn’t come to violence. It shouldn’t have to. It’s a misunderstanding.”

“There was no misunderstanding. He asked me what I would do to keep Philip alive. I understood very clearly what he was saying as well as what he wasn’t.”

“Can you reach Sullivan?” Philip asked.

“I can’t promise Del won’t know.”

Philip shrugged. “If he does, then this issue will come to a head that much sooner.”

“I need a moment in prayer. Please.” Ren leaned his elbows on the table and rested his forehead on his fingertips.

My heart pained for Ren, for his abrupt disillusionment, for his shame at what was being forced on his friends by one of his own kind. It was easy to forget, looking at him so tall and strong, that the thirty years he’d lived were not exactly translatable to myself at age thirty. Or Philip. Or…Thad. Stolorths had much longer life spans. Ren had seen thirty years, but physically and emotionally, he’d yet to reach twenty-one as we understood it. He was still a young man, and one who had spent most of his life sheltered in a monastery. This was a lot of pressure on him.

He raised his face. “Yes. I’m calmer now. Let me see what I can do.” Ren closed his eyes, resumed his prayerful position again. But this time I suspected he wasn’t seeking guidance from Abbot Eng.

After a moment he looked up again. “Sully knows I’m very upset about something. That’s all he knows, and if Del was listening, I believe that’s all he’d sense as well. It should bring Sully here, but it might be five minutes or two hours.”

It was ten minutes.

The door from the corridor opened. My hand went to my Grizni, Philip’s to his pistol. Sully stepped in, alone. The door closed behind him as his dark gaze swept the room. He frowned.

“Can you shield us, this room, from Regarth?” Philip asked him.

Chasidah?

Sully, do it, please. I’ll explain everything. I’m fine. You’re fine. I sent my usual sloppy rainbows. Ren’s fine.

The tension in his shoulders relaxed a little.

“Yes.” His eyes snapped to infinite dark and a silver haze glistened over his skin. No lightning bolts, no translucence. I hadn’t told Philip about that, but then he’d been studying Ragkirils. He probably knew.

More silver haze sparkled in barely perceptible clusters around the room. But the room was brightly lit. It was something I saw more out of the corner of my eyes than head on.

Sully swiveled a chair around and sat next to me. “What’s wrong?”

“We could tell you,” Philip said, “but she’s your ky’sara. She can show you in far less time. Just let the memory run, Chaz, and don’t edit it to be kind.”

I tucked my hand in Sully’s, taking in his warmth, his concern, and replayed the entire incident, leaving nothing out, not my fear, not my hatred, not my disgust. And not the fact that I had a Kyi-killer sitting on my hip.

Sully was breathing rapidly, his mouth a thin line. The glow around his skin increased in small patches. His grip on me tightened, but I couldn’t hear his thoughts. He just sat there, staring at me, his fingers locked around mine.

“I know it’s tradition,” Ren said softly, “but it’s wrong. And we are not part of a clan.”

“He’s gone too far.” Sully’s voice was bitter. He released my hand and shoved himself abruptly out of the chair. He stalked to the end of the table, stopped. Turned back. “I understand tradition. I offered him your friendship. Your friendship, as I would to a brother. A link with him as you do with Ren. Not…Chasidah, you must believe me. I never offered him your body.”

“Even friendship, Sullivan, you should have asked her first,” Philip said, his tone flat.

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” I glanced at Philip on my left. “Del linked with me, very intimately, from the moment he met me on Narfial.”

“He told me he was concerned for our safety,” Sully said.

“I’m sure that was partly true. But he’s been in my mind, Sully, many times since then. And those times had nothing to do with safety and everything to do with his own pleasure. I told you about them. You said he’s teasing me. You asked me to treat him with respect. Well, I’m sorry, but when someone threatens to kill my friend unless I agree to a sexual liaison, then that’s not teasing. That’s blackmail. That’s rape. And I don’t respect someone who does that.”

He stood there, hands fisted at his waist. Anger roiled through the link between us then stopped, like a window slammed shut. I knew what he did.

Sully, talk to me. Don’t shut me out.

I can’t, Chasidah. You don’t what to know what I’m thinking right now. You sure as hell don’t want to experience what I’m feeling.

The link went dead again. He turned his face away, one hand grasping the back of a chair as he stared at an indefinable point on the wall that separated the ready room from the bridge.

He turned back once more. “I’ll handle it.” His voice held a deathly quiet note.

“Sullivan, a word of caution, if you’ll listen to the old man.” Philip leaned on the table. “We talked last night in terms of weapons, but if you confront Regarth in the Kyi while you’re still tied to this ship, the results may be the same. We may be stuck here, permanently. Or whatever you do could backwash and destroy the ship. The training he’s putting you through is not the same as two Kyi locked in battle. And it will be a battle, because someone like the Serian-Prime will not give up his claim on a ky’sara easily. Not after he’s seen what she’s done for you.”

Sully’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing.

“I’m guessing here,” Philip continued, “that he sees you have the potential to be stronger than he is. He can’t risk that. It threatens him. It threatens the innate power balance of Clan Serian that you’re now part of because you’ve taken the Bond of Brothers with him. Am I correct on that?”

The Bond of Brothers?

A slight flick of Sully’s fingers in an aimless gesture. “There are so few Kyi here in the Empire. It seemed a logical thing to do.”

“Do I want to know what this Bond of Brothers is?” I asked, not without trepidation, and not without a twinge of my own anger. Damn you, Sullivan, it would be nice for you to ask me before you go adopting people into our family!

“Sully and I have one,” Ren said, his voice placid, reassuring. “It’s nothing bad. It’s a promise of protection, of trust. It’s somewhat like the oath you take when you join Fleet.”

Ren, I wanted for a brother. Del, I didn’t.

“Unbond,” I told told Sully. “Serve him notice.”

He wiped one hand over his face. “It’s not that simple.”

“Go AWOL,” I persisted.

“It’s not that simple.” This, from Philip. “It’s not unlike a ky’saran link.”

I stared at Philip, the import of his words hitting me, hard. Then I stared at Sully. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? I’m stuck with that son of a bitch calling me lover in my head until one of us dies?” Now, I was angry. Now, yes, I began to see Sully as complicit in this.

“I thought I was protecting you, Chasidah.” Sully’s voice had an edge to it. “Protecting Ren. It would give us resources. I saw the Empire falling apart. I saw Fleet not far behind. The church is splitting, Purity against Reformed. The Serians have been through this before. They have healed rifts between hundreds of clans. They have even sacrificed their own lives to do so. Del has this knowledge, and the few Kyi that are here are all Serians or Delkavras. His people. My people. Your people.”

He slammed his hand against the back of the chair. “Goddamn it! I wanted to be on the winning side, just for once.”

“My people? You sold me to the Serians?” I couldn’t believe what I was saying.

“I didn’t sell you. We’re part of them now. Ren is too. I had to. His own clan rejected him. He’s dead to the Ackravaros. By Ragkir law, he shouldn’t even use the clan name in his. Plus, he’s blind. If something happened to me, he could get killed on open dock. But branded as a Serian or a Delkavra, other Ragkir won’t dare try. I did it to save your lives!”

I looked at Ren, gave him a mental nudge. Did he know? No. His elegant face wore a startled expression.

“Thank you, Sully,” Ren said softly. “I know you meant well.”

Sully gripped the back of the chair with both hands and, with a soft but harsh epithet, dropped his gaze to the tabletop. Or seat of the chair. Or another galaxy in a distant corner of the universe somewhere under the Karn’s decking.

I put my own face in my hands. God. The road to hell was paved with good intentions.

“I understand what you were trying to do, Sullivan,” Philip said. “It’s not without merit. I’ve had to form a number of allegiances in my career that held potential for disaster if not properly handled. And I can’t honestly say I’d have done anything different if I were in your position. You had a unique and urgent problem. Regarth represented a workable solution. That solution, however, has now become a new problem.”

“He’ll leave the Karn when we hit Dock Five,” Sully said. “Distance will solve a good portion of these issues.”

That meant I only had to survive another five to six shipdays of Del’s brotherly love. Two and a half in jump. And four more to the A-B. And hope Philip didn’t die smiling in the meantime.

Chasidah. Please. I love you beyond all measure. I’d never hurt you. Or anyone you care about.

I didn’t lift my face from my hands. I couldn’t look at the pain on his face. I couldn’t let him see the emotions on mine. I know, Sully. I know.

“And in the meantime?” Philip asked quietly. “Are you strong enough to keep him away from Chaz? From taking control of this ship?”

“I’m going to have to be.”

I raised my head, straightening. “That’s not an answer.”

Sully looked at me, a flicker of surprise. He hadn’t heard that tone from me in a while. It was the captain of the Meritorious speaking. Not his ky’sal, his angel-mine.

“We need a plan of action,” I continued, “a strength assessment, damage probability assessment, and options if the original plan doesn’t work. Do you realize, Mr. Sullivan, that if both you and Regarth are somehow incapacitated, no one else can take this ship out of jump?”

He stared at me for two, three heartbeats, while next to me, very much under his breath, Philip said, “Welcome back, Captain.”

I sat forward. “Our paramount responsibility is the safety and protection of those on board. That includes keeping command staff alive and functioning. Which also includes you. Unless you tell me you can’t handle a Kyi-gate transit without Regarth.”

“I can do it alone.”

“Noted. Can I be taught to handle a transit?”

“You can’t find the gate markers. Once I have those, yes, you can assist. But you’re not a Kyi.”

“Can Ren be taught to find them?”

A thoughtful pause. “Doubtful, and definitely not in the next two days.”

“I think you’d better sit down, Sullivan,” Philip intoned. “I’ve been in on these sessions with her before. She’s annoyingly thorough.”

Sully lowered himself into the chair, planting his elbows on the tabletop, hands folded. Ren departed briefly to tell Marsh it would be another half hour or more, then returned. I was into the question of alternate gate exits at that point.

“Besides Dock Five?” Sully leaned back, frowning, thinking.

“Within three hours, six hours, even ten of our current position? One of the big negatives in this equation is jumpspace. The other is time. Six days gives Regarth far too much latitude. I want him boxed in and if not neutralized, then with less options than we have.”

“He’s a Kyi.”

“So are you.”

Sully nodded. “Point well taken. But exiting in Baris, which is where we are now, brings the danger of Fleet and Tage into the equation.”

“Lesser of two evils, Mr. Sullivan. Or maybe known and workable evil against unknown one.”

“Del’s not evil, Chasidah.”

“He’s misguided? Had a tough childhood because someone broke his wubbie-toy?” The sarcasm slipped out before I could stop it. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled-for and unproductive.”

I know you’re angry with me.

I’m not angry with you. I’m just…angry. And I need a solution.

“There are other exits, yes,” Sully said out loud. “I just want to make very clear the Karn’s been able to survive because of my knowledge of gates. Duck and hide. If we come up against a destroyer and a couple of cruisers, we have no chance. I don’t even have a shuttle left to dump on them as a diversion.”

He stared at me. I stared back then nodded. “Point well taken. Admiral?”

Philip had been sitting quietly beside me except for my comment about Del’s childhood, at which point I was fairly sure he choked back a snort. “We need the option of alternate exits. Our being in a Kyi-gated jump is one more thing in Regarth’s control column. We need to shift things into our favor.”

“Thirty, forty minutes.” Sully pursed his lips. “I can have that data for you.”

“We’ll meet back here then?” Philip asked.

“Our cabin,” Sully said, shaking his head. “I have fail-safes, can lock out the bridge from there, if need be.” He tapped the access button for the deskscreen. It slid up from the table as he rubbed a spot between his brows with his forefinger. And not happily.

Philip swiveled his chair around. Ren was already heading for Sully. He clasped his hand on Sully’s shoulder, sending rainbows, I was sure. Small sparkles I could see only out of the corner of my eye flashed and disappeared.

“Go play fish, Ackravaro.” Sully gave him a wan smile. “I know you’re tired.”

“Chasidah. Admiral Guthrie.” Ren nodded. “Things will get better.” He exited into the corridor.

I pushed myself to my feet. Philip lightly touched my arm, guiding me away from the table. “Let Sullivan work in peace. I was reading over your notes on Tage earlier. I’d like to—”

The door to the bridge slid open. Del.

“A party and I wasn’t invited. You have no idea how terrible that makes me feel.”

I froze then took one step slowly back, letting my body movement cover my hands dropping—innocently, I hoped—to my waist. Sully was upright, stiffly, the silver haze once again drifting over his skin. Philip’s movements had mirrored mine but he’d stepped forward, feigning a cough, one hand now down by his gun.

“Captain Regarth,” I said, keeping my chin up and my right hand poised to activate the Grizni. I didn’t know what the pistol would do with two Kyi in the room, but my dagger had never failed me.

Chasidah. If I tell you to leave, leave.

I didn’t answer Sully. I couldn’t afford the distraction.

Del had his hands clasped behind him, his long braid forward over one shoulder. He was still all in black.

Sully rose to his feet. I could feel the power pulsing from him. Power, anger, determination. Disillusionment, almost as strong as Ren’s had been earlier.

Del ducked his head slightly as he came through the doorway. “Power down, Gabriel. Please.” His tone and demeanor shifted abruptly.

Sully slowly shook his head. “No.”

Del switched his gaze to me, his eyes not as dark as I thought they’d be. Not like Sully’s. He glanced at Philip then back to me again. “Captain Bergren, I’d like to speak with you.”

“No.” From Sully and Philip simultaneously.

Del snorted softly and one side of his mouth twisted. “I should have such friends. Well.” He dropped his gaze for a moment then looked back up. “I have been an unforgivable, unmitigated ass. A petulant and petty little boy.” He extended his right hand, palm down. “Have you a metal rod? That’s how they used to punish me in school.”

I stared at him for a very long, hard second. “I’m not amused.”

“Yes, I know.” He lowered his hand, his gaze following it again then returning to me. “Women used to find me amusing, witty. I’m decent enough looking. But I’ve failed miserably with you. The cultural differences.” He shrugged. “You are so Delkavra at heart, Chasidah. When I’m around you, I forget you’re human. I forget you weren’t raised with the verbal jousting that is the hallmark of every Serian courtship. Not that I’m courting your ky’sara,” he said quickly, with an apologetic gesture to Sully. “Other than for her friendship. Her companionship as an equal. Worthy captain to worthy captain. If you’ll grant me that much,” he said, turning back to me with an expression that was damned near angelic.

Sully? He’s lying through his teeth, isn’t he?

Oddly, no.

No? I had to catch myself. I almost blurted my denial out loud.

Sully shifted in his stance, facing Del more squarely. “You’ve caused serious problems on my ship. Neither my ky’sara nor Admiral Guthrie take threats lightly. Nor do I. You’ve lived among humans long enough to know that.”

“But they’re not like you. They’re not like Chasidah.” Del drew his arms out in an exasperated gesture then let them fall by his side. “I swear, Gabriel. If I could take you back to Estaciar, to Stol, and let a lifereader see her, she’d tell us Chasidah is a reincarnated Delkavran queen. At the very least, a princess. She has such…” And he clasped his hands together, placing them at the center of his chest. He bowed his head.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or to applaud.

Philip coughed lightly. Laugh, then. But I still held on to my Grizni.

That made Del lift his head. “You don’t believe me, Philip.”

“I’ve studied the Serians, Regarth. I’m aware of your lovers’ duels. And the maze at your palaces where the couple’s wedding night starts with a hide-and-seek game, and live ammo.”

“Ah, the thrill of the chase,” Del said softly. He looked at me. “Kyi heal very quickly, you know. It’s the mutual sharing of energies afterwards. So sweet. But of course you know that.” He gestured toward Sully. “You shot him only last week.”

Philip was leaning forward, staring at me.

“We weren’t…it wasn’t…I’ll explain later.”

“I think you’ve said enough, Del.” Sully’s voice was firm.

“Yes. Sorry.” He bounced lightly on his heels.

“There will be no more verbal jousting, playful threats. Chasidah and I don’t find them amusing. You will not, at any time, be alone with Chasidah. You will stay out of her thoughts. If I find out you’ve even as much as whispered to her—”

“But, Gabriel—”

“Whispered to her, you will be fortunate if all I do is banish you from our ship and our lives.” He paused. “You’ve told me many times I still need training. That a rogue Kyi like me is capable of utter destruction if I’m not careful. Then heed your own warning. Don’t force me to find out just what I’m capable of. Because when the dust settles, I will be the one left standing. And you know that.”

Del’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, then his expression shifted and was bleak when he faced me. “Forgive me. I erred grievously. And I—well, I think I shall see if Dorsie needs some help in the galley.”

Sully nodded, tight-lipped.

Del turned and retreated to the bridge and, judging from the sound of bootsteps, out the hatchway to the corridor.

I realized my right hand gripped my Grizni dagger. I let it go.

Warm lips brushed my ear and trailed down my neck, stopping at the point of my shoulder. I slitted one eye open. Morning, already? No, two hours yet.

Lean hands slid around my waist then between my thighs, pulling me back against a familiar throbbing hardness. A sweet fire traced the edges of my body, spiraling over my most sensitive spots. I shuddered out his name in a sigh. “Sully.”

Gabriel. A deep, masculine whisper in my mind.

I peeked again, saw the glow surrounding us in bed, saw the muscled arms around me lightning-flashed, his touch so…incredibly…ohsweetstars!…electric. I squeezed my thighs against his hands, felt the surge of electricity in his own body at my response. Felt his own heart rate speed up, his own breath as ragged as mine.

Slow, he said though the sensations racing through our bodies would argue with that dictum. This morning I want to show you, I want you to feel everything.

He turned me on my back, the mattress warm where his body had been. Hands moved to my shoulders, tongue to the aching bud of one breast…then images. Memories. A much younger Chaz Bergren on the bridge of the Meritorious and an ache of a different kind from the man watching her from the bridge of the Boru Karn. A respect, a longing, a this-is-what-I-want-but-never-shall-have. A joy. Ah, I found her again. A search for reasons to continue the contact. Shall we feign engine trouble? Or would a handful of synth-emeralds spark her interest?

The docks at Port Chalo. A younger Chaz Bergren walking, laughing with her crew. Risk it? Approach her? The longing intensifies.

A kiss now, hard, fierce. You’re here. There are times I still don’t believe it, that I walk into the cabin and expect it’s been a dream. Your scent will be missing, your laughter, your touch. A void will open inside me.

Then an illogical thought. I’d wish I’d known you as a child, ky’sara.

No, Gabriel, you don’t. I laughed softly then a gasp because he’s filling me with long, slow, pulsing thrusts and with each one the wave of pleasure rises that much higher, the sensations that…much…keener…

Nibbling kisses, erotic in their tenderness until I’m moaning, “Oh, God,” against his mouth, my fingers grasping sweat-slicked skin, and suddenly I love you beyond all measure is not just words but a heart, a soul bursting open, a stripping raw of all pretense. It is Sully, it is Gabriel, it is his tears on my face, his body in mine, our minds seamless. It is hopes and dreams and failures. It is apologies and a prayer for redemption. It is heaven and damnation.

All that I am is yours pales beside it.

It is everything.

It is love.

“Is Del leaving the ship?” In a few hours it would be a shipday since our confrontation in the ready room and his apparent capitulation.

Sully twirled a long strand of my hair between his fingers. My hands were splayed across the dark mat of hair on his chest. The bedcovers were twined about us. I had thirty-five minutes yet before I had to play captain.

“I didn’t close off that possibility when I talked to him,” he said. Training and talking with Del had been much reduced yesterday. Sully had identified three other gate exits, then had reviewed what we had on Burke and Tage with me and Philip. And admitted to Philip about copies of a conversation with Sophia Rossetti Sullivan that could be damning.

“More than the fact you’re a Kyi?” Philip had asked.

“More fuel for the fire,” Sully answered. “But obviously, that’s now pushed far down on my list of problems.”

So with all that, I didn’t think he’d spent more than four or five hours with Del. Not much, considering. But enough to determine what His Royal Highness Prince Regarth Cordell, Serian-Prime, Blessed of Delkavra, intended to do.

“Everything he knows about Burke and the lab ship, he downloaded to the Karn,” Sully continued. “I double-checked. Other Kyi gates, Ragkir contacts, the few Kyi besides us. He’s trying to make amends.”

“Will you be angry if I admit I don’t trust him?”

“No. I think someone must have taken away his wubbie-toy as a child, so now everything he sees is his as compensation. That, and the fact he’s a Serian. What did he tell me yesterday? ‘I am a prince and I shall walk among kings.’” Sully shook his head. “I was raised on Sylvadae where that’s not an uncommon mindset. But I also know it’s not a functional one, especially in this situation.”

“Do Kyi lovers really shoot each other for pleasure?”

“I thought it was an exaggeration. Evidently not. Let’s not try that again, though, okay?”

I gave him a wry smile. He answered with that trademark Sully-grin.

“So,” I said. “He was trying to, what, get some kind of sexual thrill by provoking me?”

“We’re—he’s very attuned to emotions. It’s like listening to a symphony. The more intense the music becomes, the more you enjoy it.”

“Threatening to kill someone?”

He sighed. “Chasidah, your emotions run very deep. When you get in that angry-but-protective mode, it’s such a mixture of the masculine and the feminine properties. An invincibility. A belief in what’s right. You have that like no one else I’ve met. And it’s…don’t laugh at me, but it’s exciting. Arousing. Your entire aura just shimmers. I call it your ‘captain in charge’ mode.”

“You get hot when I play captain?”

Hooded eyes met mine. “I get very hot when you play captain.” He moved closer, draping his leg over my thighs, showing me just how hot he did get.

“Well, in that case, I may have to ask for a raise.” I lifted the sheet. “Oh, look. I already got one.”

I made it onto the bridge with barely three minutes to spare before the start of my duty shift.

This time when we prepared to exit the Kyi gate, Sully had me work navigation with him. Del was at the helm—two days without a whisper or even a wink, amazing!—and Marsh at engineering. Philip sat weapons. Verno took communications and would work bogey check with Philip as soon as we hit realspace. Ren and Dorsie were peeling more vegetables and cooking up something else she wouldn’t tell me about, but only smiled and promised I’d like it.

I felt/saw the edges of the gate as we approached, felt/saw its strength, knew by a sensation that was almost a hot-cold when we were on a true course to exit and when we were off, even slightly. Sully resonated with the gate markers. That’s the best way I can explain it. It was not unlike music, not unlike a symphony.

The Kyi recognizes a part of its own, he told me.

This was an orchestra he belonged to. I didn’t, but I could still appreciate the skill and the music.

We slipped flawlessly through the gate, Del’s hand sure at the helm, taking his cue from Sully. I could feel their link but it was light now, even lighter than when Sully linked with Ren. I guessed someone has constructed a filter, but no one confirmed that.

“Bogey check, bogey check.” Philip’s resonant tones filled the bridge. He’d been stopping everyone on board from calling him “admiral” the past two days. But damn, if he still didn’t sound like one.

And that wasn’t a bad thing. Sully was my wild passion, my celebration of life. But my friendship with Philip was a solid rock I knew I could always lean on.

I even came upon Philip, Sully, and Ren playing cards in the galley yesterday, and trading the usual male jibes and epithets. Life had just swung from horrible to honestly decent. I still felt Thad’s loss, acutely. I shed tears in the shower the night before because it was cleansing in more ways than one. But life was unfolding, if not as it should, then at least not totally as it shouldn’t.

“Got a positive,” Verno growled and there was the usual flurry of activity, confirming the bogey’s ident. A tri-hauler, sluggish and slow, lumping along overburdened.

The Karn proceeded, sleek and armed to her teeth, but with no shuttle. I’d never live that down. “Most women just want jewelry,” Sully had grumbled at some point.

We were in Baris, not far from Garno, heading for the A-B and Dock Five. Back where we began, in a great many ways. But Five was a hub of information. Always had been. Another reason Fleet never shut it down.

Out of jump, we needed to go back to regular duty shifts. We’d stay off the major trafficked lanes, yes. But we were in Baris. One sector away from Aldan and the heart of the Empire.

I resigned myself that I’d have to sit duty with Del. I didn’t trust him, plain and simple. I sent Marsh, Verno, and Philip—with much grumbling—off the bridge. Next shift would come on duty in six hours, with Ren on a swing shift always available in between.

I retired to the ready room. I didn’t have to be on the bridge on the Karn. She was a good-sized luxury yacht but still small enough that I didn’t need to have my ass glued in the pilot’s chair the entire shift.

Which helped. I still needed distance between Del and myself. Even if it was only ready room to bridge distance.

I sat in Sully’s seat at the table, facing out the doors to the bridge, and pulled up the deskscreen. We were no more than ten, fifteen minutes from an Imperial GA-7 data beacon. Time for the former pride of the Sixth Fleet to play hacker. I picked up the signal, initiated a grab, and waited for the information to flow.

The news headlines weren’t good. More reorganizations in Fleet, headlines said. Reorganizations, my ass. Dafir Command and Baris had been gutted. I didn’t recognize any of the names of the new admirals, and the few old that stayed on…I’d suspect Philip would say Tage was welcome to them.

I keyed in a search for news of Jodey Bralford and the Nowicki. Data was still coming in, but that was something I knew Philip would want to know. I wanted to know. I suspected that was another reason Philip grumbled as he was leaving the bridge. That suspicion was confirmed when he showed up at my elbow a few minutes later.

“You’re off duty,” I told him.

He grunted and sat next to me, bringing up his own deskscreen. “I need to know what’s happened to my people.” He shot me a glance that held an emotion I’d never equate with Philip Guthrie. It was tinged with despair. “I survived. Many didn’t. Don’t think that won’t haunt me for the rest of my life.”

“Then make your survival count,” I said quietly.

“I intend to.” He brought up the same news feeds I had coming in, keyed in his own search parameters, then sat back and read the headlines and abstracts, tagging one now and then for the full article, as I did.

Sully appeared in the doorway to the bridge. “Transmits in?”

“Just coming in now.”

“Anything from Drogue?”

We hadn’t heard from the affable monk in over a week. That was worrisome. Everything was worrisome, now that we were back in realspace. Funny how jump was such an insulator, though not without problems of its own.

“I’ll let you know.” I scanned the list, my heart warming when I saw Drogue’s personal transmit code. It was addressed to me. “Yes, there is.” I opened it. It was text not vid, sending condolences. “Just letting us know we’re in his prayers,” I told Sully.

Sully nodded, his dark gaze sweeping over me, over Philip. He glanced over his shoulder to where Del sat at helm then stepped further inside the room, leaning his hands against the back of the chair opposite us. “Guthrie.” His voice was clear but quiet.

Philip looked up.

“A request. Suggestion. Don’t answer me now. Think about it. When we hit Dock Five, any number of a dozen things could go wrong. Likely will, as long as you’re with this ship. Consider permitting a link with me and Chasidah. For safety. Yours and ours.”

Philip started to speak, stopped, then leaned back in his seat. “That would make me very uncomfortable, even beyond the obvious reasons. But you could do that?”

“I can establish a mental link with anyone. It doesn’t have to be a deep bond. I don’t need their permission. But I’d prefer to have it.”

“I can see its efficacy in combat,” Philip admitted. “But even then…”

“We have time before Dock Five. Just give it some thought.”

I nudged Sully mentally. You could have asked me first before volunteering my mind, ky’sal-mine.

A distinct wince. Chasidah, I didn’t…it just seemed reasonable. I’m sorry. God, I…would it bother you?

I took my few seconds’ enjoyment at watching him squirm. It was worth noting we’d only been together as a couple for a little over three months. Three tumultuous months, but it was not a long time. We were still adjusting to each other. Sully’s penchant to act first and ask forgiveness later was an adjustment we’d have to work on.

Someday, someday you will remember to ask me first. I think it’s a great idea for when we hit dock. But learn to ask. The captain has spoken. I sent a rainbow.

And you know how I feel about the captain…

Get back to your station, Mr. Sullivan!

Philip darted a glance my way as Sully left.

“Private conversation,” I told him.

“That’s what worries me.”

“It shouldn’t. They all can go narrowband or broadband. That’s why I can’t always hear everything going on between Del and Sully. Or why Sully can shut Del out from me.”

“What comes out of my mouth is filtered. What goes through my brain is not.”

“It’s like talking to someone in a crowded room. I’d mostly hear the thoughts you wanted me to. The rest is just so much buzz in the background.”

“I’ll worry about that later. Right now,” and he tapped the screen, “let’s see what new crisis Tage has created.”

I shunted the news feed headlines to him, including my highlighted selections. I wanted to check the rest of the transmits. There was likely something from Marsh’s family. He and Dorsie would want that.

I saw Marsh’s messages come through, cleared them for his personal in-box and Dorsie’s. The next line caught my eye and I grabbed Philip’s arm. “Jodey,” I said. “To me, but…”

I opened it quickly. The transmit quality was bad, the image grainy. Something that can happen when layers of secure coding are added for security reasons. But it was Captain Jodey Bralford, unshaven and looking tired.

“Chaz, I’m hoping this reaches you. I’m sure by now you know what’s going on. Tage has decimated Fleet, disbanded the Admirals’ Council. The rest of the ministries are in total disarray, unless you’re a Tage supporter.” He barked out a harsh laugh then sobered. “Philip managed to send me a warning. It took all of ten seconds for my crew to know what we had to do. We’re safe but I’m not going to say where right now for fear of interception. But, Chaz—” and he halted, wiping one hand over his face. “Philip’s missing. Reported dead. I don’t know if that’s true. But I though you should be prepared. Maybe you’ve already heard but if you haven’t, I thought it best coming from me. I hope to God you’re safe. Contact me if you can. Philip had some last wishes. If it comes to that, you need to know.”

He signed off.

I looked at Philip, more than slightly surprised.

He pursed his lips but color dotted his cheeks. “I’m alive,” he said after a moment. “It’s moot.”

“I think Jodey needs to hear from you.” I smiled. “Was it a lot of money?”

“Almost as much as I lost to your husband last night.”

I chuckled then realize what he’d called Sully. My husband. Oh my. “How do you think he pays for this ship? I don’t think there’s a card room on the rim or Dock Five that doesn’t have a chair with his name engraved on it.” Whatever name he was using for wherever he was.

“But he loses to Ren.”

“Baffles me too. He refuses to explain.” I poked his forearm with my index finger. “Answer Jodey. Use my transmit code.”

He did, giving Jodey a basic recounting without getting into particulars that could threaten either the Karn or the Nowicki.

I cleared another transmit to Marsh and Dorsie—they had a large family. The next transmit packet was unfamiliar and code-sealed. And it wasn’t a code either Sully or the Karn knew. But it was marked for Sully’s attention.

I sent a mental nudge. Sully? Something odd in the in-box.

On my way.

It took only a few seconds, then he was swiveling around the seat on my left, peering over my shoulder. He nodded. “It’s for Del. We’d put out some feelers. Shoot it to the bridge.”

He left and I heard his deep tones and Del’s mixing over the beeping and occasional trill of the bridge comps. Then, “Chaz!”

Sully. Excited, but a good excited.

I pushed out of my seat and sprinted to the bridge, Philip on my heels.

Del had swiveled the chair at helm around and was leaning back, arms folded triumphantly over his chest. He was grinning smugly. “We’ve got a lead on Burke’s gen-lab ship. Right here in Baris.”

Sully pulled up the chart on the large viewer over the nav station. Three of Baris’ four quadrants were generally deemed “respectable,” with Fleet or commercial stations dotting the spacelanes. Six stations in all, including Corsau, which had at one time been Baris 5. The world of Garno straddled the A-B like Dock Five did, but on the opposite axis.

It was Dock Five’s end of the axis where the problems were. That’s where we were headed. Right through the Five-Oh-One, a small asteroid belt that had been mined out. It was a storm-prone area with dangerous magnetic fluctuations. Ships disappeared in the small wide darkness between the asteroids, never to be heard from again. Everything from plasma winds to black holes to corrosive particles was blamed. Reality, though, was often more mundane: pirates.

It was a region the Karn was familiar with. But that didn’t mean caution wasn’t advised.

“This was one of the first sections of the mining operation to be abandoned,” Sully was saying, using his lightpen to highlight a roughly spherical dwarf planet at the fringe of the belt. “There’s a refueling platform here with the usual solar arrays and a small cargo depot. They’ve been pretty much scavenged to nothing.”

“So why would Burke use this?” I asked.

“Because they’ve been scavenged to nothing. Between that, the storms, and the corrosion, it’s not a popular place. The depot probably doesn’t even have grav generators anymore. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable of stops, but it’s remote and defensible. You could do basic repairs or pick up supplies dropped off by a sister ship as long as no one else found the supplies before you did. It’s a good way to keep identities secret. The supplier might not even know who he sold the goods to.”

Sully touched a point deeper into the belt. “You could hang out here, blend in with the magnetic fluctuations and debris, wait for the supplier to depart, then slip in and get what you need.”

“The lab ship is scheduled for a pickup,” Del said.

“And what’s going to keep Burke’s lab ship from knowing we’re coming?” Philip asked.

Sully grinned. “Because we’re going to get there first.”

It would be two days at specs-plus-Sully, with Marsh keeping the sublights grinding at max, and Del and Verno switching off at helm every few hours so tired eyes and minds didn’t make mistakes. Based on Del’s information, that would give us a six-hour window to work with. That was not at all a comfortable amount of time. Ships did arrive early. If the lab ship did, then we’d have to pull back, wait for another chance to take it out while it was at dock somewhere else.

There was no way we could attack it in the lanes. It was as well armed and armored as a Fleet patrol ship.

It had been one at one time. Not a P-40 like my Meritorious, but the larger P-75.

Philip had his thumbs hooked in the belt of his hip-holster. He stared out the forward viewport. “If we could somehow get the Nowicki here by then…”

But we couldn’t.

“We can’t assume either,” I said, half-consciously drumming my fingers on the pilot’s chair armrest as a dozen scenarios danced through my mind, “that she’s going to sit at the depot, systems cold. I wouldn’t. Not in the Five-Oh-One. And since she’s a former P-class, she’s rigged to come online in a matter of seconds. She may have med-techs on board,” I added, “but I’ll bet you a bottle of Lashto in Garno’s best bar she’s got a top-trained command crew on her bridge. We come in, guns blazing, and they’re going to blaze right back at us.”

“A few torpedoes would be nice,” Sully intoned from the nav station. “I’d even forgo a new shuttle to have those installed.”

He looked at me, one dark brow slightly arched. He was not going to let that go, ever.

Torpedoes would work. But as he said, we didn’t have any.

Suddenly Sully leaned forward, elbow on armrest, hand open.

Good idea, angel-mine!

Good idea? Which one of the dozens of things in my head had he grabbed?

“Why destroy what we can use?” he said. “And this is Chaz’s idea, though she didn’t know she had it. At least, not quite like this.”

“The beauty of a ky’saran link,” Del said softly.

“Destroying the lab ship achieves our purpose, but we don’t know if there are innocents on board. Kidnapped Takas, for instance. As Chaz keeps reminding us, we’re not here to be murderers like they are. But more than that, we destroy the ship, we lose all the data. Names, contacts.”

“Proof.” Philip nodded. “So we don’t target them. We ambush them. We get to the depot first, wait till they dock, take the ship, crew, and data. I like it. I like it a lot. Of course,” he glanced slyly at me, “we don’t have a shuttle that we can—”

“The Karn can drop us off and go hide,” I said.

“Little more risky,” Philip countered.

“I’d rather have the Karn come back for us, ion cannons at full, than try to make a run for it in a lightly armed shuttle.”

“Not that we even have a shuttle in which to make a run for it.” Sully shrugged lightly.

I narrowed my eyes. “Mr. Sullivan. You’re pushing my buttons.”

“If it’s the button that activates your captain mode, I’m all for it.”

Del snorted out a laugh.

“See what you started?” I shot back at Philip.

This time he shrugged, hands moving outward in a classic “what did I do?” gesture.

I sighed. “Gentlemen.”

“Marsh, Verno, Ren, and Dorsie stay with the ship,” Sully said. “The four of us, we go in as a team. Two Kyis and two extremely well-armed and well-trained humans. Lady and gentlemen,” he glanced at the three of us in turn, “I see this as an unqualified success. We stop Burke, we gain data. And if we’re careful, we’ll even gain another ship.” He pointed to Philip. “Don’t discard your title just yet, Admiral Guthrie. We could be on our way to building you a fleet.”

Sully disappeared with Del shortly after that. Verno came on duty. I stayed on the bridge. Philip wandered in and out, waiting for something from Jodey, I was sure. Then Marsh showed up, shooing me out of the pilot’s chair. Sully was still nowhere to be found—out in woo-woo land somewhere. I sighed. I went to the cabin, stripped out of my coveralls, and threw on workout slinkies and an old thermal of Sully’s, and headed for the gym.

Fabulous smells were emanating from Dorsie’s galley. I heard Philip’s voice when I passed by. Two excellent cooks collaborating. Dinner would be good.

An hour later I was sweaty, pleasantly tired, and feeling very limber. I was looking forward to a nice shower but when I entered my cabin, Sully was at the deskcomp and Philip sat at my dining table with the datapad. Both looked up when I stepped through the open doorway.

“Anything I should know about?” I balled up my damp towel and tossed it in the direction of the bedroom. “Do I have time for a shower?”

“Yes and no,” Philip answered, motioning to one of the chairs at the table. “Sit.”

Sully followed me, brushing my forehead with a kiss before I sat. He leaned on the edge of the table.

Philip tapped at his screen. “Jodey’s going to try to give us some support. He’s three shipdays out of Dock Five, out in Calth. He’s been meeting with some high-powered political types who’ve abandoned Tage, including Senator Falkner. There’s very preliminary talk of an independent alliance, a new Admirals’ Council. Very preliminary. Jodey says at the very least he’ll do a meetpoint with us when the meeting is over. He also sent this.” He swiveled the datapad around so I could see it.

I scanned the verbiage and diagrams quickly. It was data on the Kyi-killer weapons. That was Philip’s area of expertise more than mine. I nodded. “Break it down for me.”

It was Sully who did, very succinctly. “A Kyi can’t use one. The backwash would kill us.”

“It was designed that way,” Philip explained, when I switched a look from him to Sully and back to him again. “Like the jukors, having minds that the Ragkir can’t control. These weapons,” he pointed to the rifle on the table, “can only be fired by humans. They’re supposed to be fatal to a Ragkir.”

“Supposed to be?”

“They’re still in the testing stage. And since three of their prototypes are now missing,” Philip grinned broadly, “that’s set them back a bit.”

I shoved the rifle away from Sully. “Don’t go trying to prove them wrong.”

“I don’t intend to. I can feel something in that power pack, Chaz, and it doesn’t like me. It’s the way they’ve configured some kind of plasma. I don’t even want to dismantle it on this ship to find out what it is.”

“What is Tage so scared of?”

“You really don’t know?” Philip asked. “It’s underlying more than half of the things Del’s said to us. The Stolorths want Baris back.”

I stared at him, a large noisy bell going off in the back of my head. I’d been so preoccupied with Del’s insidious seductions, I’d paid little attention to the political scheme of things. But the minute Philip’s words registered, I saw it all—from the moment Del brought me and Sully into the bar on Narfial. All his talk of the Serian royal family, their sacrifices, their devotion, their expertise in handling the matter of dozens of clans. His reminders that Baris had once been part of Stol.

I will be a prince again among kings.

“There’ve been rumors that the Stolorths have sought an alliance with Blaine. Let me guess. Something else Tage convinced Prew is fact.”

“There might be some truth in that,” Philip said. “Stol was a great power once, before humans came to this sector. Agreements made with the Empire over the decades in order to ensure free trade have harnessed that. But it’s only changed their apparent aggressiveness. Not their ability to be aggressive.”

I looked back at Sully. “And now Tage realizes there are human Ragkir. You can’t be picked out of a crowd, like a Stolorth. You could infiltrate his organization, he’d never know.”

Sully was nodding. “He wants me dead and buried. Probably every other human empath too.”

“But if it came down to it, would you ally with Stol?” Even as I asked the question, I knew the answer. He was Serian now by oath.

“Between Tage, Stol, and the Farosians?” he countered. “Where would you place your faith?”

I drew a short breath and closed my eyes briefly. There was no easy answer.

No, ky’sara, there’s not.

“What I get from Del,” Sully continued out loud, “is that Stol just wants Baris. The rim worlds and Aldan, humans and Takas can have. They want open trade. No embargos, restrictions like they have now.”

“But humans need access to Baris to get from Aldan to the rim in a reasonable amount of time.” Going around the Baris Sector meant huge fuel costs and much longer delivery times to the rim worlds and stations.

“I brought that up about five minutes before you came in, Chaz,” Philip said. “Some kind of agreement would need to be hammered out.”

“Like the deal Sully’s father and Tage and those others made behind the Council’s backs after the Boundary Wars? Locking in mining rights only to a few influential families that would also control ship production and through that, the movement of goods? So Aldan prospers and Dafir starves. What’s to stop that from happening again? The goodwill of someone like Del?”

“It will happen anyway. Tage is a chronic xenophobe. It’s the one thing he and the Farosians usually agree on.”

“There’s no solution, then.”

“There’s one.” Philip glanced from Sully to me. “Restore the old Admirals’ Council and give the Takans and the Stolorths seats on it. Make Fleet represent the entire system and not just humans.”

“Tage would rather die first,” I said.

Sully nodded slowly. “That could be arranged.”

That didn’t strike me as the perfect answer. “Then three others step up in his place.” I turned to Philip. “Why didn’t the Admirals’ Council see this coming?”

“Because official policy has been to lock out the Stolorths, not negotiate with them. I’m as guilty of that as anyone.”

I knew Fleet policy. I’d heard Philip spout it, as recently as when he’d intercepted Sully and me on the Meritorious. Stolorths were “them.” Mind-fuckers. Takas were cheap labor. I rubbed my hands over my face. We were a miserable, miserable species.

“I side with Jodey. We need a new Admirals’ Council,” I said, dropping my hands to my lap.

“And a new Fleet,” Philip said. “And then we need to pray that the Stolorths and the Takas are willing to forgive us.”

“If there are any left.” Sully poked the rifle with one finger. “Between these and jukors, we’re looking at extermination. Not negotiations.”

“And war,” I said. “We’re looking at war.”

I know Dorsie made some excellent meals but I barely noticed them over the next two days that would take us to the Five-Oh-One and Burke’s depot, as I’d come to think of it. It was another shipday and a half to Dock Five from there, if that’s where we finally ended up. With two ships, possibly. Three, if Jodey joined us.

Burke’s remaining jukor lab would be gone. We’d found no evidence of any others, though I didn’t discount he could create another. But this would set him back if not damn him. Whatever we found tying him to the ship, we intended to release to the public. Though perhaps with the Kyi-killers, he and Tage realized they didn’t need jukors. Rifles and pistols were easier to transport. And didn’t have a gut-wrenching stench.

But the jukor lab was where we had to start. It was damned near being dropped in our laps. We owed it to Marsh and Dorsie to destroy them.

I owed it to Thad.

We were about six hours out of the Five-Oh-One and I found myself in the gym, in the small handball court this time. Not zero-G. Just basic four-wall handball. I slipped on my gloves, my goggles, and worked on my reflexes, my eye-hand coordination, reaching and diving, damned near climbing the walls when I had to. I had a good volley going when my reach just wasn’t far enough. I was a fraction off in anticipating the ball’s location. I ended up with nothing but air and a pain in my ass when I landed on my tailbone. I let out a series of expletives that had served me well in combat training then pulled myself off the floor. I turned to retrieve the ball behind me but someone already had.

Del.

I was unarmed. My pistol, even my Grizni, was in the locker outside the handball court.

He was dressed as I was, in a gray thermal shirt and loose gray shorts, soft-soled shoes, gloves. A pair of goggles dangled around his neck. He walked toward me with a controlled, athletic grace, tossing the black ball in the air and catching it.

“I’m through here,” I said. If I wasn’t, I was now. “You can have the court.”

“I could have called a technical on that.” He was smiling.

It took me a moment. My language. I could have pointed out to him this wasn’t regulation play. But I didn’t want to point out anything, other than point my body to the door.

He’d been unfailingly polite and had stayed away from me since Sully’s dressing down in the ready room. But I didn’t for one moment think he’d actually changed.

“I’ve been watching you,” he continued. “You have a good, strong serve. For a female.” He arched an elegant eyebrow, mouth pursing.

“Thanks.” I stepped toward the door. The reference to my gender was a deliberate jibe. I ignored it.

“Come on, Chasidah. If Gabriel had said that, it would have been game on. You’d have put one right by him.” He tossed the ball to me.

I caught it, out of reflex.

“You can have first serve,” he said.

“No thanks.” I tossed the ball back.

He slammed it. It whipped inches from my right ear, hit the wall behind me, then ricocheted. My heart rate spiked. I mentally called him a few uncomplimentary names as I headed for the door. He smacked the ball hard again, missing me by less than inches—and I was moving.

I saw it on the rebound out of the corner of my eye, spun, smashed it angrily back at him. Goddamned slag-head. I didn’t care if he hit me with the damned thing now. I was going through that door, I was—

He laughed.

And I realized the symphony must be playing very loudly.

“Accept the challenge,” he called out. “Work out a little aggression with me. Or on me. I don’t mind.”

I heard the thop of the ball hitting the front wall. I spun, caught it, pocketed it. And slammed the door behind me as I left the handball court.

“I’ll talk to him,” Sully said when we intercepted each other on the landing in the aft stairwell. He was on his was down to engineering. I was on my way up to shower, change, and fume.

“And tell him what? Don’t use the ship’s facilities? If it had been Marsh, Verno, anyone else, it would have been game on. He didn’t use mind-speak. He didn’t in any way prevent me from leaving. He offered me first serve. I declined. It’s fully innocent.” Except it was Del.

“He knows he’s not to be alone with you.”

“And he can tell you I said I was finished playing and he could use the court. I did. We were ships passing in the big wide darkness.”

Sully sighed.

“He has this down to a fine art,” I told him. “You’re not going to trip him up. It’s only a few more hours. As much as it galls me, we need him for this mission. Then we can give him the goddamned lab ship, let him go on his way to be a prince among kings.”

“I almost feel sorry for him,” Sully said softly. “He can’t control his reactions to you. You’re like the spark that creates the flame.” He trailed one finger down the side of my face then brushed it over my lips, sending something hot and tight spiraling through me. “I know exactly how he feels.”

He tipped my chin up and kissed me lightly. “Shame I have to go talk to Marsh. But if you hold that thought, angel, I will meet you back in our cabin in fifteen minutes.”

“I’m on duty in an hour—”

He yanked me against him and the kiss this time was not so light, but demanding, passionate, heated. “Then we’ll make it the most memorable forty-five minutes you’ve ever had.”

I don’t know if it was the most memorable but it was damned close.

We were on serious bogey check now. Verno was at the helm, Marsh at engineering, and Sully, Philip, Del, and I were on nav, scanners, and, if needed, weapons. The Five-Oh-One was not a friendly region. The ship we hunted wasn’t the only thing likely to shoot at us if given a chance.

Rather than broadcast one of the Karn’s many innocuous ship idents, we ran silent. No pretending to be an indy freighter, an ore-grubber, or a lugger. We were nothing. We were everything. Another ship would be able to discern our relative size and mass, but that’s all.

Oh, and that we were running with weapons ports hot. That was expected out here.

We’d managed to shave another twenty minutes off our expected arrival time at Burke’s depot. Marsh was a genius, but was demanding some upgrades, some new parts for his sublights in exchange for working them well past spec. His wish list had turned into a work order for the minute we hit Dock Five. Pops—Sully’s most trusted repair bay owner—would be making a pretty profit.

“There go the funds for my new shuttle,” Sully sighed wistfully.

I ignored him, playing with the scanners instead, working around the annoying magnetic fluctuations.

Half hour out and all still quiet.

Sully had the schematics of the depot on the secondary viewscreen. “I want to dock her nearside to the rock, in case anyone’s behind us scanning. They’ll pick us up as an aberration, a fluctuation. Hopefully,” he added, dropping his voice just a bit, “it’ll be a hot dock, one clamp, using our tube if theirs doesn’t work. It shouldn’t take us any more than ten minutes, but I want to do it in eight.”

He changed the image, showing a wider view of the depot. “Ride the rock’s rotation on departure,” he told Verno. “You’ve done it before. When you hit farside and are sure you’re sufficiently blocked, push her an hour to an hour and a half out.”

“Half hour,” Marsh argued. “I’d feel better—”

“I won’t. If they spot you on approach and take you out, we’re stuck on that goddamned depot—especially if their ship’s damaged and if we have to blow the labs. Hour minimum, Ganton. Don’t make me fill your work order with recycled parts.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Good. Guthrie? Tell me about the depot. What kind of enviro are you reading?”

“Burke likes his creature comforts. Looks like we have air and grav. No signs of life but there could be ’droids on standby.”

“Unless they’re locked to the decking, I doubt it,” Sully said. “He’s not the only one who uses this. Someone would have carted them off long before.”

“I’d recommend a sensor sweep for traps,” Philip said.

“Ahead of you on that one,” Del answered. “Stol’s produced some of the best anti-intruder devices around. Anything as much as winks on that depot, I’ll spot it here long before we make dock.” He tapped a section of his screen. “I won’t let Captain Bergren open the tubeway unless I know the place is clean.”

How could one man be so admirably efficient and damnably annoying at the same time?

I didn’t have time to waste pondering Cordell Regarth, the Serian-Prime. At fifteen minutes out I left the bridge, Philip on my heels, he to his cabin, me to mine. Sonic knife went under my pant leg, in my boot. Dual hip holster, packed with my Stinger with spare ammo and the smaller Kyi-killer, around my waist. Tage and Burke hated Stolorths, but they had several working for them. One had killed my brother. We couldn’t rule out there might be another on board. Modified Norlack laser rifle went across my back. I touched my Grizni for luck.

I met Philip outside the doorway to the galley. He was in black fatigue pants, thermal shirt, and jacket, and was bedecked as I was, at least based on what I could see. Based on what I couldn’t, I figured he had an extra knife and pistol or ten hidden somewhere.

“Ready, Bergie?”

“Ready, Guth.”

“Chaz.”

I’d stepped away and now turned back.

He glanced toward the forward stairway. Empty. He glanced back. “I never thought I’d say this, but Sullivan’s not as much of an asshole as I thought he was. I just wanted you to know.”

I smiled. High praise from Admiral Philip Guthrie.

“Eight minutes to dock.” Sully’s voice came over intraship as footsteps sounded in the corridor. “She swept clean. On my way.”

Del came into view in the hatchlock for the tube where Philip and I waited, securing our comm-links in our shirt pockets, thin transceivers ringing ears. He wore the long black coat he had when I first saw him on Narfial, Grizni again on his wrist—his only obvious weapon, other than the slight glitter under his skin. His blue eyes were a dirtside summer’s night dark. He didn’t need a comm-link.

He bounced lightly on his heels, his gaze raking me up and down. I turned away but I could still feel him. Sully should be here any moment. That would put a stop to that.

“You’re not going to trip over that coat?” Philip asked.

“Never have.”

Then Sully strode in, another dark-coated, glimmering figure.

Philip looked at me. I shrugged. I had my guesses involving a containment field, a concentration of energies, but this wasn’t the time to discuss them. And I had no link with Philip. He’d never agreed to a mutual link with Sully and me.

The roar of the docking thrusters was louder here against the hull of the ship. Sublights still kicked, not quite idling. The deck vibrated in small hiccups.

“Thirty seconds,” Marsh advised.

Sully tapped intraship. “Acknowledged. We’re a go when you are.”

My heart rate sped up. It was natural, it was normal. My body was preparing for a dangerous plunge into an unknown environment the minute we cleared the tubeway. Anything could be minutes behind us. Anything could be waiting for us minutes ahead.

I caught Philip rolling his shoulders just as I did and bit back a snort. If you lined up every officer Philip had mentored through combat training, we’d all probably do the identical Guthrie roll.

I glimpsed a whisper of a smile on Sully’s lips. Angel-mine, he sent.

Don’t distract me.

The smile widened into that familiar Sully-grin, tinged with the glow of Gabriel’s essence.

“Del and I go first,” Sully said.

No argument there. Their mental scans were faster and more accurate than the hand-held dangling from my belt.

The Karn trembled again, then a hard mechanical whine sounded. Docking clamp extending. A sharp thud vibrated through the hull. Lock on.

“Tubeway deployed,” Marsh said. “Synchronizing with airlock parameters. Fifteen seconds. Fourteen…”

I watched tubeway lights go from red to green, the ship shuddering harder now with only one docking clamp to hold her against the backwash from the sublights.

“Nine, eight…looking fine, boss!” Then seconds later, Marsh gave the command. “Clear. Go!”

Philip slapped open the airlock then we bolted behind Del and Sully, already thundering though the tube.

The dank, stale odor of the depot’s air hit me immediately, catching in the back of my throat. That and the absolute darkness, other than the ring of blue lights at the airlock behind me, and the pale silvery glow from the two Kyi in front.

I palmed my handbeam.

“Wait.” One word, hushed, from Del.

Wait, Sully confirmed to me.

I sidled away from the airlock, now closing rapidly, and bumped against Philip’s arm. We stood backs against the bulkhead, ears straining because eyes refused to work. Sully and Del were a few steps ahead of us, the only illumination.

“Status,” Marsh’s voice said in my ear.

“Code Yellow,” Philip replied before I could, his voice soft but loud enough the comm-link would pick it up.

Code Yellow. Unsure.

“Give Marsh a green,” Sully said. “We’re in more danger from him hanging around out there. There’s nothing we can’t handle in here.”

“Green,” I told Marsh.

A hard thump. The Karn, undocking.

What’s in here? I asked Sully.

Bad housekeeping.

Del chuckled out loud. “Hit your handbeams so you don’t trip over something. I’ll light up the rest.”

He did, or he and Sully did, several glowing globes suddenly flashing to life in front of them. The corridor—wider than expected—was bathed in a pale light, like overheads on low power. There was plenty to trip over. Ceiling tiles, broken duro-hards, and snaking lengths of cable were among the few things I could immediately identify. Bad housekeeping, indeed.

Sully stepped forward, things crunching under his boots. Enviro wheezed and whined overhead, dust spewing out now and then as we moved under the vents.

“This is one of three working airlocks,” Sully said as we followed behind. “All on this level. They’re going to have to come through here. Now, we just need someplace to hide. I haven’t been here in about six, seven years but, if I remember…”

He did. The corridor widened, just as we’d seen on the schematics, into an open semicircle staging platform edged by a railing lined with hoists and a non-working mesh-enclosed elevator. Somebody had gutted its mechanisms as salvage. But there were stairs, left and right, leading down to a cargo staging area. And one set, right, leading up to another level, its hatchway sealed. It was airless up there.

Sully sent a few glow-globes skimming around, letting Philip and me see the lay of the land. Then he and Del went down the stairs, wandering among the containers in the staging area. Philip and I explored the offices above, the globes staying with us.

Sully found me at the top of the stairs under a globe, waiting for him.

Can you see in the dark? It never occurred to me that he could.

How do you think I always find you in bed?

Funny, Sullivan.

That’s Gabriel, he told me. Sullivan is much more of a gentleman.

I waited for an answering snort from Del and was relieved when one didn’t come. Good. Sully had his filters running again.

There was a three-walled cubicle extending from an interior wall in the open semicircle. Sully liked it and Philip pronounced it adequate and defensible. Del quipped about accommodations fit for a king. Or at least, a prince.

I kicked some rubble out of the way and sat on the dusty decking, my back to the interior wall, rifle across my knees. Philip did the same, a few feet to my left, next to an overturned chair. The glow-globes extinguished, one by one, until only Del, standing by the railing, was bathed in a weak light.

Sully strode heavily into the cubicle, his face and hands barely visible from the Kyi’s energies, and nudged me away from the wall with the toe of his boot. “Scoot,” he said softly.

I moved forward. He sat behind me, long coat flaring out to both sides, then pulled me between his legs, my back against his chest. His arms went around my shoulders. He sighed. “Would you mind putting that,” he dropped one hand down to poke at my left thigh, “somewhere else? At least so it’s not touching me?”

“That” was the Kyi-killer.

I pulled it out of the holster without comment and placed it on the decking between my ankles.

“Thank you. That was extraordinarily unpleasant.”

“That was Tage’s intention.” Philip’s voice floated through the dimness.

Del paced the length of the railing, paced back, boots crunching, pale glow at his shoulder like a devoted specter.

“Ignore him.” Sully’s mouth was warm on my ear. “It would help if you’d shut off your captain-mode for a little while.”

“Not wise,” I countered.

“We’ll have plenty of warning they’re coming. At least, shift down to a code yellow.” He’d reduced his own silvery energies to a muted glimmer.

I did my best to comply but I was aware of every clunk and groan the depot made, every huff and wheeze of enviro. My mind worked over the three major scenarios we’d come up with, then added a few more. For good measure.

Hush. His tongue licked the edge of my ear.

Now that will start a completely different kind of code red, I warned him.

I do take you to the most romantic locations. His arms tightened about my shoulders.

I leaned my head back, tried to stare into the darkness, tried to blank my busy, captain’s-in-command-mode mind. I was successful at neither. I hated waiting.

“Should have brought a deck of cards,” Sully intoned.

Philip grunted. “You mean you haven’t paid for that new shuttle yet out of Guthrie funds?”

Sully raised one hand. “Ah! Just happen to have a deck.” Something flashed between his fingers.

“Any deck you create, Sullivan, I don’t trust.”

“Now, Guthrie, why would you say that?”

“Ren warned me.”

“Thieving swindler. You shouldn’t listen to him.”

“He had much nicer things to say about you. He only called you a high-class cheat.”

“It’s all flattery. Ignore it.”

“He says it’s the only way you can win, since you promised long ago not to use your talents when you two play cards. No telepathy, no matter manipulation.”

That was why Sully lost to Ren, and won playing against everyone else. I smiled to myself. Finally, an answer. “Honor among thieves,” I quipped.

Del stepped in, one softly glowing hand extended, the glow-globe limning his head like a halo. “Walk with me, angel, while the boys play cards?”

Sully tensed, anger prickling against my skin like a rough and scratchy shirt. I flinched involuntarily. He quieted, simmering, fingers stroking an apology.

“Just asking.” Del turned on his heel and disappeared around the edge of the wall.

I heard Philip shift position, waited for him to say something. He didn’t. Neither did Sully. But something passed between them. Then I knew.

“You linked with Sully but not me, didn’t you, Guth?”

A harsh exhale from my ex-husband, then an equally harsh laugh. “I could never slip anything past you.”

“I picked up on Sully and Ren the same way. You don’t sit still when you talk. Even mentally.”

“I wasn’t saying anything nice,” Philip replied. “And I wasn’t saying anything you probably haven’t heard before. Or said yourself.”

Sully squeezed my shoulders, unwrapped his arms from around me. “I need to go have a chat with someone. Guthrie, keep her out of trouble. Scoot, Chasidah.”

I scooted, but not before shooting him an exasperated glance I knew he could sense, if not see. “I’m not the one causing trouble.”

“Let the man do his job, Bergie.”

I leaned against the wall as Sully’s bootsteps crunched away. “So why not link with me too?”

Philip snorted.

“Am I still an issue with you?” I asked him softly. I didn’t want to be. God, I liked him too much. I didn’t want to hurt him. I hoped we were through hurting each other.

“Only that I worry about you. And you don’t need that right now.”

“Are you sure?”

Another harsh sigh. “All right, you want to hear me say it? I failed you, Chaz. I knew I was, but I couldn’t stop it. There was pressure from my family. I was next in line for an admiralty. Out of the action and behind a desk. And suddenly none of that synched with the woman I married who was happiest at a stellar helm.”

I knew some of this, had guessed others. It was hard to think of Philip as the unfavored child, but he was. The Guthries were not a military family. And they didn’t marry career military wives.

“My brothers’ wives, you know what they’re like,” he was saying. “All Guthrie glamour. Pop out the required heirs, go to the required parties. You weren’t like that. That was why I fell in love with you. It’s also why we fell apart.”

He went quiet.

I squeezed my eyes shut even though there was nothing to see in front of me. It was all happening in my heart and in my head. It was amazing how honest one became in the dark. “It was my fault, Philip.”

“It was both our faults. You were so terrified I’d turn into your father. Thad told me…I’m really sorry about Thad, nugget.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Me too.” And it was true. My father’s legacy, my mother’s unhappy marriage, haunted me. “You’re not at all like Lars. But I never gave you the chance to prove that.”

He was quiet again. “So, no, you’re not an issue. Other than being a woman and a captain I admire and respect. I should have made you my first officer and kept it at that. It would have saved us both heartache.”

I swiped at some inexplicable dampness on my face. “I would have liked being first officer.”

“Sullivan loves you, nugget,” he said suddenly. “That worries the hell out of me. Not because of what he is, but because of what’s coming at him because of what he is. He knows that. Believe me, we’ve discussed it.”

“He once told me he thought you were the better man for me.”

“We discussed that too. He’s wrong. I’ve been watching the two of you. You have something rare, a closeness. I wish I could have given you that. I don’t know if I could give it to anyone.”

“That’s not true.”

“I’m forty-five this year. I’m set in my ways. And I feel a war coming on. That’s enough to keep me occupied.”

Quick hard footsteps. I jerked upright.

Sully, haze swirling around him, stepped through the opening. “Ship’s coming. Get ready.”

“The lab?” I asked, grabbing the pistol I’d put on the decking, then pulling myself to my feet.

“No way we can tell until it docks. Assume a yes.”

Sully? What happened with Del?

I’m reaching the end of my patience, that’s what. A hard sigh. I don’t know…we’ll talk about this later. After. He’s on our side. That’s all that counts. Just try to stay away from him. Stick with Guthrie. I’m telling Guthrie the same thing.

“Which airlock are they coming in on?” I asked as Del came up behind Sully. The glow-globe moved over the cubicle, bathing me and Philip in a hazy light.

“Same one we used,” Del said, all hint of teasing seduction absent. “Likely for the same reason. It’s mechanically the most sound.”

“Okay. Plan A, then?”

Sully nodded. “Plan A.”

Plan A meant Sully and Del on forward point, Philip and me behind. Kyi could read, Kyi could sense, instantly. In the time it took me to bring up the hand-held and flick it on, they’d know.

I’d back them up with the hand-held. But we needed to know immediately how many were on board and where they were, and what direction they were headed.

The staging area was below us. That was the most likely reason they were here. They were moving things into or taking things out of the locked duro-hards Sully and Del had found. They didn’t disturb the locks. What was in them wasn’t important. And we didn’t want to risk someone noticing they’d been disturbed.

Philip and I ducked behind the debris in the cubicle. My link to Sully—Philip’s link to Sully, damn him—would ensure we’d know who was coming down the corridor toward us. I checked that my laser pistol was set for stun. We wanted them alive, we wanted them talking. We wanted the jukors dead. We wanted their ship.

That was a lot to ask for. If we got half, we were ahead of the game.

It was about five minutes when a vibration shuddered the depot. Docking clamps. Not the solitary one we’d used but a series. I knew the feel, the sounds. They were here for a while.

They weren’t in the hurry we were. They could take five, ten, fifteen minutes to secure their tubeway, get crew on dock. I gave my shoulders a Guthrie roll, listened to the depot clank and groan in response to its new visitor.

Lab ship. A sudden confirmation from Sully, another from Del.

Three command on bridge. Six, eight belowdecks…hard to tell. They’ve got Takas and lots of infants. Jukors. I could feel Del’s distaste. I could be wrong on the count because of that, but I’m not far off.

Six belowdecks, Sully said. Three on the bridge. Anyone belowdecks could be security or command. Takas…four females. Twelve infants.

I felt him shudder. We’d just been through this on Marker and it hadn’t been any easier. And there’d only been one Takan female there. Dying. Sully had put her mercifully to sleep.

But a P-75 could hold many more than that. I counted it a blessing that right now there were so few.

Can we save any of them? I asked, meaning the Takans not the jukors. They were somebody’s mother, sister, aunt, daughter.

We’ll do what we can. Let’s get the bridge staff on dock first.

They’ve activated corridor lights, Sully said as seconds later a light flickered on over the staging area. Then the corridor rang out with noise, bootsteps, voices.

Three. From Del. Two males, one female. She’s the captain. Fancy that.

I felt a flutter of interest from him, then something else familiar, something about a female commander. There was no time for that. I pushed it from my mind.

Wait, a straggler. Del again. Female, heavily armed. Security type. Oh, she’s mine, Gabriel. I will enjoy this one.

I would have clamped my mind shut if I’d known how.

Sully severed the link. I felt it.

But that was dangerous. The link opened again. Del was quiet.

We take them below, in the staging area, Sully said. Del and I will hold them in stasis. You and Guthrie take weapons, comm-links. Then we go to step one.

Step one was taking the lab ship once security and command were neutralized.

The chatter, the footsteps came closer, shifting, changing. A bark of laughter. Then the hollow sound of boots on metal stairs.

Wait for my signal. Sully.

Philip and I were flattened against the short wall of the cubicle. I held my breath, listening, heart pounding, brain running a million ways a minute…

Done. Chasidah. Guthrie. Here.

Philip and I clambered down the stairs, here being where Sully and Del stood before the group of four, two men, two women, all in dark blue coveralls. The glow of the Kyi was bright around them, a glittering, swirling silver. One woman looked slightly astonished. The rest, simply curious.

Del snickered. “I asked her if she knew where I could find a good Lashto and bitter-coffee. She was just about to tell me. Pity.”

I glanced up toward the corridor. “I’m keeping watch,” Sully advised, plucking weapons as I did. They were surprisingly minimal. One laser pistol apiece except for the security woman, who had a dual holster strapped to her thighs, a rifle across her back, a sonic knife, and a small hand laser tucked in an inner pocket of her coveralls.

It was like taking ornaments off statues. Several times I looked at their eyes but they were blank stares. Frozen. I didn’t know what Del and Sully had done. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I shoved the hand laser into my pants pocket. The rest of the weapons we piled in the far corner. When Marsh returned, we’d take them.

One of the men’s comm-links chattered. Del grabbed it, tapped it on, holding one hand in the air for silence. Then off. On, then off.

Someone will investigate, he assured us. Sit.

I realized he meant the lab ship’s crew. As one, they sat on the floor. A chill ran up my spine. I turned away but not before I caught Philip’s frown. He wasn’t any more comfortable with this than I was.

“At least there’s no blood, no screaming,” I murmured under my breath as we tucked ourselves behind a row of duro-hards.

More footsteps. The questioning crew member at a hurried pace. An older man, portly. “Sellia! Tarl!” He thumped down the stairs, one arm raised. “What the fuck’s going on here?”

Del stepped out of the shadows. “Don’t you know it’s rude to shout?”

The man spun. And stopped cold.

“Unarmed,” Del said, patting him down. “Med-tech. The others are probably in the lab.”

“Agreed.” Sully nodded to me. “Time to take the ship.”

“I’m going to direct my little party to that office,” Del pointed to his left, “and out of sight. I’ll be right behind you.”

Philip, Sully, and I surged up the stairs, leaving Del alone to secure his newfound friends.

We walked quickly and quietly, single file, sidestepping debris. The corridor looked even worse fully illuminated. If we had to make a run for it, it would be like an obstacle course.

There was always a chance another crewmember would exit the ship. We hugged the outer bulkhead so anyone coming off the ship wouldn’t immediately see us. The dim, flickering corridor overheads didn’t quite reach there. Sully was a silver hazed figure wrapped in a long, dark coat.

Four still on board? I asked Sully. Someone else could have come onto the depot, gone in the opposite direction.

One on the bridge, three below.

Tell Philip—

He hears what you hear. Just not what you say.

What’s a med-tech doing on the bridge?

Probably not a med-tech. I’ll know more in a minute.

He would. We were almost to the airlock.

He slowed at the yellow striped edge, and then nodded. Clear.

“Not clear,” I said quickly because Philip needed to know. Damn it, I wished he’d linked to me! I pointed up. “They’re using their own tubeway. There will be a vidcam overhead.” I knew P-40s and P-75s.

Philip brushed passed me, stepped into the airlock, laser pistol drawn. He fired. Something popped, sparked. “Problem solved,” he said. “Let’s go.”

So much for subtlety.

We raced through the tubeway—that and the airlock were the most dangerous ambush spots. We needed to clear those. We did, arriving on the lower deck, Sully scanning for any problems. A quick glance left and right confirmed Sully’s information that the long metal-walled corridor was empty. It was a typical P-75 lower deck layout, just as Del’s data detailed it, but with added blast doors to protect the crew if the jukors escaped their pens. With Sully watching our backs, it only took me and Philip a few minutes to trip the lock to the lab’s blast door.

“Go!” I told Sully as the door was grinding closed. We needed the bridge secure.

He took off for the forward stairs. Moments later Philip and I followed, pistols drawn.

Alarms sounded before we reached the main deck. A med-tech, likely, realizing she was shut in the labs. I doubted they expected intruders. No ships could arrive without their notice. System malfunctions as a result of being hooked to the depot would probably take the blame.

But the wailing alarm also covered the sounds of our approach to the bridge.

“Working on it!” I heard an exasperated man reply. “Goddamned systems are fucked up again. Tubeway cam’s out as well. Goddamned power surges with this place.”

His voice halted. He froze in place, bent over the engineering console. Sully stood in the bridge’s hatchlock, hand slightly raised, palm out. Bright energy roiled in the air, flowing from his sleeves, gathering around his boots.

Philip caught my eye. “Coat’s a containment field,” he murmured in slight surprise.

I nodded. “That’s my guess.”

“Interesting.”

Sully walked forward, drawing the energy back into him. The balding man in blue coveralls hadn’t moved. “Sit,” he told the man, as Del had. The man complied but his stare was vacant, glassy.

Sully glanced over his shoulder. “Lock down the bridge. I’m going to find out if he knows anything useful.”

The bridge hadn’t been altered from the standard P-75 configuration. Whatever funds Hayden Burke had sunk into this ship had probably gone into the gen-lab. I let Philip take the captain’s chair—he could lock down a P-75 as well as I could. I pulled an archiver from the cylinder on my belt, slipped into the seat at the main console, and brought up ship’s nav records. I wanted to know where she’d been, what gates she used. I plugged the archiver in then moved quickly for communications and repeated the procedure, grabbing all transmits on file. Maybe there were love letters from Tage. We’d have data to work with when we got back to the Karn, if Del claimed this ship as I felt sure he would.

“Ship’s ours,” Philip announced. He swung the captain’s chair around, pushing himself out of it. I pocketed the archiver from communications and pointed to the one at nav but Philip’s gaze was in the opposite direction, toward Sully standing before the crewman. Almost imperceptible flashes of lightning raced over his face.

Philip darted a glance at me, brows drawn slightly. Worried.

“Zral, likely, not zragkor,” I said quietly, coming up to Philip’s chair.

Philip just shook his head, signaling that wasn’t his concern. I couldn’t tell what was.

The glow around Sully dimmed, the pale lightning faded. The crewman rested his head on his arms, eyes closed.

Philip stood. “You’ve gotten a lot stronger, Sullivan. Or is this Regarth’s doing?” There was an odd timbre to his voice.

“We have other things to worry about,” Sully said, glancing from Philip to me. “The ship’s not just here to get supplies. This is a meetpoint for them.”

“With?” I prodded.

Sully shoved himself away from the unconscious man’s chair. “Hayden Burke.”

I felt tension and excitement roll through our link.

Philip straightened. “Here?”

“When?” I asked at the same time, my own adrenaline now spiking.

“From what he knows, about two hours. Seems Hayden’s done this before.”

“But this time we’ll be here,” I said softly.

Sully’s dark eyes glittered as he nodded, then the hint of a smile faded from his lips, his face turning serious. “He knows what I am. I highly doubt he’ll travel unguarded. He might have a Ragkiril working for him. But even if he has a Kyi, we can handle that.”

“Be careful. He’s less use to us dead,” Philip said. “That could even add to our sins in the public’s eye.”

“Burke’s very much less use to us dead,” Sully agreed and I saw some of the tension relax from Philip’s shoulders. Sully’s strength not only surprised him, but seemed to worry him. I understood that, because Del worried me. But not Sully. I knew my ky’sal.

“You still want to take out the lab now?” Philip asked.

Sully nodded curtly. “We need the rest of the crew neutralized. Del’s on his way. I feel fairly sure we have an hour or so to work with. I don’t want to be in the middle of something when Burke arrives.”

I was already reconfiguring the scanners, synchronizing my hand-held with them. “We’ll have forty-five minutes’ warning on the approach of any ship.”

“Let’s get this done.” Philip stood.

Stinger out, I followed Philip and Sully as they headed in silence to the stairwell. Del was waiting at the open doorway to the lower deck, the silvery haze drifting beneath the edges of his coat.

“The crew will be expecting rescue,” Sully said, pointing to the sealed blast door as we exited the stairwell. “They’re going to find a second set of doors instead.” He ran his hand down one wall, then motioned to me and Philip to move behind him. The Kyi’s energies blossomed off Sully’s skin though there were no slashes of lightning. The haze flowed outward and took the shape of an interior wall. And another set of doors. I could see through them, but barely.

Del was grinning broadly. “Perfect.”

Sully stepped back, ignoring Del’s comment, and inspected his handiwork. He nodded to Philip. “Release the doors.”

Philip tapped at the control panel. The real blast doors groaned apart slowly, voices escaping from within.

“About time! We thought—”

Two men surged forward then stopped.

“What the hell?” the taller one said.

And that was all. They were frozen, the energies of the Kyi flowing from Del and Sully through the apparition locking them in their places, shutting off their minds. They put their backs to the wall on Del’s command, then sat.

There were two more techs to deal with, and time wasn’t on our side. Hayden couldn’t arrive without our knowing, but he could arrive early. Del and Sully moved ahead.

I stood for a moment staring at the vacant faces, even though I knew we had no time to waste. One man was darker skinned like Marsh. The other was pale and muddy haired like Gregor. I wasn’t seeing them as individuals but as victims. I suddenly realized why Tage was so very afraid of Stolorths, of Ragkirils.

This had been far too easy. No bloodshed, yes. But I couldn’t be sure equal damage hadn’t been done, especially by Del. Sully was all too aware of how easily his power could be abused, after what happened with Gregor. But Del was a Kyi motivated not only by pleasure but by pain.

“Chaz,” Philip said, touching my arm. “As you said earlier, it’s better than shooting them.”

I nodded at the truth in that, pushed away my discomfort, and trotted down the corridor. On a P-75 it would dead-end at sickbay. Here it went to the lab. The silence was strange, almost ominous. We were taking over a ship and not a shot had been fired.

I checked my hand-held. “Still clear,” I told Philip. “But Burke’s ship will probably contact this one. If they don’t get an answer to the hail, they might abort.”

“Sullivan should be able to cover that,” Philip said. “Or we can create a system-failure signal. Given the usual interference in this sector, that’s not unusual.”

We stepped through the wide lab doors. Immediately I noticed that a long wall of thick glass was on my right, sealing the jukors off from the rest of the lab. Air recyclers pumped noisily. The grotesque bodies of the jukor infants, fanged mouths agape, were sprawled on the floor. The scaly hides hadn’t yet hardened; they were oozing something, and in spite of the fact that the glass prevented their odor from reaching me, my stomach revolted. I looked away, my gaze traveling over the form of a man seated at a desk, head resting on his arms, eyes closed. Sully’s or Del’s handiwork? I didn’t know. I didn’t see Del.

Sully stood in front of another glass-fronted section at the other side of the lab. He turned, our gazes meeting. His mouth was pinched, he closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. I’m sorry, angel. There’s nothing I could do. They’re basically no longer alive.

I holstered my pistol as I slipped past the unconscious lab tech. The Takan women, four of them, were lying in clear stasis chambers. Breeding cells. Their bodies kept alive only to the extent that they could house a jukor fetus. It was a horrible, sickening sight. They were someone’s daughter, someone’s friend.

Philip pointed to the lab tech at the desk. “Any more information on why Burke’s coming here?”

“Del’s with the other tech now.” Sully raised his chin slightly as if he was listening to a distant conversation. Then he shook his head. “Burke meets on an irregular schedule with this ship’s captain. Everything’s organized through her. Sometimes it’s payday. Sometimes it’s hardware. They’ve meet here before.” He hesitated, then: “Del’s going to go back on the depot, see what he can learn from the captain and bridge staff that accompanied her. I want to finish securing this ship and getting everything we can in the archivers.”

“I left one at navigation,” I said, remembering. “We’ll need someone on the bridge to answer Burke’s hail. Let me try to pick up the captain’s identity and hail codes from ship’s logs. Shouldn’t be too hard for me to impersonate her.”

“Go,” Philip said. “Sullivan and I will finish here.”

“Let me know if you can’t find that data.” Sully’s voice stopped me in the doorway. “I can wake the engineer sufficiently and control his contact with Burke’s ship, if it comes to that.”

I nodded then took off down the corridor, trying not to glance at the vacant faces of the med-techs as I strode past the fire doors.

The archiver was where I left it. I pocketed it then swung into the captain’s chair and brought up her logs. The engineer was still slumped at his station. I forced my eyes not to stray to him, forced my mind not to consider the state of his mind. These people were our enemies. It was preferable to being shot. Losing memories wasn’t the same as losing a life.

The lab ship’s captain was Brigitta Halemon. I didn’t know her record, her training, or previous postings. Those didn’t matter. But I needed to hear her voice, her cadence, how she handled meetpoints with her boss. And I didn’t have a whole lot of time to study her. However, knowing standard procedure and the fact that the existence of this ship was highly secret, I suspected there wouldn’t be a lot of friendly chatter. But there might well be code words. The wrong one in the wrong sequence would alert Burke’s captain that something was amiss.

I brought up her last twenty transmissions, immediately ruling out those going to depot and station traffic control. That left three, all to different transmit codes. I hoped one was Burke’s ship. The meetpoint was likely set recently, unless this was a routine stop at a prescribed interval of time. I couldn’t rule that out either.

I brought up the logs on the three unknowns. Two were traffic advisories from independent freighters. A fairly routine practice in between beacons. The third was a private transmit to a ship’s chandler on Ferrin’s. Useless.

I grabbed twenty more but knew I was running out of time.

Sully?

No answer. I hit intraship. “Sully, I’m going to need the captain’s all-clear codes. I’m not coming up with any recent transmits between her and Burke’s ship.”

Sorry, came the answer and not through intraship. I wondered if he was back on the depot. There was an odd note to his voice. I’ll tell Del. Either he or I will get back to you.

We don’t have a lot of time, I told him. You know as well as I do, the wrong word or the wrong person, and they won’t make dock.

Agreed. We’re working on it.

I hoped it was Sully not Del who got the information for me, but I knew we also didn’t have the time for me to be picky.

I went back to the transmit from the ship chandler’s on Ferrin’s and listened to Halemon’s voice while I scanned the next set of transmits for anything from Burke. She spoke in short sentences with not much inflection. A standard bored officer doing her duty. Her accent was Baris Starport–bred, full of jumpjockey-speak but grammatically correct, meaning she’d had some advanced schooling. Not a problem to imitate that and, with a little added background interference that would be expected here, the differences in our voices might not matter.

I found two earlier transmits going to a repair bay on Ferrin’s—evidently Ferrin’s was a place Burke felt safe. They taught me nothing new about Captain Halemon but solidified what I did know about her. Still, talking to a ship’s mechanic wasn’t the same as conferring with someone she considered to be her employer. I guessed the jumpjockey talk would get pushed to the background for conversing with someone of Hayden’s status.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor behind me. They sounded like Philip’s hard gait but I turned anyway to be sure. Sully wasn’t with him.

He answered my raised eyebrow with a nod. “Sullivan went back to the depot.”

“I need Halemon’s all-clear codes.”

“Is that the captain’s name?”

“Know her?”

Philip took the seat at the helm in front of me, but not without a quick glance at the sleeping man at engineering.

“I’m learning to ignore him,” I said with a grim smile.

Philip grunted an all-purpose answer. “What’s Halemon’s first name?”

“Brigitta. Know her?” I repeated. Hopeful. Working blindly and under the pressure of a time deadline were not my favorite activities.

He shook his head.

“That’s okay. I think I have her basically down. If you could add some noise to the comm-link, we’ll be okay, if Sully gets her all-clears. If not,” I pointed to the engineer. “He’s our best option.”

“How long has Sullivan been fully phased?”

Philip’s question confused me until I saw him run two fingers across his face. Lightning.

“That I’ve been aware of? Ten days, two weeks. But he’s been struggling with something for longer than that. Ren would know more.”

Philip folded his hands together and leaned his elbows on his knees. “I wondered if it was Regarth’s influence.”

He’d asked Sully that earlier. Sully hadn’t answered. Evidently it was important enough that Philip needed to ask again. “What’s the problem?”

“Two fully phased Kyis are the problem. I hope Sullivan knows what he’s doing.”

The tight tone of his voice concerned me. “Philip, I don’t have access to your family’s data. Break this down for me.”

“You know Ragkir have different levels of power, with Kyi being the highest? Among Kyis there are levels. Phases. It depends on their ability to use and integrate energy. When one’s fully integrated, fully phased, the physical body actually shows energy transmissions. They can look like lightning bolts or starburst or just expanding glow fields.”

“Both Sully and Del have those.”

“That’s my worry, Chaz. It goes back to clan dynamics. Succinctly, two captains on one ship. Or two admirals. Who’s in command? Who has final say? We talked about this on the ship, when we were in jumpspace. It’s more of a consideration now because of the high level of power. I understand Sullivan feels confident he can control Regarth. I just don’t want to see him do something stupid.”

“Like?”

Chasidah?

I held up one hand, halting Philip’s reply. “It’s Sully,” I said out loud. You have those codes for me?

I do, angel-mine. Ready?

Ready.

Words flowed into me, but more than words. Almost a feeling of Brigitta Halemon herself. Her confidence. Her insecurity. Her annoyance. It startled me. It frightened me.

A nudge of warmth from Sully. It was the quickest and easiest way to transfer this to you. Don’t worry about it.

I understood, but…Sully, is she still alive?

Nothing to fear. Just let me know when Burke’s ship’s in range. I’ll come up to the bridge if you need my help.

With playing Captain Halemon? For him to transfer that part of her essence to me, he had to have taken that into himself.

Just temporarily, he confirmed. Think of it as a file to be deleted.

Or a personality to be erased. Like a zral.

It’s not that bad, angel.

Just…different.

Let me know when Burke’s ship—

My hand-held blared out three sharp tones.

Now, I told him as Philip spun in his seat, bringing scanner data to the console screen.

On our way.

“Forty-five out,” Philip said, confirming what I knew from the hand-held. I swung the armrest console screen up into position.

“We confronting Burke on the depot or on this ship?”

“Sullivan and I figured the depot, once we confirm he’s definitely docking.”

That made sense. We had less room to work and were more vulnerable in the lab ship. “I’m good with that. You have ship ident yet?” I asked Philip.

“Ident, no, but she’s a luxury-class yacht. An Explorer Edition Five, looks like.”

That would fit Burke’s profile. I heard bootsteps, felt Sully’s presence before I saw him. “Explorer Five?” I called out over my shoulder, working with the data on my screen along with Philip. There was always a chance this might not be Burke.

“Hayden likes to travel comfortably,” Sully said, coming up behind me. He touched my shoulder and leaned forward, studying my screens. “I think it’s highly likely it’s him.”

“Then why does this ship read him as a blind-ident?” Philip questioned as Del brought the nav station active. “This should be peer to peer.”

“Because he’s not confirmed we’re us yet,” I guessed. I ran through Halemon’s all-clears in my mind. “Did you get protocol from Halemon? Who hails who first?”

Something spiraled between Sully and Del. I felt it but couldn’t get the content.

“We do,” Sully said after a moment. Then: Chasidah, Del worked Halemon. I transferred the codes to you because you’re not comfortable with him. But you need what he knows, directly. Will you agree to a link with him, just for now?

Would I agree? Yes. Would I like it? That was moot at the moment. Just for now.

I felt a silence then a rushing heat, a presence that I recognized from our previous encounters.

Thank you, Captain.

Tell me about Brigitta Halemon.

I can do more than that, Del said. You and I will be her.

That thought definitely did not make me comfortable but I knew there was no other choice.

When do we send our hail?

Brigitta Halemon’s knowledge was suddenly mine. Not just her insecurities, her annoyances, but the sum of what she was. I saw/felt her childhood on a starport, her clumsy teenage years, her brief affair with a freighter drive tech when she was nineteen. Her own apprenticeship on a freighter, working from third shift to senior nav, and under Burke’s orders, as captain. She was forty-one and Burke’s money intrigued her. She had no interest in politics but held the usual xenophobia found in inner-system residents. Takas made great deck slaves. Stolorths were not to be trusted. Not even the ones who worked for Burke.

I thought of Ren’s innocent protestations about his people a few months ago: Stolorths would never assist in the breeding of jukors.

Sadly, he was very wrong. Greed was sometimes an even stronger motivator than survival.

I glanced down at my console and saw everything as Halemon did. I knew her ship’s and her crew’s idiosyncrasies. The engineer whose mind Sully had blanked was Barth. Unimaginative but reliable. He was divorced with a couple of children scattered on various starports.

Interestingly, Halemon had never been in her ship’s labs. Barth was the only regular crewmember allowed access. She knew Burke was cloning some kind of guard beast, but that was all. She flew the ship where she was told to and was paid well enough that she didn’t ask questions.

Burke’s status helped. She knew of Crossley-Burke, one of Burke’s family’s original corporations. She knew Burke had an estate on Sylvadae. He’d even intimated once or twice he was doing work for the emperor.

She didn’t doubt that. She’d seen the same high-profile society vids I had, with Burke on the arm of this vidstar or that socialite.

I realized with a start that I’d probably have liked Brigitta Halemon. She loved her position at a stellar helm as much as I did.

Ah, but she doesn’t quite have your sparkle.

I tamped down my flare of annoyance. It took two to play the game.

I brought up the communications screen and found the codes for Burke’s ship. “I need a noisy, unreliable comm-link.”

Sully squeezed my shoulder. “On it.” He took the seat at communications, waving Philip to remain where he was at helm.

I knew where Halemon’s conversations with Burke were now. Not in the regular transmit file nor even the two subdirectories I’d found, but in a third data cache. That didn’t feel like her idea. Hayden must have instituted that. I played the last two recent transmits with Burke’s ship while Sully made sure communications were less than optimal.

Halemon didn’t talk to Burke directly in either one, but with a male named Zeno.

Del pushed out of his chair at nav and headed for me as I listened to the second transmit. “Repeat that last one,” he said, then leaned one elbow on the back of my chair.

I forced his proximity from my mind just as I had Barth’s. They were there but that didn’t mean I had to let them affect me.

Del was nodding. “Stolorth.”

“Burke’s captain?” Sully asked.

Images and voices whirled through my mind as Del answered. “Not sure. Brigitta’s never met Zeno. Only talked to him as Burke’s representative. But I’m hearing a familiar accent.”

I heard it too. Not that I knew what I was listening to but voices Del knew sounded in my mind. Three men debating the merits of Lashto brandy versus Graunan.

Cousins, Del told me. And told Sully as well though I couldn’t be sure.

Zeno’s Serian? I asked.

The accent is Delkavran. Like you, angel. He ran his fingers lightly down my arm.

I tensed but refused to jerk away. Stow it, Regarth.

I caught Sully’s quizzical glance. He hadn’t heard or felt what Del did but picked up my annoyance. I shifted away from Del.

“My error. Sorry, Captain.” Del gave me a half shrug then glanced at Sully and repeated the shrug.

“So Zeno’s Delkavran?” I asked aloud because Philip had been kept out of the conversation.

“Possible. He also could have been raised or educated in a Delkavran household. It’s immaterial unless he leaves the ship. According to Brigitta’s memories, he doesn’t. It’s Burke and…” Del trailed off. I sensed him reaching, thinking. Absorbing someone’s memories didn’t mean you knew everything immediately. You still had to look for specific things. And you had to know what you were looking for.

That was why Sully had never known that Berri Solaria was working for Burke or that Gregor was dealing with the Farosians. Answers only came when the right questions were asked.

“Burke, Dexter, and Morlo.” I saw the three men as the answer came to me. “And Lazlo, but not recently.” Because Lazlo had died on Marker along with Berri Solaria.

Brigitta’s memory of Burke was the same as mine. He was clearly Sully’s cousin with his build and coloring. Except his eyes were light, and his smile a bit too polished. Dexter was shorter and wiry, his head shaved bald, his skin ruddy. Morlo was almost as tall as his employer, fair-haired and fair-skinned, but built thick and bulky like Marsh.

Walker Colonies, Halemon’s memory told me.

And that’s how she knew Burke. Morlo had gotten her the job. They’d been lovers years before. As for what Halemon felt for him now, I sensed only amusement.

“Ship’s within range of a hail,” Sully said. “And I have a wonderfully horrible link for you to use.”

I nodded, feeling Del’s affirmative as an encouraging nudge. Then the presence of Brigitta Halemon came more strongly into my mind, my body responding as if I had her shorter, stockier frame. I sat as she would, legs crossed at my ankles, and leaned against Tarl on my left.

Not Tarl. Del. But it had to be Tarl. We—

Not Tarl. Del.

I pushed the problem away. Hayden Burke’s ship was within hailing range. I keyed my comm-link active. “Three Seven Eleven at Hub One. Repeat. Three Seven Eleven at Hub One.”

“Three Seven, Lucky Seven confirms,” Zeno answered.

God, he had a sexy voice. One of these days I was going to find out what he looked like. “Lucky Seven, Three Seven in progress. We have a full house. Repeat. Full house.”

“Three Seven, acknowledge full house. Advise your transmission is breaking up.”

Like that’s a surprise out here? “Lucky Seven, view’s great but the weather sucks.”

A laugh sounded over the speakers. “Three Seven, that came through clearly. Truth spoken. Full house it is. Expect dock in thirty.”

I checked Lucky Seven’s position on my screens while Tarl’s hand massaged the back of my neck. One of the perks of command…and a damned hot navigator. I leaned back into his fingers for a moment. We had thirty minutes…

But no, Burke would expect me at his tubeway. Tarl’s seductive, industrious fingers would have to wait. Besides, we’d just—

I bolted upright in my seat, heart pounding, bile rising in my throat. Del’s fingers jerked away from my neck. I twisted abruptly to face him, my Grizni prickling against my wrist. Tarl’s relationship with Halemon had triggered a memory to surface. A recent one. One I knew I was never to have seen.

I stared at Del. My voice was low and harsh. “You goddamned—”

“Three Seven, this is Lucky Seven. Still waiting for dock confirm. Repeat, waiting for dock confirm.”

The man’s voice—Zeno’s voice—sounded annoyed. I hadn’t answered. Brigitta needed to say…I needed to say…My head spun for a second as me and not me fought for control. It wasn’t me, Chaz. It was Brigitta. Del had—

“Three Seven, do you copy?”

Shit. Brigitta. The memory, the intense sensations flooded me. Heat, pleasure, slick and hard. We—

“Three Seven, do you copy?”

“Chaz?” A silver-haired man at helm looked at me, frowning. I didn’t know who he was. Not old enough for his hair to be that color. His face…I knew the face from somewhere. So he was part of my crew?

Chasidah?

Whose voice was that in my head?

“Three Seven, this is Lucky Seven—”

Shit! Zeno and Burke. “Lucky Seven, this is Three Seven. Copy and confirm your dock at tubeway nineteen. Repeat, confirm your dock at nineteen. Confirm back to me. Goddamned interference!”

And goddamned something—someone—else. I couldn’t remember.

“Three Seven, this is Lucky Seven. Acknowledged. Nineteen it is. And Mr. Lucky says it might be time for a new comm-pack.”

An upgraded communications package would be very nice. Though I’d never known anything to work consistently out here in the Five-Oh-One.

“Acknowledged that, Lucky Seven. See you in thirty.”

“Thirty,” Zeno answered back. “Lucky Seven clear.”

I leaned back in the chair and uncrossed my ankles. Tarl’s hand slid away from my neck again.

“We’ll get set up on the dock. You secure the bridge,” Tarl said.

He left quickly with a tall dark-haired man in a long coat. How odd. What would he be doing on my bridge dressed like that?

“Chaz!”

The silver-haired man stood in front of me, his grip hard on my arms.

Chaz? I was Chaz.

“Philip!” His name came out in a hard gasp. I bent over at the waist, feeling as if I’d been sucker-punched.

“Are you all right?”

I looked up at him but words fled. The sensations were too overwhelming. Too incredibly pleasurable. Too recent.

I was sucking air. Strong hands moved up my arms and took my shoulders.

“Chaz, talk to me!”

“Goddamned pervert. Goddamned fucking bastard!” I closed my eyes and leaned my face against Philip’s shirt and familiar hard chest.

Arms tightened around my shoulders. “What did Regarth do? If he…I swear, I’ll kill him. What did he do to you?”

What he did…

I straightened. Philip’s brows furrowed in anger over narrowed blue eyes.

“Not me,” I told him, my voice still raw. “Halemon. He took her, sexually. Raped her.” If something that pleasurable could be rape. But it was. She’d had no choice. “I don’t think he meant for me to find that memory. But I did. That’s why,” and I made an aimless gesture toward the hatchlock behind me, “he left so quickly with Sully. He knows I know.”

“And Sullivan?”

“Del can block him. He’s been able to from the first time he linked to me.” I wiped my hands over my face. “The whole time I had Halemon’s memories, Sully wasn’t there at all. I didn’t even know Del was in my mind. Del was someone named Tarl to me, to Halemon. The navigator on this ship. Halemon’s lover.”

“Two fully phased Kyis,” Philip said, shaking his head. “Once Burke is handled, we have to sit Sullivan down and tell him all this. And if he won’t act, we’re going to have to.”

I stared at the data on my armrest console. Burke’s ship was twenty minutes out from dock. We had to get off this ship, get in position on the depot. “Bridge secure?” I asked Philip.

“Secure,” he answered but he was watching me closely. “Can you handle this?”

“Yeah,” I said, shoving myself out of the captain’s chair. I stuffed the pain, the fears into yet another emotional duro-hard and shut the lock. I dragged on my captain’s-in-command personality. I looked up into the face of my ex-husband, my friend. “Yeah,” I repeated. “I can.”

Philip patted my arm. “Good girl. Let’s go.” He headed for the hatchlock.

I hesitated, my hand on Captain Halemon’s armrest, and bile rose once more as images and sensations flooded my mind. Then I opened the last duro-hard and shoved them inside. This lock I soldered shut. I couldn’t afford to ever open it again.

There had been another presence in Brigitta’s mind, tasting her pleasure, toying with her thoughts. Del hadn’t acted alone.

Chasidah?

I checked the progress of Burke’s ship on my hand-held as I trotted next to Philip through the patches of light and darkness. We headed for the far tubeway. Teeth clenched, muscles tense, I thought I had my emotions under control. Evidently not. Fears leaked in tiny tearlike drops from my duro-hards. Not now, Sullivan.

His presence swept through me again, my mind and body resonating like the vibrations from the sole peal of a bell. A lost and mournful sound. I knew he knew.

You shouldn’t…I can explain. Please.

Burke’s ship is ten minutes out. Just do your job.

Silence.

We passed the staging area, lights dimmed there. I fought the urge to run down the stairs and see if Halemon was still alive. Or had the zragkor been complete? First intense pleasure, then you die.

Another twenty feet and we were under the glow of a working overhead light. A few feet after that, murky darkness but another glow ahead. Then another patch of darkness. And on the edge of that, a dark-haired Kyi in a long coat, silvery haze swirling at his feet and limning his face. Only as I stepped out from under the last overhead did I see the lightning flashing across his cheekbones and down the back of his hands. His arms were folded loosely across his chest.

An obsidian gaze watched me approach. I can’t change what I am, Chasidah.

Neither can I, I told him honestly.

A taller form appeared behind him. Del, also in full phase. “There is a series of connected storerooms here. The doors you see are illusions we created. We can follow Burke and his people unobtrusively then trap them at the staging area. Force them down the stairs. Gabriel and I will do the rest.”

Yes, I was sure they would. And God help any female crewmembers. But that wasn’t the only reason I didn’t like his plan.

“You’ll still have crew on board,” I said. “Not med-techs, but command staff who can break dock and fire on the depot if they’re alerted to our presence.”

“Not if we have Burke,” Del said.

“And if he eludes us or manages to warn the ship before we get him?” Philip was shaking his head. “Too many variables. We need everything in our favor here. That ship, unsecured, is our greatest threat. It can fire on the depot, as Chaz said. It can also take out the lab ship.”

“Agreed. We split up.” Sully stepped toward me. “Chasidah comes with me.”

“No.” I didn’t want to be alone with him. I almost would rather be alone with Del. It wouldn’t matter what I said, if I hurt him. I couldn’t face hurting Sully. And I knew I was going to have to.

“We take the ship,” Sully continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I can control whoever’s left on board. Chasidah knows the hardware. And a woman’s voice at the tubeway comm-link would be what they expect.”

“They’ll expect to see Halemon on dock. They won’t,” I argued.

“You’ll tell them to meet you at the lower staging area. She’s done that before.”

She had. I knew that. So did Sully, and I didn’t want to dwell on how he had that knowledge. I glanced away. There were several other rational arguments I could make at the moment, but there was no time.

“Guthrie,” Del said and then they were fading into the slashes of light and darkness, leaving me alone with a man I realized I no longer knew. The Kyi, the hunger for sensation, the need for power, had claimed him.

All I’d ever wanted was a stellar helm. A decent ship. And an understanding soul who could share a cold ale and a warm bed. Now…

He’d watched them leave and turned back to me. “We have to talk.”

Aloud? This was Gabriel, energy surging under his skin, eyes a thousand shades of dark. Mind-speak was his preferred method.

He dropped his gaze then brought it back to mine as I rested my hand on the grip of my Stinger. “Mind-speak is too intimate. We need some space between us, if you’re to understand what I have to say.”

“Burke’s on his way in. Let it wait.” I needed to let it wait. Months would be good. Dealing with it now would make me feel things I didn’t want to face, would force decisions on me I wasn’t sure I could live through.

He drew in a short breath. “I’m not proud of what happened, Chasidah. Of what I did,” he said, his voice low and rasping. “Sensations, pleasure, are not only what motivates a Kyi. It’s how we draw our power. It’s what makes us able to do what we do. Like finding out everything Halemon knew. The intimacy of Del’s contact with Halemon triggered a need in him. And we were linked.” He hesitated, mouth thinned.

I stared at him, aware of the slow intake of my next breath, aware of the warning tingling of the Grizni against my skin as I let that breath out. My mind screamed a dozen angry words at him. My heart, a thousand more.

“I didn’t know that was what he intended to do,” he continued. “When I realized…I couldn’t stop him. Not even if I wanted to. And that sickens me. Possibly even more than it sickens you, because I didn’t…want to stop him.” He rasped out the last few words as if saying them choked him. He turned away, out of the glow of the overhead and into the darkness.

I turned too, forcing everything from my mind other than what had to be done now. I checked my hand-held, the data of the approach of Burke’s ship almost reassuring in its bland normalcy. Burke would expect a signal from his captain at the tubeway. I/Brigitta knew that. I couldn’t think about what else she knew.

Do your job, I’d told Sully. I told myself the same thing. But I knew we had crossed a point in our relationship from which there was no turning back.

Five minutes later, a light flashed on the comm-panel on the bulkhead. I opened the link and answered in Halemon’s cadence. “Clear to dock, Lucky Seven. Meetpoint at the staging platform.”

The man Halemon knew as Zeno, but who I knew might be a Delkavran Ragkir, acknowledged. “Copy your clear. Platform in ten.”

I could see the ship through the narrow viewports. She was long and sleek like the Karn but larger. Her bow dipped, thrusters angling her into position.

Chasidah. Back here. Del knows they’re docking.

I pulled my laser pistol from my holster and stepped into the darkness, guided by Sully’s presence in my mind.

The depot shuddered as docking clamps extended and locked on. There was the groan of the tubeway, a few more thunks and clanks. I had my hand-held out and knew Sully was scanning. I picked up ten life-forms. Sully would know more.

Zeno is Stolorth, he told me, perhaps telling Del and Philip as well. I didn’t know. Ragkir.

Delkavran schooled, but not bloodline, Del’s voice said.

Then he knows you’re here, we’re here? I asked, seeing a quick end to our ruse.

Del snorted. He wouldn’t know his own feet if he tripped over them. Base-level Ragkiril.

Sully’s hand rested on my shoulder. I tried to jerk away as Kyi energy swirled around me. I don’t want to chance his sensing you as a ky’sara. Tolerate my presence for your own protection.

I stopped flinching and focused on the hand-held. More than protection flowed through his touch. There was a deep weariness as if the coat he wore weighed a hundred pounds. Maybe that’s why, when I saw the readings of six life-forms heading for the tubeway, I was barely alarmed. Five armed escorts and Burke. He’d never met Halemon with more than two: Dexter and Morlo. Did he suspect we were here, or was this his method now that he’d found out what his cousin was?

The gray haze around me had no answers and Sully was silent. Informing Del of what to expect? That would be my guess.

Burke was in the tubeway. I glanced up at Sully but could see him only in profile, his expression obscured by the haze and lightning flashes now surging rapidly over his skin.

I want Hayden alive, he told Del. He’s mine.

I wouldn’t have it any other way, Gabriel.

There was a finality in Sully’s tone, haughty confidence in Del’s. Both made me uncomfortable; both were out of my control. I reminded myself I was here to do a job. My fingers tightened around my pistol’s grip. The airlock hissed open. Morlo and Dexter exited first, laser pistols still on their hips, no other obvious weapons. Though the set of their shoulders and narrowing of their eyes told me they were wary.

Burke followed in dark spacer leathers. I’d only seen him in business suits and formal dress on the society vids. He wore leathers well. They gave him a dangerous but refined air. He moved with the same sinuous grace Sully did.

We trained with the same fight master. I kicked Hayden’s ass more than a few times, even though he’s older than me. And was bigger back then.

Sully’s comment reminded me that the ky’saran link may be quiet but not shut off.

I said nothing.

He’s a good fighter, though. Strong, quick. That will be of little help to him today.

I didn’t think it would be.

A tall Stolorth ducked through the airlock, almost on Burke’s heels. Like Del and Ren, his long blue-silver hair was pulled back in a braid. His features were coarser, though, his nose bulbous, his mouth almost too wide for his face. Brigitta would be disappointed. The voice wouldn’t live up to her expectations.

Zeno had a rifle slung over his back, a standard Poltar-385. His dark gaze swept the open corridor, passing twice over where we stood behind the illusionary doorway in the rubble of the abandoned office.

Sully pulled me back against him, draping his arm around my neck, his right hand now on my left shoulder, lightly toying with my rifle strap. I had no idea how Zeno didn’t sense him. Sully’s power pulsed over me like a hot, driving wind. He shifted quietly to my right and I realized it wasn’t the rifle slung across my back that bothered him but the Kyi-killer on my left hip, probably more so now that the energies of the Kyi encompassed us both.

Zeno moved on, keeping pace with Burke. Two more people appeared, both human. One male, one female. Midthirties, well groomed, dark leathers like Burke. I didn’t know either one.

Sully did. Innis and Sadira. They’re from an executive protection service the Burkes have employed for decades. They can blend easily in at the expensive house parties because they’re not only well educated but trained in lethal hand-to-hand. They don’t need to wear obvious weaponry and scare the guests.

Both Morlo and Dexter could easily be labeled thugs. Innis and Sadira wouldn’t be.

They cleared the airlock, half-turning as they followed Burke. Watching their employer’s back. Professionals who either knew Zeno didn’t have the talents he purported to have, or didn’t trust a Stolorth. Or both.

I let out a slow breath as they moved through the patches of light and darkness, swerving or sidestepping around the debris. They had no idea we were here.

Sully’s arm loosened slightly. His thumb slowly brushed along my collarbone at the edge of my shirt, then back again, warmth trailing, spiraling…

Stop it! I jerked a few inches to my right, a small move but a hard, definite one. Nothing to make Burke’s party hear a sound. But enough to let Sully know those actions weren’t welcome.

Not after what he’d shared with Del.

He pulled his arm away quickly as I glared at him. He ducked his face for a moment then shoved his hands in his coat pockets. Evidently I’m not yet finished making an ass of myself.

We have work to do. Who’s left on the ship?

Four, all on the bridge. Nice and tidy. This shouldn’t take long. Then Cousin Hayden and I will have a nice chat before I turn him over to Guthrie and Bralford.

To Philip? This caught me fully by surprise.

I would have gladly traded him for your brother. One more thing that reminds me how your entire life can change in a matter of not just a few hours, but a few moments. Damnably, saving Thad is no longer an option. Helping Guthrie and Bralford stop Tage is all I have left. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and touched the translucent door. It wavered and dissolved. I’ll take point, obviously.

He strode softly into the corridor, coat rippling from his hips, bright energy sparking down its edges. I hurried behind him.

Tubeway cam, I told him. I blow it like Philip did and the bridge crew will know we’re coming. This is Burke’s personal ship with a professional command staff, not a lab ship whose only job is to keep moving.

He slowed. Then we’ll give them something to look at. He released a ball of star-filled energy from his right hand as we stepped through the airlock. He flicked it at the camera’s lens. It flared.

Now! He broke into a run.

I kept up with him. We hit the opposite airlock. Clear, he told me. Right, second stairwell.

I do know the layout of an Explorer-Five.

Apologies, Captain, but you might need to know we have one at the comm station left, two right at nav, and a nervous fourth pacing in front of the captain’s chair. Two male, two female.

We reached the second stairwell. That’s useful, thank you.

I try to do my job well. He surged up the stairs almost noiselessly, not letting his heels touch the treads. I did the same.

That energy ball still blinding them?

Set it only for flare. They’ll tag it another annoyance of being berthed at this depot. Nothing to raise alarm. He paused as we reached the stairwell blast door and glanced down at me. I do know what I’m doing.

I’ve never had a problem with that.

His face lost the haughty expression of moments before. I don’t want problems, Chasidah. I want…I’m very lost right now, angel-mine.

I tensed at the affectionate term and his plaintive, almost pleading tone. And his pain. I can’t help you with that. I can’t change what I am, what I believe, what I respect.

He closed his eyes and turned away. Let’s get this done.

I put my hand on his arm, stopping him before I could stop myself from doing so. But his pain, his weariness, and his damned hopefulness were more than I could bear. And I’d made a decision I wasn’t going to change. I’m sorry, Gabriel. I really am.

He stared at my fingers on his sleeve and I could feel pain, needle-thin, stabbing at him as he felt my resolution. Then it was gone. Don’t be. You’re doing the right thing. He shoved the blast door open. Give me three minutes. If I need you, you’ll know. Your help, I mean, he amended as he flattened himself against the corridor bulkhead.

I’m going to the opposite bulkhead to cover you. I slipped past the closing door. I crouched down, my back to the wall, Stinger drawn up but ready. He was almost to the bridge hatchlock. He slowed, crouching as I did, silver energy whipping in a frenzy around him. Philip had guessed the coat was a containment field. I wasn’t sure I’d want to see what that energy looked like uncontained.

Voices coming through the bridge stilled, save for a brief, startled sound of surprise. Then all was silent. Sully was rising. Come. It’s safe.

I sprinted forward, following him onto the bridge, feeling as if I’d stepped into a garden of statuary. Four people in various positions, all frozen. Each wore black ship’s coveralls, but one red-haired man’s pocket was imprinted in white with the word captain. He was caught in midstride.

Sully, next to me, was breathing hard. I can’t hold them much longer.

Hold them?

Stun them, now!

I brought up my pistol and fired, taking each one center mass. They dropped hard to the decking.

Sully wiped his hand over his face. “We need to tie them up, gag them,” he said aloud as the last one—a ruddy-faced older woman—collapsed to her knees then fell facedown.

I holstered the pistol. “Why didn’t you just blank their minds?” As he had the lab ship’s crew and med-techs.

He stared at me a few very long seconds. “I can’t trust myself, not after what happened with Halemon. And if that answer shocks you, I’m sorry. Secure the bridge. Got an archiver?”

Now I was the one staring, trying to process his confession and his abrupt change of topic. I dug in my belt cannister for an archiver and tossed it to him. Then I slipped into the captain’s chair and brought up the ship’s primaries. This was not going to be easy. Either Hayden or his captain had the file heavily encrypted. I played with it a few minutes then looked over at Sully at communications, filching all of Hayden’s transmits.

“I need your help here.”

He crossed the bridge quickly. “This is new,” he said, studying the console screen.

“That’s what I thought. The usual code breakers aren’t working. So I tried backdating the files to find an entry point but nothing correlates.”

“I’ll work on it while you find some restraints.”

I headed down the corridor to where the security locker should be on an Explorer Five. Hayden hadn’t changed that. I punched out the lock with one blast and came back with sonic cuffs and hobbles. Gags I improvised from the bridge’s med-kit.

Sully was still frowning, lightning flashes now more muted.

I pointed to the unconscious captain. “Can you get it from his mind?”

He hesitated. “I peeked. He doesn’t know. This is Hayden’s doing.”

I wanted this ship—this armed ship—in my control, not Hayden’s. “Can Del get the information?”

“I don’t want Del trying. He’s hard to keep in line. After Halemon, it’s even more difficult.”

Two Kyis in full phase. Philip warned me this was a potential problem. It looked like potential had become reality.

I finished cuffing the last bridge officer. “We’ll hobble them to the chairs in the ready room then lock them in. I need that data from Hayden. We can’t risk one of Hayden’s people escaping, using this ship. Or the ship malfunctioning at a predetermined point in jump because we don’t know the right clear codes.”

A few minutes later we were in the tubeway, Sully scanning ahead. We darted around the debris through alternating patches of dark and light.

“What’s the status with Burke’s people at the platform?” I asked.

“Last I checked, nothing more than minor problems.” But he slowed, eyes narrowed, Kyi flashes once again up to full power. “He has them all in stasis, except for Zeno. But Guthrie says it’s not much more than Regarth being a pompous ass at the moment.”

“You’re still linked to Philip?”

“When I need to be.”

I was about to ask him to link me to Philip as well but we were at the staging area and I could hear Del’s cultured drawl. I followed Sully quickly down the stairs, spotting Philip with relief, seeing Del with considerably less positive emotion. He was standing, hands on his hips, with Zeno kneeling, head bowed, before him.

Sully muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath and strode over to him.

Philip held his rifle casually in his hands as he leaned against a tall duro-hard. Only as I got closer did I notice a bruise blossoming under his left eye.

“I take it Regarth didn’t have them all instantly unconscious?”

“He tried, but he underestimated that one.” Philip motioned toward Zeno with his rifle. “Still says he’s just base Ragkir but he blocked Regarth’s initial probe. Long enough to warn the security woman.”

“Sadira,” I said.

“I was coming up behind them and she spun on me. Clocked me good. Then Regarth pretty much shut them all down. Except for Zeno here, who’s keeping him amused.”

“He didn’t…touch Sadira?”

“I haven’t let him be alone with her. I told him if he tried anything, I’d kill him. A ridiculous threat, of course. He can shut me down too. But he knows I’ll go down shooting.”

I knew Philip Guthrie. He would.

“Everything okay with you?” he asked as, behind me, Sully’s and Del’s voices rose and fell softly.

“Yes and no,” I said, then wondered if he knew what Sully had done, that Del hadn’t been alone in taking pleasure and drawing power from Brigitta Halemon. I needed his input but couldn’t bring myself to tell him. It wasn’t Philip’s problem. It was mine. “Hayden’s got a bitch of an encryption on the ship’s primaries,” I continued because I’d been silent a bit too long. “Neither Sully nor I could break it. Bridge crew doesn’t know it. We need Hayden. Or else I can’t certify what that ship will do an hour from now, a month from now. Or if we can even get her to undock.”

“If you and Sullivan can’t break it, then I’d probably not be much more help. Let Hayden dig his own grave.”

“Sully said he’s turning Hayden over to you and Jodey, when we get to meetpoint with the Nowicki.”

“Surprised me too, but it’s sensible. Sullivan can always be accused of having a personal vendetta against Burke. We can’t. The man’s been kidnapping Takan women and breeding jukors. I don’t give a damn about his bank account or status as an heir.”

“Will anyone even listen to us?” I didn’t try to hide the tiredness in my voice.

“Eventually yes, some will. That’s the best we can hope for. Burke’s just the first step, though. Jodey’s already talking to people like Falkner, and he’s picking up dissenters, adding them to his crew. But it’s going to take time, Chaz. It’s going to take time, resources, planning. And don’t think for a minute the Farosians and Stol aren’t thinking the same thing. I don’t care what Tage puts forth. Fleet has fractured. That leaves the Empire vulnerable.”

“The Serians may once again rule the Baris sector, and Regarth will walk as a prince among kings,” I intoned turning to look at Sully and Del. Their voices had quieted, but judging from the flare of energies, their conversation had not.

Zeno sat on the floor, glassy eyed, unmoving.

“At least he’ll have his pick of ships here,” Philip said, watching Sully and Del as I was. “That will solve a big problem for you and Sullivan on the Karn.”

I couldn’t hold the truth inside me any longer. “I’m not staying with the Karn.”

“Chaz?” Philip stared down at me.

I glanced at him then back at the two silvery-limned Kyi. “When we meet up with Jodey, I’m going with you and him.”

“You’re leaving Sullivan.” It wasn’t a question.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yes.”

“Does he know?”

“Not in so many words, but…yeah.” And he’d deemed it a right decision, through a pain that had seared us both.

Philip’s silence told me I’d shocked him. I chanced a glance. Disbelief warred with concern on his face. “But you love him.”

“Yeah to that too.” My voice broke, the tightness in my chest strangling my words. I was leaving Sully. I sucked in a deep breath and headed for the prince and his student.

Del’s eyes glittered as I came up on his left. Hello, angel.

“Hello, Regarth,” I said out loud. I switched a look from him to Sully. “Which one of you is going to get the primary codes for me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of denying Gabriel his deserved fun with Cousin Hayden.”

“This won’t take long,” Sully said but not before slanting a quick, narrow-eyed glance at Del. “Guthrie, if you have any specific questions about Tage, they’ll need to wait. I’ll do a deeper probe later, but Chasidah needs those codes.”

“Not a zragkor. We’ll need him functioning later,” Philip said as we followed Sully to a cargo bay that opened through the rear wall. Hayden Burke sat blankly—and alone—at one edge of a dirty tool bench just inside the double doors, hands loosely in his lap. His gaze seemed to note our arrival then drifted away. Like Gregor’s had.

Sully stood in front of his cousin and, with one finger, tilted the man’s face up until he was looking directly into his eyes. “Hello, Hayden,” he said quietly.

Something like alarm flared briefly in Hayden’s eyes.

“Just when you think you have everything under control, you don’t. That seems to be a lesson we both have learned lately, doesn’t it? But here I am. And here you are. Your jukors are dead. I couldn’t save the women you kidnapped, but at least you won’t be doing that anymore. And thanks for the ships. Both of them. They’ll come in handy.”

Hayden’s respiration increased. His gaze was fixed on Sully’s except when something sparked in the Kyi close to him, or a surge flashed down Sully’s cheek. Then an almost imperceptible tremor moved under Hayden’s skin, but his body was locked in stasis.

“I have a few preliminary questions,” Sully said. “I’m sure you won’t mind answering them. Your cooperation now will make things go much better later on. Let’s start with the encryption on your ship’s primaries. I have a captain anxious to fly her, and if anything—anything— were ever to happen to this very special captain, I will hold you responsible. And you would pay. Very slowly and very painfully.” Sully’s voice dropped to a deep, threatening growl. “For a very, very long time.”

Del stood on Hayden’s left, his mouth twisting in a small but satisfied smile at the fear coming in waves from Hayden Burke. A different kind of symphony.

If I hadn’t wanted those codes so badly, I would have walked away. I hated Hayden Burke. But I hated more watching Sully and Del draw power from Hayden’s fear. And I was not about to contact Sully through mind-speak and tell him to hurry up. The last thing I wanted right now was to experience what he was experiencing.

“Tell me about that pretty encryption, Hayden.”

Hayden’s voice, his fear, his anger exploded into my mind. I staggered against Philip as the series of letters and numbers that would unlock the Lucky Seven were etched in my brain. I knew them as well as Hayden knew them.

But I knew so much more.

I felt Sully’s raw hunger for the fear. I felt Del’s probing and slicing to make the emotions that much deeper, more intense. I felt them demand, I felt them feed, the Kyi surging, blossoming, expanding like an uncontrollable heat rushing through my body. It was heady. It was erotic. It was horrible.

I pushed it away and suddenly felt Sully’s shock at my presence. He hadn’t realized I was part of his link with Del.

And I felt Del’s gleeful satisfaction at adding one more riveting stanza to the symphony he’d been orchestrating since we found him on Narfial.

Damn you, Regarth!

She wanted the codes. She has them now, irrevocably.

Sully spun toward me, one hand out, expression pained. Angel-mine, I’m so sorry.

I backed up, teeth clenched, stomach threatening to heave. Philip’s hand closely tightly around my arm. If his link with Sully was open, then he’d felt what I had. If not, he probably was guessing what had happened.

All of what you are is hers, Gabriel. All of you! Del was almost shouting. How dare you let her demand you be what you’re not? This is your right. And it is hers. He grabbed Hayden’s mind with his own and wrenched it.

Abject horror shot through me, followed immediately by a surge of heat so powerful I felt it could lift me off my feet. I sucked in a hard breath, my body intensely alive, electric, and resonating strongly to Sully’s.

Just like when we made love. But this time Del was there too.

Del licked his lips and chuckled softly. A good student requires an even better teacher.

No. Sully’s voice was rough and shaking with anger as he turned to Del. Damn you to hell! You will not use her like that. It ends now!

Light flashed, a blinding surge of power. A hot pain seared my mind. Something else blistered against my skin. I screamed, dropping to my knees, hands on my head. Then Philip was dragging me backward out of the cargo bay. All I could hear was my own breath and the sound of my boots and his scuffling against the debris-covered decking as a harsh wind whirled over us. Lengths of old cable and ceiling tiles flew through the air. Philip and I finally found shelter halfway across the lower staging area, our backs against a pair of wide duro-hards that shielded us from most of the impact.

I grabbed Philip’s arm and hauled myself upright. He was tight-lipped, his face holding a fury I’d never seen before. I knew why. “Del opened your link with Sully too, didn’t he?” I rasped out as a silent war waged in flashes of light just out of my sight, and an unholy windstorm whipped my hair across my face.

“Go unlock Burke’s ship.”

“They’re going to kill each other. I’m not letting that happen.”

“You can’t stop them.”

“Like hell I can’t.” I lunged forward.

Philip yanked me back. “Regarth will use you to incite Sully. Again.”

A flash of light flared so brightly I was forced to close my eyes. My heart stopped but there was another. A third. Sully was still alive. I knew it.

I shoved Philip away. He caught a handful of my sleeve. “Chaz!”

I pulled the Kyi-killer from its holster. “Sully was right. This stops. Now.” I jerked back, hard, then ran, heart pounding, mouth dry, praying for another flare of energy that told me the battle was still on. And Gabriel Sullivan was still alive.

A wall of light poured from the cargo bay’s open doors, sparkling, roiling. I hesitated only a moment then plunged through, almost stepping on Hayden, who was cringing, cowering on the floor next to the bench. It was probably the safest place for him to be. I sprinted past him, my eye on two forms struggling with each other near the bay’s left wall.

The whirlwind had stopped, the energies that had poured outward now returning to the two men. Lightning flashed so brightly that my eyes stung. I swiped at them with my sleeve as I ran past broken duro-hards and servostairs. I saw Del stumble, saw Sully barrel into him, body and energy surging forward. Then Del was down, panting, blood dripping from his mouth. Sully shoved another rush of energy at him. But Del rolled sideways, swinging a swath of star-filled energy as he did, catching Sully’s legs, whipping him around. This time he stumbled, crashing against a lopsided set of servostairs. Del was up, moving, a wall of blazing energy in front of him like a force field. Sully’s left arm and leg were trapped in the twisted metal. He wrenched against it and for a second nothing happened. Then the wreckage flew at Del.

Del dropped and rolled again. A wave of energy crashed back against Sully, pinning him to the floor.

I was running flat out now, lungs burning. I saw the problem. Sully was a street fighter, used to the physical. Attacking with the Kyi wasn’t his instinctual response. Del had spent twenty years learning to fight with the power of the Kyi. It had nothing to do with who was the more powerful. Del had the expertise and instincts Sully lacked.

I was close enough that I could see long gashes in Del’s coat, energy spewing through. I could see blood dripping down the side of Sully’s face. I skidded to a halt ten feet from them, and locked my arms. “Freeze, Regarth, or I’ll fry your fucking brains!”

Del turned, one arm still out, energy flowing from his hand, locking Sully down. His smile widened to a broad grin. “This is delightful. Gabriel, your ky’sara has come to play. And she’s brought Tage’s new toy.”

A new toy I knew dismally little about. If I shot Del, the outflow might also harm Sully. I tapped the laser-sights on. A small red dot appeared on his chest. “Let him go, Regarth. Take Burke’s ship and get out of here. And never come near us again.”

Chasidah. Sully’s voice was strained. Get. Out. Now.

“You’re giving me Burke’s ship? You mean, you don’t want to kill me?” Del shook his head. “Angel, where is your passion?”

“Under control.” Which was exactly what Del didn’t want. He wanted to feed on a ky’sara’s anger, fear, and desperation. He got Captain Chasidah Bergren, pride of the Sixth Fleet, instead. “I’m not your plaything. Death is not a sport I take pleasure in. Let Sully go. Leave.” I kept my tone even, my mind blank, my duro-hards permanently shut. “Now, Regarth.” I stepped closer.

He sighed, lowering his hand. The silver energy faded but only slightly. Sully struggled to sit, pulling himself up on one elbow, panting. But Del’s energy still pushed against him.

“All the way, Regarth.”

“If I release him, lover, he’ll kill me. That would be unpleasant.”

“Do as she says, Regarth.” Philip’s voice—and hard footsteps—boomed across the cargo bay. “You can call a sen’mral. A truce of brothers. It’s inviolate. No one kills anyone. Protection in the code of the clan.”

I’d never heard of a sen’mral, but I trusted Philip’s research. And I wanted a truce. I didn’t want to press the trigger of the Kyi-killer while Sully was linked so strongly to Del. I was very aware that by doing so, they both might die.

Del looked at Sully, one brow arched. “Would you grant me that, Brother? A sen’mral? A ship, my freedom? Your gift to your guri?”

Sully nodded slowly. “I would so love to kill you,” he said hoarsely, “but that will have to wait for another lifetime. So yes, a sen’mral. On my word. And yours.”

I waited, holding my breath. Del made a fist, bringing the energy back to his hand with an almost palpable snap. Philip, Norlack rifle aimed at Del, was a few feet from my side. Sully pushed himself onto his knees.

Del’s hand swung down. My world exploded, again.

I sailed backward, blinded, lungs burning. I hit the floor, a cargo crate, something with sharp edges, something that dug into my spine. I yelped, hearing someone cry out as I tried, blinded and near retching from pain, to get my feet under me, but it was like trying to claw through a bulkhead. That made no sense, but I managed to pull myself to my knees. I swiped at my face until my vision was merely blurry but I could see. And I saw Del standing, energy rolling from both hands, circling me, holding me in place. I was kneeling, but I felt as if I were pushing against the outflow from the thruster engines on a heavy-air fighter. I could get…only…so…far.

And my rifle, my gun belt, and the Kyi-killer were out of reach, lying in a torn and tangled heap fifteen feet or so on my right.

A groan sounded on my left. I forced my head in that direction. Philip, sprawled on the floor near the base of a wheeled loader, his right leg twisted at an impossible angle, just like our attackers in the stairwell on Narfial. My breath caught in my throat. I’d slammed into a crate. He’d been tossed against a heavy-loader. The shattered leg was probably the least of his injuries. But his chest moved. Del hadn’t snapped his neck. He was alive.

I had to find some way to get him, but…Sully. Where was Sully?

I turned slowly back to Del, seeing what I’d missed with my blurred eyes the first time. Sully, facedown, about twenty feet from Del’s left. Blood pooled around his slack mouth. His eyes were closed. No lightning raced across his skin, no silver haze edged his coat.

God, no.

Bitter rage rose in me, fear right behind it. I clamped down the fear, but the rage fed me and I let it. I didn’t care. Del wanted a symphony. I’d give him the biggest fucking orchestra he’d ever heard.

“What would you do, Chasidah Bergren Guthrie Sullivan,” Del asked me softly as I turned back to him, “to keep them both alive?”

His taunt from that day on the Karn’s bridge. Only now there was another life at stake.

“Same answer as last time. I’d kill you.”

“Ah, the passion returns.”

“You agreed to a truce. A pact.”

“Yes. Gabriel lives. I’ll even grant you Philip. In return, I get my freedom, a ship, and the required offering of a student to his guri.”

I suddenly knew what that was. The article on Kyi-Ragkirils from West Baris University had detailed how a forty-first-century Ayirr Dynasty guri had demanded the transfer of a ky’sara to him as a gesture of submission from his students.

“You’re Serian, not Ayirr,” I spat out.

“And this is far from the forty-first century, but old traditions die hard. Shall we go?”

The silver haze lessened around me. I leaned slightly forward on my knees, as if the sudden change disoriented me. I felt for the knife in my boot. Still there. In my pocket was the small hand laser I’d taken earlier from the lab ship’s security officer. And I had my Grizni.

It might be hours. It might be weeks. It could be years. But I would kill him.

I raised my face, the pain on it very real. “You just tossed me halfway across a cargo bay. Pardon me for not getting up and dancing at your command.”

“My apologies. I do prefer pleasure to pain. But the latter has proven to be instructive at times. And the healing is so delightful.” He stepped closer, the Kyi’s pressure reducing in intensity again. He held out his hand but no energy erupted from it. He was offering to help me to my feet.

“And yes, of course I know you have the Grizni and are fantasizing about stabbing me, but I won’t let you right now. I promise after a few weeks, you won’t want to. There are other, equally as exciting ways to transfer energy.”

I ignored his hand and shoved myself to my feet. Silver energy traveled with me. “Let’s say I agree to go with you. How do I know you won’t leave them here to die?”

He looked at me as if my question was beyond inane. “You understand so little. Because it’s not my intention to kill Gabriel. This,” and power surged over his clenched fist, “is what we are. How we grow and learn. Gabriel will heal and be the better Kyi for what’s happened here. At some point, he may even challenge me and get you back. Probably in the next few months. And I look forward to it. He is extraordinary. I’m honored to call him my student, my friend.”

His friend? Dear God, it was all a game to him. Like lovers playing with loaded weapons on their wedding night.

“They need medical help,” I said. “Now.”

He shrugged. “You can contact Ganton and Captain Bralford once we clear dock.”

“Not good enough.”

Del’s mouth curved. “Stars, but you are a delight. I could take you this minute, completely. You’d be powerless to stop me.” He flicked his fingers. Silver haze raced over my body and for a moment I couldn’t move. Then it faded again.

“Like Brigitta Halemon?” I asked, hooking my thumbs into my pockets. A casual move I hoped he didn’t notice. “But that didn’t satisfy you, did it? Or we’d not even be having this conversation.”

“Point conceded, angel. So tell me what will please you. With what promise can I entice you onto my ship and into my bed?”

“Contact the Karn and the Nowicki now. Keep Philip and Sully alive until they arrive. When they’re twenty out from dock, I’ll leave with you.”

“You sound as if I know exactly where those ships are.”

“I think you do.”

His smile broadened.

“Just as I think—no, I know—you’ve controlled Nayla Dalby.”

That warranted a raised eyebrow. “I hadn’t realized I was so transparent.”

He wasn’t. It was just that pieces fell into place as I watched his fascination with female captains, or women in position of command. Women who could challenge him. I’d recognized that other female presence in his mind earlier. Not a captain but a commander. Dalby. At the helm of Del’s “sweet little ship” that he’d bought from an Elarwin. The same Interceptor that had challenged us before Narfial.

I also remembered his comment about Dalby when Philip brought up her theft of Fleet’s codes. He knew how to deal with her, he’d said. But the first time he said it, it was mind-speak. And I’d felt that frisson of excitement from him, that sexual hunger that needed sating.

But Dalby brought the Serian prince something more: information on what the Farosians were doing. For a Serian wanting to rule Baris again, controlling the Farosians was almost a requirement.

It also told me how he’d known so much about Sully and me when we arrived on Narfial, yet he’d been surprised to learn Sully was a Ragkiril. Gregor, who fed information to the Farosians, hadn’t known.

“You’re predictable, Regarth. Predictable men make the worst lovers, but I’ll deal with that and you to get what I want. Philip and Sully, alive and safe.”

He brought one hand to his chest. The other was still out, still wrapping me in a light but unbreakable stream of energy. “Your words wound me.”

“The best way to a man’s heart,” I told him, “is one clean shot from a Stinger—”

“—at point blank, set to kill.” Sully’s voice rasped hard to my right.

I wrenched around in my small silver-edge space. Sully was propped up on his elbows, blood coating half his face. The other half blazed hot with lightning. He clutched the Kyi-killer with both hands, his mouth drawn back in a grimace. Not just from the pain of his injuries, but from what he held in his hands.

“It’s time to end this,” he said harshly.

“You can’t—” Del opened his right hand but stopped, frozen, his fingers still curled. Surprise flickered across his features. He stared at Sully. Sully’s long coat, the containment field, was gone.

“I can,” Sully said, energy spiraling around him, licking up into the air like hungry flames, giving him what he needed to hold Del in stasis. “Not for long, but long enough for Chasidah to get out of here. Release her.”

“You will tire. Time is on my side then, Gabriel.”

“It’s not.” Sully touched the laser-sights. The red dot blossomed at Del’s throat, jerked down to his chest, then up again as Sully’s hands trembled. “Unlike Chasidah, I have no problems with killing you right now.”

“Do it and you’ll kill yourself. That’s not how the game is played.”

Del didn’t understand. Sully wasn’t playing a game here. “Sully, don’t!”

He ignored me. “As I said, it’s time to end this.”

“Don’t be idiotic. Then neither of us win. I thought you loved her.”

“I do, beyond all measure.” Sully’s voice was strained. “And I have nothing to offer her but pain. A life with an unholy demon who can barely control his hunger. Who is so desperate for power, he allies with one who’s even worse. You may be the devil incarnate, a true prince of hell, but you’ve made me your brother. The Empire will fare much better will both of us dead.”

My throat tightened. “Damn you, Sully, no!”

“I’m already damned, angel-mine. And it’s time.”

No. There were options. My fingers found the small hand laser. I didn’t know if it would pass through the energy field Del had around me, but I had to try. He was focused on Sully. I could—

Don’t interfere! Del’s voice came hard and abrupt in my mind. The field around me flared, pushing air out of my lungs. The laser fell through my fingers.

And a blast of energy streaked by me. Del’s body arched backward from the impact. His knees buckled, his legs crumpling as a red lattice writhed across the startled expression on his face then down his shoulders, clawing its way around the small charred hole in his chest.

The silver haze around me vanished. I was running, screaming Sully’s name. I dropped to my knees next to him. He was on his back, gasping, the crazed red lines racing frenetically over his skin. One hand still clutched the pistol. I yanked it from his fingers, shoved it down by my feet. I took his face in my hands. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Sully, hang on.” I sobbed out the words as he stared at me with a curious detachment. “A med-kit. Burke’s ship. Five minutes. Then I can get you to sick bay.”

“I am so sorry.” His voice was a whisper. His breath, shallow. “All I’ve done is hurt you.”

“No, you haven’t!” His skin was clammy under my fingers. “You’re a strong Kyi. You can heal. Take my energy. Do it!”

“I can’t, angel-mine,” he said so softly that I had to lower my head to hear his words. My tears fell, dotting his face. “We’re…not linked…anymore. You’re free, love.”

“Sully, no. Please.” I brushed his face with kisses, my mouth touching the red writhing lines, the fading jagged streaks of silver.

His breath stuttered, his eyelids fluttering.

He was dying.

“Sully, please, try!” I was sobbing uncontrollably, my heart tearing into a thousand pieces. I felt helpless, stupid, worthless, and so damned alone. What good was the pride of the Sixth Fleet now? The man I loved was dying. Because of me. “Breathe, damn you! You did it for Ren, you did it for Philip. Do it for yourself. Do it for me!”

His eyes opened slightly. The fathomless obsidian, the infinite shades of dark faded to a dull silver. It took me a moment to understand. He was blind, his body failing as he slipped away from me. His breathing was labored. I folded my hand around his, bringing it to his chest. “Fight! Stay with me!” I squeezed his fingers.

His mouth moved. There were no sounds.

“Sully! Try!”

“Chasidah.” A barely audible, raspy voice. But it wasn’t Sully’s.

I looked through the blur of tears to where Del lay a few feet behind me. His eyes were clouded like Sully’s. Slowly he turned one hand palm up toward me.

“Go to hell, Regarth,” I sobbed out, my voice breaking.

“Rash’mh han enqerma,” he whispered. “I wronged my brother. I offer my life, for his.” He unfolded his fingers and a small glowing ball flared. “Take it.”

Take it? “I…I can’t. I don’t know—”

“Touch me. Touch. Him. The Kyi knows…the rest.”

I had no time to decide how or why. I grabbed Del’s hand, trapping the glowing ball between our palms as I brought Sully’s arm over his head, his hand firmly in mine.

“Rash’mh han enqerma,” Prince Regarth Serian Cordell Delkavra whispered again. “I shall walk as a Serian prince…among Serian kings.”

Heat blazed through me, up one arm, through my heart, down the other. Heat. Life. Power.

Breathe, Chasidah, Del told me, his words barely audible.

I sucked in air, hiccuped out sobs. All my emotional duro-hards burst open—grief, rage, and fear pouring out.

Suddenly, Del’s fingers went slack, sliding through mine. His lifeless hand fell softly against the floor. His skin was flat, ashen. There was nothing left. It was up to me now.

I grasped Sully’s hand in both of mine. With every heated pulse I pushed, I breathed, I opened my heart, my soul.

Philip had to say my name three times before I heard him. He dragged himself over to me, one leg badly shattered but the rest of him in bearable pain. Or so he assured me. It could have been worse. Del could have also broken his neck, crushed his body completely.

I took one of my hands from Sully and reached for him.

“Sully breathed for you.” I stuttered the words out. “Now I’m breathing for him.”

“I know. I heard.” He pulled himself next to me, pain furrowing his features. He rested his other hand on Sully’s chest just as Sully had once done for him. “Will this help?”

I nodded through tears once again flowing heavily.

The cargo bay grew cold. An overhead flickered off, on, then finally off. Minutes passed. Hours, days, for all I knew. I had no concept of time. Philip and I leaned against each other for warmth, Sully’s fingers curled into mine, Philip’s hand on his chest. We breathed, we prayed, and we breathed again.

I refused to let go. I refused to let Sully die.

All that I am is yours. Stay with me, ky’sal-mine. Stay with me. And breathe, damn you. Breathe!

“Captain Bergren!”

I jolted awake. My head was on Philip’s shoulder but I still held Sully’s fingers.

Philip inched around, his hand firmly on Sully’s chest. “Jodey!” His voice was thin, pain-filled, and tired. “About goddamned time.”

Jodey Bralford and Marsh Ganton were running toward us. Just behind them were Ren and Verno. And three, no, five. No…I couldn’t count, but they were Nowicki crew and officers. And some from the Loviti.

They tried to pull me away from Sully as they gently placed him on a hovering stretcher. “You don’t understand. I can’t let him—”

“Chasidah, he’s alive.” Ren gently grabbed my shoulders. “Healing. He’ll make it on his own now.” He tried to pull me to my feet but my legs and back screamed in protest from sitting for a lifetime on the cold, hard floor.

“You’re in no shape to walk,” Ren said, probably reading my painful rainbows. “Put your arms around my neck.” He picked me up as if I weighed nothing, his arms under my knees and back.

“Philip?” I tried peering over his shoulder.

“Captain Bralford’s doctor has him. He’ll be all right. Everything’s going to be all right. I promise.”

Ren didn’t know. Sully was blind. Our ky’saran link was severed.

And Prince Regarth Serian Cordell Delkavra walked with Serian kings in the crystalline depths of the Great Sea. Rash’mh han enqerma.

No, things were not all right. They never would be. But Sully was alive. Philip was alive. And if that was all I ever had, it was more than enough to keep fighting for.

The doctor on the Nowicki was honest. Her medical databases held very little on Stolorth Ragkiril physiology. She had nothing on human Kyis.

“Mr. Sullivan’s body knows far more than I do about healing him,” Dr. Galan admitted. “So we’ve given his body everything it needs to work with. The rest is up to him.”

“Will he regain his sight?”

“I have no way of knowing, since a Ragkiril’s optics are augmented beyond a normal human’s. But if he doesn’t, it may be that his body shut down that ability in order to keep him alive. Overall, a small sacrifice.”

But a big part of everything he was and could do as a Kyi. I thanked the doctor and headed down sick bay’s long hall for Sully’s room.

He had the thermal sheet pulled up to his chest, med-broches plastered on his arms, shoulders, and no doubt other places I couldn’t see, pumping nutrients and anti-infectives into him. Giving his body something to work with.

I stood by his bedside for several minutes, just watching him sleep, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. That was the only thing that made any sense to me. Everything else that happened on the depot didn’t. At least, not yet.

Some answers would come with the interrogation of Burke and his two ships’ crews. But others, I might never know.

What kind of game would force Del to confront a powerful rogue Kyi, only then to give up his own life so that his enemy might live?

“Study the Serians, study the Ayirr Dynasty, and you might understand,” Philip had said from his own sick bay bed, when I’d seen him an hour before, while Sully was still in surgery. “But then again, you might not. My aunt is still puzzling much of it out. Stolorth royalty thrives on flamboyance and conflict. They also have a very deep sense of honor. It makes no sense to us. But it does, very strongly, to them.”

And why, how had Sully broken our ky’saran link? Is that what pushed him to the brink of death? Or was breaking it what kept him alive because it left him free to concentrate his energies in healing?

And did he even care that he was alive? What had happened with Halemon only augemented his self-hatred, even though I knew now he was as much an unwilling participant as Halemon. Del had used them both. Another game.

But his intentions had never been to hurt Gabriel, his clan brother. Because in his culture, you shared your pleasure with your friends, your family. Del had taken the time to remove that memory from Brigitta Halemon’s mind. She’d never know she’d pushed one man to the brink of suicide. And, because of that, sent another to his death.

Sully’s fingers twitched. I took his left hand, threading my fingers through his long, lean ones. I squeezed. He squeezed back and my heart jumped.

“Sully?”

He blinked, then blinked again, dark lashes shading silver eyes. He frowned. “Chaz?” His voice sounded rusty. His right hand came up and brushed over his face as if to pluck away whatever had cast him into darkness.

It came away empty. The frown deepened.

I squeezed his hand tighter. “You almost died, Sully. You’re still healing.”

He turned his face toward me. His gaze zigzagged slightly. “You’re wearing your worry colors.”

Base Ragkir and empathic talents were working. I took that for a good sign. “I’m worried about you. You’re a bit of a mystery to the docs here.”

“Where’s here? Oh.” Another frown. “Bralford’s down the corridor. The Nowicki?”

Still base Ragkir talents or something more? Two seconds later I heard Jodey’s voice call Philip’s name. “The Nowicki,” I confirmed. “The Karn’s hitching a ride in one of their shuttle bays. We’re towing both of Burke’s ships.”

Sully closed his eyes and was quiet for so long I thought he’d fallen back asleep. Then: “Hayden’s in the brig.”

“And talking.” He was. Jodey hadn’t even had to push very hard. All he had to do was mention Sully’s name and Hayden told everything he knew. He didn’t know Sully was injured. He thought he’d be facing a fully phased Kyi.

“Did he tell you he killed my mother?”

I straightened, surprised, and I was sure my worry colors flared. “No. I don’t think Jodey asked him about that.”

“Ask him.” Sully ran his right hand over the bed rail, his fingers finding the bed’s controls. “I only found part of the story,” he said, angling himself into a sitting position. The thermal sheet slid farther down his chest. “He knew she was putting me back in as heir. Not the Sullivan inheritance. Hers. Rossetti. But there was more. I just couldn’t…” His voice trailed off. He closed his eyes again.

“You’re tired,” I said softly, my thumb stroking his fingers. “I’ll come back later.”

“No, Chaz.” He gripped my hand tightly. “I…it’s damnably inconvenient being blind. I can’t pick up on the things I normally do. I can’t read you. I can’t hear you at all in my mind. There are several very large gaps in my head right now.”

“I think you put them there. You severed the ky’saran link.”

“I didn’t sever it.” His voice dropped to a deep rumble. “I gave you to Del.”

Confusion flooded me. “You…why?”

“To keep you alive. I thought he was going to kill me. So I transferred your link to him. Not ky’saran. A basic life link. That would keep you alive long enough so you could…fry his fucking brains with the Kyi- killer.”

Gregor’s research surfaced in my mind again. The only way to break a ky’saran bond without killing both parties was to transfer one of those linked to a third Ragkiril who was of greater strength than the original bond pair.

Del hadn’t lied when he said Sully had given me to him as a gift.

“I didn’t know what would happen to you if I hit Del with a charge from the gun while you were linked to him,” I admitted. “We had no data on the weapon. Bargaining for your life was the only thing I trusted.”

“My life wasn’t worth bargaining for, Captain Bergren.”

I eased down on the edge of his bed. “I don’t happen to agree with that, Mr. Sullivan.”

Sightless eyes watched me closely. I tried to put all my hopes, my love, my desire into my rainbow colors.

“How can you still love me,” he asked quietly, “knowing what I am?”

“Because all that I am is yours. And all that you are is mine,” I answered, equally as quietly. “The good and the bad. The fears, the hopes, the desires.”

“I have done unforgivable things.”

I shook my head, belatedly realizing he couldn’t see the movement. “Del did them, and tried to force you to accept them as what you are. But you’re not Serian, you’re not Stolorth. You’re a Kyi, a human Kyi, who loves deeply, is fiercely loyal to his crew and friends, and who has no tolerance for cruelty and injustice.”

He reached up blindly for me. I brought his hand to my face. He traced my jaw, my lips, my cheeks much as Ren had months ago. Seeing me in the only way he could now.

“A Kyi who is highly motivated,” he whispered, “by the pleasure of one extraordinary, incredible woman. A woman he loves beyond all measure.”

He lowered his hand, finding my arm, then hesitantly tugged me toward him. I went willingly, covering his mouth with my own, letting lips and fingers say what words often could not. But gently because he was injured, and tenderly because both our hearts were hurting.

It would be a time yet before he would have the strength to be in my body. He might never again be able to be in my mind.

It didn’t matter. All that I was, was his. And all that he was, was mine.

And that was something worth fighting for.

Winner of the prestigious national book award the RITA, science fiction romance author Linnea Sinclair has become a name synonymous for high-action, emotionally intense, character-driven novels. Reviewers note that Sinclair’s novels “have the wow factor in spades,” earning her accolades from both the science fiction and the romance communities. A former news reporter and retired private detective, Sinclair resides in Naples, Florida, with her husband, Robert Bernadino, and their two thoroughly spoiled cats. Readers can find her perched on the third barstool from the left in her Intergalactic Bar and Grille at www.linneasinclair.com.

If you loved Shades of Dark, be sure not to miss RITA Award–winning author Linnea Sinclair’s next exciting adventure set in the same riveting universe:

Coming in spring 2009 from Bantam Books

Admiral Philip Guthrie is in an unprecedented position: on the wrong end of the law, leading a ragtag band of rebels against the oppressive Imperial forces. Or will be, if he can reach his command ship—the intriguingly named Hope’s Folly—alive. Not much can rattle Philip’s legendary cool—but the woman who helps him foil an assassination attempt on Kirro Station will. She’s the daughter of his best friend and first commander—a man who died while under Philip’s command, and whose death is on Philip’s conscience.

Rya Bennton has been in love with Philip Guthrie since she was a girl. But can her childhood fantasies survive an encounter with the hardened man, and newly minted rebel leader, who it seems has just become her new commanding officer? And will she still be willing to follow him through the jaws of hell once she learns the truth about her father’s death?

Here’s a special preview.

coming spring 2009

The passenger docks on Kirro Station were cavernous, dimly lit, and bitingly cold. It took forty-five minutes for the Starford Spacelines transport ship to regurgitate Rya’s duffel out of its cargo holds, along with the rest of the passengers’ baggage. By that point, Rya had already turned up the collar on her leather jacket and tucked her hands under her armpits, releasing them only to make a grab for her duffel on the shuddering, rumbling baggage belt. Then she knelt, fished her dark blue Special Protection Service beret out of the side pocket, and removed the rank and service pins. She pulled the beret over her perpetually unruly hair. Some people might look twice if they knew what the beret symbolized. This was, after all, a recently declared Alliance station. Imperial Fleet in all its flavors, including Imperial Security, was not welcome.

But the overheads were weak and those milling about the baggage collection area of the passenger terminal appeared as bleary-eyed as she was. The beret could be mistaken for black. The service pins were deep in her pocket. And her scalp was goddamned frostbitten. She was going to wear her beret, for what little good it did.

It was better than nothing.

The two-day flight from Calth starport had been dismal, with crying infants, hacking old men, and one painfully thin woman who snored like a half-ton freight-loader grinding gears.

Kirro Station was equally dismal. Umoran had been hit hard with financial failures after the grove cankers and lack of support from what was once the empire. Exports were down. Imports were priced like luxuries. More than half the food kiosks in the passenger terminal were abandoned. Those still open offered few selections at ridiculous prices.

She overpaid for a half mug of sweet tea and, clutching it between chilled hands as the duffel’s strap dug a furrow into her shoulder, headed down the long corridor to find the waiting room for the shuttle to Seth.

She passed a few stripers, armed and watchful. Seven months ago, she might have stopped to talk about the job with one or two. She was law enforcement, as were they, although her jurisdiction as an ImpSec officer had been on a much larger scale than station security. Now she played civilian, letting her gaze pass over them as if a man or woman armed with a rifle was nothing more than an interesting curiosity. Though she did wonder if any of them were former ImpSec like herself.

Out of habit she studied their weaponry more than their faces. No Carvers here, not even Stingers. Standard-issue Mag-5 pistols. Rifles were boring Blue Surgers. She’d trained on them, could dismantle them in her sleep, which, in her opinion, was all they were worth. But yeah, get shot by a Surger, it still hurt like a bitch and could put you flat-out dead if someone’s aim was good.

That’s why she liked working for ImpSec. They carried Carver-10s, minimum. Carver-12s on shipside duty. She’d even heard of 15s when they worked the rim or were assigned to an admiral’s personal protection. Totally apex, to quote her friend Lyza, who was by now sleeping in Rya’s bed in Rya’s apartment, possibly even with Rya’s former lover.

The shuttle waiting room was crowded. Not surprising. According to the schedule board, the room serviced three shuttles: dirtside to Umoran and the moon colony, and spaceside to the Seth shipyards. She wondered how many of those huddled down on the hard seats had seen Commander Dina Adney’s coded transmit on available crew positions for the new AIR fleet. A lot, probably, because this was Calth, and Calth had almost entirely withdrawn from the empire after the dissolution of the Admirals’ Council several months ago.

Only the Walker Colonies and Port January were playing coy, but then Port January had long been an Imperial base of operations.

She spied an empty row of bench seats and headed for them, only to realize why they were empty. They were broken, their backs still connected but the seats stripped out. She turned and walked again past humans hunched into coats, children huddled close in a mother’s or father’s lap, and a few Takas lounging casually, not bothered by the cold at all, their furred hands and wrists sticking out of lightweight shirts or thermals, shipyard patches on their chests marking them as returning workers.

The schedule board flashed, catching her eye. A low groan went around the room even before she finished reading the advisory that all shuttles were delayed for one hour due to heightened security concerns.

A baby wailed loudly.

Rya completely concurred with the sentiment.

Movement near the dirtside shuttle tubeway signaled a family vacating several of the benchlike seats—the delay likely meant time for a lavatory stop, or maybe food. Rya was only a row away. She quickened her steps, then slowed. An elderly man and woman pulled themselves off the cold decking, tugging two toddlers with them as they ambled for the seats. A pair of hardbody guys did as well. Dockworkers, Rya guessed with a fair amount of professional accuracy. She stepped in front of the men, blocking their path, trying to give the people with the small kids a chance to get there first.

The bearded hardbody stared levelly at her as she shifted her stance until she stood bladed to him, gun-side away. Ingrained habit. The man was about her age, and not much taller than she was, maybe five-ten. But he outweighed her by at least sixty pounds, and Rya was no lightweight. A factor Matt had always found less than appealing.

“I have breasts, I have hips, I have thighs,” she’d told him more than once when he’d patted her ample rump with some snippy comment. “Get used to it.”

The bearded man’s gaze dropped to her chest.

“Kind of you to let them have the seats,” she told him, bringing his gaze back to her face as her right hand found the small laser tucked against her back.

“Yeah, I’m Mr. Wonderful,” he drawled, with a quick glance to his friend. His hands edged into his pockets.

She palmed the laser, flicking the setting to stun.

“So now I gotta go sit on the floor again,” he continued. “It’s real cold on your ass, you know. Think you should come and keep me warm.”

“I think you’ll do just fine by yourself.” She put her professional tone in her voice. “Have a good one, gentlemen. Now, move on.”

Maybe it was the tone of her voice, or maybe it was that Mr. Wonderful’s friend’s gaze flicked to her beret and down again, possibly catching the outline of the gun in her shoulder holster that even her womanly charms and leather jacket failed to fully hide. He nudged his friend. “Let’s go, Al.”

“Hey!”

Al’s friend grabbed Al by the arm and steered him in the opposite direction.

Rya tucked away the L7 at the small of her back, and didn’t miss the low comment when they were a few steps away.

“Striper? Fuck.”

No, not a striper. ImpSec Special Protection Service. Polite, professional and prepared to kill.

She sighed, caught the grateful gaze of the elderly woman with the sleeping toddler in her lap, and smiled her acknowledgment.

The “shuttle delayed” sign still flashed. Rya wandered away from the tubeway hatchlock and finally ended up leaning against the wall—holding up the bulkhead, her father would say—where the corridor dead-ended into the waiting area.

A few more people stood, filing out, tired of waiting, or hungry, or both. Or just needing to move. Mr. Wonderful and friend claimed two seats quickly, but she didn’t intervene this time because no one smaller, weaker, or older needed them.

She glanced away from them and watched the corridor instead.

That’s when she saw him. A solitary figure in a thermal overcoat that her mind automatically tagged as “Fleet-issue,” moving with a determined but limping gait. He leaned on his cane with every other step, the wide strap of a duffel a dark stripe against the gray fabric of his coat.

He was too far for her to see his face, but as he moved under the dim overheads, his short-cropped silver hair made her immediately tag him as a veteran. Not recent Fleet, then. Probably a casualty from the Border Wars twenty years ago.

Officer? Yeah, she tagged that, too. It was in the way, in spite of the pain and his limp, that he held himself. The set of his shoulders. The lift of his chin. Retired officer, silver-haired, probably in his seventies. Coming here at Commander Adney’s call?

God, were they down to that now? Relying on rheumy old men to try to stop Tage’s insanity?

An end seat on the long bench bordering the bulkhead became available when a fidgety young man in plain coveralls pushed himself out of it and loped for the corridor. She slid quickly into it, next to a dozing Takan shipyard worker on her left. She’d give the space to the old man when he passed by her. Then maybe she’d indulge in another half mug of sweet tea to thaw her insides and her hands. The damned shuttle—

The old man, about fifteen feet from her now, limped under a dangling spotlight, the harsh glow illuminating his face. And Rya, already rising to offer him her seat, realized two things. He was not an old man. And he had the most incredible blue eyes she’d seen in years.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said because that’s what she’d planned to say. And old or not, he was still limping.

He hesitated slightly, those marvelous blue eyes narrowing.

“You want this seat?” she continued. “I was just leaving. Shuttle’s delayed and seats are hard to come by here.”

He stopped in front of her and leaned on his cane.

Rya looked up. Yeah, up. Six-two, three. Stocky, maybe two-forty-five. Fleet thermal coats were a thin fabric. He had wide shoulders, a muscular neck. And a dual shoulder holster. She judged that, too.

Something flashed over his face—a wariness—then it was gone.

Her beret. He was Fleet. He knew its significance.

A baby wailed somewhere behind her, its cry dissolving into a series of hiccups.

“AWOL,” Rya said quietly in explanation of her head gear, because that wasn’t all that far from the truth. Then she said a name and watched for his reaction. “Adney.”

Confirmation came in the slight lessening of tension around his mouth.

“That’s pretty much why a lot of us are here,” she said, her voice still low. She didn’t know why she’d added that information. No, she did. For some reason she couldn’t define, but based on the cop’s sense she’d honed over the past few years, she trusted this silver-haired man. He exuded…something. An aura of command, of respect?

Yes, command and respect, now that she thought about it.

But more than that, she sensed that was why he was here. And she wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. Because in addition to that aura of command that ringed him like an impenetrable halo, she also felt a deep loneliness in him. A heavy weight that maybe had something to do with his injury or maybe not.

But it was there. It was palpable.

And it wasn’t just her cop’s instincts telling her that, but her years as the daughter of first Lieutenant then Commander then Captain Cory Bennton.

“Would you like to sit, sir?”

“How long is the delay?” His voice was deep, resonant.

“One hour max, due to heightened security concerns.”

He was shaking his head in dismay.

The Takan on her left rose to his feet and called out to a group exiting toward the corridor. They waved. He headed for them in a long, striding gait.

When Rya turned back the silver-haired man had let his duffel drop to the floor next to his boots, its strap still in his fingers. It was heavy, but he wasn’t going to let it go or out of his sight.

“This is never a pretty maneuver,” he said and, twisting slightly, angled himself down into the vacant chair.

She sat in the Taka’s seat, forgetting she’d said she was leaving. She caught the tail end of a half-smile, half-grimace on his face, and realized her error.

“My leg thanks you,” he said with a hint of wry humor. “My ego is severely deflated.”

She grinned back, doing a quick mental tally of him as he wedged his cane into a niche on the benchlike seats, and then dragged the duffel between them. Early to mid-forties. The silver hair was an anomaly. It was thick, and judging from some still dark patches, had once been a rich brown about as dark as her own. His face had nice features. Not pretty-handsome like Matt, but classic with an edge toward rugged.

“Accident?” She pointed to his right leg, extending stiffly out.

“Let’s just say negotiations with a possible enemy combatant didn’t go as planned.” He adjusted his coat as he spoke. His hands were square, strong, the backs dotted with scars.

No pretty boy, this former Fleet officer. Engineer, she thought. Or chief of maintenance. Worked with his hands and cared little about gashes and barked knuckles.

The schedule board flashed again and this time there was a definite announcement. Two-hour delay for the shuttle to the moon colony, four-hour delay for the shuttle to Seth’s shipyards. The shuttle for Umoran, however, would arrive in fifteen minutes. Boarding would commence ten minutes after that.

Sighs of relief mixed with groans.

“Fuck.” This, softly, from the man next to her. And with no apology. Well, he’d tagged her as Fleet as clearly as she had him. What were a few epithets between friends?

He leaned forward as if to stand, then stopped, slumping back slightly, his gaze pinned on the wide viewport across the waiting area as if he could see all the way to Seth. Or the shipyards.

His eyes were narrowed, his brows furrowed. She’d seen that look on her father’s face when he was forced to make decisions he didn’t like. Or when decisions he wanted to make weren’t possible. The shuttle delay clearly had this man on edge.

“The empire’s not going to change all that much in the next four hours,” she commented, her voice low.

He slanted her a glance. The hard, angry emotions she saw in his eyes startled her and almost had her reaching for her L7. But he looked away, removing the immediacy of the threat. Still, she watched his hands because she knew he was armed. They were in plain sight though now one fist clenched.

“It already has.” He spoke suddenly, his voice as low as hers but harsh. “Tage hit Corsau an hour ago.”

She felt her eyes widen. He was looking at her now, studying her, not only anger on his face but grief.

“No.” She breathed out the denial, her chest tightening. “How bad?”

“Bad.”

She motioned to the solitary vidscreen hanging in the far corner, flickering with images of a concert in Port Chalo last year. “There’s been nothing—”

“I noticed. I’m guessing the dockmaster doesn’t want to deal with a panic situation. Or the news simply hasn’t hit the civilian outlets yet.”

“Where did you hear about it?” Maybe it was rumor. Maybe it wasn’t true.

“From an Alliance captain.” Blue eyes studied her again. “I don’t have four hours to waste. How many besides yourself are here to see Commander Adney?”

“No direct knowledge, sir. But guessing from dockworker uniforms and discounting families, I’d say thirty or forty.” She motioned to a group of men and women about her age seated in the first three rows nearest the shuttle tubeway. “My flight out of Calth Prime got in late. They were already there. I haven’t talked to them, but they haven’t reacted to any shuttle announcements for the moon colony or Umoran.”

“Well, Subbie, we’re about to make the passengers wanting to go home to Umoran very unhappy,” he said. “Can you handle it?”

“You intend to commandeer the shuttle?”

“I do.”

“I can handle that, sir.”

“I’d do the honors, but too much walking is a problem at the moment. Find out who’s here for Commander Adney. Discreetly. Put them on alert. While you do that,” and he shoved himself, grimacing, to his feet, “I’m going to enlist the help of the local stripers.”

“Whoever’s chief probably won’t like that. You may have to get clearance from the dockmaster.”

“I fully intend to.” He lifted his duffel—clearly heavy—effortlessly. “Ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” She fought the urge to salute and instead watched him head for a striper standing in the corridor, realizing she didn’t even know his name or rank. Not that it mattered. There was something very familiar about him, something that told her she’d follow him into the jaws of hell. And never regret it.

Technically, he had use of the shuttle. One problem solved, dozens more to go. Philip headed back for the waiting area’s wide threshold. His subbie, as he’d come to think of the young woman wearing the ImpSec blue beret, raised her gaze. He inclined his head toward the tubeway, then nodded. We have permission to take the shuttle, was his unspoken message.

She pulled away from the group she was talking to and walked down the center aisle toward him. He noted again she was as tall as some of the men, and not a weakling. There was power in her stride, but also a litheness. Her ImpSec beret sat on her hair at a jaunty angle. Her hair itself was amazing, less than curly but far more than wavy. It was just short of shoulder length, as springy and bouncy as she was, and a deep rich brown that these days might be natural or might not.

The rest of her, also bouncy, was very natural. But he wasn’t supposed to notice that, since he was old enough to be her…uncle. And now, it seemed, her commanding officer as well.

“Sir,” she said, slowing, then waiting as he fell in step with her. “I have verified fifty-three, including myself, who are here in response to Commander Adney’s request. However, sir, there is an issue of your authority in this matter—though everyone understands the need to get to Seth as soon as possible.”

Fifty-three. Well, that wasn’t a bad number. But a group of three men and one woman had risen and were moving toward him.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. The dockmaster and security chief are aware of our situation. We have clearance. As for my authority, that can be resolved quickly.”

The waiting room population had reorganized, with his fifty-plus possible crew seated in or standing near the first two rows adjacent to the shuttle tubeway on the far right.

“I don’t know who you are, sir,” his subbie said quickly, a slight hitch of embarrassment in her voice.

He had wondered if she’d recognized him, though his face wasn’t one of the more familiar ones. He’d not been an admiral for that long—not even a year. Evidently, she hadn’t. And yet she trusted him enough to canvass the room on his orders, without question. Either she was very intuitive or extremely stupid.

“Don’t worry.” He flashed her a conspiratorial smile. “Because I do know who I am.”

She looked momentarily startled, then a small grin curved her lips.

He stopped in front of the group of four, aware the rest of the forty-nine were watching.

“Sir, we understand we’re to depart for Seth on the next shuttle,” a short, round-faced man clad in plain civilian clothing said. He was the oldest of the group, around Chaz’s age, mid-thirties. His short-cropped black hair and solid bearing were all Fleet. No salute, but his tone was respectful.

A reasonable move, since no one knew who he was.

“I’ve cleared it with Chief Carmellis and the dockmaster’s office,” Philip told him, with a slight nod to the others.

“I’m Commander Martoni, formerly with Baris Division Three, and as best as I’ve been able to ascertain, the highest-ranking officer present. Thirty-seven of the people here are my personal recruits.”

“Thank you, Commander. Excellent job.”

“I need to request your authority in this matter, sir,” Martoni continued.

“You should. Admiral Philip Guthrie, Alliance First Fleet.”

The hush of voices around him quieted. Martoni and his three officers stared at him.

Philip wondered if he’d arisen from the dead, or perhaps sprouted wings and flown around the room. No, those were Sullivan’s specialties.

“You should also be asking to see my ID,” he prompted Martoni.

“I, yes, sir. That is, may I—”

Philip was already handing it to him when he heard his subbie whisper his name, and not as a question.

“Guthrie.”

He glanced over at her, taking in her wide-eyed expression. “Apologies, Lieutenant. I thought you knew who I was.”

“I did,” she said softly. “I mean, that is…” Her voice trailed off.

She was flustered. He had a feeling that was unusual for her. Evidently meeting an admiral was something she hadn’t dealt with before. But she was SPS. She must have. He shook off whatever the issue was, because Martoni was handing him back his ID and saluting.

“Admiral Guthrie, sir, we had no idea you’d be here.”

“If it makes you feel any better, neither did I.” He pocketed his ID and shifted the weight of the duffel on his shoulder.

“Can I take that for you, sir?” one of the other men, also in civvies, asked. “We’re loading gear first.”

“Thank you, but I’ll handle it. They should announce the schedule change shortly. Let’s make sure everyone’s ready to go. I want to keep problems to a minimum.”

Martoni nodded, then issued quiet but firm orders to the woman and man closest to him. They hurried off, Martoni not far behind, and with a nod or a hand signal from him, groups of young men and women rose from their seats or straightened from their tired slouches.

Heads turned as he walked, limping, toward the tubeway, his blue-bereted subbie on his right. Whispers followed him.

Well, if they hadn’t known who he was before, they sure as hell did now.

The shuttle schedule board flashed, declaring the Umoran shuttle’s delay and a “Special Shuttle” to Seth departing in half an hour. Groans and cries of dismay echoed around him. Tired faces watched his people queue at the tubeway. A few angry faces stared boldly at him.

I’m trying to keep you all alive was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—say it. An admiral doesn’t make excuses. An admiral doesn’t explain. An admiral acts.

He went in search of Martoni, found him about the middle of the queue, half-hidden by a wide pylon.

“We have everyone’s baggage almost loaded,” Martoni said, motioning to Philip’s duffel. “Sir, I can take that.”

“I’ll keep it,” he told Martoni, then turned and almost mowed down his subbie. Whose name he’d yet to learn.

“Lieutenant,” he said, but loud shouts halted his intended question.

Two men advancing on the tubeway, and the shuttle crew standing at the check-in counter.

“Oh, God.” His subbie sounded exasperated. “Mr. Wonderful and his best friend.”

He glanced quickly at her.

“I had to ream them a new one earlier when they tried to take seats away from an elderly couple,” she explained hurriedly. “I probably should have shot them then.” Her hand snaked inside her jacket.

Philip touched her arm. “Leave that pleasure to the locals.”

Her answering sigh was filled with regret, but she didn’t refasten her jacket.

“But I paid my money!” the bearded man bellowed. “I have my goddamned rights.”

“Yeah!” His friend pounded the counter.

The two stripers broke into a trot.

Philip looked over his shoulder at Martoni. “Get your people loaded. Now.” Once the shuttle was away, the problem would solve itself.

Then a third person rose from one of the back rows of seats. A woman, waving her ticket in the air. “I paid my money, too!”

Some people looked away, but a lot watched her, watched the bearded man and his now red-faced friend.

A voice came over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, this shuttle is a priority military requisition. You will take your seats or you will be removed from the waiting area by our security.”

“Military?” the woman with the tickets called out. “This ain’t no military. It’s a lie. Somebody got paid off.”

More angry voices rose around her. One of the stripers pulled away from the ticket counter and headed for the woman, his Blue Surger now in his hands.

Damn it, this is wrong. It makes no sense.

Philip checked the queue. About half were on board. Martoni was still by the hatchlock, next to a decidedly nervous, short, slender woman in the shuttle company’s light green uniform, holding a databoard.

He nudged his subbie without taking his gaze off the commotion. “Go on.”

“With all due respect, Admiral…Hell, no.”

That warranted a narrow-eyed glance. She didn’t budge. And she had a Stinger in her hand, partly shielded from view by the pylon in front of her.

Another loud shout brought his gaze up.

“You wanna arrest me? Go right ahead!” The bearded man backed away from the counter, hands held high, but his tone and manner were clearly taunting the striper.

Philip saw security moving in from the right, then something else caught his eye. Movement almost behind him, near the tubeway at the far end of the waiting area.

He dropped his cane, drawing his Carver smoothly as five dark figures burst through the service doors next to the far hatchlock, and the high-pitched whine of lasers filled the air.

“Down! Get down!” Philip shouted, returning fire, very aware he was an open target in those few seconds, but he had no choice. There were women, children in the rows to his left.

Ignoring his leg, he dropped to his knees behind the pylon and fired again as people fled, screaming.

Something crashed in front of him. A long bench, upended, then another, forming a low barricade. His subbie scrambled toward him. “Guthrie!”

He launched himself sideways, well aware he might not be able to walk after this, then ducked behind the metal barrier she’d created. His subbie had her Stinger out, and was laying down a pattern of fire, keeping their attackers momentarily pinned behind the tubeway check-in counter.

He holstered his Carver with one hand, dragging his duffel closer with the other. He unlocked it in two quick moves, then yanked out the Norlack, took aim, and fired.

The counter exploded.

He fired again, dropping one of the black-clad figures, and swung to his right for another, but that one was already falling from the stream of fire from the Stinger next to him.

“Admiral Guthrie!”

He recognized Martoni’s voice. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a line of stripers surging down the corridor.

“I’ll cover you. Now!”

He looped the duffel’s strap over his shoulder. No way he was leaving his arsenal behind. “Subbie. On three. Ready?”

She was grinning, her eyes bright. She shoved her beret down the front of her shirt. “Ready.”

“One…two…three!” He lurched to his feet, fired once more at his attackers, then took off for the hatchway in his best painful-beyond-belief loping, limping run, laser fire whining around him….

ALSO BY LINNEA SINCLAIR

Finders Keepers

Gabriel’s Ghost

An Accidental Goddess

Games of Command

The Down Home Zombie Blues

SHADES OF DARK

A Bantam Book / August 2008

Published by Bantam Dell

A Division of Random House, Inc.

New York, New York

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2008 by Linnea Sinclair Bernadino

Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

eISBN: 978-0-553-90533-5

www.bantamdell.com

v1.0

SHADES OF DARK

A Bantam Book / August 2008

Published by Bantam Dell

A Division of Random House, Inc.

New York, New York

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2008 by Linnea Sinclair Bernadino

Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

eISBN: 978-0-553-90533-5

www.bantamdell.com

v1.0

CONTENTS

TITLE PAGE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

AUTHOR’S PLAYLIST

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PREVIEW OF HOPE’S FOLLY

ALSO BY LINNEA SINCLAIR

COPYRIGHT

SHADES OF DARK

A Bantam Book / August 2008

Published by Bantam Dell

A Division of Random House, Inc.

New York, New York

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2008 by Linnea Sinclair Bernadino

Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

eISBN: 978-0-553-90533-5

www.bantamdell.com

v1.0

Table of Contents

TITLE PAGE TITLE PAGE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

AUTHOR’S PLAYLIST AUTHOR’S PLAYLIST

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21 CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22 CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23 CHAPTER 23

ABOUT THE AUTHOR ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PREVIEW OF HOPE’S FOLLY PREVIEW OF HOPE’S FOLLY

ALSO BY LINNEA SINCLAIR ALSO BY LINNEA SINCLAIR

COPYRIGHT COPYRIGHT

www.blacktigerrecordings.com

www.linneasinclair.com

www.bantamdell.com www.bantamdell.com www.bantamdell.com