The Machines of Bellatrix

The Girls from Alcyone II

by Cary Caffrey

The Machines of Bellatrix. Published by Cary Caffrey. Copyright 2013 by Cary Caffrey. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information, visit Cary Caffrey at carycaffrey.com

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This novel is a work of fiction created by the author. All characters, events and organizations portrayed in this novel are works of the author's imagination.

Copyright 2013 by Cary Caffrey

carycaffrey.com

Cover art by Anne Pogoda

Published by Alcyone Studio, NB, Canada

For Gisele

CHAPTER ONE

Train à Grande Vitesse

July 14, 2348

Bellatrix

The TGV sped along, cruising at a pedestrian 782 kph. The noise and crowds of the city were quickly left behind. There was nothing before it now, nothing but open desert and the thousands of kilometers of empty track that stretched into the night.

There was little to see outside and even less to hear. Not even the rushing blast of transonic winds could penetrate the insulated passenger compartment. The only sounds in the cabin came from the labored breathing of Dr. Farrington's slumbering companion. The doctor didn't know the man's name, nor did he care to. He was far too preoccupied, too busy mulling over the course of recent events. Events that had led him to this godforsaken armpit of a planet.

Independents.

How Farrington had become involved with a group of rebels was beyond him. He never cared for politics and avoided such topics when possible. It was only his work that mattered.

Farrington cursed. The whole thing was academic. The facility on Scorpii was lost, and his work now in the hands of the Council for Trade and Finance. He was a wanted man. A fugitive. And he was still no closer to an answer.

He knew whose fault this was. It was Lady Hitomi Kimura. She was to blame. She should never have fired him from the project. Without him, Project Andraste would not exist. Not without his research. Not without his diligence. Without him, Andraste would still be a proposal sitting on some middle-manager's desk. And for this, for all his efforts, he'd been sacked. It was Hitomi's fault he'd been forced to continue his work elsewhere.

And it was Hitomi's fault he'd ever been found by the Independents.

Dr. Farrington sat a little straighter then. He tugged on the edge of his shirt and thrust his chin out. It mattered not. He would start again. Here, if he had to. There were always new investors. No one knew more about Hitomi's work than he. And this time it would be different. This time he would be in control.

Dr. Farrington had made certain of that.

Farrington dug deep into his coat pocket. His damp fingers coiled around the tiny object thrust there, if only to assure himself that it was still there and still safe. It hadn't been easy to smuggle off of Scorpii, but he had done what was necessary, and now it was his and his alone. Farrington withdrew his prize. The tiny data-module was no more than two centimeters square, but it was crammed with vast petabytes of data, exact copies of the Primary Control Modules taken from seven girls captured on Alcyone. Now, all he needed was time. Time to study. Time to plan.

Farrington leaned against the window of the small cabin and looked out. Not that there was anything to see. Bellatrix had no moon to light their way. It was not a scenic planet. Flat and arid, the only landmarks of note were the squat scatterings of manufacturing centers that dotted the landscape, huge factory complexes surrounded by squalid ghettos that had sprung up to house the migrant working population.

People didn't come here for the sights, they came here to die.

But that suited Dr. Farrington just fine. No one would be searching for him here.

Farrington felt the slight shift in the cabin. He checked his wristwatch again. They would be slowing now as they made their approach into New Shēnzhèn. He reached for his bag. From here it would be a simple matter to lose himself in the crowds. He would find a quiet place to hole up, rest, and yes, work. Here he could finish his work without the nonsense of wars or rebellion to distract him. And when he was ready, he would name his price, he would—

"Excuse me, Dr. Farrington?"

Farrington gave a start and looked down to see the meaty hand that gripped his wrist. For the first time he took notice of his cabin companion. The man across from him slumbered soundly no more.

Farrington tried to pull his arm away, but the man held him fast. He realized the bulk he'd mistaken for fat wasn't fat at all. The man was on the large size, but he was powerfully built, barrel-chested and with thick strong arms. He had the stern look of a professional, one used to giving orders and having those orders followed.

Mercenaries.

"Let me go—release me!"

The mercenary considered the request. "As you wish." He relaxed his grip, causing the doctor to tumble back against his seat. Farrington's eyes shot quickly to the cabin door.

"You are free to go," the mercenary said. "I didn't come all this way to hold you hostage, but fleeing won't serve either of us."

Breathing heavily from the exertion, Farrington glared back at him. There was only one thought in his head—flight. Farrington lunged for the cabin door and threw it open—only to bounce off the person standing in the doorway, a steel wall blocking his way.

He fell back on his seat and stared up at the person who had prevented his escape. A woman! Not even a woman. A girl, a teenager of no more than seventeen and half his size. The long black coat she wore came down nearly to the floor, hiding most of her slight figure. Dark lenses shielded her eyes. She turned slowly toward him and stared down, her face cold, thoroughly devoid of emotion.

Farrington shuddered.

The mercenary waved her forward. "Come in, Victoria. Shut the door."

The girl obeyed. She stood with her back to the door, hands at her side, feet apart. Farrington wasn't going anywhere.

Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, Farrington dabbed the sweat from his forehead. "I-I thought you said I was free to go."

"Yes, but not before returning what you stole from us."

Farrington's hands shot to his pocket. He pawed at the lining, searching, digging deep, but his treasure, the data-module, was gone.

"I'll take that, Victoria," the mercenary said.

Farrington watched as the girl handed the prize over to him. All his efforts, all this time, it was all for naught. He had lost. Without the stolen module, he was nothing. This mercenary should have killed him. It would have been more merciful.

"Oh, do cheer up, Doctor. It's not as bad as all that. You must know we couldn't let you leave with such a prize."

"Who—who are you?"

"My name is Tarsus. Major Karl Tarsus. My companion's name is Victoria. Say hello, Victoria."

The girl turned her head toward him as if on a swivel. She looked down at him, but said nothing. Farrington felt himself recoil despite himself.

"What…what will you do with me?" Dr. Farrington asked; he feared he already knew the answer.

"That, my good doctor, is up to you. You have two choices, as I see it. You can walk out that door—yes, I'll let you go, I assure you. Ah, but what waits for you out there? That is the question. Have you considered that? I think you'll find the realities quite harsh. You're a wanted man now, Doctor. A terrorist. I'm afraid the authorities are well aware of you and the role you played on Scorpii. They have prepared quite the reception for you. But, fear not. It wasn't chance that got you this far, Doctor, I assure you. You're only here because we wanted you here."

Farrington noticed his mouth had drooped open and closed it. "Here? On Bellatrix? Why…?"

"You didn't think the facility on Scorpii was the only one, did you? No, I can see you didn't give it much thought. Well, then I'll tell you. Scorpii was nothing. This…" Tarsus gestured up around him, his palms open, arms wide. "This is where it began. And this is where it will end. With your help."

"You have the data-module. You don't need me."

"Don't be so modest. If all we wanted was the data, we could have taken that when we spotted you at the transfer station on Hadar. You are one of the few remaining people to have worked directly with Lady Hitomi Kimura. That experience is of value to us. And perhaps we have something of value to offer you."

"I want nothing to do with you." It was a mistake. Farrington knew it. Yet he couldn't stop himself from asking. "What could you possibly offer me?"

"Security, for one. Your life, for another," Tarsus added, leering meaningfully. "Oh—and perhaps we have one other thing to offer you. The one thing you need more than anything."

Farrington caught the gleam in Tarsus's eye and took the bait. "What?"

Tarsus glanced to the girl by the door. "Why, Doctor, we have volunteers, of course."

Volunteers…?

Farrington stared up at her as if for the first time. He understood then and felt the fool for missing it. "She's one of them, isn't she?"

"You mean from Alcyone? No, Doctor, Victoria is something entirely different. Isn't that true, Victoria? Why don't you show the doctor?"

The girl removed her glasses to look upon the doctor with her own eyes. No, not eyes at all, Farrington saw. Bionics. Constructs. He spotted the artificial irises, the lenses shifting to focus on him, scanning him. Little attempt had been made to make them look human or natural. This was pure mechanical efficiency. Farrington rose. His fear vanished in an instant, replaced by scientific curiosity.

Without thinking, he reached out, held her face, turning her head back and forth. Her skin was cold to the touch. But when he moved to examine her eyes, her gloved hand came up to halt his probing fingers. The hand that gripped him felt hard, unyielding.

He looked at the glove and then to Tarsus. "May I?"

Tarsus nodded.

Farrington peeled back the glove and stared at the artificial limb. Plasteel skin stretched all the way up to the girl's elbow, where it melded to the reddened flesh of her natural arm. The bionics were advanced, efficient. But this was a blunt instrument, ugly, simple and crude. This was not the work of Lady Hitomi Kimura. Farrington had seen this work before.

"Wolsey."

"I'm impressed," Tarsus said. "You recognize the man's work."

Farrington's lips formed into a sneer. "The man wouldn't know a micro-dermatome if it slapped him in the face."

Tarsus chuckled.

Dr. Wolsey had worked under him during his time at Kimura Corp—using most of his time to plot against him, apparently. It had been Wolsey's report that had seen Farrington dismissed; the student betrays the mentor.

Farrington looked again at the girl. It was clear they'd made advances, solved problems that had eluded him. The jealousy burned within him.

"How—how did you solve the issue with the Recombinant?" Farrington asked.

"I promise you, I have absolutely no idea. Perhaps you'd like to ask Dr. Wolsey in person?"

"In person? He's here, then."

"Has been from the beginning. Before me."

Tarsus tossed the prized module back to him. Farrington promptly dropped it and scrambled to pick it up, clutching it to his chest.

"The key is now in your hands, Doctor. It's time to finish what you started. What say you?"

Finish? Was it possible?

His eyes shot again to the cabin door. The logical part of him knew he should walk out, run as fast as he could. But there was another part, a vengeful petty part, and it wanted something else entirely. It wanted revenge.

"I want to see this facility, Major Tarsus. I want to see it all."

CHAPTER TWO

Merchantman

"Blast!" Sigrid said.

Twisting, turning, arms spread out or tucked in, nothing she did made any difference. With nothing to grab hold of, no resistance, nothing could stop her as she tumbled out of control, moving deeper and deeper into the blackness of space.

Stars spun by her fractured visor. Every point-four-six seconds she saw the blinding binary stars of Alpha Phoenicis flash past. It was only Sigrid's enhanced physiology, the nano-swarms that surged within her system, that halted the rise of bile in her throat and kept her from losing consciousness completely. But she had greater worries to consider.

Debris from the explosion had penetrated her suit and damaged her oxygen feed. The mixture was far too rich. Her bionic systems did their mechanical best to compensate, but they were taxed at their limits. Worse, a chunk of the Merchantmen's ship had struck her, nearly cracking open her helmet. A quick calculation determined that the weakened faceplate would soon succumb to the pressure and shatter in less than nine minutes.

Nine minutes to live.

This in itself did not depress Sigrid or bring on any sense of panic. She was too busy cursing, punishing herself. She'd missed all the signs, ignored the warnings of the captain, and allowed all four of their ships to walk willingly into the trap. The traders had never intended to deliver their supplies. Sigrid doubted they ever had them. They were liars. Thieves.

And yet she hadn't seen it.

Another wave of debris blew past her; twisted bits of metal mingled with body parts, all that was left of the Merchantman.

Small mercies, Sigrid thought.

* * *

September 16, 2348 (Forty-Eight Hours Earlier)

Alpha Phoenicis Space

White light gave way to the blackness of space. Like snow melting away, large white droplets scattered, forming into billions of individual stars. Her warp jump complete, the Ōmi Maru swung around, blasting toward the heart of the Alpha Phoenicis system and her destination, the Konoe Transfer Station, still hundreds of thousands of kilometers away.

The captain of the tramp freighter leaned back in his chair, his fingers kneading the wiry mess of stubble he called a beard.

"Do you honestly think we'll find what we're looking for here," Captain Trybuszkiewicz said; it was more a statement than a question.

Honestly? Sigrid wondered. I have no idea.

All she knew was their new homeworld was in desperate need of supplies. Not just food and materiel for shelters, but machines and equipment, parts for vital defensives systems, everything they would need to make their new homeworld self-sufficient.

Frankly, Sigrid didn't have a clue what she was doing here or why Lady Hitomi had assigned her this task. Sigrid could think of any number of people more qualified. Karen seemed the obvious choice. The ex-Kimuran orientations officer had a knack for understanding all the nuances of trade regulations; things that repeatedly escaped Sigrid. Of course, no one was more qualified to lead a trade mission than Lady Hitomi herself, though it was far too dangerous to allow her to do so, for obvious reasons.

Lady Hitomi was now an enemy combatant as far as the Council was concerned. Sigrid was no less a target. The authorities had not taken kindly to her actions at Scorpii or her destruction of the Warp Relay. For her actions, the Council had placed a bounty the size of a small planet on both of them.

They were wanted, barred from trading with anyone from the Merchants Guild. This left a very thin list of willing trading partners, with even fewer legitimate options open to them.

And so it had been decided. Sigrid would take their four lone transports—four stolen Kimuran freighters crewed by expats and defectors from Aquarii, men and women thoroughly loyal to Lady Hitomi Kimura. Her destination: an outpost far outside of Council-controlled space, long abandoned by the Federation. Here, with luck, she could make contact with the only persons left willing to trade.

The Merchantmen.

These brokers of goods were not aligned with the Merchants Guild or with the Federation of Corporate Enterprises. They considered such stilted bureaucracies an annoyance, an impediment to true free trade.

"Black marketeers," Captain Trybuszkiewicz said. "You should not trust these men, Ms. Novak."

Sigrid agreed. "I'm not sure we have much choice, Captain."

"With all due respect, the smartest course of action is to go in, take what you need, and leave. If you happen to injure a few along the way, I'm sure no one will mind."

"Steal?" Sigrid asked. She found it hard to believe the captain would advocate such a plan.

The captain favored her with a knowing look. "Anything they have to sell is already stolen. Besides, when one considers the sums they will demand of us… Now that is thievery."

Sigrid wondered at the older man. She rather liked Captain Trybuszkiewicz, even if pronouncing his name left her tongue twisted and numb. He hadn't always been a freighter captain. In fact, he'd been a commodore in the Kimuran Naval Forces, commanded an entire cruiser division of his own. But all that had changed when the Council had orchestrated the coup against Lady Hitomi. They had intervened in her affairs, taken her company, her world. Captain Trybuszkiewicz had been one of the first to defect and join with her. It had taken little effort to convince his own crews to follow. These same men and women now crewed the four aging transport ships in service to New Alcyone. Their devotion and dedication to Lady Hitomi amazed Sigrid. Only their professionalism and attention to duty impressed her more.

"You don't like them," Sigrid said. "These Merchantmen."

"At my age there are few people I like. Fewer that I trust. I trust only that these people are not worth the spit I use to polish my boots. You must be mindful of them and always keep your hands on your purse."

"I don't have a purse." It was true. Sigrid had never carried a purse or a handbag.

The captain smiled.

"We're approaching the transfer station," the helmsman reported.

Captain Trybuszkiewicz nodded. "Slow to 42,000 kph. Signal the dockmaster. And don't let me hear any nonsense about traffic delays. I want priority docking."

"Aye, sir."

Sigrid moved toward the forward view port, eager to catch her first view of Konoe Station. The transfer station was much smaller than Vincenze, much simpler in its design. It didn't appear much larger than the orbital lift platforms in Panama. Few ships were in orbit. The small outpost appeared a cold and friendless place, a dull metallic disc drifting alone in the barren wastes of deep space.

"What on Earth are those?" Sigrid asked. She spied several vehicles moving quickly amongst the sparse traffic. Too small and too fast to be pilot ships or tugs, they danced in and around the waiting ships, the flares from their thrusters making them look like fireflies in the dark.

"Are they service vehicles?"

The captain laughed, his broad shoulders shaking, causing him to wheeze and then cough. "You'll find no service vehicles at Konoe Station, Ms. Novak. These things—they are the toys of children, boys."

"Joy riders," Andrzej Topa explained; he was the ship’s chief engineer. "Troublemakers and layabouts. They take old maneuvering thrusters—engines, anything—strap seats on them, blast themselves to oblivion… Menace to navigation, if you ask me."

Sigrid looked closer, her eyes wide in disbelief. "You have got to be kidding me."

But he wasn't. Sigrid zoomed in with her optical module and scanned the speeding vehicles more closely. The chief was correct. She couldn't believe it; she'd never seen anything like it. These joy riders were insane. The vehicles appeared as nothing more than acceleration couches strapped to rocket motors. The pilots wore only pressure suits with no other protection against the elements. They seemed to be racing, performing laps around the station, using ships as turning markers. It looked insanely dangerous.

Sigrid was desperate to give it a try. "They look marvelous."

"Death traps," the captain said.

"I don't know," Sigrid said wistfully, twirling a lock of hair about her fingers. "I think they look like fun. They remind me of those old rockets men would ride on back in the olden days. Those weren't much more involved than these."

Sigrid remembered reading about such things: huge, hulking rockets packed with unstable propellant; engines welded together with bits of tubing and piping; the pilots riding on top with little more than a tin-plated fairing between them and the cold realities of space.

"Exactly," the captain reiterated. "Death traps."

The chief nudged Sigrid, directing her attention to another ship moving into a berth off their port beam. She was a freighter, but far grander than the likes of the Ōmi Maru or her sister ships. She looked close to one hundred and fifty meters long, roughly the same size and tonnage as their ship. But she had a stately flair to her, her thrusters painted in bright green and gold, her long hull featuring distinctive red piping. She sported several cannon mounts along her starboard side; Sigrid knew they would be of little use in a real firefight—probably more for show as a deterrent, never intended to be used in actual fighting. Sigrid scanned her markings; she registered as the Merchantman.

"Our contact," the chief engineer said. "Right on time."

"Dockmaster says we're cleared for approach."

The captain leaned back, pulling his cap down over his eyes. "Good. Wake me when we arrive."

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Sigrid said.

She was standing in the airlock with the captain, the chief and the ship's three crew—the entire crew complement of the Ōmi Maru. The Kimuran officers had changed from their usual uniforms and now wore the rough workmen's clothes familiar to tramp freighter crews. Sigrid had done likewise. She sported a heavy wool skirt and a sweater with a high collar rolled over and down. It was hot and itched, and the knitting was already unfurling in several spots.

"You look perfect, Ms. Novak," the captain said. "I fear our normal accoutrements might attract the wrong kind of attention, but you look like a true mariner."

"Don't worry," the chief said. "No one will look at you twice here."

The captain scratched his beard; Sigrid caught his eyes on her as he scrutinized her attire. They had taken great effort to dress her as them. Her long blond hair was braided and tucked beneath a too-large knitted cap. The bulky sweater did a reasonable job at disguising her small but powerful figure, making her appear shorter than her five foot one-point-five inches, if that were possible. But there was no getting around the fact that Sigrid would always stand out in a crowd. The exact nature of the alterations to her physiology was a closely guarded secret; her array of bionic enhancements even more of a mystery. Whether Sigrid would ever realize it or not, she was special and she would never pass as normal.

The chief lifted his cap and scratched his forehead. "Well, the other freighter crews might want to buy you a round, but I don't think you'll raise any suspicions. Maybe try not to stand so straight. Slouch your shoulders a bit. There that's it. Maybe if we take your hair…"

"Enough!" Captain Trybuszkiewicz shouted. "We go."

Without further discussion, the captain hit the switch opening the airlock.

Unlike Vincenze, there was no security on the docking platform waiting to greet them. In fact, there was no one in sight at all. Trash and debris littered the docking ring. Someone had left a series of incoherent scrawlings painted on the walls and ceiling, and the overhead lighting flickered in an annoying fashion, blinking out its need for repair.

"What happened here?" Sigrid asked.

"Independents," the captain said; it was clear he did not approve. "They wrested control of this station from the CTF years ago. Claimed the space for their own."

"They took over?"

The captain made a sniffing noise. "Before abandoning it. Revolutionaries seldom consider what will happen after their battles are over. They had no plan to govern this place. Don't misunderstand, I have no love of the Council, but at least they know how to change a light fixture. With the Independents… well, you can see the result."

Sigrid took care stepping over a collapsed support beam. "Who governs the station, then? Who's in charge?"

"In charge? If you mean the law…? Well, we must be cautious."

The docking ring led out into a holding area. This seemed to be a warehouse of some sort, the entire length filled with what appeared to be abandoned intermodal shipping containers, some stacked, some overturned, rusting and covered with even more of the graffiti. Several of the containers had been cut open, turned into makeshift residences and storefronts. Sigrid spied several vendors emerging from the shelters as they approached, eager to showcase their wares to the newcomers.

Captain Trybuszkiewicz waved them all away, his officers manhandling some of the more persistent peddlers.

"They don't get many customers on this level. Come. The place we want is just up ahead."

The lift was out, leaving their group to climb three stories up a winding staircase to the station's main level. Sigrid reasoned the station's environmental systems must have been malfunctioning here. The narrow stairwell was damp, puddled, and rank with mold. And worse. Sigrid was glad to have the ability to ramp down her olfactory sensors. She didn't envy the crew of the Ōmi Maru having to endure the stench.

When they emerged on the main concourse, it was to the relief of all. Much brighter and busier than the lower levels, the main concourse practically bustled with activity—if she could call the slow shuffling of Konoe's residents 'bustling.'

Passersby kept their faces lowered, heads down, too interested in staring at their own bootlaces to take notice of Sigrid or her companions. She saw the reason for this. Groups of armed youths occupied each of the corners; young men and younger boys brandished assault weapons and rifles, patrolled, and kept watch on the crowds. Sigrid scanned the weapons—mostly antiques and not well cared for. Criminal. One pedestrian who strayed too close to one of the groups got a boot to the backside and ordered to move along. The boys seemed disappointed when the man obeyed. She could see they were looking for an excuse, any reason to demonstrate their dominance, their power.

"Local militia," the captain explained.

"Gangs," Chief Topa elaborated. "After the CTF pushed the Independents out, they didn't think to leave anyone in charge. Now these thugs control everything—if one can call it control."

A scattering of brightly lit signs added minimal color to the depressing surroundings. Electronic placards and storefronts announced a variety of services: asteroid prospecting, claims services, weaponsmiths, and of course, the flesh traders were everywhere. Their destination was up ahead. Neon flashed like a beacon in the gloom. Sigrid heard the low throb of music sounding from deep inside the structure.

"A gentlemen's club?" Sigrid asked skeptically.

Captain Trybuszkiewicz held the door and ushered them inside. "The location is of our contact's choosing—though I'd hardly call these men gentlemen."

Sigrid had seen such places before and thought she was prepared, but this place was nothing like the Paradise on Gliese. It was neither raucous nor festive, and no host rushed to greet them. The girls and boys that worked the room were younger than she: weary, battered, drained of life and hope. It sickened her to think that men thought to profit from their misery. Perhaps she would have words with the management…

The captain must have sensed her anger and put a reassuring hand on her arm. "We're here for a purpose, Ms. Novak."

Sigrid forced herself to unclench her fists. "Of course, sir."

He was right. Their mission was of vital importance. Her friends were relying on her.

Sigrid scanned the room. The man they sought was here, this trader, leader of the Merchantmen. He occupied a table on a raised platform to the rear overlooking the club. He was fat; rolls of pudgy flesh billowed out between the folds of his trousers and his shirt. The vile cologne he wore threatened to overwhelm her sensors from across the room. Worse odors lingered. Two girls sat to either side of him, barely aware of their surroundings. Drugged, Sigrid knew. The morphgesic cocktail in their blood stream registered heavily in her PCM. It was a miracle the girls were conscious. Tired eyes looked up at her as she approached, suspicious, leery, their thin hands clinging to the fat man at their side and the coin he promised.

Sigrid was far more interested in the four men who stood close by. They wore their sidearms in full view, their fingers never far from the triggers.

"Corbin Price," the captain said, approaching the table.

The fat man gestured to the open seats and signaled for his men to stand down. "Captain Trybuszkiewicz, I presume. You're more punctual than most."

The captain spread his hands wide in greeting. "We are eager to conduct our business. Our client expects us to return without delay."

"Not in so much a hurry to share a drink, I trust."

Corbin Price snapped two pudgy fingers, signaling over a server. The rail-thin girl, no older than fifteen, leaned over, her flimsy garment giving the trader a generous view of her wan flesh, much to his delight. Sigrid felt her fists clenching, her nails digging into the palms of her hands.

Corbin Price retrieved one of the little glasses. "A little lubricant to smooth negotiations?"

"Negotiations?" Sigrid blurted. "We have already agreed to your fees, Mr. Price. Do you wish to sell to us or not?"

Corbin Price chuckled, raising his glass to her. "Of course. I did not mean to imply any retractions on my part. I simply thought I may have other things you might find of interest. We have both journeyed far to get here. Might as well make the most of our meeting."

Captain Trybuszkiewicz took one of the offered glasses from the tray, downing the amber liquid in one gulp. With all eyes on her, Sigrid realized she was to take one too, perhaps part of some social ritual. The contents registered as tequila; the black worm seemed an odd thing, but her database confirmed that this was done. After a cautious sniff, she downed the shot, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. Her eyes never wavered from the fat trader across the table.

"You'll have to forgive my grandniece, Mr. Price," the captain said with a firm look to Sigrid. "She is new to the life of a tramp trader. This is her first journey with us. I thought this meeting might prove educational."

"Of course. Then, Ms.…"

"Peters," Sigrid said.

"Ah, Ms. Peters," Corbin Price said graciously. "Your uncle must have informed you, trade is a fluid matter. Many new opportunities have arisen since our last communication. New items have come into my possession. One never knows what one might find unless one asks."

"I have been given certain leeway to negotiate any item of interest," Captain Trybuszkiewicz said. "Perhaps if you show me…"

Corbin Price reached down, retrieved a data-pad from the folds of his coat, and tossed it across the table. Sigrid saw the screen and nearly gasped. The manifest advertised two industrial manufacturing platforms. These absolutely massive orbital facilities were self-contained factories on a grand scale. Capable of processing raw ore and minerals, they could be programmed to manufacture any number of things: building materials, engine parts, even ship components—parts enough to build an entire fleet. One of the platforms alone was worth twelve times the price of all the goods they were scheduled to pick up. Two would be worth more than Sigrid's life contract had been to Kimura Corp.

Machines like this were the heart of any terraforming effort. Acquiring even one of the platforms could mean all the difference for their struggling colony. Yet the captain seemed unimpressed by the offering.

Sigrid felt the elbow in her side and closed her mouth.

"I'm not sure what you think we can do with these…"

Corbin Price spread his fat hands wide. "Why, any number of things, I should imagine."

Any number of things, indeed, Sigrid thought.

"Even if my client was interested," the captain said. "I would have to contact them. This is well beyond my realm to negotiate."

Sigrid knew this was true. As vast as Lady Hitomi's wealth had been, it had taken nearly all her holdings, all her favors and negotiating skills to get them this far. There was little left in her mistress's accounts for such extravagances.

Corbin Price bowed his head, conceding the expense. "Perhaps there are other things you can offer. We Merchantmen trade in all goods and services."

The captain helped himself to another of the offered tequilas. "Goods? Our holds are empty, Mr. Price, awaiting delivery from you. As for services, I'm not sure what you mean."

"There is no need to be coy, Captain. It serves neither of us. Not when I have something you so desperately need, and you have something that would be of tremendous value to me. I see no reason why we cannot come to an arrangement."

The trader's demeanor changed in an instant. He sat up, the easy, jovial expression gone as his eyes fixed firmly on Sigrid.

"I did not get to this position by being ignorant, Captain. And I wouldn't be much of a trader if I did not anticipate my clients' needs. You are not simple merchant sailors. You are Kimura. Now—don't be alarmed—I am not here to make threats. I'm simply pointing out what needs to be said. You are Kimura—ex-Kimura. I know your client well, and I know your needs. And I know you could very much use these. Let’s not pretend otherwise. Instead, let us figure out how we both might prosper from this situation."

He was right, and Sigrid knew it. Their attempt at ruse had been foolish. The trader knew exactly who they were and what she was. Strangely, she felt relieved. And she desperately wanted those platforms.

"And what do we have to trade?" Sigrid asked.

"Your services, for one, Ms. Peters. Yes, I know what you are. It's quite all right. I am very familiar with Lady Hitomi's work in genetics. Although, I must admit I did assume you would be…well, taller." The trader shifted his bulk, sitting forward. "Now, you must tell me. Is it true? Everything they say about you and your kind—the things you can do?"

Sigrid crossed her arms over her chest. "I couldn't possibly answer since I have no idea what they might have said."

"They say you destroyed the Lift Complex at Panama."

"Independents did that, Mr. Price. Not me."

"What about what occurred on Scorpii? I hear you took out an entire company of CTF Marines."

"It was a battalion. But no, they were too busy fighting the Independents to worry about me."

Corbin Price laughed heartily, giving his knee a good slap. "Well said, Ms. Peters. But you were there, all the same. And you did blow up the Relay. They say you can't be killed."

"I'm afraid someone has been having fun at your expense, Mr. Price."

"Granted, these things are always exaggerated. But I've learned to trust in the kernels of truth buried inside. I suspect you are being modest, Ms. Peters. The truth probably lies somewhere in between."

Sigrid was eager to turn the conversation away from her, back to the industrial machines. "Exactly what services would you have me perform?"

The captain raised a hand in objection. "Let us not get ahead of ourselves. Ms. Peters' services are not negotiable."

"Wait," Sigrid said. "I would still like to know, Captain. Those manufacturing platforms would be invaluable to us."

"Invaluable!" Corbin Price said, steepling his fingers with interest. "Well, then…"

"Of value," Sigrid corrected, cursing herself; she knew little of negotiation tactics. "If it is something within my power, then perhaps we might have a deal."

"Sigrid…" the captain cautioned. "I do not think it wise—" But Sigrid nodded; it was all right.

Corbin Price bowed his head. "Very well. There is a man arriving at the station tomorrow. He has stolen from us. Services were rendered, but no payment received. His theft hurt our organization. We cannot allow his dishonesty to go unpunished—not good for business. I want to see that he is hurt in return."

Sigrid braced herself. All her life she had been trained as a mercenary, as a soldier, and yes, an assassin. Certainly, she had taken lives and done so without hesitation. But that had been her choice. Her duty. Until this moment she hadn't truly appreciated how it would feel to have someone ask her to kill another. What was it the mercenaries said? For coin and contract?

"He carries with him something we would find of value," Corbin Price said. "I wish you to retrieve it and return it to me."

"Retrieve? Then…then you don't want me to kill him?"

"Kill him? Heavens, no! We are Merchantmen, Ms. Peters, not mercenaries—apologies to present company. No, I don't require him harmed; although, should you leave him bruised, possibly maimed, no one will think worse of you. Retrieving the package will suffice."

Sigrid studied the fat merchant closely. The job was simple—too simple—but Corbin Price appeared quite earnest that she should perform this service for him. Her sensors revealed his heart rate was steady, his skin cool. If his blood pressure was elevated, it seemed more a result of his diet, his immense bulk and the excitement he felt at the prospect of a deal. But she could sense no duplicity. Her scans registered no lies.

"That's all, then? Retrieve a package?" Sigrid asked.

"That is all."

True.

"And bring it to you?"

"Yes. And bring it to me."

True.

"And you'll give us what we want?" Sigrid asked.

"If you perform this task to my satisfaction, I will be happy to deliver all that you desire."

Something still didn't fit. The man appeared sincere—sincere for a thief, a con artist. But there was more. Sigrid could sense it, but could not put her finger on it.

"What does he carry? What is so important?"

Corbin Price raised a finger. "That, my dear, is on a need-to-know basis. And there are some things you don't need to know."

"Any information you have on a job is information I need, Mr. Price. Let's call it a deal breaker."

"A deal breaker? Ah. Well then, if I have no choice—"

"No. You don't," Sigrid said. "Not if you want me to do this for you."

"All right. It is information he carries, nothing more. A client list, if you will. Information that could prove of great value. Losing it to me will not be looked on kindly by his superiors; something I imagine they will make him suffer greatly for—also of great value to me."

"Why me?" Sigrid asked. "Why not one of your own men?"

Corbin Price looked to the beefy men to his sides and chuckled. "Them? They serve a purpose, but I'm afraid they lack the finesse required for a job like this. The man I seek works for powerful men, Ms. Peters. Dangerous men. The men they answer to more so."

"Incorporated?" Sigrid asked. "Federates?" She was well aware of the power and reach of the Federation of Corporate Enterprises, even in a place such as this.

"Let's just say, they will not part easily with this information. As for my men, we are simple merchants and not much good as spies. You, on the other hand…"

"We will have to inspect the platforms," the captain said. "Ensure they are in working order."

Corbin Price raised his shoulders. "That may prove problematic. The platforms are far too valuable to risk transporting to a place such as this. You understand."

The captain flashed a knowing smile. "Of course."

"They are safe, I assure you. And in good condition. Not new, but functional. Nothing your skilled technicians can't take care of."

The captain chuckled, shaking his head. "They’re wrecks, aren't they? Salvage."

"They are what they are. But if you are not interested…"

Sigrid leaned forward. "If I do this for you, get you this information, you will give us the platforms? Both of them?"

"Both?" Corbin Price's smile broadened. "Why, Ms. Peters, complete this task for me and I will give you one of the machines. But…should this go well, I would be happy to discuss terms for the second."

* * *

Work loading the first of the supplies began first thing in the morning. Sigrid stood with Captain Trybuszkiewicz and the chief engineer overseeing the loading, all done by hand since the station's automated systems had long since failed. The supplies were trickling in, brought in in dribs and drabs by hired laborers; their slow shuffling serving to raise the captain's ire. It would take days to complete loading at this rate.

"I don't like this," the captain said. "I don't trust these Merchantmen. The supplies should be here, waiting. And this business with this man—what he carries. This is all too convenient."

Sigrid set the ninety-kilo cargo container onto the floating handcart to her side. "He's telling the truth, Captain. I know it. My scans—I can tell when a man is lying."

"But you can't rule it out," the captain said.

"It is not a precise science—it's not mind-reading, if that's what you mean."

"I might not have your abilities, Ms. Novak," the chief said. "But this business has a smell. It reeks. And we still haven't seen these platforms. Do we know if they even exist?"

That was something not even Sigrid could answer. She was certain Corbin Price was telling the truth. But truth about what? The existence of the industrial platforms, or the fact that they weren't here. There were too many variables. But if there was a chance—having even one of the machines could mean the difference of life and death for her friends, the survival of their colony. Was it not her duty to take that risk?

The captain dismissed the idea.

"It's too dangerous. I don't like it. We will have the supplies we came for…" He looked at the few scant sundries they'd loaded so far. "Soon, I hope. When we are done here, we will return to New Alcyone."

Sigrid grabbed hold of the captain's sleeve, tugging. "Captain, please…" The thought of losing the valuable machines was too much. "I know the risk."

"That is what I'm afraid of. The risk. This man—this merchantman—I don't trust him."

"I don't trust him either. But Captain, this is what I've been trained for. If there's even a chance…"

Captain Trybuszkiewicz looked into her wide eyes, sighed heavily, as one does when faced with an unwinnable battle. "Lady Hitomi warned me this might happen."

"Warned you!"

"She tasked me with watching over you, Ms. Novak. I am to keep you out of trouble. Should something happen to you… Well, a court martial may be the least of my concerns."

Sigrid squeezed his arm, a very unmilitarylike gesture. "I'll be careful, sir. I promise."

"We'll monitor your progress from the bridge. If you sense trouble, anything, you are to abort, return here immediately. We will lend what aid we can."

Sigrid was already running for her quarters, already playing the mission over in her mind.

"I'll call. I promise."

The captain watched her scurry off.

"She's very skilled," Chief Topa said. "She can take care of herself."

"But she's young, Andrzej. She doesn't yet know the lengths men will go to get what they want. This man, Corbin Price…" The captain's voice trailed off. He reached for his weapons belt, strapped his sidearm back on, and walked quickly from the docking platform.

"Keep watch of her progress from the bridge, my friend."

"Me? Where are you going?"

The captain called back over his shoulder. "I'm going to pay a visit to Mr. Price. I have more questions for him. We will have…a conversation."

* * *

The transport began offloading its passengers to the ventral docking platform a little after midday. Sigrid waited amongst the crowd of onlookers, mostly vendors and flesh traders who crowded forward, shouting offers to the passengers as they disembarked.

Sigrid remained to the rear, watching. She had the identity of the man she sought uploaded to her PCM. His name was Bernat Wereme, a retired financier with a criminal record nearly as impressive as hers. Guilty of numerous accounts of fraud, he had been stripped of his licenses and banned from work within the Federation of Corporate Enterprises. It explained how he had ended up out here dealing with the likes of the Merchantmen.

Sigrid spotted him in the crowd. He was tall and thin, an elderly gentleman well past his prime. A simple briefcase was the only luggage he carried tucked under a frail arm. And he was not alone. Sigrid spotted his escorts: three men, professionals by the looks of them. Mercenaries. They were armed, but that was to be expected. If her information was accurate, they would have to make their way across the station to the portside docking ring where the connecting transport to Vega IV awaited. Sigrid would need to relieve Mr. Wereme of the package he carried before that time.

It was all too easy. And that bothered Sigrid.

Keeping her distance, she followed the men as they made their way through the maze of intermodal containers that littered the lower levels. Sigrid wasn't the only one monitoring their progress. The armed gangs who roamed the station took note of all newcomers. They stopped many of the travelers, questioning, interrogating, but more often than not simply shaking them down for money.

The gangs kept their distance from her target; Bernat Wereme's mercenary escort made certain of that. There was easier prey to be had.

The thugs proved more of an obstacle than Wereme's armed guard, Sigrid realized. Tangling with one of the groups would surely bring others running. Whatever she did, it would have to be off the streets and out of sight.

Not for the first time, she found herself wishing Suko was there. It would make things much easier—if not more pleasant. But of course, Suko wasn't. She had remained on New Alcyone, her duties training the new girls of far more importance than a simple trade mission. Sigrid was on her own. She would have to make do.

And time was running out. Konoe was not so large; it was only a short walk to the transfer point. Whatever she did, she would have to act soon. The opportunity presented itself when Wereme pointed to one of the eating establishments on the main concourse. There was some discussion, but his escort relented, and the men went inside. Sigrid waited what she thought an appropriate amount of time and entered behind them.

Bernat Wereme sat at the counter, one of the cooks already doling out something that looked like soup and doing a fine job of spilling a generous amount onto the counter. The elderly financier seemed oblivious, digging greedily into the meal, lifting the spoon to his mouth in a trembling hand.

One of the mercenaries had already noticed her. She saw his hand fingering the handle of his sidearm; she logged the threat, continued her scan. The eatery was quite spacious, but she counted only fourteen patrons, six staff in attendance, all well dispersed—minimal risk of collateral damage.

Four shuriken dropped from her sleeve into the palms of her hands. She had already calculated the trajectory needed to take out each of the mercenaries quickly and silently when a completely different idea occurred to her. One that would solve two nagging problems.

Sigrid approached the banker, prepared for all hell to break loose. "Mr. Wereme?"

She was, however, not prepared for what happened next.

The elderly man looked up, more soup spilling from the shaking spoon. Bright, interested eyes greeted her. "Why, yes, my dear," he said, blinking at her in a friendly fashion. "What can I do for you?"

The tallest of the mercenaries stepped forward and placed a meaty hand on her chest, pushing her back. "All right, all right… Whatever you’re sellin', Mr. Wereme ain't buying."

"Selling?" Did they actually think she was one of the flesh traders, and dressed like this? It was obvious the mercenaries didn't think much of this 'little girl' or suspect she might carry the arsenal of destruction she did beneath the bulky sweater.

"Actually, I rather thought I might have something Mr. Wereme might be interested in," Sigrid said hopefully. "Some information."

The mercenary, still with his hand on her chest—somewhat liberally, Sigrid thought—pushed her back again, ushering her along. "That's enough, young lady. Mr. Wereme don't need no information. Now bugger off before I—"

He never finished the sentence. Sigrid had his arm by the wrist, twisting it up and around, bringing the much larger man crumpling to his knees. Too stunned to cry out, he stared up at her, eyes filled with bewilderment. He reached for his gun—gasped as he found only an empty holster. Sigrid flipped the gun over, grasped it by the barrel and used it as a bludgeon to bring down the second of the mercenaries as he charged in. The first man struggled in her grasp; a quick jerk broke his arm; neatly, it would heal without difficulty.

The elderly Mr. Bernat Wereme seemed to find this of great amusement and put his spoon down clattering on the counter, and clapped his hands in appreciation.

"Bravo! Oh, well done. Well done, I say."

The other mercenary wasn't amused by Sigrid's antics. He leaned toward her, but Sigrid held up a cautioning finger and wagged it back and forth before his face. Wisely, he placed his gun back in its holster, taking his seat at the counter, hands raised.

"Hey, I'm not even on salary."

"Good man."

Sigrid took the empty seat next to Bernat Wereme.

"Marvelous, dear," the banker said. "Well done. You must be here to rescue me. Did my sister send you?"

"Your sister?"

Sigrid studied the strange, thin man; he smiled, beaming at her.

"Carol said she'd send for me. She's such a dear. You know Carol, of course. She said I could ride on the ship. I do so love ships. They're marvelous, don't you think?"

"Uh-huh…" Sigrid nodded, words failing her. She scanned the older man; a look to the third mercenary confirmed what she was thinking, confirmed her scans—not that she needed the technology to tell her the obvious; Bernat Wereme suffered from dementia.

"Excuse me," Sigrid said to the mercenary. "I think there's been some kind of mistake. Where is it you're escorting Mr. Wereme?"

The mercenary shrugged. "It's not a secret. The retirement community on Vega IV. Assisted living."

Assisted…?

"If you don't mind me asking," Sigrid said. "Why the escort?"

Before the man responded, Sigrid knew the answer.

"He won't go on his own," the mercenary said. "He has a habit of running off. Isn't that right, Mr. Wereme?"

"What's that? Hmm…yes?"

Sigrid shook her head. "I'm sorry. I think there's been a terrible misunderstanding."

And then the realization hit Sigrid like a brick. There was a misunderstanding, and it was hers. "Shit."

Turning, running, Sigrid bolted for the door.

"Hey! Wait!" the mercenary called after her. "What's this all about?"

Sigrid almost forgot, turned, and grabbed the old man's briefcase. "Sorry—I'll be needing this. And sorry about your friends!"

In a flash she was gone, heading quickly back toward the gentlemen's club, leaving the startled mercenary to tend to his friends and the babbling Mr. Wereme to enjoy his soup.

She needed to have words with Corbin Price. Whoever Bernat Wereme was, he was harmless. His days of defrauding companies were long in the past. Was it possible he actually had something on his person worth all this trouble? Had he really cheated the Merchantmen? Wereme was hardly a threat, hardly worth sending someone of Sigrid's skill and training for. Why was this worth so much? She had to inform the captain.

"Captain Trybuszkiewicz," Sigrid signaled through her comlink. "Come in, Captain."

Nothing. Static.

"Ōmi Maru, this is Sigrid Novak. Are you there? Andrzej?"

Again, nothing. Sigrid felt the panic well within her and quickened her pace. Her search through Bernat's bag revealed little. Notebooks filled with illegible scribblings, empty meal wrappers, old tissues, a scarf. There was nothing here. Had she missed something? Perhaps on his person—perhaps him?

No. There was no package. The entire operation had been a ruse. But for what?

Sigrid stopped in her tracks. There was indeed something of value on the station? The bounty on her head was no secret, but Corbin Price had expressed little interest. If he was really after her, why not set a trap? Why send her on this goose chase—what purpose would it serve?

Sigrid felt the cold realization creep along her spine.

It was the ship. It was the Ōmi Maru, or rather, what it held. The freighter's navigation computer held one thing of tremendous value: the location of New Alcyone.

Sigrid turned back the other way, ran for the docking platform as fast as she could. If only there was time.

* * *

The docking platform lay abandoned, the laborers gone. And the Kimuran crews were missing. Unstowed cargo lay strewn about, dropped and forgotten. Sigrid called with her comlink again, but still there was no answer. Her heart sank as she entered the hold. Blast marks scorched the walls, evidence of the recent skirmish—a skirmish that Sigrid knew she was responsible for.

Sigrid leapt up the ladder and ran down the narrow corridor, her boots clanking on the metal deck plates.

"No…"

Andrzej Topa, the ship's chief engineer, lay slumped against the helm. Sigrid ran to him, sensed his pulse, the shallow breathing.

Alive. He was still alive. Sigrid lifted the man in her arms. His face was bruised, his shirt torn and bloodied where a shot had grazed him. But he was alive. Sigrid popped a stimtab beneath his nose and gently rubbed his cheeks. The chief stirred in her arms and stared up at her, eyes struggling for focus.

"The captain," Sigrid said. "Where is he?"

Andrzej looked about, blinking, trying to remember. "Left. Told me to stay…to watch over you."

She could see the stimtab taking hold, the chief regaining his faculties. He saw Wereme's case by her side. "Is that…?"

"It's garbage," Sigrid said, kicking it aside. "Worthless. It was just an excuse to get me away."

Sigrid took him by the shoulders, holding him firmly. "Andrzej—the captain. Where did he go?"

The chief struggled to stand; Sigrid helped him. "He went…he went to see the trader. Price. But then, his men…came. There were too many. We tried to defend… They took the crew."

"Took them? You mean alive?"

"I don't know—I think. I'm not sure." More alert now, remembering, the chief's eyes shot to the navigations console. "Sigrid, they got the—"

"I know!" Sigrid had already checked the navigations computer log, verified the breach and confirmed her fears. They had stolen the data—downloaded the location of New Alcyone. Corbin Price had exactly what he'd come for. And Sigrid had delivered it to him, boxed and wrapped.

"We have to stop him," Sigrid said.

"Stop him? We don't even know where he's going."

Sigrid rose, walked to the helm, and punched up the forward navigational monitor. "Yes, we do."

There was little traffic in the space surrounding Konoe Station, fewer places to hide. There was no missing the single lumbering freighter, her bright colors garish against the black backdrop. Large and slow, she turned, her course taking her straight to the Warp Relay. Even without its transponder blinking out her identification code, Sigrid would know this ship; she was the Merchantman.

"We have to go after her," Sigrid said. "We can't let her escape through the Relay. If she does…" Sigrid didn't want to think about it.

The chief leaned heavily on the console beside her, verifying the information. The Merchantman was already 1,500 kilometers out, every second increasing that distance as she accelerated away, blasting toward the Warp Relay and escape.

Andrzej reached for the com. "I'll signal the other transports—get them to ward her off."

Sigrid moved to the helm and initiated the startup sequence for the engines, clearing their moorings. The chief stopped her, his hand on her shoulder. He checked the monitor and shook his head. "She's too far out. We'll never catch her. Even if we could, we have nothing to stop her with. We have no weapons."

"Sorry, Chief. That's where you're wrong."

* * *

"Has anyone ever told you you may be clinically insane?" the chief asked, helping Sigrid fasten the faceplate to her pressure suit.

Sigrid considered the question and was surprised at the answer. "I suppose I'd be lying if I said the subject never came up."

Sigrid zipped up the pressure suit. This was only her second time in space. She was grateful to have a suit that fit her this time, unlike the bulky, clumsy thing she'd worn during the action with the Agatsuma. Made to measure, her new suit permitted much greater mobility and featured harnesses and clips to accommodate her weapons and equipment.

Every light in the suit blinked green. She had pressure; she had air. She also had a plan.

"Help me with this."

Together, they slid the freshly stolen joy-rocket on a skid toward the cargo airlock. This one seemed a particularly nasty piece of engineering. The hybrid rocket motor had clearly been salvaged from a thruster pylon from a much larger vessel. Two meters wide and five long, it took up much of the space in the hold. A simple acceleration couch had been laser welded onto its fairing; her only controls were a throttle lever and a kill switch. Pitch and attack angles were handled by four maneuvering jets taken from an old EVA unit. Once launched, she knew it would have one basic maneuver—straight ahead.

"You don't have to do this," the chief said as Sigrid climbed into the chair.

"This is my fault, Chief. I've endangered the crew. I've put us all at risk."

"You're being a fool!"

"And you're wasting time," Sigrid argued back, angry at herself, at Corbin Price—at anyone she could think of.

"You don't even know if this contraption will work. Is it even fueled?"

Sigrid's sensors could scan on a number of levels. Chemical composition was one of them. The rocket motor was fueled and ready; although she didn't want to think too long as to its construction or its integrity. It could very easily explode when she ignited the mixture—her along with it.

"Only one way to find out. Now, unless you want to come with me, I suggest you go back to the bridge."

The chief frowned in a pronounced fashion, as if struggling but unable to come up with a decent retort. "Bring them back alive, Ms. Novak."

Sigrid felt the Ōmi Maru's engine's cut out as the freighter rotated 180º. Interfacing directly with the ship's computer, Sigrid began the depressurizing sequence. Lights flashed green in her HUD; Sigrid opened the outer door to the cargo hold.

The Merchantman was there, visible now, but so was the Warp Relay behind her. There might still be time. With the doors cleared, she switched off the ship’s artificial gravity, allowing the missile on which she sat to float free.

"Here goes nothing."

Sigrid ignited the fuel and squealed despite herself. The joy-rocket shot out of the hold, streaking toward her target, the Merchantman, accelerating to a nerve-rattling eight-point-two-six Gs. She looked at the throttle control in her hand; it was only at halfway.

Sigrid slowly pressed her thumb down, increasing the flow of the oxidizer. The leap in acceleration ripped the wind from her chest. Twelve-point-eight Gs, still accelerating. She squeezed her abdominal muscles tight, kept her breathing short. The acceleration registered, pressing her deeper into the couch, threatening to push her out the other side—the vibrations threatening to rip the entire chair off its frame. Worse, the heavy throttling seemed to initiate a starboard roll she couldn't bring under control.

Leta has got to try this, Sigrid thought, watching the stars whirling around her, then cursed herself. This was hardly the time for such thoughts.

With her focus squarely on the gleaming hull of the Merchantman, Sigrid did her best to ignore the spinning, whirling star field. She could see the three other Kimuran freighters in pursuit. They were closing on the larger freighter, veering to cut her off, but the transports did not have the weapons to dissuade her from her flight. Sigrid would have to make their case.

She was slowly narrowing the distance, gaining ground, but not fast enough. Already at the limit of her endurance, Sigrid pressed the throttle switch all the way home, braced for the crush of the extra Gs. Nothing happened. Sigrid pressed it again, but the only response was the sudden sputtering of the rocket motor, its fuel exhausted.

"Shit."

The maneuvering jets still had power, and she used them now to adjust her angle of attack, aiming for the top of the lumbering freighter. Eleven hundred meters—her trajectory was ballistic now, floating free, closing fast, but the Merchantman still blasted its way under full power, inching toward the Relay and escape. If her calculations were correct, she could still intercept the freighter; if she were wrong, she would float off into deep space.

There was nothing left for it. Sigrid braced and pushed, launching herself from the seat of her spent missile. She saw the flare of the Merchantman's turrets firing; her PCM picked up the ordnance aimed at her, too small and moving too fast for her optical module to pick up. The joy-rocket tore apart under the barrage of flechettes, but Sigrid kept on her ballistic path. The freighter was coming up fast now. Four hundred meters. Too fast. Red numerals flashed in her HUD, the distance counting down at an alarming rate. At her current velocity, impact would be fatal.

Arms spread wide, Sigrid fired her suit's maneuvering jets, expending her entire reserve of fuel in one desperate burst. Braking hard, she aimed as best she could for a 'glancing blow' across the Merchantman's hull. The sudden deceleration knocked the wind from her lungs. The jets sputtered, their fuel spent. It wasn't enough. She was almost on the ship now, braced for the impact. This would hurt.

Sigrid remembered little of the impact. Only the pain. Her right shoulder took the brunt of it and was completely numb. Her head had taken a good smacking against the hull, and she'd blacked out. Nano swarms surged to the injured areas, effecting repairs to the damaged tissues. Her PCM prepared and released concentrated doses of stimulants. Sigrid was instantly awake and alert. She'd pay for it later, but that mattered little now.

She was spinning now, tumbling head over heels, skidding down the length of the freighter's hull. She scanned frantically for handholds, reached out, arms outstretched desperately, missed, only to tumble helplessly back into space.

A grappling claw was clipped to the belt at her waist. Breathing hard, trying not to think about the freighter falling further and further away, Sigrid unslung the thin cord and attached the claw to the launcher. She aimed and fired. Using her PCM, Sigrid guided the claw's trajectory toward a beveled edge in the ship's hull. It hit, grabbing hold. Sensors embedded in the claw's teeth instantly analyzed the surface composition, creating and injecting a bonding agent strong enough to hold better than a metric ton, more than adequate for Sigrid's fifty-four-kilo frame.

The tether whirred, played out, first slowing her velocity then gently reeling her in. Steadily, it dragged her back toward the hull of the great freighter. Several indicators flashed yellow and red in her HUD. She'd sustained a concussion; her suit had been breached and was slowly leaking vital oxygen. But she was alive.

Now all she needed was to find a way in.

There was no 'quiet' way of gaining entrance to the freighter. Sigrid located a service hatch on the dorsal hull; it was a simple thing to interface with the crude lock, override its securities, and sever the safeties. The alarms made a terrible racket and brought crew running from all sections. But these men were not prepared for combat.

Shots from her high-caliber rounds echoed soundly in the narrow corridor; smoke wisped from the smoldering barrels of her twin 18 mm recoilless sidearms. Sigrid holstered the weapons, setting them back in their clips, and stepped carefully over the bodies of the merchant crewmen as she made her way deeper inside.

The designers of the Merchantman had kindly provided numerous signs to mark her way. Computer terminals were all too happy to dispense vital information—once she'd sliced the securities. The Kimuran crew was being held in a makeshift brig on C Deck, but she could find no sign of the captain or of Corbin Price. If they were even here.

There was no time to wonder. She had to disable the ship, and quickly. More bootsteps thundered toward her. These Merchantmen were not professional soldiers; a simple gas grenade plucked from her belt made quick work of the lumbering men.

A junction in the corridor held a ladder leading up and down extending to all decks. Bridge or engineering? Sigrid wondered. She might take control of the ship from the bridge, but there seemed little time for finesse in her operation. It was time for blunt action. Disable the engines; stop the Merchantman dead in her tracks.

Sigrid slid down the ladder two decks, landing softly on the floor below. The engineering section was visible ahead. She had but minutes to spare.

The corridor remained empty, the crew having learned to keep clear of her. But up ahead Sigrid's optical implant revealed a number of thermal signatures—men, waiting for her. Her electrical scans told of the heavy weapons they employed. It was a textbook defensive position, and they seemed perfectly prepared to wait for her to walk into their trap. Unlike the crew that had rushed to meet her in the airlock, Sigrid knew these men to be professionals. So the Merchantmen were employing mercenaries after all.

Her pressure suit did not permit the use of her cloak. She could not rely on stealth here. Sigrid thought to discard the suit, but she suspected she would need its protection before this scenario played out.

The ship's PA crackled. Sigrid heard the unmistakable voice of Corbin Price echoing in the corridor.

"Ms. Peters. There is no need for further violence. I have your captain, your crew. We will be through the Relay in moments. I have all that I came for. The information we carry will pay us handsomely. But I am quickly learning that you and your kind may well be worth more. It would be my pleasure to discuss this with you further. Perhaps we can still arrange a deal. Come to the bridge, and let's discuss this in a civilized fashion."

Sigrid cursed. She had learned her lesson; there could be no bargaining with the trader. She stepped toward the entrance of the engineering section—halted.

"I warn you, Ms. Peters. If you attempt to damage my ship further, you will only serve to kill your captain. Would you really allow that to happen? Is that something you could live with? Especially when there is no need? I still have something you want. You clearly have something to offer me. I see no reason why we cannot emerge from this alive and profitable. Those machines? They're nothing compared to what I have to offer. I have information—information you might find of immense interest. Names, Ms. Peters. I can give you names. Names of the men who would do you harm. I would even give you the names of the men who I was to sell the location of your home to. Isn't that of value to you, Ms. Peters?"

Sigrid listened to the fat man prattling on. Despite his offer, Sigrid had little intention of dealing with the man again. She'd learned her lesson. But all the while he talked, pontificated, reveled in the sound of his own voice, Sigrid was busy tracking his signal, routing it through the ship's communications. Despite what he had said, Corbin Price was not on the bridge; another lie she'd failed to detect. He was here, in engineering, cowering behind the remnants of his mercenary guard.

"Very well, Mr. Price," Sigrid said, standing, walking slowly forward. "Perhaps we do have something to discuss. But let us do so face to face."

Sigrid emerged into the engineering section. With her arms raised, she tossed her sidearms to the side, hands held above her head in surrender and submission. The lights in the section had been disabled, but it mattered not; Sigrid could see as easily in pitch black as she could in the light of day, albeit in a hazy monochrome grey.

"I know you're here, Mr. Price. The captain, too."

Banks of floodlights flashed on—aimed at her. Sigrid lifted a hand to shield her eyes while her optics made their adjustment. She stood in the middle of the wide room in plain view. Armed men watched her from fortified positions on the raised catwalks above. A turret had been set up near the main reactor, manned by a fire team of mercenary soldiers. They tracked her movements, the muzzle of the great gun swiveling, whirring to follow her. Sigrid logged each of the targets in her PCM, marked them in order of priority. She smiled inwardly as Corbin Price emerged from his position of hiding.

He pushed Captain Trybuszkiewicz in front of him, a gun pressed to his back, careful to keep the Kimuran officer between Sigrid and his fat figure.

"I'm very impressed, Ms. Peters. The rumors of your skill pale in comparison to the reality. If I had known, I never would have attempted this ruse. We might have saved each other a lot of trouble. That is my failing, and for that, I apologize."

"Agreed. Now, what are we going to do about it?"

The fat Merchantman furrowed his brow in concentration. "I would offer you a new proposal, if you will."

"I'm listening."

"I propose a service contract. Not binding. Terms would be negotiable. You would work for me and no one else for, say, a period of three years, with an option for two more. For that, I will return the stolen information and release your captain."

"A generous offer. And during that time I would, what, gather your cleaning, or perhaps act as escort to private functions?"

Corbin Price found this of great amusement and laughed jovially. "I'm sure I can find something more worthy of your talents. But do not mistake me, Ms. Peters. This offer will expire shortly, and its terms are non-negotiable."

"No," Sigrid said, surprising the trader. "It is negotiable. Here are my terms. Halt your vessel here. Captain Trybuszkiewicz and the crew go free; the location of New Alcyone must be cleared from your computer banks. Do this and I will perform one task for you."

"One task? Only one? I'm not sure if…"

"One, Mr. Price." Recalling the trader's own words, Sigrid added, "Should this go well—we can discuss terms for a second."

Corbin Price laughed, his hand holding his immense belly. "Very well, Ms. Peters. I think your proposal sounds like a bargain."

Sigrid could sense the man's confidence. He'd relaxed his stance and allowed more of his frame to be exposed as he talked. The mercenaries picked up on this change of events, as well, and relaxed their guard, their focus more on the conversation than on her. Even now, the soldiers were looking to Corbin Price for direction rather than taking notice of Sigrid and what she held in the palms of her hands.

She opened her hands now, held above her head. The action was one of submission; the reality quite different. Eight tiny pinhead grenades sprung forth from her outstretched palms—Sigrid's preferred mix of flashbang, concussion and fragmentation. The tiny explosives arched up and away, scattering to the sides of the engineering section, up onto the catwalks above. The three-second delay was all she needed; the eight explosions shattered the brief calm of the negotiation.

Men, parts of men, bits of shrapnel flew in all directions. Captain Trybuszkiewicz, seasoned soldier that he was, seized the moment of distraction and elbowed Corbin Price hard in the sternum, relieving him of his pistol and diving for cover.

The men manning the turret were left unharmed—too close to the captain for Sigrid to risk a grenade. They opened fire now, the fifty-caliber slugs piercing the air, ripping into the rear bulkheads.

But their target was long gone. The heavy turret could not track nearly fast enough. Sigrid was a blur, leaping, diving under its firing line, charging straight for the startled mercenaries. Three shuriken sprang forth from her fingers and sliced the air between them. One of the men screamed, a shrill, startled shout of pure fear. He ducked, too late; the star-shaped throwing knife caught him squarely in the throat. Sigrid was already on the survivors, directly in their midst. Her own weapons discarded, she leapt on the first of the soldiers, her booted heel on his neck, strangling him, pinning him back. She ripped the pistol from his grasp, firing into his chest, turning quickly, firing and dispatching the last.

Sigrid scanned the room quickly, infrared then thermal; eight mercenaries lay dead; four wounded, incapacitated. She sensed movement on the catwalk overhead—an injured mercenary reaching for a dropped weapon. Sigrid fired. All was quiet.

The entire fracas had taken but seconds.

Black smoke filled the room, alarms bleated, licks of flame marred the floor and walls. Captain Trybuszkiewicz knelt squarely on the back of Corbin Price. The fat merchant coughed, choking, wheezing for air. Sigrid retrieved her discarded pistols before making her way to him, staring down at his prostrate form.

"We—we had a deal!"

Sigrid pulled a set of plastic binders from her belt, fastened them to his wrists. "I learned from you, Mr. Price. I lied."

Roughly, she hauled the fat man toward the reactor chamber and fastened him securely to its shielded outer wall. "What—what are you doing? Wait!"

Sigrid gave a quick look to the captain. "Are you injured, sir?"

He shook his head, squinting, coughing, waving to clear the smoke. "Quite all right."

"Wait!" Corbin Price protested. "You—you can't leave me here. The machines—the industrial platforms. I can still get you those. I'm not lying. You must believe me. Please, Ms. Peters, we can make a deal!"

Sigrid retrieved another frag grenade from her belt, twisted the top, and reset the delay for five minutes before slapping it onto the reactor's outer wall.

"My name is Sigrid Novak."

* * *

Captain Trybuszkiewicz led Sigrid quickly back through the ship to the holding cell where the three captured crew of the Ōmi Maru were held. There was little resistance left. The surviving Merchantman crew hurriedly abandoned the doomed ship, wisely preferring escape to combat—something Sigrid knew she had to do, and quickly.

There were weapons enough lying about, and Sigrid made certain the Kimurans were armed before heading for the lifeboats. Her PCM fed her a persistent, if somewhat annoying reminder as to the time left before detonation. Sigrid went from berth to berth, desperately searching for one of the remaining lifeboats. She had to haul a frightened merchant crewman out of the only remaining pod before pushing the captain and Kimuran officers inside.

The captain held fast, his arm braced against the door frame. He saw what Sigrid saw. The lifeboat only held room for four.

"Get in," Captain Trybuszkiewicz commanded.

"Captain—"

"I'm an old man, Ms. Novak. Your time is not yet—"

There wasn't time. Sigrid grabbed the captain by his belt and collar, lifting the older man off his feet, ankles kicking in protest, and thrust him bodily into the pod. "I'm sorry, sir. But there's no time to discuss this."

"Ms. Novak! Sigrid—"

Sigrid slammed the release. The lifeboat's door crashed shut. She heard the series of thumps—pins holding the pod in place exploding free—then a pronounced bang as the lifeboat was ejected from the ship.

The numerals displayed in her HUD changed from amber to red. Ten seconds.

Shit.

Sprinting, Sigrid ran for the nearest airlock one deck down. She wasn't going to make it.

She heard the first explosion, felt the deck plates buckle under her, then a surge that sent her tumbling upward. The ship's gravity failed then, and she floated free, tumbling down the lengths of the corridor, banging her head solidly on a collapsed beam. She had just enough of a mind to close the visor on her helmet. The second explosion was far greater—the reactor breaching. She heard the thunderous roar beneath her, a rolling boil growing ever louder, then the shuddering surge of release. Metal groaned and tore like paper, shredding about her. The bulkhead and deck plates behind her broke apart, blowing anything not nailed down out into space, Sigrid along with it.

"Blast!" Sigrid said.

She was tumbling free at an incredible rate, end over end, twisting and turning, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. With nothing to grab hold of, no resistance, nothing could stop her as she tumbled out of control, moving deeper and deeper into the blackness of space. Stars spun by her fractured visor. Debris from the explosion had penetrated her suit, venting more oxygen, losing pressure. The splintered faceplate would not hold for long. Her PCM flashed the expected time of her suit failure in bright bold colors: eight minutes, fifty-eight-point-three seconds.

Nine minutes to live.

It was a fitting end to a failed mission. How was it possible she'd misread Corbin Price so badly? The captain had sensed his duplicity. The chief, too. Only Sigrid had missed it. Had she allowed the prospect of the industrial machines to cloud her mind, or had she simply grown so overconfident in her abilities that she thought it didn't matter?

She had nine minutes to think about it.

Seven minutes, eight-point-nine seconds, her PCM corrected.

Sigrid cursed.

Another wave of debris blew past her; twisted bits of metal mingled with body parts. At least she had stopped the Merchantman. The ship would not reach her next port, would not report the location of their hidden home. Her friends were safe. The captain and crew were safe.

Or were they?

Sigrid pondered that question. They were safe from the Merchantmen. She'd seen to that. But how many times had they been attacked now? How much energy, time and resources had their enemies expended, all for the chance to control them? How many more attempts would they be forced to endure?

No. Her friends were not safe. Her friends would never be safe. Men would always come for them.

Because they were not afraid of them.

It was then that Sigrid realized the simple truth and her greatest failure. Her enemies were not afraid of her. They did not fear her.

They would.

She made a promise then, to herself and to her sisters. No one would ever harm them again. For the simple fear of their own lives. This she would make certain of. This was her promise. And she would keep it.

If she could survive past the next…

Two minutes, six-point-nine seconds.

"Blast…"

Sigrid felt a lifeline snaking around her waist, coiling, tightening. Her forward trajectory changed as the line went taut, and she found herself rotating end over end in a gentle twenty-five-meter circle. She craned her neck, looking up. On the other end of the line was a figure in a stark, white EVA suit. Behind him floated the welcoming bulk of the Ōmi Maru.

The tether on which she'd been snared was hooked to a winch. The figure waved as he began to reel her in, their orbit around each other ever tightening.

She closed with the figure. A hand reached out and grabbed her arm, his faceplate pressed against hers. It was the chief—Chief Engineer Andrzej Topa.

"Your comlink seems to be malfunctioning, Ms. Novak."

Sigrid checked the system; she hadn't noticed during all her tumbling. Too out of breath, too dazed, too numb to respond, Sigrid nodded and gave the standard thumbs-up signal. This satisfied the chief, who smiled back at her.

"Good girl. Now let's get you home."

CHAPTER THREE

Harry Jones

September 23, 2348

Buenos Aires, Earth

Harry Jones waited patiently, staring at the elevator doors in front of him. Not for the first time he noted they were made of actual wood and hand carved. More examples of the largess of his fellow tenants. There were worse places to live. Harry had seen them. But then, Harry was one of the lucky ones, wasn't he. He never felt comfortable. Not here. Not in this place, with its obscene trappings. It was only because of his wife he'd agreed to live here. It was his gift to her. It made her happy.

The elevator doors parted, and Harry Jones stepped into the crowded car. He didn't bother to bid a polite hello to his fellow passengers. There was no need. They didn't see Harry. One look at his coat and his shoes was enough to let them know he was beneath their status. Harry Jones might have the lofty title of special attaché to the Council Chair for Trade and Finance, but in their eyes, he was a clerk, an office boy. Worse, he worked for a living.

When the elevator doors parted and Harry took his leave, it was to the relief of all. Harry didn't take this personally. This was Earth.

The door to his apartment was only a few steps from the lift, and Harry walked toward it. He spied the decorative lamp on the table in the hall and gave it a quick glance, nothing anyone might notice. But Harry saw what he needed. The light on the lamp—the lamp that never worked, the lamp that had never been repaired—was turned on.

Harry had visitors.

Without slowing, Harry passed his hand over the lock and let himself in. The lights were off, but he could see the silhouettes of the two figures waiting for him in the dark. One male, one female. They sat framed against the backdrop of the wide picture window behind them. Even without giving time for his eyes to adjust, Harry knew exactly who these two people were.

It had been fourteen years since they'd last spoken. Fourteen years since he'd seen them.

"It was unwise of you to come here," Harry Jones said; he said it without threat or emotion. It was a simple statement of fact.

The man and the woman were unmoved.

"You gave us little choice, Harry," the woman said. "You're not an easy man to reach these days."

Harry.

She had called him by his given name and not his alias of Smith—something that was discouraged within the Circle. Harry took it for what it was, an obvious and clumsy attempt at intimidation.

Ineffective.

His name was not a secret. Not here. But his association to this man and woman was; a secret he had guarded with his life. Fourteen years ago they had come to him, here in his apartment, just as they did now. They had made him a most interesting offer then, one Harry could not easily refuse. All they required was that he use his position as attaché to Randal Gillings to provide them with information. They wanted Harry to spy for them. And for that, Harry would be generously compensated, more than enough to ensure that his wife received the care she needed.

But it was not the money alone that had drawn Harry into the Circle.

Fourteen years ago, news of the work the Kimura Corporation was doing in genetic research had reached the Council. Far too interested in their own business dealings, too proud of their own triumphs and their massive accumulations of wealth, the Council had dismissed this news. But Harry had seen it for what it was. He knew what was at stake. He knew the world they lived in would soon be very, very different. Harry Jones knew exactly what he had to do and how careful he needed to be.

No one could ever know. Not the truth.

Much to his surprise, his work as a spy came naturally to him. Spying proved to be a simple thing, a simple matter of blending and blurring into the shadows. Few men had ever taken notice of him anyway. Women noticed him even less. Only his wife had ever found him of interest, and not even Harry could explain why. Harry Jones was little more than a secretary. He had no influence, no real power. He was utterly replaceable and even more forgettable. As far as the world was concerned, Harry Jones was only guilty of being dull at parties.

Taking his time, Harry hung his coat on the hanger by the door. He did this as much to give himself a moment to regain his composure as to place his damp garments neatly away in the vestibule closet.

This gave him just enough time to remind himself: this visit was not unexpected.

"We understand you're a busy man, Harry," the man said, breaking the silence, "but your continued absence from the Circle has made certain people anxious. Some of us are starting to question your commitment."

"And your motives," the woman, rail-thin and hawk-faced, beaked at his side.

It was true. He had been avoiding contact since the events of Scorpii, but not for the reasons they thought. He was tired. Tired of justifying his actions to small-minded men of limited vision. These men of the Circle, they wanted Hitomi's discovery for themselves. They thought it a fountain of youth. But they understood nothing about its true potential.

"What happened on Scorpii was unfortunate," Harry said, "but hardly unforeseen. I cautioned you. But it's not a complete disaster. All the materiel from Project Andraste is still secured on Scorpii. Not even the Council can retrieve it. Not as long as the Relay is out."

The woman shot a look to her colleague. "You were right. He doesn't know."

Harry remained deadpan. "Know? Know what?"

"You don't know, do you? It's been six weeks, Harry. How can you not know? The Warp Relay—the Relay at Scorpii! It's been repaired. The Council has seen to it. How they managed to persuade the Daedalus Corporation to effect repairs so quickly is a mystery—one we hoped you could shed some light on. But it appears you've been left out of the loop. How is that, Harry? Aren't you the inside man?"

Still Harry Jones did not answer.

Without invitation, the man helped himself to a whiskey—Harry's most prized and expensive Irish single malt. He poured two and handed one to Harry. "I'm afraid whatever assets you thought remained have long been removed. Strange that the Council did not think to tell you."

Harry took the offered drink, wincing after a careful sip. "Hardly. I'm nothing to them."

"Perhaps. And perhaps it was our mistake to let you…indulge yourself with your Independent friends. But, Harry, fomenting open rebellion? This is not what we asked of you."

"I rather think it precisely what you asked. You wanted greater influence with the Council, you have it. When the trouble began with the Independents, who did the Council turn to? You. You've become rich men—and women. This is no time to lose your nerve."

The woman rose to stand next to him. "The others might have a soft spot for you, Harry, but I do not. This dogged pursuit of Kimura—dabbling with Independents." She poked her finger into Harry's chest. "You were tasked with acquiring Kimura's technology. That is all. You assured us this would be done."

"And I did acquire it. The fact that the scientists you hired failed to properly interpret that technology is none of my business."

"But recruiting those Independents was your business. Your hand-picked company of revolutionaries failed to protect the facility." She whirled around, her hands waving in a grand gesture. "That the Council even knew of Scorpii makes us question your effectiveness. And your future."

"I think I've more than proven my worth."

The woman moved closer, close enough that Harry could feel her breath and smell the rank perfume she wore. "You're slipping, Harry. How did the Council find out? Where is the leak? It makes one wonder if the Council trusts you at all anymore. Without that trust, you're of little use to us."

Harry chose his next words carefully. "I still have their trust."

"If only that were true." The man unfolded a data-pad and tossed it down on the table next to them. "You've made the list, Harry."

Harry looked down. On the pad was a report with the bright bold letters of CTF Security emblazoned across the top. He saw names, his name, and the words threat and watch highlighted in brilliant amber.

Harry reached for the pad, but the man snatched it away and quickly folded the paper-thin device back into his pocket.

"You’re done, Harry."

For the first time in over fourteen years, Harry Jones was surprised. And surprise was not something Harry Jones was used to. Was it true? Had the Council detected his treason? How long had they suspected? It was his business to know. Everything. But somehow—somehow he'd missed this.

No. Something didn't add up.

"If the Council knows what I've done, then I would be in custody and we would not be having this conversation."

"Or perhaps the Council is hoping you'll lead them to us."

The man took a step toward him. "We can't take that chance, Harry. Your presence here is a liability. You've forced us to clean up your mess—at great expense. But don't worry. The Council will find no evidence. There will be no record, nothing to connect you to us. All that remains is you."

Slowly, the man put his empty glass down on the bar service. "The Circle has decided. You can't be allowed to stay on Earth. You will be leaving here tonight. There's a private launch waiting at Kwajalein Atoll. Buck up, man. It's not as bad as all that. You've had a good run, Harry, but it's over. It's time to go."

"Trust me," the woman said. "You should be glad we're the ones delivering this news. Other methods were discussed."

Harry didn't fail to miss the threat. "Where will I go?"

"Oh, Harry…" The woman gave his cheek a good pat. "Perhaps it's best you not know."

Harry put his hand to his forehead in a dramatic fashion, allowed himself to stagger back. "My wife. I-I can't…"

"Your wife will be cared for. We've seen to that. She'll continue to have the best medical attention. She'll live a long and…Well, there you have it. Come. We can't delay."

"No," Harry said abruptly. "I'll go. I'll go with you. Of course. But there are…things—I've made preparations."

Harry saw the hesitancy in the woman's hawkish eyes and wondered if she suspected.

But her compatriot conceded. "Take whatever time you need. But, Harry, make no mistake, if you're not on that transport, I can't promise…"

"I'll be there," Harry said. "Don't worry. If what you say is true—if the Council knows of my actions—there's nothing left for me here. I'll go with you."

"Good man."

* * *

Harry Jones exited his building, walked quickly to the waiting taxi, and punched in his destination on the map screen.

He didn't doubt what they had told him—about the Council being alerted to him, or their warning. It was only a matter of time. Only a fool would think otherwise. Still, he didn't think it would be so soon. There were only two possible conclusions. One, he'd slipped up somewhere, and the Council had discovered his treason. Two, and Harry thought this more likely, there was a spy in his midst. Someone close to him.

Curiously, that didn't disturb Harry. It intrigued him.

But the Circle had been wrong about one thing. One very important thing. And this made Harry smile. For Harry did know about the reactivation of the Scorpii Relay.

Not only did he know, Harry had been singularly instrumental in effecting its repairs. The assets lost on Scorpii were far too valuable to be left marooned for long. Acting on Randal Gillings behalf—without the chairman's knowledge—Harry had seen to the negotiations with the Daedalus Corporation personally. When the CTF Forces returned to Scorpii, Harry Jones had been there, in spirit if not in body, overseeing the capture of the surviving Independents. Most had been taken into custody. Some had escaped.

Harry had seen to that, too.

Not all of Project Andraste's assets had been retrieved by the Council, and not all personnel captured. It had taken most of his remaining resources, but Harry Jones had arranged for the retrieval of one very important asset.

Dr. Joseph Farrington.

Many bribes, and more threats, had made certain the good doctor found his way unerringly to Bellatrix. If all had gone to plan, Dr. Farrington was already in his possession.

The fact that the Circle remained unaware only confirmed his suspicion: the men of the Circle had reached the end of their usefulness. He had been right to distance himself. They were fools—old men and bureaucrats, drunk on their own delusions of power. Their continued partnership would only drag Harry down.

The Council's growing interest in him proved that. But if the Council was truly curious about him, if they were growing suspicious, then he would draw their attention away and give them a new target of interest. Something they couldn't possibly ignore.

The taxi made its final turn into the hospital parking lot and deposited him at the visitors' entrance. His wife would be waiting for him, as she had been, as she always would. Harry bypassed the nursing station; there was little purpose in investigating her status. It would remain unchanged.

Harry checked his watch as he entered the elevator. In a little less than four hours a lone suborbital transport would lift off from a small atoll in the Pacific. Its cargo, two wealthy businesspersons, would be left to wonder what had happened to Harry Jones and why he'd been foolish enough to remain behind.

"Poor Harry," they would say as they savored unconscionably priced brandies and marveled at their stock quotes. "He was a good man—useful in his day."

That transport would not reach its destination.

CHAPTER FOUR

New Alcyone

September 24, 2348

Pegasi Space

Sigrid leaned against the rail with her arms crossed, looking out the forward view port of the Ōmi Maru. The gas giant Circe loomed above her, but Sigrid's focus was on the much smaller blue orb below. Medea shone brilliantly tonight, her vast sweeping oceans beckoning a welcome. Of course, it was no longer called Medea. It was New Alcyone now, named so by all the girls. This was the place where they could finally be safe. It was their sanctuary. It was their home.

For Sigrid the sights of home brought little comfort. She had failed in her mission, and their supply situation was now critical. The men who pursued them were still out there, and they would have to be dealt with. She would have to deal with them. To wait was to invite disaster. Sigrid knew that now. She was done waiting. She would find these men. Find them, and kill them.

But how? And where?

The deck plates shook beneath her feet as the Ōmi Maru pierced the upper reaches of the atmosphere. The view ports glowed first orange, then yellow as licks of fire and flame danced over the glass.

"You seem troubled, Ms. Novak."

Sigrid turned. She hadn't noticed the captain standing at her side. He held two cups of tea, one for him, one for her. Sigrid declined; her eyes were fixed on the planet rushing up beneath them. Soon they would be on the ground, they would be home, and Sigrid would have to tell them.

"They don't know—they don't know we failed them. I failed them." She didn't think to mention the much darker thoughts that filled her head and the plan she was considering.

"Ms. Novak, one learns quickly as a mercenary, when you return home, with your ships intact, your crew alive…you have had a successful mission. You will come to appreciate that. In time."

"But, Captain Trybusz…" Sigrid's tongue stumbled yet again over the older man's name.

"Try-busz-kie-wicz." The captain enunciated each syllable for Sigrid's benefit. "I thought you girls we're genetically superior. How can you not pronounce such a good, simple Polish name?"

Sigrid caught his wink and knew the older man was teasing her again. "We're human, Captain. Just as you are. We're simply augmented, not superior."

The captain took a sip of his tea, facing her. "That, my dear, is something you will never convince me of. And you are far too young to have such worries. Tonight, you will arrive home, you will be with your friends. We can debate strategies tomorrow."

The captain was being kind, Sigrid could tell. Still, his words helped to loosen some of the stress. Perhaps he was right. Tomorrow. She would worry tomorrow.

The freighter pitched down sharply, shedding altitude and spiraling in a wide sweeping circle as she started her final approach. In the middle of that circle was their home, a small island surrounded on all sides by blue ocean. Buildings that appeared as mere specks only a moment ago grew larger as they closed the distance. Sigrid saw the habitats and storage facilities, the new Academy, the many small houses her sisters had claimed for their own. Their enclave had grown, even in the short time she'd been gone. But there was much work to do.

A simple landing platform had been built atop a bluff, barely large enough to accommodate their meager fleet. A single ship sat perched on the tarmac. She'd been left behind as a precaution, a last means of escape in the event the four freighters failed to return from their mission. It was the Morrigan.

At fifty meters, the Morrigan was small, even for a scout. Her slender, needlelike crew section thrust proudly forward, dwarfed by the hulking thruster fairings to her stern. She was a fast and scrappy ship, already proven in battle with several kills to her name.

And she was hers.

The platform beside the Morrigan was clear, and Captain Trybuszkiewicz brought the much larger Ōmi Maru softly in at her side, the nearly one-hundred-and-fifty-meter vessel settling easily on its eight landing columns.

Sigrid heard the power systems of the freighter grinding down as the captain ran the crew through the shutdown sequences. Data-pad in hand, she worked to call up the meager cargo manifest, scraps salvaged from Konoe, and began allocating the unloading duties to the crew. Captain Trybuszkiewicz would have none of this, though. As far as he was concerned, Sigrid had more than earned her share of R&R, and the captain insisted she get some rest. But he had one final order before dismissing her.

Captain Trybuszkiewicz tapped a finger behind his ear, about the same place where Sigrid's PCM access port resided; the small two-millimeter-wide port was the only physical means of accessing Sigrid's internal systems.

"I believe you have sustained some damage, Ms. Novak."

Sigrid reached back, her fingers tracing the tiny slot in her skull. "It's nothing, Captain. I'm fine. Really."

"Be that as it may, I have been charged with your care. I'm afraid I must insist that you report for treatment. Lady Hitomi would not forgive me should something happen to you."

Sigrid had indeed sustained damage. Her comlink still failed to function, and she'd suffered damage to some of her core systems—injuries sustained when the Merchantman's reactor breached. There was also the matter of the two concussions and her shoulder where it had been dislocated. But Sigrid had other, more pressing thoughts on her mind. And someone she needed to see.

"Really, Captain, I wouldn't worry—"

The captain fixed her with a stern look. "Ms. Novak, if you think yourself unable to find your way on your own, I can, and will, arrange for you to be escorted."

"No, that won't be necessary. I'll go, Captain."

The captain nodded, satisfied, and the stern look softened. "Rest now, Ms. Novak. There will be more work for you soon enough."

"Yes, Captain."

Sigrid bowed, turned and left. The captain watched her move off.

"You spoil her," Chief Engineer Andrzej Topa said.

"Of course. For one simple reason, Andrzej: neither of us would be standing here alive if it weren't for her. I doubt she even realizes."

* * *

Sigrid swung down the ladder and dropped to the ground next to the freighter. After the weeks breathing recycled air, the fragrant ocean breezes of New Alcyone were enough to overwhelm her sensors. But it served as a soothing reminder that she was home.

Coming down from the rise, she had her first glimpse of the progress made in her absence. The original collection of prefabricated structures had metamorphosed and blossomed into quite the village, all designed and arranged by Lady Hitomi Kimura, and built by the Kimuran crews so fiercely loyal to her.

Rows of small wooden buildings, with their raised floors and peaked, tiled roofs, encircled the compound. In the center stood the main habitat, the largest of all the structures. Sturdy wooden posts supported a tall and gently curving roof, the eaves extending far out to cover the wide veranda. Sigrid climbed the steps, slid the paper-thin door aside and stepped into the main hall. Lacquered bamboo flooring caught the light from the lanterns suspended from the bracketed ceiling, bathing the entire hall in a welcoming and warming glow.

Despite the lateness of the hour, her mistress was awake and waiting for her in her offices, though Sigrid was surprised to find Dr. Garrett there as well. Both women looked up at her as she entered. Sigrid had the uncomfortable impression she'd interrupted a conversation, and one about her.

Lady Hitomi wheeled her chair toward her. With great effort, she rose to stand before Sigrid, leaning heavily on her lacquered cane. Hitomi extended her free hand in greeting, and Sigrid took it, helping her to sit back down, though not before attempting an awkward curtsey, something she knew would make her mistress smile.

"Sigrid, goodness, you do look a fright." Hitomi brushed the locks of blond hair from her face to better inspect the numerous cuts and the bruising to her temple, now turned from purple to black.

"Mistress," Sigrid said, pulling the hair back over her face, more to hide the evidence of the failure of her mission than her injuries.

"Do you mind if I take a look?" Dr. Garrett said; Sigrid saw the data-uplink in her hand as the doctor stepped toward her. "I'm afraid I'll have to do this the old-fashioned way—what with your communications module being out."

"Oh, of course." Sigrid pulled her hair out of the way, heard the snick, and felt the familiar pinch as Dr. Garrett inserted the device.

"This will only take a moment, Sigrid."

Dr. Garrett affixed a set of reading glasses to her nose and took a quick look at the data-pad in her hand. She tapped it twice and swiped the screen clear. Sigrid saw the multitude of progress bars and waited as Dr. Garrett verified the telemetry had downloaded without error. When Dr. Garrett removed the probe, it made her ears pop.

Sigrid saw the creases in Dr. Garrett's forehead as she scrutinized the information.

"Is everything all right?"

"Oh—it's nothing. You'll be fine. But I will need to see you in my office tomorrow. We'll have to replace the communications module. And there appears to be some scoring along your secondary processors. I'll have to see to those as well."

"My processors?"

Dr. Garrett lowered her glasses. "You practically fried them. Sigrid—you were standing next to a ship's reactor when it breached! You're lucky to be alive."

"Oh…you heard about that."

Hitomi nodded, more amused than concerned. "Captain Trybuszkiewicz's report was most illuminating."

"Actually, I wasn't really next to the reactor. I was two decks up."

Dr. Garrett put the pad down to inspect the physical damage Sigrid had sustained to her face and shoulder. "And you might want to try avoiding unnecessary trauma in the future."

Try avoiding…?

"I'll do my best, Doctor."

"Sigrid," the doctor said, "you must understand. There are some things I can replace; others I cannot."

"You, for one," Hitomi added.

"You must be more careful, Sigrid."

"Yes, Doctor."

Hitomi's tea service was laid out, and the lady poured three cups, inviting Sigrid to sit by her. Sigrid took the offered cup, holding the cup and saucer on her lap.

"I think you'll be pleased," Hitomi said. "The darjeeling has taken very well to the local climate. I think it bodes well for future crops."

Sigrid put the cup to her lips. The temperature was a splendid eighty-two degrees. "Thank you, Mistress. It's wonderful."

"Now, about this business with the Merchantmen."

"I have prepared my report, Mistress. I must apologize. We did not secure the necessary supplies. There were…difficulties."

Hitomi waved the pad away. "Captain Trybuszkiewicz has already informed me. He has told me everything I need to know."

"Then…you know I failed."

"Failed?" Hitomi spooned a dab of honey into her cup and stirred. "The captain must have omitted that part from his report. I only recall reading about some unusual tactics employed by a most resourceful young woman. Captain Trybuszkiewicz was very impressed with your service, Sigrid. In fact, he reports it was only by your actions that they returned alive. He finds you to be an exemplary young officer."

"Officer? Me?" Sigrid couldn't hide her surprise as she fumbled, then nearly dropped the cup in her lap, sloshing a good portion of the tea.

"Yes, dear. You. If you were to ask me, I'd say the man has grown rather fond of you in your time together."

"But, Mistress, it was my actions that put him in danger! The captain warned me. The whole crew did. But I ignored them. I jeopardized the mission."

"Nonsense. Sigrid, it was I who chose to deal with the Merchantmen. I arranged the meeting. If you insist on blaming anyone, you may blame me. Although, frankly, I prefer to blame the Council. It was they who put us in this situation, Sigrid. Not you."

"But the supplies—"

"We will discuss our supply needs tomorrow. You should rest now. Isn't that right, Doctor?"

Dr. Garrett looked up from her pad, still studying Sigrid's telemetry. "Hm? Yes, most definitely. Rest. And food! Your caloric intake hasn't been nearly adequate, Sigrid. You're not eating enough."

"Sorry, Doctor. There wasn't much time."

"In that case," Hitomi said, "I order you to rest. I understand your friends are waiting for you. I believe they have prepared something of a surprise feast for your return. We can discuss the rest of our business tomorrow—after you see Dr. Garrett."

"But—"

"That is my command to you, Sigrid. Besides, you don't want to keep her waiting too long, do you, dear?"

Sigrid looked up. She had never discussed Suko with Hitomi, nor their relationship. She wondered if Hitomi would say more, but her mistress merely continued to sip her tea quietly.

There was so much more on Sigrid's mind, more she needed to tell Hitomi. She couldn't imagine what the lady would think if she were to tell of her promise, or of all the dark thoughts lurking in her mind.

"You're delaying, dear," Hitomi said, seeing Sigrid hesitate. "There is nothing so important that can't wait until tomorrow."

"Yes, Mistress." Sigrid bowed, first to Hitomi, then to Dr. Garrett, before departing.

* * *

Lady Hitomi put her empty tea cup back on its saucer and waited as Dr. Garrett folded her pad back into her pocket.

"Well?" Hitomi said expectantly. "I suppose I don't have to ask that you found something. How is she?"

Dr. Garrett removed her glasses and gave them a polish. "Well, that really depends on what you mean?"

"I mean," Hitomi said, "how is she?"

"I can repair the damage to her processors, swap out the communications module. We've already discussed the new firmware package. All of that is routine. But the damage to her PCM is extensive—I'll need to extract it if I'm going to fix it."

"Extract? Can you even do that?"

"Well, it's not as simple as replacing a heart or a lung, but I suppose I can prepare a backup unit. I can keep her hooked up in the surgery while I make the repairs. We should consider retrofitting some radiation shielding for the PCM. Some microdampers might be in order, as well. That unit was never designed with this kind of treatment in mind. It's supposed to help keep her from harm’s way, not put her directly in its path."

Hitomi smiled knowingly. "Doctor, I'm afraid none of these systems were designed with her in mind."

"She's young, Hitomi-san. She doesn't understand the risks she's taking."

"Oh? Actually I think she is very aware of the dangers she puts herself in. I simply don't think it matters to her. Not where her friends are concerned."

Dr. Garrett leaned back against the desk, crossing her legs at the ankles. "You're very fond of her, aren't you?"

"I am. She is a remarkable girl."

Dr. Garrett opened her pad again, unfolding the paper-thin device. "There's more. If you wish to see it."

Hitomi wheeled herself closer.

"She's not a girl anymore, Hitomi-san. She's becoming a young woman. She's still growing."

"Growing?"

Dr. Garrett nodded. "Yes. And she's still changing."

* * *

Sliding the door to the habitat closed behind her, Sigrid wondered again if she could avoid the gathering. No. Her mistress had ordered her, and she would perform her duty. And Hitomi made an excellent point. Suko would be there.

Sigrid activated her PCM—not for the first time attempting to access her comlink to call to her. But of course the module wasn't functioning. Strange how she'd come to rely on her bionics, and how much she took them for granted. They were now as much a part of her as her own hands and fingers.

She walked the rest of the way to the beach and heard the noises up ahead, voices of the girls mingling with the sounds of waves crashing against the shoreline. Smoke from the bonfires drifted toward her. Some of the younger girls swam, splashing in the shallow waters or bathing in the glowing light of Circe above. Others sat lazily by the dwindling bonfires.

Leta saw her first. The tall amazon leapt to her feet and came running to greet her with several of the younger girls following in her wake. Sigrid was helpless as Leta wrapped her in an enthusiastic bear hug, lifting her clean off her feet and spinning her around. The girls surrounding her cheered and waved. Sigrid heard their shouted questions, their demands to hear what treasures she had brought back for them.

What could she tell them? She had nothing for them, and it broke her heart.

Leta put her down and held her at arm’s length. Only then did she see how badly banged up Sigrid was, the scarring on her face nearly healed, the bruises turned black.

"My God… What the hell happened out there? And don't tell me you ran into a door!"

"Later," Sigrid said. "I'll tell you everything. I promise." She didn't want to talk about it now. She couldn't. "Right now…right now, I'm simply famished. Is that crab I smell steaming?"

"It is. You're just in time."

Leta led her over to the fire. Sigrid wasn't truly hungry, but it seemed a polite distraction. If she had a hunger, it wasn't for the selection of delicacies freshly harvested from the ocean waters. Sigrid continued to scan the crowd in earnest, searching for the one person she wished to see above all.

"She's over there," Leta said with a roll of her eyes. There was no need to look, no need to ask who she was talking about. Leta handed her a heaping plate of fire-roasted fish and steamed crab—or what passed for crab on New Alcyone. They were beastly things, with six eyes mounted on long stalks, and twelve legs, each stretching nearly half a meter in length. Leta topped off the plate with piles of fruit, freshly picked and cut. Sigrid barely noticed.

Her eyes were drawn instead to the lone girl on the far side of the beach. Suko had changed into a pair of shorts and swimming top. She sat perched on a checkered blanket, nestled in a standing of tall grass, her face buried in yet another book, fingers swiping speedily through the electronic pages.

Plate in hand, munching on an enormous crab claw, Sigrid walked toward her. The spot Suko had found rested a good ten meters from the rolling surf. Sigrid smiled—she knew this was about as close to a swim as Suko would get. Suko would always prefer the warmth of a fire to the cooler ocean waters.

"Nice of you to show up to our little cookout," Suko said, not looking up; the sound of her pronounced Kiwi accent was music to Sigrid's ears.

Sigrid glanced at the book in Suko's hands and tapped the access port behind her ear. "You know you can plug that thing in—you can just download those directly."

"Hardly the same," Suko said. "Maybe you should try actually reading sometime."

Sigrid's mouth hung open. "Try…? I read!"

"Something besides the sides of food packets. Now, hush—this is the best part."

"Best part?" Sigrid snatched the pad away, trying for a glimpse of what it was she was reading. It was another of the ancient romance novels Suko favored. This one looked particularly lurid, all lust, lies and murder. "If you've read it before," Sigrid said, "why on Earth would you read it again? You already know who the killer is—"

Suko made a grab, but Sigrid held it behind her back, forcing Suko to reach around her, much to her delight.

"I told you," Suko said wearily, "it's always better a second time. Now give it here."

"Well!" Sigrid said, handing it back. "I had no idea! Although I'm not sure how it can be different. I mean, the words are the same. And it all gets stored in your memory core—"

Suko swung the pad and swatted Sigrid with it. "Now I know you're just teasing."

Sigrid snickered, leaned over, and planted a long kiss on Suko's lips.

"You have food in your mouth," Suko said.

"It's all right. I brought enough to share." Sigrid held up the plate, but Suko took it and put it aside. Sigrid looked after the retreating food. "Hey…!"

Suko pushed her gently back on the blanket and leaned over her. Her hair fell over her shoulders and spilled onto Sigrid's face. Sigrid blew twice, trying unsuccessfully to blow the strands away.

"You're late," Suko said.

"I got here as soon as I could. Lady Hitomi—"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. It's been two weeks. It was supposed to be one! It was the only reason I allowed you to go."

"Allowed me to…? You said you couldn't come. You said you had to stay to train the young ones."

"You know what I mean." Suko leaned over her till their faces nearly touched. "It's not fair—you rushing off to all corners of the galaxy, leaving me here to worry. Must you always play the hero?"

"You worried about me?"

"Don't tease. Of course I worry. But it's not just that… Two weeks is a very long time to wait."

"Wait for what?"

Suko swatted her on the shoulder yet again. "Are you trying to torture me?"

Sigrid pulled her closer. She smelled Suko's fragrant hair, familiar and intoxicating. "No, I'm not trying to torture you."

Suko's lips parted, inched toward her.

"You're wearing a bathing suit," Sigrid remarked, noting Suko's unusual choice of apparel.

"We're at a beach." Suko leaned in again, this time managing to get in one kiss.

"But you don't swim."

"You've been gone a while. Maybe I took lessons."

"I don't believe you."

Suko kissed her longer this time, her tongue flicking playfully over Sigrid's lips, teasing, drawing Sigrid's tongue out to meet hers before disappearing again. "You sure you want to start an argument now?"

Sigrid shook her head. Her arms coiled around her. "No. No arguing."

Nestled in Suko's arms, the familiar salty taste of her lips on hers, Sigrid felt the stresses and the worries of the past days evaporate in an instant. New, more pressing urges supplanted them and demanded that they be tended to. She had indeed been gone too long.

"You know…" Sigrid said, twisting a lock of Suko's hair about her fingers. "Books aren't the only things that are better twice."

"Twice? I thought you were more of a three or four timer—"

"Ahem!"

Leta stood over them, arms folded across her chest. "All right, you two. There are children here."

Sigrid looked up, embarrassed, but of course none of the younger girls had noticed. They were far too busy playing by the fire and splashing in the surf.

"Frankly, you're making the rest of us jealous."

"Sorry."

It was hard to think of Leta being jealous. Leta could have her pick of anyone. She was twenty years old now, and she still seemed to be growing—somehow managing to achieve a figure that was athletic, powerful and voluptuous all at the same time. Leta was friendly, brave and bright, one of the nicest people she knew, and yet she remained alone.

Leta sighed. "It's all right."

"Maybe we should go," Sigrid said to Suko. "Do you think it would be rude if we made our exit?"

"Yes!" Leta protested. "You just got back. I don't want to hear about you rushing off to some love nest. There'll be plenty of time for that later."

"Gah!"

Without warning, Leta reached down and plucked Sigrid from the sand, lifting her and practically tossing her under her arm. "You can have her back later," she said to Suko. "Right now, she's got some people she needs to say hello to."

Suko bowed her head, waving her hand with a flourish. "It appears your audience awaits."

Hanging like a sack under Leta's arm, with her feet dangling off the ground, Sigrid could only wave back, helpless as Leta carried her back toward the bonfires. "Um, I'll see you later…I hope! Wait up for me?"

Suko rose and stretched long and luxuriously. "Don't worry. You'll not be getting off that easily."

CHAPTER FIVE

Revelations in the Dark

Sigrid arrived home much later than she'd intended. She was exhausted and drained. The young ones had peppered her with questions about her journey to Konoe Station, eager to hear of her adventures. Sigrid did her best to put a positive spin on the affair. The story of her flight on the joy-rocket seemed enough to distract them, though she left out the more unsavory parts about Corbin Price, the gangs, the throngs of flesh traders and such.

And she certainly didn't tell them about what she was planning next. She wasn't even certain herself. But there was a darkness growing within her, a shadow she could no longer ignore.

The lights were off in their small house, and all was quiet. She couldn't blame Suko for not waiting up.

Sigrid undressed in the quiet of their sitting room, removed her holsters and pistols and placed them on the weapons rack next to Suko's. Suko's collection of katanas sat mounted on the shirasaya above the mantle. Two of the swords were new, unsullied, pristine in their composite scabbards. But it was the other blade that caught Sigrid's eye. She reached for it and caressed the smooth lacquered surface of its simple wooden saya. This weapon seemed odd, out of place, an antique lost in the sea of advanced armaments that littered their home. The katana was very old, that was certain. Some might consider it obsolete, and only worthy of being discarded.

But Sigrid knew better. For this was the very same katana she had found on Vincenze and bought for Suko with the first of her earnings as a mercenary. The sword and Suko would not soon be parted.

Carefully, Sigrid withdrew the blade. The steel was now fully restored. By Suko. Oiled, polished and powdered, it gleamed in the dim light of the sitting room. Suko had taken care to repair the leather handle and restore the gold inlay that had worn away, returning some of its lost majesty. Sigrid swung the sword and felt its weight in her grip, marveled at the balance. It was a weapon that begged conflict, deadly in the hands of one trained to use it.

"Now, that's something you don't see every day."

Sigrid spun about, nearly dropping the sword. Suko stood in the doorway. Her hair was tied to the side with a red ribbon and draped loosely over one shoulder. She wore only a short kimono, the thin material highlighting her athletic form in magnificent fashion.

Sigrid blushed, realizing how silly she must appear, swinging Suko's sword about dressed only in her undergarments. Suko walked toward her and took the sword from her hands, placing it back on the shirasaya.

"You want to be careful with that. My girlfriend gave it to me."

"Your girlfr—"

Suko stepped closer, backing Sigrid up against the wall. "Mm-hmm. It's very special to me. If something were to happen…"

"I'll be careful. I promise."

"You better. You're already in enough hot water as it is. Do you know how long I've been sitting here waiting?"

"Sorry. Those young ones—they're full of questions. And then Leta and Khepri wanted to know about the supplies and—"

Sigrid stopped to watch as Suko undid the tie of her kimono; the thin robe fluttered to the floor.

"Oh…"

"I asked," Suko said, "do you know how long I've been waiting?"

"Too long?" Sigrid offered hopefully.

"Good guess."

Sigrid reached for her, pulling her close, but Suko shook her head and pushed her away—first to her confusion, and then to her delight as Suko's intentions became abundantly clear. There would be no more waiting, no interruptions. Suko would have her now.

Suko's fingers were swift, deft, first finding, then releasing the clasps from Sigrid's bra. Sigrid barely had time to shrug the garment off as Suko's hands were on her, covering her. Like a spark to tinder, her touch set each of Sigrid's sensory nodes afire, igniting Sigrid's own longing and her need to have Suko and have her now. Yet when Sigrid leaned forward, trying again for a kiss, it was only to be denied once more. It was becoming obvious, and painfully so, that she was to be a mere spectator in these events, the subject of Suko's impatient desire.

Suko knelt before her, her hands inching their way lower, moving slowly down Sigrid's side. With her thumbs hooked in the waistband of Sigrid's pants, Suko slipped the undergarment over her hips, drawing them down. Sigrid kicked them aside hurriedly, her heart racing as Suko lifted her leg, eager to see where Suko would lead her next.

Balancing on one foot, Sigrid fell back against the wall. One hand reached out and grabbed the shirasaya to steady herself, the other fell against the weapons rack, sending knives, eSMGs, and spare ammunition packs to fall clattering to the floor. If Suko noticed, she didn't show it. Her mouth was on Sigrid, her tongue darting out, viperlike, and Sigrid wanted nothing more than for her to strike. More weapons fell from the rack beside her as Sigrid lost her balance yet again, nearly sending the whole thing crashing down. But she held fast to the shaft of the scabbard nestled in the shirasaya at her side.

When Suko finally rose to stand next to her, Sigrid clung to her neck for fear her trembling knees might give way. Then, taking her by the hand, Suko led her to the bed, and Sigrid followed, nearly tripping over a fallen bandolier.

Spent, exhausted, Sigrid collapsed on her back. Beads of sweat dotted her stomach and her neck. She pushed the thin cotton sheets aside, allowing the cool ocean air to wash over her. She stared in amazement at Suko. "What on Earth ever possessed you to come up with that?"

"I told you. You can learn a few things from books. It seems I've had little to do but study in your absence."

"I'm glad you put your time to good use. You'll have to tell me the name of the auth—oh…"

Suko wasn't done with her yet. Like a stalking predator, she crawled over her on the bed, straddling her and pinning her arms back. The red ribbon caught under her and pulled free, sending her long, black hair cascading past her neck and down around Sigrid's shoulders. With a flick of her head, Suko tossed her hair back. Then, taking one of Sigrid's hands in both of hers, she kissed the tip of each of Sigrid's fingers, slowly, patiently, one after another, letting her tongue play over them, all the while staring at Sigrid, her eyes speaking of the adventures yet to come.

Kneeling over her, Suko took Sigrid's hand and moved it down, guiding her along, inviting her to touch herself.

Sigrid swallowed. "You sure you wouldn't rather me…I mean, after all you've done…you know, do you?"

Suko put a finger to her lips, hushing her while her hips performed a slow, rhythmic circle.

"I'm talking too much again, aren't I?" Sigrid asked; she nodded vigorously, knowing she was.

Suko leaned forward and smothered Sigrid's mouth with her own, shutting her up in such a pleasing fashion Sigrid could hardly complain. Suko's tongue eagerly explored the depths of her mouth. There was a desperation to her efforts, and to Sigrid's. It was a shared hunger, the kind only brought on by long absences. Sigrid felt her press harder against her, moving in time with the motions of her hand and her fingers, urging her onward and bringing her closer to the climax that was by now inevitable.

With her free hand, Sigrid caressed Suko's cheek, her thumb brushing Suko's hair back. Suko held the hand against her and closed her eyes, her neck arching backward. "You should have come with me," Sigrid whispered. "You should have come."

But if Suko heard her, Sigrid couldn't tell.

Her only answer came with her lips and her hands, clawing, biting her way down the length of Sigrid's torso, her nails raking Sigrid's stomach as they continued their journey beyond. Sigrid thought to move her hand away, but Suko placed her own hand over it, keeping it in place, urging her onward. Sigrid arched her back, her knees moving wider apart as she felt Suko's tongue on her again. Suko's fingers entered her then, and Sigrid pushed herself against them, the impending explosion building within her. Suko's motions were feverish, her desire frenetic, whipping Sigrid toward a dizzying precipice that, once driven off, left her gasping for air, and trembling from her abdomen to her knees to her toes.

She found herself shaking, shivering, and she shuddered again, as if from some aftershock.

Suko moved to her side; her arms wrapped around her, her warm body pressed up against her, still moving in time with their breathing. "You know that's the only reason I ever let you go," Suko said at last, her voice a low purr, her breath hot on Sigrid's neck.

"The only…?" Sigrid couldn't form the words.

"You asked why I didn't come with you. I'd say it's the homecomings. Makes it rather worth it, don't you think?"

Sigrid let her arms coil around her, pulling her close, her lips finding Suko's again. "Never again. I'll not leave you again. I don't think I can bear it."

"Don't worry. I won't let you."

After a long, lingering kiss, their lips parted. Suko lay next to her. The adventurous gleam slowly faded from Suko's eyes, replaced with wonder, and questions.

"You still haven't told me what happened out there—about these Merchantmen."

Sigrid lay back and stared up at the ceiling. What happened, indeed. Where should she start?

"I thought you were avoiding me," Suko said. "You didn't answer my calls."

"Avoiding…?" Then Sigrid remembered. Of course—the damaged comlink. Her hand shot to her PCM access port. She hadn't considered that Suko might be trying to contact her all this time. "There was some damage… I forgot."

Suko brushed Sigrid's hair back; Sigrid saw her eyes scanning the bruising on her face, the deep cuts, nearly healed. "Should I be concerned?"

"No," Sigrid said. "No, I'm fine."

The truth was, she didn't want to think about it. Not now. She'd been gone so long and missed Suko more than she realized. But Suko's duties were here now, tending to the training of the young ones. Was it selfishness that made her want Suko with her, or did she simply still need her more than she realized? Suko had always protected her when they were younger, and Sigrid couldn't escape the feeling that she missed it. The truth was, she wanted Suko to look after her.

And then Sigrid thought of what Captain Trybuszkiewicz had said: Tomorrow. She would worry about all this tomorrow. After the long voyage, the wonderful reunion, Sigrid found herself succumbing to the many stresses, as well as the pleasures.

She didn't remember falling asleep, but she did so, quickly and soundly, for the first time in many nights, safe again in Suko's arms.

* * *

Sigrid awoke early, rested and refreshed. She slipped quietly out of bed, worried for a moment she might wake Suko, but there was no need. Suko lay flat on her stomach, arms spread out, her neck arched on the pillow at an odd angle, eyes closed, mouth wide open, all the while snoring loudly.

Sigrid dressed quickly in the quiet of their sitting room, then made her way outside. Circe was slowly setting behind her, the gas giant's looming brilliance giving way to the darkening sky. The sun would not rise for a half an hour yet. This was truly the closest they would come to nighttime on New Alcyone.

"It's always darkest before the dawn." Sigrid chuckled. It was Leta who had pointed that out, and it still made her smile.

In the quiet of early morning Sigrid made her way through the new Academy grounds. The young ones had not yet risen, still tucked in their bunks. Only a scattering of Kimuran workers were up, getting a start on their daily tasks. They didn't pay Sigrid a second glance, tending to their duties. Undisturbed, she made her way up the hill toward the landing platforms.

The Ōmi Maru sat parked beside her own ship, the Morrigan. Their small collection of ships presented themselves as dark, ancient monoliths, towering shadows against the early morning sky. Generators hummed feeding power to the resting ships tended to by the small ground crew. Sigrid gave a nod to the men and women, and climbed the ladder to the flight deck. The bridge was empty, the package she sought still resting where she'd left it. Bernat Wereme's briefcase.

Last night, Suko had asked her what happened on their voyage. Only then did Sigrid realize why she hadn't answered. Something had been bothering her ever since her episode with Corbin Price. She'd read the man, scanned him as best she could. No matter how many times she played the episode over again in her head—played back in perfect clarity thanks to her PCM—the answer always came back the same each time: Corbin Price had told the truth. To all her questions. And yet he had still fooled her.

Or had she simply fooled herself?

A lie isn't a lie if one believes it to be the truth. That was what her mistress had cautioned. If that were true, Sigrid wondered, what then? What could she do? And then another thought occurred to her. Perhaps she was not asking the right questions.

Sigrid opened the case, once again rifling through its contents. She saw the notebooks and papers filled with illegible scribblings. There was no sense to anything he'd written. Sentences were started, never finished, just words that didn't seem to go anywhere. She scanned each page, seeking patterns, anything that might make sense within the white noise of the elderly man's thoughts.

Sigrid held the briefcase upside down and dumped its contents out onto the work table. She sorted everything into piles: discarded receipts in one, food wrappers in another, miscellaneous rubbish in a third. In the last pile she placed the boarding pass for the transport to Vega IV along with a brochure for the Shaded Palm. Sigrid read the tagline, "Care with dignity…"

She placed the empty briefcase down and noticed for the first time how new it seemed. The case had few scrapes; the handle was neither worn nor scuffed. She was convinced this was the first trip this briefcase had seen.

A label on the inside boldly proclaimed, Made in New Shēnzhèn.

Now, that cannot be a coincidence.

Her database confirmed her suspicion. New Shēnzhèn was a city-province of Bellatrix, the so-called Jewel in the Federation's Crown, a factory world at the very edge of Federation space. Bernat Wereme's transport had come from Bellatrix. But Bernat Wereme was not from Bellatrix. And yet this frail man, unable to travel on his own, had journeyed there, bought this briefcase there. The discarded receipts confirmed that. Restaurant receipts, a hotel receipt, all from what looked to be a very bleak and miserable planet. Hardly a vacation destination.

As to what an elderly man suffering from dementia would be doing on such a godforsaken planet Sigrid couldn't theorize. But something did occur to her. Perhaps Mr. Wereme wasn't as harmless as she'd thought. Had she been mistaken about him, as well? Was it possible he actually posed the threat Corbin Price had warned about?

And what, if anything, did he have to do with New Alcyone?

Sigrid frowned. She'd come back here for answers, but now she only had more questions.

"Well," she said out loud, "there's nothing for it, then."

"Nothing for what?" a familiar voice asked behind her.

Sigrid turned, startled. Suko leaned casually against the bulkhead behind her. How she could manage to constantly sneak up on her…

"Stop doing that!"

"Sorry."

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," Suko said, walking toward her. "Now, out with it, Novak—you've been on another planet ever since you got back. I think it's time you told me what happened. What's going on?"

Sigrid sighed. Suko was right. But at least she had an inkling as to what had been troubling her. She told Suko. Everything. About Corbin Price, Bernat Wereme, about Bellatrix. She even told her of the pursuit of the Merchantman; although, she left out the part about the explosions and the shootings and the nearly dying. Such talk would only anger Suko, and Sigrid did not wish to argue. Not now.

Suko listened in silence, never interrupting. At the end, she let out a long breath as she took it all in.

"So?" Sigrid asked, tapping her fingers together; she had no idea what Suko would think of any of this.

"There's only one thing for it. I think it's time you paid a visit to this man, what's-his-name, Mr. Worm."

"Wereme. Bernat Wereme," Sigrid corrected her.

Suko sighed and shook her head, her hand on her forehead. Sigrid frowned—she still had difficulty telling when Suko was teasing her.

"And then—then, my dearest…" Suko stepped closer, close enough that Sigrid could feel her warmth against her. "Then, you're going to Bellatrix."

"I am?"

"You are. But this time I'm going with you."

* * *

Sigrid brought her findings to Lady Hitomi straight away. It was still early, and Sigrid and Suko had to wait in Hitomi's outer chambers while her attendants woke her. Tea was prepared, as was breakfast, but Sigrid couldn't eat. She was too busy blurting out her discoveries, her theories, and what she hoped to do about it. Her mistress listened, sitting quietly as she spread butter and jam on crunchy toast, sharing the slices, one after another, with Suko, who ate them all heartily.

"And you think this man, Bernat Wereme, is involved?" Hitomi asked.

Sigrid paused before answering. "I don't know—I think he is. Somehow. He may simply be a link to the men the Merchantmen planned to sell us out to. Or he might be exactly as he said—a man on his way to a retirement home. I don't know. I only know we should find out."

"But you destroyed them, dear," Hitomi said mildly, her finger playing over the rim of her teacup. "The Merchantmen are no more. Corbin Price is dead. Why go to Bellatrix?"

"Because, Mistress, because I don't believe Corbin Price was behind the plot on Konoe. I believe he was only a tool. A… What was the word you used, Suko?"

"A middleman," Suko said, absently twirling her long ponytail in a wide circle.

"Yes. A middleman. Corbin Price planned to sell our location to someone—someone interested enough to orchestrate this whole thing. The Merchantmen were on their way to Bellatrix, Mistress. Bernat Wereme was on Bellatrix."

"Sigrid, if you're suggesting what I think—"

"The answer is there. I know it. But, it's more than that…" Sigrid took a deep breath. "Mistress, I think the men who have been after us all this time… I think it's them. I think they're on Bellatrix."

Hitomi sat in silence, her eyes staring forward at nothing. Sigrid waited, wondered. She looked to Suko for help, but Suko only gave a shrug with her eyes.

Finally Hitomi said, "I agree."

Sigrid looked up, surprised. "You—you do?"

"I agree with you about Bellatrix. Until now we've been far too busy fighting the armies of our enemies. Foot soldiers. Pawns. But never those responsible. I think your assessment is correct. I think it's time we consider going after the generals. As to Bernat Wereme, you present an interesting theory. One I think bears looking into."

Sigrid had brought the briefcase with her; she carefully laid its contents on the table before them. As she took out each item, Hitomi took care to examine everything thoroughly, picking up the piles of scribbled notes, flipping through each of the pages, the collection of books.

"You've put a lot of thought into this, Sigrid," Hitomi said; her eyes remained fixed on Bernat's writings. "I would imagine you also have a plan."

Plan? Sigrid wondered. If she means going to Bellatrix, finding the men responsible and killing them…

"Yes, Mistress, I have a plan."

"Good. I will trust you to make the necessary arrangements."

"Yes, Mistress! Of course, Mistress."

"Would you mind terribly leaving this with me, dear?" Hitomi asked, indicating the briefcase and its contents. "I think I should spend some time getting to know this man, Bernat Wereme."

"Of course, Mistress. Whatever you need."

"Thank you, Sigrid. That will be all."

CHAPTER SIX

Kitten Play

September 27, 2348

London, Earth

Her name was Miranda Kane, though nobody ever called her that. Somehow, somewhere—sometime—Miranda had become Kitten. The ridiculous nickname was given to her years ago. Worse, the name had stuck despite her best efforts to quash it. She had learned to live with Kitten. Kit, in a pinch. As long as it wasn't Kitty. The last person to call her Kitty had discovered that this kitten had claws.

Strangely, it was only here on the job where Kitten could become Miranda again, as if she were taking on some alter ego or alternate personality. Though, in a sense that was precisely what she was doing. Miranda often wondered if it was her desire to escape the unfortunate nickname that gave her her edge and made her so good at what she did—and she was very, very good. Miranda was the best, and she knew it.

Miranda lay on the bed, staring at the man slumbering next to her. His name was Connor Lachlan. He was tall, with deep, dark brown skin. She'd never have guessed the trim and athletic physique that existed beneath the ill-fitting business suit. Connor had indeed been a surprise, not nearly so reserved in the bedroom as he had been in the boardroom. He'd actually turned out to be quite masterful.

It pleased her that he only knew her as Miranda, as if her real name were a shared secret for him alone. He could never learn the truth about her. In her line of work that was strictly verboten. The part of her that was Kitten would forever remain private.

Gingerly, Miranda lifted Connor Lachlan's arm off her shoulder and extracted herself from his slumbering embrace, grateful that he was such a sound sleeper. Her superiors would not approve of her actions here, and for good reason. She had made the classic mistake of allowing herself to get close to a target. This operation was no honey trap. The simple truth was, she liked Connor.

Miranda cursed silently. There would be time to debate the moral implications of her actions later.

Picking up her undergarments, green skirt and matching green blouse from the side of the bed, she gathered them in a bundle before making her way out. The view of London from the wide picture window caught her eye, magnificent from seventy-four floors up, high atop the aptly named Lachlan Towers. It was still dark, but that would change soon. The city was quiet, quiet for London, at least. But even seventy stories up, even at this hour, the city hummed. It was alive.

Miranda quickly buttoned her blouse and attached her stockings back to the little snaps on her garter belt. Old fashioned, perhaps, but extremely functional. Especially with the attached clip that held the small palm-sized pistol snug against her thigh.

It was time to go to work, time to get what she'd come for. Connor's locked office was ahead past the kitchen. The security that barred her way was state of the art. But then, so was Miranda. She slipped the lockpick from its hiding place in the hem of her skirt, pausing just long enough to marvel at the slim device. It was an impressive piece of engineering. It should be, she'd designed and programmed it herself.

She thrust it into the lock and let it do its work. Miranda barely had to slow her stride as it allowed her passage into Connor's inner sanctum. She gave her head a shake; the more they tried to complicate security, the more loopholes they left for her to exploit.

Unlike the rest of the penthouse, Connor's office was relatively spartan. A simple desk faced away from the window with four framed prints adorning the wall. The collection was surprisingly tasteful. His choices leaned toward the romantic, heavily favoring French impressionists. Not surprising. Connor Lachlan was a romantic.

His work as a philanthropist was no secret—in fact, his charitable work had brought him great celebrity. It was his most endearing quality, but it would also be his undoing. For Connor didn't have a clue what was going on within his company. He had no idea it had been hijacked out from under him, that all his holdings had been syphoned off to fund the terrorist activities of others. But Miranda had not come here to learn more about Connor. It was the men who were stealing from him that concerned her.

His company was the key. It was the link she'd been searching for.

Miranda touched the screen of the terminal embedded in the great real wooden desk. The computer was hooked directly into the file-servers housed in the factory complex in Swindon. This was the only hardline access outside the factory, and the only way Miranda could get in.

She placed the small data-cube on top of the screen. The cube carried an arsenal of decryption algorithms. The programs made quick work of all the firewalls, boring their way deeper inside, tearing through Connor's databases as they shrugged off every attempt to halt the data-probe, covering her tracks in turn. The worm programs were relentless, and they would not stop until they found what they were looking for.

It took only a minute, and she was in. The files were there, exactly where she'd expected them to be. Transaction records, manufacturing quotas, personnel transfers—massive acquisitions of titanium, thorium, even lesser metals such as copper and aluminum, all being amassed and stockpiled. More than enough to cause a minor tremor in the markets.

And there was more.

The transponders. The stolen CTF naval transponders were here. Using them as bait had been a risk. Her supervisor would never have approved the operation—which was precisely why she hadn't told him. But the risk had paid off.

There were very few people in existence with the kind of authorization needed to gain access to the important devices. It had to be someone high up, someone within the Council fold itself. She'd suspected the connection between Connor's company and the Independents for quite some time. And now she had her proof.

It was unfortunate she had to use Connor in this fashion. It wasn't his fault. The young CEO simply had no idea what was going on with his company. She wondered if it was too late to save him, or to give him some warning at the very least.

Miranda froze at the noise—the office door sliding open behind her. She didn't bother to turn.

Damn it.

"What are you doing?" Connor demanded.

Not as sound a sleeper as she'd thought.

"How…how did you get in here?" His hands were open at his sides; Miranda thought he looked more hurt than angry. "This door was locked. There's no way you could bypass the security."

An easy lie came to her lips, but there was no point.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Connor."

Connor strode toward her, taking her hands in his. "Sorry? Sorry for what? Are you trying to rob me? Just tell me. Please, what's going on?"

"No, I'm not trying to rob you. I'm just here for information."

Connor's face hardened then; the hurt look turned to one of anger. "So, all this, just—just to spy on me? Who sent you? What do they want?"

"I'm sorry, Connor. It's not even about you. It's your company."

Connor's hands clamped around her arms—but he released her almost immediately, perhaps realizing how brutish the action was. "Then this…seduction, this was all part of it?"

"No, sleeping with you wasn't part of the job."

"But it's still a job."

"No—yes! I mean, yes, this was a job, but I'm not a corporate spy. I like you, Connor, I do. And that's not a lie."

Connor stepped back and leaned against the desk. Miranda saw the conflict in his face, not sure if he should be hurt or disgusted with himself.

"I should call the police."

"I'll be gone by the time they get here." Miranda moved closer, pressed her body against his, and kissed him firmly on the lips, as much to silence him as it was an apology.

"Just—please, tell me what it is you're after."

Miranda opened her mouth to answer, but the chime of the front door interrupted her. They froze, looking at each other. Miranda saw the time on her wristwatch: nearly 4 a.m. "Expecting someone?"

Connor frowned. "No, as a matter of fact."

Miranda reached past him and flipped off the lights. With her hand on his wrist, she guided him out of the office, pushing him gently toward the front door.

Seeing the gun that appeared in her hand, Connor gasped. "You're armed."

"A necessary precaution." The front door chimed again, this time longer and more persistently. "I think you better find out who it is."

Looking thoroughly confused, Connor nodded slowly and walked toward the door; Miranda slid back into the shadows of the darkened office.

"Who is it? Do you know what time it is?"

"CTF Security, Mr. Lachlan. We need you to open the door."

"Security? At this hour? What on Earth—"

"Please open the door, Mr. Lachlan. This is not a request."

Connor undid the latch. Bright lights streamed in from the hallway.

Peering out from behind the half-opened office door, Miranda saw the two individuals standing there. The first one was tall, the collar of his overcoat pulled up high around his neck. The wide brim of his hat dripped, wet from the pouring rain outside. He held out his Security Services ID for Connor's inspection. His shorter, more squat companion seemed content to remain behind him, both of his hands thrust deep into his pockets.

"What's the meaning of this?" Connor asked. "What the devil is going on?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lachlan," the taller man said, pushing past him into the foyer. "But we've detected an unauthorized access of your company files—from your personal terminal."

"Now wait just a minute." Connor had to move to block the man's path before he could enter the apartment. "What do you mean, unauthorized? I have complete access to my company's files from here. And those servers are on a closed grid. How could Security possibly know?"

The taller man poked his finger into Connor's chest. "Mr. Lachlan, please allow us to do our job. I shouldn't need to remind you, interfering with a Council investigation is a federal offense."

"Council investigation? Now look here. I know the law. You can't just barge in here—"

The security men were looking at Connor. Neither of them saw Miranda slip from her cover in the shadows. Neither of them saw the small hideout pistol in her hand.

Miranda moved fast, firing without warning. Connor heard the muted sound of the two silenced shots, the quick thud, thud from the snub-nosed pistol. The two security men slumped quickly and silently to the floor. Connor could only stare in disbelief, watching as two crimson pools widened beneath their bodies, spreading out across the floor until the two pools became one.

"Sorry about the carpet," Miranda said.

"Are they…?"

"I hope so—yes. Quite dead. We got lucky."

"Lucky?" Connor slumped back against the wall. "I think I'm going to be sick. Do you know what you've done! They'll arrest you. They'll hang the both of us!"

Miranda tried not to roll her eyes as she rifled through the men's pockets. "Don't be silly. No one's been hanged in nearly two centuries. Besides, I think their law-enforcement days are done."

"You know what I mean. You'll be arrested. I'll be arrested! You can't just go around…killing CTF Security men."

"Well, now there's the thing," Miranda said. She couldn't help but enjoy the complete look of dismay on Connor's face. "You see, neither of them are with CTF Security."

"What do you mean? I saw his ID. How would you even know?"

Miranda rose, stood next to him, and placed her hand on his cheek. "Because, my dear Mr. Lachlan, because I am CTF Security. And…well, you see, I'm the one who's been investigating you."

* * *

It was nearly 5 a.m. when Miranda left Connor's apartment. Connor had peppered her with questions; questions Miranda could not afford to answer. Not now. It was too dangerous for her to stay any longer. The cleanup crew would arrive shortly. The bodies of the two men would be taken away for identification before sterilization and disposal. She could not risk her own people knowing of her presence here. This operation was strictly need to know, and not even her own department heads knew what she was up to.

Miranda exited the building. The uniformed doorman held the door for her and offered an umbrella to shield her from the torrential rain. It was a minor miracle this part of London wasn't half-submerged like so many of the older areas. But when she saw the car waiting for her and the man inside, she declined the offered shelter, waving the umbrella away.

Miranda walked quickly to the car that hovered by the curb, careful to step over the deeper puddles. This entire operation was strictly off the books. No one knew she was here. No one except him. No one except Randal Gillings, Chairman of the Council for Trade and Finance, CEO of Coran Industries.

She gave her foot a shake as she took the seat next to him. The older man tapped the roof, signaling to the driver, and they sped off.

"It appears your activities did not go undetected, Ms. Kane," Randal Gillings said. "Messy business."

Miranda tried not to curse. He was right. How they had discovered her intrusion into the server was a mystery. But that was a question for another day.

"We can't afford any loose ends," the older man said.

"Then you needn't worry. They won't be making any reports. I saw to that." Miranda reached into her purse and pulled out the data-cube, handing it to him. "Besides, I got what I came for. It's all here. Everything we suspected."

"The naval transponders?"

"Yes, they have them. Just as we predicted."

"Then you can prove his identity?" Gillings asked. He turned the small cube over in his hands, examining the device.

"Yes," Miranda said. "But it gets better. I know where he is."

"Well?"

"It's Bellatrix," Miranda said. "He's on Bellatrix."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Invitations

Sigrid had delayed things as much as possible, but it was becoming clear she was only putting off the inevitable. The damage to her systems was far greater than she'd let on. Her communications module still failed to function, but more troubling, she was losing functionality with some of her subsystems, putting a greater strain on her overtaxed PCM and threatening to collapse her entire artificial neural network.

Sigrid needed fixing.

Dr. Garrett was ready and waiting to receive her in the medical ward when she came by.

"I was this close to having armed guards haul you down here," Dr. Garrett said. Her tone was stern, but Sigrid caught the bemused grin. "Now, if you don't mind…" She patted the examination table. "I'd like to have a look at the damage you've done to all my fine work."

"I've done! I wasn't the one who—"

"Quiet now. Hush!"

Sigrid hopped up on the table, sitting back and pulling her hair out of the way. While this treatment wasn't exactly routine, Sigrid was used to the doctor poking and prodding her. Dr. Garrett worked wordlessly, attaching the data-uplink to Sigrid's PCM access port.

Sigrid didn't need to be asked. With the uplink in place, she began to count back from ten, finishing somewhere between eight and seven.

She had no memory of the procedure, nor the steps Dr. Garrett and her staff took to repair her damaged PCM, first removing the device from the casing within her skull, then repairing and replacing it. A new communications module replaced the damaged one, and new programming was uploaded to her matrix. She was oblivious to it all.

For Sigrid only a moment had passed, though it was many hours later when she finally opened her eyes. She thought to ask if something had happened, but then her finger found the tiny, four millimeter-wide scar at the base of her skull, the only evidence left behind of Dr. Garrett's work.

They had moved her from the surgery. She was lying in a bed, tucked into a set of clean white sheets. Suko was there at her bedside; she smiled down at her and brushed the hair back from her eyes.

"Morning, sleepyhead. Or should I say, good evening. Nice to see you back among the living."

Sigrid rose to lean on her elbow. "Amongst the… How long was I out?"

Her head felt foggy, heavy. And it hurt. She reached back and felt the uplink module still connected to the access port behind her ear.

"You’re awake. Good," Dr. Garrett said as she entered the room. "Here, perhaps I can help you with that." She stepped toward her, coming to Sigrid's aid in removing the uplink. The device came free with a snick, making Sigrid's ears pop.

With the uplink removed, the world felt oddly quiet and empty. It took a moment for Sigrid to realize why. Her Primary Control Module was shut down, completely switched off. In a panic, Sigrid realized she was completely cut off from each and every one of her bionic components and enhancements. Without the PCM, none of the sensor nodes would function, not a single of the nanomites would talk to her. This was the first time since activation that Sigrid had experienced the world around her without the all-important device functioning. To have it down left her feeling hollow, detached, and quite a bit smaller.

Before Sigrid could ask what happened, Dr. Garrett initiated the hard-reboot of her PCM. One by one, her systems came back online, blinking to life, reconnecting her to the world around her with all its sights, sounds and smells. The new communications module was there, functioning again. But there was more.

Something was different. Very different.

Sigrid sat up straight, her eyes wide. "Doctor… What did you do?"

Suko, who was holding her hand, tightened her grip. "Do? What's wrong?"

"Not to worry," Dr. Garrett said; she didn't look up from the monitor at her bedside. "It's the new firmware. You shouldn't feel any difference."

Shouldn't feel…?

But of course she did. Sigrid felt a difference. A big difference.

By now she was highly attuned to each individual aspect of her physical self, as well as all her bionic components. Even the billions of nanomites that surged within her. Sigrid was aware of them all individually. This was by design. This was how all the girls were able to function at peak performance. After activation on Alcyone, Sigrid had found herself bombarded with new sensory data. It had been completely overwhelming. Only with time and practice had she learned to control the constant influx of information as it assaulted her.

What she experienced now was something different. The data still came at her: smells, the particles floating in the air, the chemical composition of the fibers in Dr. Garrett's uniform, the beating of Suko's heart close to hers. But Sigrid found herself experiencing something completely unexpected.

Control.

The data no longer assaulted her, didn't force her to address it and compartmentalize it as it streamed in through her sensory nodes. Instead, Sigrid found the volumes of sensory data presenting itself to her in a calm and organized fashion, filtered and prioritized by her PCM. This left Sigrid's mind markedly clear to focus where and on what she chose.

Suko continued to look at her, her eyes filled with worry.

"It's all right, Suko. I'm fine." Sigrid squeezed her hand to reassure her. Suko's touch was always electric, but Sigrid gasped at the rush of energy, like a wave of sparks coursing up her arm. "My God, I'm really fine."

Dr. Garrett smiled at her. "We thought you might like that. We've had a great deal of time to study how you girls use your programming, you know. Your recent run-in with the Merchantmen highlighted some troubling issues with redundancies. Your central core spends far too much time dealing with low-priority functions. The new subroutines should address that. I think you'll find reaction times, situational awareness, even your endurance, will be greatly improved."

"Endurance?" Suko said smartly. "I'll be happy to put that to a test."

"I'm afraid any tests of your physical, er, resilience will have to wait," Dr. Garrett said; her eyes remained focused on the pad in her hand, the banks of monitors, as she studied Sigrid's telemetry, though she still caught Suko's not-so-hidden meaning. "Sigrid will have to stay here. At least the night. She needs to rest—give her system time to adjust."

"May I stay with her?" Suko asked.

This time Dr. Garrett did look up, peering over the rims of her glasses. "She needs her rest, Ms. Tansho. I thought I made that perfectly clear." The doctor turned back to her pad, muttering. "No one listens to me—going to end up talking to myself."

* * *

Despite her protests and assurances that she would let Sigrid rest, Suko was summarily ushered out of the medical ward.

Suko found herself loitering outside, wondering if there was some excuse she could make to return to Sigrid's side. She was worried about these new upgrades, and she could only imagine what trouble Sigrid would get into now.

"She'll be quite all right," a voice said behind her.

Suko turned and saw Lady Hitomi in the doorway, sitting in her wheelchair.

"Dr. Garrett is the best," Hitomi said. "No one knows Sigrid better."

Suko never felt entirely comfortable around their matriarch. She was always quick to make sure she was busy with something when Sigrid wasn't around, keeping their conversations politely monosyllabic. She tilted her head toward the medical ward. "She's awake, if you want to see her."

"Actually, I came here to see you."

"Me?" Suko pointed a finger to her chest.

"Yes, dear. We need to talk. That is, unless you have something pressing?"

The declaration took her by surprise. She'd assumed the lady had come to see Sigrid. Suko leaned back against the doorframe, trying but failing to appear casual. "No, nothing important."

"Sigrid will be ready to leave on this mission of hers soon," Hitomi said. "She will assume I am coming with her, but I cannot."

"You can't? But why?"

As answer, Hitomi tapped her lacquered cane against the metal bracings fastened to her legs. "I'm afraid my days of adventuring are long over, dear. On a mission such as this, I will only be a liability. Sigrid will no doubt try to persuade me. I was hoping you might tell her for me, help convince her."

Suko didn't quite understand, but she nodded slowly. "Of course."

"She is quite the young woman, our Sigrid. Did she ever tell you she saved my life?"

Sigrid hadn't—not that it surprised Suko. Sigrid was never one to boast or brag.

Suko shook her head.

"I should be dead, you know," Hitomi said. "And I would be, if not for her. Many thousands died on the Lift when the Independents attacked—all those people needlessly sacrificed, all just to kill us. Sigrid never gave a thought to her own safety, never hesitated in her actions. And she never will. Not where her friends are concerned."

"That's what I'm afraid of, Mistress—Milady. Er, madam…"

Hitomi laughed. Then, to Suko's surprise, she took her hand. "You must call me Hitomi, dear. Sigrid can't seem to manage it, but perhaps you can."

Suko stared at the lady's hand, not sure if she should shake it or hold it.

"She will take care of everyone around her except for herself. That is why you must do what she cannot. I want you to see to her safety personally. Take care of her. Watch over her. And see that she comes back to us safe."

Suko moved to withdraw her hand, but the matriarch held fast, holding tight.

In that moment Suko saw perhaps a small glimpse of what Sigrid saw in the woman. For the longest time, Suko had assumed the lady to be just another industrialist, a federate, one of the ruling corporate elite and nothing more. But after seeing the world Hitomi had built for them, how much she'd given up to see it done, Suko had come to learn how wrong she was. Lady Hitomi cared for Sigrid, deeply. And she knew the lady cared for her as well. She cared for all of them.

"I—I will, milady. Sorry. Hitomi. I'll take care of her. I promise."

"I have every confidence. I know you will do your best, and that is all I can ask."

* * *

Dr. Garrett tried to keep Sigrid an extra day to rest and adjust, but Sigrid would have none of it. There was far too much to do, too many things that needed taking care of. And while Sigrid had been resting, recuperating from her repairs, her mistress had continued in her investigations.

Word came to Sigrid: Lady Hitomi had found something. She wouldn't say what, only that Sigrid should come to her at her earliest convenience.

Sigrid went to her now. Hitomi was waiting for her in the sitting room of her bungalow.

"Mistress?"

Hitomi patted the chair beside her, and Sigrid took the seat.

"I've been meaning to talk with you," Hitomi said. "I've had a chance to look through Mr. Wereme's things. A most interesting man."

"You found something?"

"Found? I'd say that's putting it mildly. Here, perhaps it's easier to show you."

Hitomi tapped the monitor on the table, activating the holographic display. Sigrid leaned forward to look more closely. She saw the familiar images of Wereme's scribblings, all of them scanned and organized by Hitomi.

"What do you make of these?" Hitomi asked.

"I wasn't sure. I thought…I thought perhaps a code. Of course, it could be nothing."

"I thought the same thing. And no, dear. It is not nothing. Far from it." Hitomi waved her hand, highlighting a grid she'd prepared: letters, numbers, and random half-words in rows and columns. "I tried searching for patterns, but I couldn't make any sense of it. Not at first. Not without a proper primer."

"A primer?"

"A catalyst. A commonality. I couldn't find one, so I thought to give it one. It was you who gave me the idea, Sigrid. I thought about your theory—about a connection between Wereme and the men behind the attacks on Alcyone."

"What primer did you use?"

Hitomi blinked at her. "Why, I used you, dear."

"Me?"

"Well, not just you—you and all of your sisters. All the girls from Project Andraste. I created an algorithm to look for patterns based on all of you." Hitomi tapped the screen and let the program run. Sigrid watched as all the letters moved into separate columns and rows. Her eyes widened at the realization. Hitomi was right. There was a pattern. And there was a connection. It was them. It was all of them. When the program was complete, the seemingly random set of letters and half-words morphed into a complete list. Thirty-two names sorted themselves neatly into columns. The thirty-two names of the original girls from the Academy on Alcyone.

For Sigrid, this was a bitter realization. This was the client list Corbin Price had referred to.

So, the merchantman had told her the truth. But now Sigrid knew, even that truth was a lie.

"It wasn't only your names, Sigrid," Hitomi said. "Look."

Hitomi tapped at the image. There was information: detailed profiles on all of them; their parents, families, their medical histories, school records.

Sigrid felt her heart racing. There was a connection. They knew. Wereme's presence on the station, on Bellatrix, it wasn't a coincidence.

"Then I didn't imagine it."

"No, dear. I hope this means you'll be more trusting of your instincts in the future."

"Yes, Mistress," Sigrid said, relieved.

"You cannot afford to doubt yourself, Sigrid. Not with what is to come."

Sigrid looked up at Hitomi, not certain of what she meant.

"I know what it is you intend to do, Sigrid. And I know why you want to go."

"Mistress, if you're going to try to talk me out of it—"

Hitomi shook her head. "No. Quite the opposite. I believe it is imperative that you go. That is why I have sanctioned this operation. But there is something that disturbs me about all this. I'm concerned."

"I'll be careful. I know the danger."

"That's just it, dear. I'm not sure you do. You are a dear girl—the brightest and bravest I have ever met. But, Sigrid, you're eighteen. There is much you need to learn, much I have not had the chance to teach you. I have failed you in this."

"Failed? No, Mistress, you haven't failed any of us. You've trained us, given us a chance. You've given us a home!"

"And you are kind for saying so. But, fear not, I may yet be of some help. Mr. Wereme's notes did reveal one last thing. Your names were not the only ones on that list. There was another." Hitomi keyed the display, altering the image. Sigrid saw the profile, not of a woman, not a girl like her, but a man.

Sigrid reached out, touching the three-dimensional image, turning it to better study the man's face. She didn't know him, she'd never seen him, and yet this man's name was on the list next to hers. He was older than she, perhaps by fifteen years or so. His hair was cropped short, and his face had a hardness to it, more serious than threatening.

"His name is John Mirren," Hitomi said. "And he is on Bellatrix."

Bellatrix. There it was again, that distant factory world. What was it about that place?

"Is it him—is he the one? Shall I kill him, Mistress?"

The question, asked so innocently, caused Hitomi to smile. "If you mean, was he behind the attacks on Alcyone? No, I doubt that very much. I can't see John wanting to involve himself in such an affair. It would also be well beyond his means. As for killing him…"

John. Sigrid caught the familiar use of the man's name. "Do you know him? Is he a friend?"

"Friend? No, my dear. I would not go so far as that. John Mirren was a mercenary once, as was I. We have been colleagues, compatriots, other times adversaries. But friends? I wouldn't presume such a thing."

Sigrid shook her head, even more confused. "But his name is on the list. If he's not a friend, if he's not the one responsible—"

"He may not be responsible, Sigrid, but he is involved. John Mirren… He is a broker, of sorts. He deals in information."

"Information?"

"Yes. And he is very good at what he does. He helped me find you!"

"Me?"

"Finding you was not an easy thing, Sigrid. You can't imagine what a difficult task that was. If not for him, if not for John Mirren, we might never have found you at all." Hitomi turned back to face the display. "There can be only one reason why his name is on this list. Someone is sending us a message—me a message. This Bernat Wereme has gone through a great deal of trouble to let us know that he is aware of Mirren's involvement. Whoever he is, he knows about John. And…John Mirren knows of us. You must seek him out, Sigrid."

Seek him. That's what Hitomi had said. But Sigrid sensed something more behind the simple command. If this man, this broker, if he really did know of their existence…

"To warn him, Mistress, or to kill him?"

"I'm afraid you will have to make that determination. Seek him out. Tell him you work for me. He will understand."

"And you think he'll help us?"

"My dear, I think he'll take every opportunity to lie to you, cheat you, fleece you blind! But he knows the system. He knows Bellatrix. He can provide you with introductions. You'll need his contacts if you wish to make any progress there. But, Sigrid, you must be mindful of him. I would not trust him farther than you can throw him. No. Wait. Less. I imagine you might be able to toss him quite far."

"Mistress?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." Hitomi sighed, shaking her head. "You must promise me you'll take care on this mission, Sigrid. Take care of yourself. Take care of your friends. Find our enemies. Find them, and do what you must. And come home, above all else. Don't let anyone sway you from that path."

"Don't worry. I won't fail you. I won't fail you again."

"My dear girl, you never could. But this business we're mixed up in, I fear it can only mean one thing. This list is a message—it's a warning."

But Sigrid had another thought entirely.

"No, Mistress, it's an invitation."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Freelancer

With Bernat Wereme's message uncovered, planning for the mission began in earnest. The lady's attendants brought sandwiches and tea. Sigrid ate heartily, famished after all Dr. Garrett's tinkering.

Finishing off the last of the sandwiches, Sigrid sat back, resting her hands on her stomach.

"Shall I send for more?" Hitomi asked.

To her horror, Sigrid realized that she'd eaten everything, leaving none for Hitomi. "No—I'm quite full, thank you."

"Very well, then. Perhaps we might turn our attention to the task at hand."

"Yes, Mistress."

"I've been considering our first hurdle. You're going to need a way into Bellatrix."

"A way in?" Sigrid asked. "But I thought—"

Hitomi chuckled. "Yes, I'm sure you thought to simply barge your way through security, but I don't believe you will find travel to Bellatrix such an easy thing. Bellatrix is a Council-controlled world. It is a major center for commerce. People do not simply go to such a place without good reason. CTF Security will want to know why you're there. They will be watching for you, Sigrid. After what happened on Scorpii, and now on Konoe, security is certain to be heightened. You will need a cover, a reason for being there. Something convincing—something security won't think twice about."

Hitomi looked her up and over; Sigrid sank lower in her chair under the scrutiny. "I think you're a little young to be posing as a woman of industry. We'll have to come up with something more plausible, something that makes sense for a woman your age. And, no, I will not have any of my girls posing as flesh traders. We're not that desperate yet."

Sigrid thought back to Konoe Station and how the captain and his crew had tried to disguise her as one of them. Corbin Price had seen through that ruse all too easily. Sigrid realized that there was little point in posing as anything other than what she was.

But what was she? She was no mercenary—not technically. The Council had seen to stripping Lady Hitomi of her status, banishing them from the Federation. That left few options. Save for one.

"Freelancer," Sigrid said.

Hitomi looked up at her with interest, but there was a note of caution in her voice when she spoke. "Freelancer? An interesting choice. But you do realize the implications?"

"I know, Mistress."

Sigrid knew what Hitomi must think. Freelancers were not looked upon kindly, especially amongst mercenaries. The Kimurans would not approve. Freelancers were little more than outcasts and pirates, murderers and thieves. They were loyal to no one, bound by no laws. They were ronin. As far as mercenaries were concerned, freelancers were scum.

But Sigrid knew it was the perfect cover. Unhindered by the modern bureaucracies, freelancers moved freely between the Federated and nonaligned worlds. They answered to neither the Mercenary Guild nor the Council. If authorities bothered to take notice of her, it would only be to look upon her with pity, with scorn, and even contempt.

Hitomi chuckled. "Captain Trybuszkiewicz will think us quite mad."

Sigrid felt her cheeks flush. She could only imagine what the captain would think. "I know. But it's perfect."

"You'll need permits, Sigrid. Letters of transit. We should probably arrange a contract. Something simple. We can't afford security having too close a look at you."

Sigrid looked up in surprise. She'd expected her mistress to dissuade her, tell her how foolish it was. "Then—then, you agree? Do you really think it will work?"

"The Council already regards us as a band of criminals. I suppose there's no harm in playing the part. It will take me some time to make the arrangements."

"If there's anything I can do—"

Hitomi smiled. "My dear, I've had a lifetime of falsifying permits. It's nothing I'm proud of—no, wait, actually, I'm quite proud of that. But don't worry yourself. This is my domain. I will take care of it. Have you given any thought to your crew?"

"Yes, Mistress, I think I know just the girls for the job."

* * *

"Me?" Trudy said. "You want me to come?"

"Don't look at me," Suko said, pointing her thumb at Sigrid. "She picked you."

Leaning against the small desk in Trudy's quarters, Sigrid stood facing her. She couldn't help but smile at the girl's bewilderment.

"Yes, Trudy," Sigrid said, "I want you to come. I need you."

Her name was Trudy Majumdar. Sigrid couldn't blame her for being shocked. Trudy had never taken to the recombinant as had so many of her sisters, never quite blossoming to the same genetically-enhanced degree. Short and very slight, she practically swam in her uniform. The young Indian girl was hardly known for her prowess in physical combat; there were bound to be questions regarding her selection, but Sigrid knew Trudy had other skills, ones that could prove far more valuable on her mission than a raised fist or wielded weapon.

Trudy continued to blink back at her, mystified. "I'm not sure how to put this, but…um, why me?"

"Because, Trudy, you're the most highly-skilled decryption specialist we have. No one knows networks better than you."

"But Lady Hitomi—"

"Lady Hitomi will not be accompanying us on this mission. We can't risk her presence on Bellatrix."

Trudy nodded pensively. "But you can risk me."

Sigrid shifted uneasily. "Well, I can't command you to come, Trudy. If you're not sure—"

"What? Oh…no, I didn't mean…" Trudy leapt to her feet, grasping Sigrid's hands, her shock over the selection giving way to excitement. "Sigrid, of course I'll come! I'm dying to come! I'm just not used to being picked, is all. No one ever picks me. And I mean, no one picks me. Ever."

"She's right," Suko said with a wink to Sigrid. "It's never happened. Not once."

"Well, I'm picking you, Trudy," Sigrid said. "I'm going to need the very best on this mission. And right now, that's you."

"The best?" Trudy beamed. "I don't know if I'd go that far. Though it's very kind of you to say—"

"It's not kindness, Trudy. It's the truth. You might be the most important person on this mission."

"Careful," Suko cautioned. "I think her head just grew three hat sizes."

Trudy threw her arms around Sigrid, ecstatic. "Thank you, Sigrid. Oh, thank you, thank you!"

"Don't thank me yet, Trudy. You haven't even heard where we're going."

"I don't care! We all heard what happened on Konoe Station. We know what you're planning."

"Trudy, I'm not sure what you've heard—"

"I've heard all I need. Sigrid, if you're going after those bastards, then I'm your girl."

Sigrid couldn't help but smile. "Trudy, we don't even know who those bastards are."

"Then we best go find out."

* * *

Suko closed the door behind them as they left. They paused, listening, hearing the excited sounds of Trudy packing hurriedly, the squeals of glee.

"Does she know we're not leaving for a week?" Suko asked.

"Goodness. I didn't think to tell her."

"But we are leaving," a voice said from ahead on the path.

Sigrid looked up to see Leta approaching. The tall redhead was flanked by Khepri and Christian. They came to a stop at the base of the steps. Leta scowled up at her, Khepri at her side, arms folded.

Sigrid sighed. "Does everyone know about this? I thought this was a secret mission?"

"Don't look at me!" Suko said. "I never said a word."

"We heard," Christian said. "And don't think you're leaving without us."

Sigrid held up her hands in surrender. "Now, wait. I was just coming to talk to the three of you."

"Well," Leta said, "here we are. What's the mission?"

Sigrid scratched at her head. It was a dreadful feeling, knowing she had to disappoint her friends, but there was nothing for it. "Look, nothing would make me happier than to have you all along, but I can't. It's impossible."

"The only thing that's impossible," Khepri said, "is you leaving without us."

"Khepri—all of you. You know we can't go leaving the island unprotected. It's too much to risk—there's too much at stake! Khepri, I'm sorry, but with Suko gone, I'm going to need you here. I can't afford to have both of you away. Not at the same time. I need you to stay and take care of the girls' training. Especially the young ones. No one knows them better. No one cares for them more than you."

Khepri stood, hands on her hips; Sigrid could tell she was struggling, searching for something to counter Sigrid's argument.

"This is important, Khepri," Sigrid persisted. "They must continue their training—and their treatments. They have to be cared for. Otherwise…well, none of this matters."

"Is that an order?" Khepri asked.

"It's a request. They need you, Khepri. I need you."

Khepri sighed, but she nodded, if reluctantly.

Leta looked less convinced. She crossed her arms defiantly. Even standing where she was on the lower step—all six foot three of her—she still managed to look down at Sigrid.

"Don't even think it," Leta cautioned. "I'm no instructor. My only duties these days seem to be peeling potatoes in the mess, and frankly, I've had just about enough of that."

Sigrid smiled. She knew as well as Leta that the peeling of potatoes—when they had them—was entirely automated. "No. No potato peeling for you. In fact, Selene has asked me for a qualified copilot. I'll need you to help her with operations on the Morrigan. If you're up to the task.

"If?" Leta said. "You are joking."

"Although, we could probably still use you in the ship's mess. That is, if you're willing."

As answer, Leta grabbed Sigrid around the waist, sweeping her into her arms and lifting her in a rib-crushing hug.

"I'll take that as a yes," Sigrid wheezed.

"Sorry," Leta said, putting her down.

"You can report to Selene directly. I've given her command of the Morrigan for this mission. She'll want to brief you on ship's operations."

"Don't worry," Christian said. "I can show her the ropes. I'm still your tactical officer."

Sigrid winced. "I'm sorry, Christian." She wrung her hands together; she still wasn't sure how Christian would react to what she was about to say. "But I'm afraid I have a different mission for you. One that is of far greater importance to New Alcyone. And…well, I think one that may prove far more dangerous."

"Dangerous? If you're just saying that to get me to—"

"I'm not joking, Christian. And don't say yes. Not until you hear what it is."

"All right. Now I am curious. What's this all about?"

"Well, I suppose you'll all know soon enough. Come on. It might be best if I show you."

Leaving Khepri and Leta to their tasks, Sigrid led Christian and Suko down the path toward the collection of modular prefab structures. Most of the Kimuran expats made their homes here, away from the Academy grounds. Sigrid walked amongst the plasteel buildings until she found the one she sought. Mounting the steps, she knocked at the door. It swung open instantly. Captain Trybuszkiewicz smiled in greeting.

"Captain," Sigrid said, "thank you for seeing us."

"Not at all, Ms. Novak, Ms. Tansho. Please come in." Seeing Christian standing behind them, he paused. "Mr…"

"Lieutenant Lopez," Christian said, snapping a salute. "I was the tactical officer aboard the Agatsuma."

"A brave ship," the captain said, impressed. "Captain Maalouf is a fine officer."

"He is, sir. He spoke highly of you as well."

"Did he now? I wasn't aware that—"

"Captain—sir," Sigrid cut in. "If you please…?"

"Oh, yes, of course."

Captain Trybuszkiewicz stepped away from the door, inviting them into his small bungalow. Sigrid removed her boots, bowed, and made her way inside. The captain moved toward the small bar set up on a side table. On it sat a half-filled carafe with a clear liquid Sigrid scanned as vodka.

"I was just making myself a drink. May I get you one?"

"No, thank you," Sigrid said. Christian also declined.

Suko nudged past her, taking the offered glass from the captain. "Speak for yourself." She drained it, tossing it back with a tip of her elbow. She held out the empty glass for more, which seemed to please the captain immensely. The alcohol would have no effect on her, of course; the billions of nanomites coursing through her bloodstream would make certain of that. Whether or not the captain knew this, Sigrid wasn't sure, though she noted the second pour was much more generous, if enthusiastic. Suko raised her glass to him in thanks.

The captain indicated the sofa and the two girls took their seats, Christian in a small wooden chair across from them.

"I'm glad you stopped by," the captain said. "I've heard of the operation you are planning. I can't help but notice you have no assignment for my ships and crews. I would like to offer you the service of both. I think you will need support on this mission. We can lend that."

"Thank you, Captain. That is a generous offer. But I'm afraid I must decline."

"With all due respect, Ms. Novak. To refuse our aid, I think that would be a mistake. Bellatrix is a long way from here. I have discussed this with Lady Hitomi. We both agree; there is a strong likelihood that this is a trap. You should not undertake this mission without adequate support."

"No, she shouldn't," Christian said. "I tried to tell her the same thing."

"And I agree, Captain—both of you," Sigrid said. "I understand your concerns. More than you may ever know. I ignored your advice on Konoe, Captain. That was my mistake. A mistake I don't intend to make again."

"If that's true, then why refuse our assistance now?"

"Because, Captain, because I have another task in mind for you, a mission, if you'll accept it."

"Of course."

"Don't be so sure, Captain. I'm afraid what I have to ask of you might prove to be the most dangerous mission of all. After our run-in with the Merchantmen, it occurred to me how vulnerable we are. I can't help but think if we'd had even one combat-capable ship with us at Konoe, Corbin Price might have thought twice before attacking our ships and taking your crew. We need ships, Captain. Armed ships. We can't afford to risk traveling without proper escort any longer. The location of our home is secret now, but I fear, in time, we may need the deterrent, if not the defensive capabilities, that proper ships will provide."

The captain sat back, his hand reaching once more for his wiry, greying beard, but his eyes remained fixed on her. "Such thoughts had occurred to me. Perhaps…perhaps it is possible. There might be something we could do. More ships might be arranged."

"Not just ships, Captain. New Alcyone needs her own fleet and the crews to man them. I'm afraid that is what I must ask of you now."

"Is that all?" Suko asked mildly.

Sigrid glanced back and saw the grin on Suko's face.

"I know it's a lot to ask, Captain. I don't even have an idea of how it can be done. I only know it must."

Sigrid waited, worried and wondering. Then she saw the smile slowly form on his lips, the sudden spark of fire in his eyes.

"You are a most interesting young woman, Ms. Novak. I'm certain you've been told this before."

Sigrid wasn't sure how to answer, so she remained silent.

"But I think you are entirely correct. As long as the location of New Alcyone remains secret, we will be safe, but the time will come when that veil is lifted. When it does, the situation here will become untenable. We must be prepared to defend ourselves."

Sigrid sat straighter, blinking. "So you'll do it?"

The captain chuckled. "Yes, Ms. Novak, it will be my pleasure."

"Just—just like that? Do you even think it's possible?"

"Not only is it possible, it is essential. You will have your fleet. I will see to it."

"Well, not my fleet, Captain. It's not for me. It's for New Alcyone."

The captain merely smiled and bowed his head. "Of course. For New Alcyone. I will see to it personally. When you return, it will be done."

Sigrid let out a long breath—one she hadn't realized she'd been holding in. "Captain…I can't tell you what this will mean for us."

"I haven't done anything yet, Ms. Novak."

"You will, Captain," Sigrid said. "I know you will."

Behind her, Sigrid heard Christian clearing his throat. "I'm gathering," Christian said, "this is the 'dangerous' mission you were telling me about."

"It is," Sigrid said. "Captain, I know how shorthanded you are for command staff. I thought perhaps you could use Lieutenant Lopez. He's proven to be a loyal and skilled officer."

"High praise, Ms. Novak, coming from you." Captain Trybuszkiewicz rose to face Christian. "The Shinshu Maru finds herself without a captain, Lieutenant. She's little more than a converted tanker, hardly worthy of battle. But she's yours, if you'll have her."

Christian looked up; thoroughly startled, he straightened himself. "You want me to…command?"

"If you think you're up to it, Lieutenant."

Sigrid smiled inwardly. In her short time as a mercenary she had learned, no soldier in his right mind would turn down the challenge of a command or a ship of his own.

Christian snapped to stiff attention, saluting smartly. "Sir. It would be an honor, sir. And a privilege."

"I do, however, have one request, Ms. Novak," the captain said, turning back to her.

"Anything, Captain. Whatever I can do."

"It was my pleasure to serve with you on the Konoe mission. If I had my choice, I would request that you serve with me again. But I realize that's impossible. You, of course, have your own mission. But, if you could spare one of your…sisters, I think is how you girls put it?"

"Yes, Captain, that is the term."

"If you could have one of them assigned to me for the duration, I know it would increase our chances of success."

Sigrid smiled. "I can do better than that, Captain. I shall assign you two."

"Two girls!" the captain said, sounding impressed. "Why, Ms. Novak, with two of you along, I don't see why we can't bring back the entire CTF Fleet."

* * *

Sigrid and Suko left the two Kimuran officers to discuss their mission. So eager were the two men to commence planning, she doubted they even noticed as the two girls slipped away. Sigrid paused on the steps outside, leaning against the rail. There was a chill in the evening air, not that she would notice. Suko closed the door behind her, coming to stand at her side.

"Like kids in a candy store," Suko said. "I think you made their day."

Sigrid shook her head. "I only hope they know it's not a game."

"They know. They're professionals. They'll be okay."

"I know." Tired, exhausted, Sigrid leaned into her, and she let Suko hold her, her arm around her shoulders. "Still, I can't help wondering if this is all some trick—a trap to lure us away? That's what they did on Konoe."

"If it is a trap, then it's their trap." Suko's arm tightened about her shoulder. "You worry too much. "

"I can't help it. I can't afford any mistakes, Suko. Not this time. I keep wondering if there's something I've forgotten, something I've missed. I couldn't bear it if someone were to get hurt."

"We're big girls, Seeg. Our getting hurt or not getting hurt—it's not your responsibility. This mission is just as important to us as it is to you."

"I know."

"Although…" Suko said, peering down at her. "There might be one thing…"

"What?"

"Something you forgot."

Sigrid cursed. "I knew it!" She searched frantically through her database for what or whom she might have missed, but she could find nothing. "Blast! What? Who?"

Suko laughed. "Me! You forgot me."

"You? What do you mean?"

"Well, Leta, Khepri, Christian, they have their assignments. Even Trudy! But you never said anything to me."

"To you? But…of course you're coming!"

Suko tilted her head in a demure fashion. "Well, it's not like you asked."

"Asked? What the… Suko, you know you're coming with me. I could never do this without you. You know that!"

"Still, a girl does like to be asked. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do. Am I to work in the ship's mess? Or perhaps be a deckhand?"

"Deckhand?" Sigrid scowled, not at the tease, but because she was such an easy mark for Suko. She made a swipe at Suko's shoulder, but Suko caught her hand and pulled her into her arms, and Sigrid was happy to let herself be held. "Deckhand," Sigrid said again. "I hadn't considered that. Perhaps I could have you assigned to Captain Trybuszkiewicz. He did say something about needing more crew—something about toting barges or lifting bales or some such. It was rather technical. I'll have to ask him."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"No," Sigrid said, "I wouldn't. You're assigned to me, and you know it."

"Assigned? Is that the official mercenary designation?"

Sigrid's hands swept around Suko's waist and dropped lower. "I'm not sure there's a proper designation in the guild handbook for what I have in mind."

Suko glanced back at Sigrid's hands on her backside. "Shall I be the captain's woman, then? Kept and quartered?"

"I think I like the sound of that." Sigrid pulled her closer then, their weapon harnesses, holsters and spare ammunitions packs becoming ensnared, metal clanking against metal.

"When do we leave?"

"Lady Hitomi thinks it will take a few days to make the final arrangements."

"Days? And what shall we do with all that time?"

Leading her by the hand, Sigrid started toward the beach. "I think I'd like to see you in your new swimming costume, for one."

"Swimming? Now?"

"And when will I get another chance to swim? I don't think Bellatrix is known for its sandy shores."

"Well, they might have a pool—"

Sigrid looked around, at the Academy grounds, the white beaches and the ocean beyond, wondering when she'd see their shores again, wondering when she'd have another moment with Suko like this.

"Yes," Sigrid said. "A swim. I think it's time you had a proper lesson."

CHAPTER NINE

Last Flight of the Ōmi Maru

During the following week, their ships were thoroughly inspected and serviced. All of the ships were to be used; they could afford to leave none of them behind. Upgrades to the Kimuran freighters were made where possible, retrofitting whatever weapons systems the teams of engineers could cobble together; ordnance and supplies were loaded and stowed.

Lady Hitomi took care to arrange for their insertion into Bellatrix space. New identities were prepared for Sigrid and her crew of freelancers, a flight plan filed with the Relay Monitor. Even the Morrigan's transponder was altered—something Sigrid understood to be impossible, though, when it came to her mistress, Sigrid had come to learn that very little was impossible. As far as the authorities were concerned, her ship was now registered as the Helena, a freelance scout out of Rastaban.

For Sigrid there was little to do but wait, a thoroughly frustrating and stressful experience. Six days later, an agonizing eternity, Sigrid found herself standing on the landing platform beside the Morrigan. The sudden roar of thrusters firing from the berth next to her drew her attention. It was the Ōmi Maru, first of the Kimuran transports to depart. She blasted her way skyward, her engines serving to shake the earth around her as much as they signaled the commencement of the operation.

It had begun. There would be no turning back now.

One by one, the three remaining Kimuran vessels lifted off. Last off the pad was the Shinshu Maru, Christian's ship. Sigrid heard the resonance of her engines shift as her thrusters handed over their duties to the main engines, blasting her clear of New Alcyone's pull. Sigrid watched as it trailed the others skyward until she could see it no more. Then they were gone, on their way to fulfill Sigrid's request. An insane request—she knew that now.

Silently, Sigrid wished them luck and wondered when she might see her friends again.

"They'll do all right," Suko said as she dropped the last of the weapons containers at her side; she had to move away quickly as the crew leapt forward to load it into the hold.

"I shouldn't have asked them to do this. I should have gone with them."

"You have your own mission to worry about. You have to let them do theirs."

With the Kimurans gone, their island home appeared eerily silent, empty. Only the Morrigan remained, and even she would be gone soon. Sigrid had to remind herself, she wasn't abandoning them, she was doing what she promised.

It was the only way.

"Karen!"

Sigrid practically tackled the Kimuran officer who'd arrived up the path, running and wrapping her arms around her.

"We came to see you off," Karen said, gesturing to the girl at her side. Sigrid recognized her as Zaria, one of the young ones.

The girl was a curiosity to be sure. At fourteen, she was a master of pyrotechnics. Burning things seemed to please her immensely, and she had an innate talent for blowing things to splintery bits. Yet she was a quiet thing, almost always keeping to herself, which was why Sigrid was so surprised to find her here to see her off.

"I hope you don't mind," Karen said. "I know you're busy, but she insisted."

"No, I think it's wonderful. Thank you, Zaria. You're very kind.”

"And, well, she made you something," Karen said. "A bit of a…goodbye present."

"A present? Zaria, what exactly…?"

Zaria stepped forward. She held an object in her hands, a small black case—the goodbye present.

Sigrid took it hesitantly. "What is it?"

"Open it!" Zaria said.

"Carefully!" Karen added.

Sigrid did so, releasing the latches. "Oh, Zaria…you didn't."

Reaching forward, Zaria lifted the object from the case. "I made her for the trip. I hope you like it."

Sigrid gave the object a series of scans. The readings were startling.

"Zaria, did…did you make a nuke?"

"You don't like it?"

"That's not the point. Zaria, how did you do it?"

Zaria scratched absently at her head; one of her braids came loose in her fingers. "It's quite simple, really. It's just a matter of fusing the deuterium with the tritium. I used antimatter as the trigger—"

"I know how it works, Zaria. I mean, how did you build it? Karen, did you help her with this?"

"Don't look at me!"

"And she's not a nuke," Zaria corrected. "Not really—not in the classic sense. Not like those dirty old things. None of that nasty fallout."

"She's quite proud of that fact," Karen said.

"I know she's small," Zaria added. "She's only point-nine-seven kilotons, but she'll get your attention."

Sigrid turned the thing over in her hands, examining it. "Rather…"

Sigrid noticed a small yellow switch welded to the side.

"That's the detonator," Zaria said. "Flip that and there's no turning her off. Don't worry. You'll have forty-two minutes to get clear."

Gingerly, Sigrid handed her back the nuke. "Well, make sure she's properly stored."

"Yes, Mistress."

Mistress. Sigrid still couldn't get used to the young ones calling her that.

With the 'nuke' proudly cradled to her chest, Zaria hurried off to give it to the ground crew as they worked to secure the last of the munitions in the hold.

"Thanks," Karen said. "You made her day."

"Maybe we should bring her along?" Suko said.

"I certainly could have used her on Konoe Station. And you, Karen. I could still use you at communications."

Karen held up her hands. "I'm flattered, but my duties are here. Lady Hitomi keeps my itinerary quite full. Besides…" Karen put a hand to her side—at the very spot where she'd been shot on Scorpii. The wound had very nearly taken her life. "I don't think I'm, ah, equipped for this kind of mission."

Sigrid hugged her close. "I'll miss you. It won't be the same without you."

"Hey!" Suko said, her arms held out. "You're not exactly going alone, you know. I am going with you, or had you forgotten?"

"Never," Sigrid said, pulling Suko into the group hug. "I'm eternally grateful."

Behind them, the ground crew sealed the last of the compartments and unhooked the generators. It was time to go. With one final hug goodbye, Karen stepped back, waving to them as they made their way inside. Suko was first up the ladder, with Sigrid following close behind. The crack Sigrid made about Suko's backside above her was obvious and crude, but it elicited a satisfying giggle and then a squeal when Sigrid gave her a pinch.

Inside, the small scout vessel was crowded with crew busy making their final preparations.  The normal crew compliment of twelve had been increased to seventeen, and they had to squeeze by several work teams as they made their way to the bridge. The Morrigan bristled with activity and energy, as if she knew she had a purpose again. It was infectious and filled Sigrid with excitement, and she was eager to be on their way.

It was going to be different this time. She knew it.

Selene was on the bridge with Leta, going over the last of the checklists.

Trudy was there as well. Bent over the communications console, Trudy tended to the last of her equipment as she added her own monitoring and decryption gear to the Morrigan's. By the looks of things, the piles of electronics strewn about, she wasn't quite done.

"Everything all right, Trudy?"

Trudy spun around to face Sigrid, banging her head on the bottom of the console as she did so, wincing and rubbing her head with her hand.

And then Sigrid saw… Her head! Her hairless head! Sigrid gasped. "Trudy, your hair!" Trudy's long, beautiful, jet-black hair was gone, shaved within a millimeter of her skull. All that remained were the fringes, the long bangs at the front, and these had been dyed a brilliant red.

Trudy shifted uneasily, rubbing the stubble on her head. "Um… Right, about that…"

"It's her own fault," Leta said. "I told her to be careful handling the incendiaries. She singed the whole thing clean off."

"You burned yourself? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Really! Nothing that won't grow back, right?" Trudy twirled the long red fringes in her fingers. "Besides, I think I kind of like it."

Sigrid ran a hand down her face. "Please, Trudy. You have to be more careful. I can't afford to lose you. At least, not yet. We haven't even left the planet."

"Speaking of which," Selene said, handing Sigrid her report. "Crew says we're loaded and fueled. All systems go. We're ready for departure."

"Thank you, Selene."

Sigrid allowed herself one last look out the forward view port. She saw her island home, the new Academy, the paint still fresh on its wooden walls, the new paths barely walked on. What the place would look like when she returned, she could only guess.

"Take us up, Selene. Take us to Bellatrix."

CHAPTER TEN

Customs & Immigration

October 1, 2348

The deck plates shifted beneath Sigrid's feet, signaling the completion of the warp jump. Everyone had crowded into the cramped cockpit, eager to get their first glimpse of Bellatrix. Sigrid saw the familiar flash of white, fading quickly as the space before them grew black, and the stars became visible again.

It was then Sigrid heard the first of the alarms sounding—proximity warnings.

"Contact," Selene said. "Multiple. Close. Four thousand kilometers, closing fast—shit."

Sigrid heard the bang and felt the ship shudder under the impact. They'd hit something. Chunks of debris flew toward them, careening off their hull. Sigrid scanned the rubble; twisted bits of titanium, composite materials, organic material—bodies, she realized. Whatever this was, whatever they were passing through, it wasn't natural phenomena.

"Report," Sigrid said.

"It's a ship," Selene said. "Or what's left of it. Whatever it was, it was big."

More shrapnel peppered the hull of the Morrigan as they plowed into yet another wave of debris. The multiple signals were nothing more than the remnants, bits and pieces of what was once a ship now blasted into oblivion.

"Hang on!" Selene called out.

A huge section of the destroyed vessel, what looked like part of an engine pylon, hurtled toward them. Sigrid saw the fifteen-meter-tall thruster nozzle tumbling end over end, filling the view screen. Selene pulled hard on the control column, blasting up and away. The maneuver was drastic, desperate. The Morrigan's inertial dampers did their best to compensate, yet Sigrid still felt the crushing forces pushing her deep into her seat.

There was nothing Selene could do, nothing any of them could do but hold tight, hold their breath. Sigrid winced, bracing herself. When it came, the impact threw her from her seat, rattling her skull as much as it did the ship, the hull resonating like some great bell.

Sigrid waited, listening, scanning, but there was only silence. For a good minute no one moved, no one breathed.

Oddly, miraculously, inexplicably, they were alive.

Five amber alerts flashed on the tiny console on the arm of her chair. There was a breach in the cargo section, but the emergency seals were holding. The primary navigational array had been sheared off. Sigrid knew how close they'd come; the damage could have been much, much worse.

"What the hell happened here?" Suko said, climbing to her feet, leaning heavily on the arm of Sigrid's chair.

Sigrid didn't know. Yet this was too familiar, too much like her journey aboard the Agatsuma—the limpet mine they'd struck upon exiting warp space. Was this the result of a similar encounter? Was this another attempt on them?

"Two more ships," Selene called out. "Ten thousand kilometers—moving fast. They're headed toward the Relay. Damn."

"Show me," Sigrid said. "On screen."

Selene keyed the switch on her console, the forward monitor giving them a view of nearby space. Sigrid saw it then: a ship, an aging corvette, scarred and battle-worn, blasting toward the Warp Relay. But she wasn't alone. She was being pursued, hunted, by a much larger vessel to her stern.

The pursuing ship looked state of the art, a gleaming ship of the line. She was a cruiser, a ship of war, and hell bent on running down the much smaller vessel. Three fighters launched from her bays to swarm over the fleeing corvette and wreak further havoc.

The corvette was nearly to the Relay. She crawled closer, desperate for escape. But Sigrid knew she would not make it. For all its bulk, the cruiser was far swifter. She overtook the corvette, catching her easily, coming alongside and bringing all of her guns to bear. The entire port side of the cruiser was alight, her banks of rail turrets firing at pointblank range. Ballistic rounds raked across the fleeing vessel, tearing open huge rifts in her hull, breaking her back and splitting her in two. The drive and crew sections careened wildly away from each other, spinning end over end.

There would be no survivors from this encounter. The battle was over.

Sigrid scanned the battle area. The destroyed corvette registered as the Babenberg, a mercenary vessel registered to Clan Crossley. To her surprise, the cruiser was not a ship of the Guild. She assumed the pursuing vessel to be mercenary as well—perhaps from a rival clan retaliating against some incursion or slight against them. But she was wrong. The cruiser registered as a CTF naval vessel.

It was a Council ship.

Suko must have scanned the data, just a she had. She plunked her elbow down, resting her chin in her hand.

"Now what do you suppose a Council ship is doing mixing it up with mercenaries?"

Sigrid felt a knot of cold twisting around her spine. It didn't make any sense. The Mercenary Guild and the Council for Trade and Finance were hardly enemies. The Guild was a tool of the Council. The Council might pass the laws, but it was the Mercenary Guild who enforced them. The CTF employed mercenaries! They certainly held no jurisdiction over them. Yet she had just witnessed a CTF naval ship obliterate a mercenary vessel.

And why here? Why now? Just as they arrived in Bellatrix space.

The cruiser moved alongside the shattered remains of the Babenberg. Salvage tugs were launched from her bays, sweeping out to begin the work of clearing the debris while her fighters flew combat patrol, keeping a watchful eye.

One of the fighters came about in a wide, sweeping arc. Sigrid's eyes widened as she realized it was coming toward them. The twenty-five-meter, V-shaped vessel closed the distance quickly. As scrappy as her own ship was, Sigrid knew this fighter was a true bird of prey, and her sights were set squarely on the Morrigan. Missile pods and cannon extended from the mounts in her wings, looking like great talons, ready to rend and tear the flesh of her own ship apart.

"I hope they don't think we're involved," Trudy said worriedly. "We just got here!"

"I'm not sure if they care," Selene said. "Orders, Sigrid?"

Sigrid realized they were all looking to her.

"Do we fight?" Suko asked.

"We can still cloak," Selene offered. "We can make for the Relay."

"No. Hold your course."

Suko leaned closer. "Sigrid…" Sigrid heard the warning in her voice. There was danger out there; Suko saw it. She saw it too.

Sigrid sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. The incoming fighter was already within weapons range, yet she did not fire, not even a shot across her bow.

"We knew we had to test our cover sometime. We might as well find out if it's going to hold up—better sooner than later."

"Yes," Suko said, "but perhaps we can test it in a situation that doesn't involve them blowing us to bits."

Sigrid let out a long breath. All her instincts told her the same thing. Fight. Destroy the fighter before it could destroy them. They could cloak. They could run.

But she had a plan, she had a mission. To turn back now…

"No, Lady Hitomi assured me our cover would hold. I trust her. We're going in. We're going to Bellatrix. Hold your course, Selene."

Waiting, wondering, the girls watched in silence as the fighter closed the distance. But the fighter's only maneuver was to perform a gentle, sweeping turn to come alongside, matching their course and speed.

"They're signaling," Trudy said.

"On screen."

The forward monitor switched instantly to the cramped interior of the fighter's cockpit. Sigrid saw the three crew seated tightly side by side. She couldn't see their faces, masked as they were by their pressure suits and helmets.

"Identify."

"Charming…" Suko whispered at her side.

"This is the Helena, out of Rastaban," Sigrid said, offering their falsified designation. "Sigrid Peters, commanding."

"Destination."

"New Shēnzhèn. Our flight plan is booked and cleared with Relay Control."

A tense silence followed. Thanks to the pilots' helmets and mirrored faceplates, Sigrid could neither see nor hear what they discussed—if they were discussing anything at all. She could only hope her mistress's work was up to the task.

"Helena, you are cleared for Bellatrix travel. We are transmitting your new flight plan. Any deviation will result in arrest and seizure of your vessel. All ships must register with Customs and Border Protection at the Portside Orbital Facility. You will wait there until called. Once called, you will submit to full inspection. Please have all documentation ready. Any hazardous items must be accompanied by the appropriate documentation. Good day."

With that, the screen winked out and the fighter peeled away, moving back to resume its combat patrol around the Council frigate. Their cover had held. So far.

"Hazardous materials?" Suko said.

"You don't suppose he means us?" Trudy asked.

Leta snickered at her side.

With the emergency over, the girls relaxed, chatting about the close call, eager to get on with their mission. But Sigrid couldn't stop thinking about the wrecked mercenary ships, the battle waged so close to the Relay. What had caused the mercenaries to run, and what had driven the CTF to pursue and prosecute with deadly force?

Why now, just as they arrived in Bellatrix space?

Sigrid feared she would find out soon.

* * *

For the next four days, they closed on Bellatrix, blasting their way toward the planet. During that time, Trudy kept close watch over the com-traffic within the system. There was a tremendous amount of ship-to-ship chatter about the battle. Within hours, reports began to flood in from the news feeds. Trudy and Sigrid were able to piece together a clearer picture of what had transpired.

There had been a bombing on Bellatrix. The Council Embassy in the capital city of Portside was the target. The word terrorism was bandied about in the reports, although the Council authorities were blaming it on mercenaries and linking Clan Crossley directly to the affair.

Representatives from Clan Crossley denied the charges, calling for immediate reparations after the destruction of two of their vessels, further inflaming the situation. Security had been heightened, all branches put on alert. All ships in and out of Bellatrix were to be searched thoroughly. Theirs included.

"It can't be mercs," Leta said. "There's no way! I know the Mercenary Guild—they would never sanction an operation like this. Not against the Council."

Sigrid agreed. "Keep listening, Trudy. Let me know immediately if you find anything else."

"This isn't exactly the reception we were planning on," Suko said. "I thought we were supposed to 'slip in' unnoticed."

Sigrid leaned over the command console. The space surrounding Bellatrix was crowded with CTF vessels and local security, a gauntlet through which they would be forced to pass directly through. There would be no hiding. Not this time.

"Lady Hitomi assured us our documents will pass inspection," Sigrid said. "We have to trust her. It will work."

When they arrived at the orbital facilities of Customs and Border Protection, they were forced to remain there for a total of eight days, waiting for their turn to be boarded and inspected. The waiting only served to feed Sigrid's anxiety. Her mind filled with several worst-case scenarios. She imagined security officials scrutinizing their falsified registries, detecting the lies behind it. Perhaps they already knew the truth? Maybe they knew exactly who they were, and were just waiting for the right moment to spring their trap?

Sigrid rubbed at her temples. She was being foolish, and she knew it. If security knew who they were, they would find out soon enough. There was little to be achieved in concocting doomsday scenarios. She had a mission to plan, and so far her 'plan' was somewhat lacking in detail. Beyond getting to the surface, there really wasn't much more to it.

Bellatrix was home to more than a billion persons. Thirty-seven million people resided in New Shēnzhèn alone. How did she possibly expect to find evidence of their enemies here?

But Hitomi had provided her with that one single clue: the information broker, John Mirren. Sigrid had no choice but to seek him out.

In their quarters, Suko came to stand behind Sigrid, placing her hands on her shoulders, working and kneading the twisted knotting of muscles there.

"You're very tense," Suko said.

Sigrid leaned back into the massage and closed her eyes, letting out a long moan. Suko's hands moved lower then, coming around to her front.

"Those aren't tense," Sigrid said.

"No, but they still require attention."

Sigrid smiled and reached back, grabbing Suko by the collar and pulling her close, enjoying a long kiss.

"Better?" Suko said.

"Much."

Sigrid felt the blip in her PCM. It was Trudy signaling through her comlink.

Suko mumbled a curse. "Tell her we're busy."

Sigrid hushed her, listening.

"We're cleared, Sigrid. We'll be docking in ten minutes. We're to submit ourselves to Customs directly."

"Thank you, Trudy. We'll be right there."

"I think I liked it better when that thing wasn't working," Suko grumbled, tapping Sigrid's head near where her comlink was embedded. "Can't get a wink of privacy on this ship."

Extracting herself from Suko's arms, Sigrid rose to retrieve her combat outfit from the hook by the door. Stripping off her ship wear, she stepped into the strong but stretchy uniform.

This was the very same uniform Hitomi had made for her, given to her that night on Earth. Made of a special nanofiber weave, the outfit allowed Sigrid a myriad of camouflage options. With it, she could blend perfectly into any environment, even achieve a cloak of pure invisibility, if only for a short time. Holding the effect was still incredibly draining, though Sigrid found ever since Dr. Garrett's upgrades she could remain cloaked for much longer periods.

But the suit was a prototype, unique to her and the special program Hitomi had designed for her alone. In time, all the girls were to be furnished with similar uniforms, but that plan had been derailed by Sigrid's failure to secure the needed supplies on Konoe.

The magenta and white trim were gone, stripped from the uniforms. They were freelancers now—at least they were on this operation. Freelancers would not sport the kinds of colors and insignia associated with the mercenary clans. They were ronin, their all-black garments lending credence to their claim.

Suko sat back on the bed and watched as Sigrid dressed. "You know, Trudy did say ten minutes." Suko gave the spot on the bed beside her a pat for good measure.

"Is that all you can think about?" Sigrid asked, scowling back at her.

"I think about lots of things. Food, for one. I'm positively famished. Do you think there's time for a last meal before we dock? Who knows how long this inspection will last."

Sigrid paused, the zipper of her uniform only half pulled up. "And now food? Am I so easily forgotten? Shunted aside just because your stomach rumbled?"

Suko rose to stand next to her. "Forgotten? Never. Completely impossible." Her arms wrapped around Sigrid, her hands finding those other parts equally in need of tending to.

"Ten minutes?" Sigrid said.

"My chronometer is already counting down."

* * *

Security on Bellatrix was handled much like Earth. The Morrigan would not be permitted to land, not directly. Instead, they were forced to dock with one of the many orbital platforms. From there, they would take one of the orbital elevators to the surface—but only once they were cleared for passage by the good people of Customs and Border Protection.

After turning her ship over to the inspectors, Sigrid, Leta, Suko and Trudy were escorted to the CBP offices. This resulted in even more waiting as they were made to join an impossibly long queue. Two hundred and seventy eight persons waited in line ahead of them.

"This will take forever," Trudy complained.

"Not for everyone," Leta observed. There was a great kerfuffle ahead of them; the milling crowds were pushed aside, forced to make way as the customs officials ushered a young woman through to the head of the line. Sigrid spotted her expertly tailored suit, the matching set of luggage carried along by what seemed an entire platoon of porters as they hurried to match her purposeful pace. Her papers were stamped, the woman waved through, all without any delay or questions or awkward probing searches. It reminded Sigrid very much of her travels with her mistress, the way Lady Hitomi circumvented such bureaucratic inconveniences.

But there would be no relief for Sigrid and her friends, not on this trip, and they were forced to endure the never-ending queue.

It was hours later when they were waved forward. The customs officer greeted Sigrid with a bored stare, barely looking up from his screen.

"Purpose for entering Bellatrix?"

"Work," Sigrid said.

The officer glanced up, took one look at Sigrid and her companions in their form-fitting black outfits, then wagged his thumb in the opposite direction.

"Flesh traders check in at the south entrance. Take this." He waved a colored electronic form in her face. "Make sure to fill it out, hand it to the medical screener. You'll need these too." He handed her four clear plastic cups.

Sigrid took the form and the cups, and placed them right back down on his desk. "We're not flesh traders, sir. We're freelancers. We're here for work."

"This ain't no employment ministry. No work, no entry." He pointed to the sign above his head that declared exactly the same thing. "Bellatrix doesn't take unemployables. And there's no dole for nonresidents."

Sigrid sighed. Hitomi had warned her to expect this, and briefed her on the appropriate response. "We have our own weapons, sir, if that's what you're concerned about. And we have a contract." Sigrid produced the falsified documents. Hitomi had forged the contract through a subsidiary of a subsidiary of a small corporation, subcontracted through a brokerage. She assured them the papers would stand up to the staunchest scrutiny.

"We're freelancers, not freeloaders," Sigrid said, irritation creeping into her voice. "We came seeking profit, not charity"

The security officer looked up, grunted, took one brief look at the contract before slipping it into his filer. The contract was quickly scanned and registered. The officer handed it back.

Sigrid tried not to roll her eyes. So much for the much lauded scrutiny of Bellatrix's customs officers.

"Freelancers, eh? Don't look like no freelancers. What kind of work you say you're here for? Protection? Collections?"

"I didn't say. Does it matter?"

Apparently it did, and Sigrid's question struck a nerve with the civil servant.

"Course it matters! I got to put something in the line item here. Can't just be leaving stuff blank. Supervisor's not going to like that. Raise hell, they will. This isn't no Independent world. We got rules here. Procedure."

Sigrid held up her hands in surrender. "All right! Okay! I'm sorry. I didn't realize. It says right on the contract, for goodness’ sake! It's wet work, then. You can put us down for that. We do wet work."

"Wet work?" The customs man gave a long whistle. "Well now, if you'll be forgiving me, miss, you girls don't look the sort to be doing work like that. Bad stuff, that. Brings a bad lot. Dangerous. Too dangerous for nice girls like you. Better choices to be had. Lots of brokers looking for protection work. Safe work, that. I can recommend—"

"Wet work," Sigrid said again, crossing her arms and giving him her sternest of looks. "And I assure you, we can take care of ourselves—is all that part of the questionnaire? You're not writing that down, are you?" She reached for the form, pulling at the plastic pad, but the officer snatched it away from her.

"All right. Didn't mean to get your knickers in a knot. I'm just saying, you look young, is all. Don't mean nothing by it."

"Then we can have our permit?"

The officer shrugged. "I can stamp you. But it won't make no never mind if you can't pay the Guild levies. Mercenary Guild's going to want their tribute."

Sigrid let out a long sigh. She knew there was no such thing as a Guild tribute. This was a demand for a bribe, pure and simple.

They had come prepared for that too.

Sigrid signaled to Suko and Leta. The two girls wheeled over the luggage carriers, three carriers holding a total of six cargo containers. This got the attention of more of the armed customs officers. The men and women strolled over, fingers on the triggers of their rifles, curious eyes peering over the beaks of their noses to get a glimpse of the unusual foreign girls and the goods they carried.

"We were hoping the Guild might accept this as payment."

Sigrid opened the first of the containers, presenting the contents to the customs officer. His mouth drooped in a satisfying fashion. As it bloody well should, Sigrid thought. She was quickly learning that there were two things men enjoyed ogling: women and weaponry. The cargo container brimmed with shining new offerings. Assault rifles, pistols, the tempting gleam of steel shone from the collection of long, serrated blades piled inside. She tried not to smile as the men fought over the rocket launcher, eager to be the first to cradle it in their arms.

"You'll see these get to the local Guild office," Sigrid said. "I'm sure they won't mind if you take some for yourselves. There's more than enough."

The customs officer merely grunted his response, his hands busy fondling a claymore mine.

"For your troubles," Sigrid said, tossing him a grenade. This seemed to please him; he took the gift, grinning as he stuffed it in his pocket.

With their permits of entry stamped and their weapons retrieved, Sigrid led her team through the station toward the orbital elevator. An observation lounge in the boarding area provided them with their first view of Bellatrix. Where New Alcyone glowed a brilliant blue, lush and filled with life, Bellatrix was a dull orb of reddish-brown, barren and laid flat. But this was the domain of men and industry.

Even from orbit, Sigrid could see evidence of the global devastation, strip mining on a planetary scale. The corporations had come, built their factories, and dredged the surface clean, eager to harvest all that Bellatrix had to offer. The machines had to be fed, and their hunger was insatiable.

Much of the surface lay in darkness. Only a few city-centers dotted the surface. But these cities were huge, massive concentrations of population, clusters of humanity crushed together in the areas surrounding the manufacturing centers. One of these was their destination, the city-province of New Shēnzhèn.

From the observation deck, Sigrid watched as the orbital lift rose beneath them, climbing its way up the 10,000 kilometer-long tether to dock with the station above. The lifts here weren't nearly as large as the ones in Panama, but they didn't fail to impress Sigrid's three companions.

They had to wait for the arriving passengers to disembark before boarding. When their turn came, signs directed them down to the very lowest levels of the lift. There would be no luxury accommodations awaiting her this time, not for Sigrid and her band of freelancers. On this voyage, they were to be quartered with the rest of the third-class passengers in steerage.

"I guess we have to share," Suko said as she stared out at the sea of quad-level bunk beds. The steerage accommodations were little more than a common room, a dormitory of sorts set aside for the third-class passengers. Several hundred passengers were already busy claiming their berths and arranging their belongings.

Suko tossed her bag on the nearest of the bunks and leapt onto the mattress, proclaiming, "Dibs!" Then, with a leer to Sigrid, she added, "Don't worry. I'm prepared to share."

Sigrid was contemplating a lewd reply when something caught her eye.

"Trudy!"

"What?" Trudy jerked her head around; she was bent over with her uniform unzipped and pulled down to her ankles, her bright red fringes dangling over her face.

"What are you doing!"

Trudy looked back at her, innocently. "I'm, ah, I'm getting changed. Leta said there was a pub." She wagged her thumb over her shoulder. "I thought we'd go have a look. I've never seen a pub."

"No! I mean—your clothes! What are you doing?"

"I wanted to put on something nice. Didn't I mention the pub? It's right over—"

"I mean, here. Why are you changing here? In front of everyone. There's changing rooms right over there."

"Changing rooms?"

This appeared to be a truly foreign concept to Trudy. But of course it was. There had never been cause for such things on Alcyone. But this was a public dormitory, and Sigrid hadn't thought to brief any of them on protocols outside their enclave. Such things simply weren't done here. Although, most of the men looking her way didn't seem to mind.

Trudy shrugged. "Aw'right."

"Trudy!" Sigrid made a zipping motion with her hand, indicating that Trudy should button her uniform back up.

Trudy let out a long, bothered sigh. "Wait. So first you want me to put my clothes back on. Here. So that I can go over there, then get undressed, and then dress again."

Sigrid nodded, pleased to see the girl grasping the concept.

Trudy continued to mumble as she shuffled off, a fresh change of clothes bundled in her arms. Sigrid could only shake her head. She had thought herself so naive, but clearly there was much they would all have to learn about life in the world outside.

And where in the blazes did Leta go?

Sigrid spun a three-sixty, but couldn't spot Leta anywhere.

"She left," Suko said. "Some bloke seemed eager to buy her a drink."

"Blast!" Sigrid would definitely have to have a talk with everyone. "I better go make sure she's all right. Do you mind stowing our gear?"

"Sure. I'll see you there."

"Oh, and bring Trudy. I don't want her getting into more trouble."

The pub was up one level. Sigrid followed the signs and found it easily. Passengers were already filing in. Sigrid caught the familiar smells: the stale beer mingling with the perfumed 'smoke' of the vaporizers the spacers favored. It was hardly a first-class lounge, but not without its old-world charm. Decorative lamps lit the room with a cheerful glow. Pictures of footballers appeared to adorn every square inch of the walls. A smiling bartender greeted her as she entered.

She spotted Leta easily enough. She was off in a corner booth and surrounded by a group of men, all of them involved in a rather raucous conversation. They jostled and vied for the attentions of the striking redhead, all to Leta's delight. Chilled glasses of ale were raised and brought clattering together, only to be drained and refilled enthusiastically.

Sigrid sighed and leaned back against the bar. Well, Leta was a big girl, and she could take care of herself.

There was an empty stool behind her, and she took it. She was suddenly aware of a fresh pint of ale, dark and creamy, waiting by her elbow. Sigrid turned and saw the cheerful face of the bartender smiling at her.

"I didn't order that," Sigrid said.

He tipped his cap. "Compliments."

"Oh…well, thank you, I suppose." Sigrid was surprised, but the man seemed pleasant enough; there didn't seem to be anything lurid or untoward behind the gesture. Sigrid raised the glass to him and took a long quaff. "Thank you. Thank you very much."

The bartender smiled and went back to his work, leaving Sigrid alone to enjoy her ale. She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed its creamy goodness. They had nothing like it on New Alcyone. Sigrid decided then, if she ever solved their supply issues, having proper ale would be part of the list.

"May I join you," a decidedly feminine voice asked at her side.

Sigrid turned and saw the woman standing there. She leaned against the bar next to her, a slim electronic vaporizer held in her delicate fingers. Sigrid drained the last of her ale and wiped the foam from her lips with the back of her sleeve.

"May I get you another?" the woman asked; she signaled to the bartender, not waiting for Sigrid to answer. The bartender brought back another ale for Sigrid, and something in a tall-stemmed glass for her. It held a clear liquid—gin with the slightest traces of vermouth—and three of the largest olives Sigrid had ever seen, speared on a skewer.

The woman retrieved the olives, plucking one with her teeth as her eyes scanned Sigrid up and down.

She looked a few years older than Sigrid; twenty-six, maybe twenty-seven. She sported a short skirt in deep green with matching blazer, expertly tailored. Green high-heeled boots and a matching pocketbook completed the outfit. Her hair was brown, cut to her shoulders, and her eyes were wide and colored a deep emerald green. Natural, not augments.

Sigrid didn't miss that her appearance did not match those of her much rougher steerage companions. This woman was of a different class. As to what she was doing down here with the unwashed masses was another matter. Sigrid might have thought the woman had lost her way, but she doubted that for one simple reason.

Sigrid had seen her before.

This was the woman from customs—the very same woman s he'd spotted being whisked to the head of the line. Sigrid knew this woman hadn't come down to the steerage pub for the atmosphere. She was here for her.

Sigrid pushed the empty stool toward the woman with her foot.

"Thank you. You're a dear," the woman said, taking a long drag from the vaporizer. Sigrid detected the mild narcotic, a cannabis derivative flavored with the scent of strawberries. "I hope you don't mind. Sitting alone can be a bit of a trial in these places. The men here do tend to take their liberties." She looked down at Sigrid's pearl-handled sidearms, then slowly up along the length of her dark uniform. "But you look like you can take care of yourself."

Sigrid heard the outburst of uproarious laughter from the corner of the pub. Leta appeared to be entertaining her new man-friends by challenging all comers to a contest of arm wrestling. The latest bout resulted in several glasses being overturned; Leta's opponent was hauled away from the table, the other men finding his broken arm to be a great source of hilarity. This didn't seem to dissuade Leta's next challenger, who took up the seat opposite her, rolling up his sleeve in eager anticipation.

The woman in green turned away from the disturbance and back to Sigrid, blowing more strawberry-scented vapor her way. "My name's Catherine."

Sigrid took a moment to scan the ID chip pinned to her collar. Her name was, in fact, Catherine. Catherine Cartwright. Though Sigrid sensed something else—there was deception.

"No," Sigrid said, "it's not."

The woman looked to the vaporizer in her hands. Her cheeks flushed, caught in the lie. When she looked back up, she met Sigrid's eyes directly. "Kitten. My name's Kitten."

Sigrid almost laughed. Almost. "Kitten?"

The woman's cheeks reddened further, but she smiled. "I know. It's simply dreadful, isn't it."

"I've heard worse," Sigrid conceded. As ridiculous as the nickname was, at least she knew the woman to be telling the truth. Her name was indeed Kitten.

"You're very sharp, Ms…?"

"Peters. Sigrid Peters."

"Well, Sigrid Peters. What brings a girl like you to a place like this? Are you arriving home or fleeing from it?"

"Fleeing?"

"Nothing—an expression." The woman took another drag, blowing the vapor off to the side.

"No, no, I'm not fleeing anything," Sigrid said. "I'm a freelancer."

"A freelancer! Well then." The woman appeared to take great pleasure in the declaration, and let her wide eyes linger once more on Sigrid. "I'm not sure I've met a lady freelancer before—sorry, woman freelancer. Is there a term? I never know."

"Freelancer is fine."

Sigrid's answer seemed to please the woman, and she leaned closer. "What must that be like? Terribly exciting, I would imagine."

Sigrid lifted her ale and took a long drink, more to give herself time to consider the woman next to her than quench her thirst. She wasn't quite sure what to make of her new companion. "It's all right, I suppose."

The woman laughed and touched Sigrid's arm, letting the tip of her finger rest there. "Now, I know you're being modest. You must tell me of your adventures."

"There's really not much to tell."

"Then perhaps we shall make our own adventures—"

"Adventures?"

Sigrid looked up to see Suko approaching with Trudy traipsing after her; Trudy's head turned on a swivel, taking in the sights of the pub and the crowds around her. Suko had changed out of her combat outfit into a slim-fitting red dress that hugged her athletic curves in an impressive fashion—at least, judging by the reaction of the men observing her entrance. Suko failed to notice any of this, though, as her glare was fixed firmly on the woman sitting across from Sigrid.

"Friends of yours?" the woman in green asked.

Sigrid nodded.

"Gear's stored. Trudy's changed," Suko said, her focus now shifting from the woman to Sigrid. "I see you've got things well in hand here. Who's your new friend?"

"Call me Kitten." The woman extended her hand; Suko ignored it. "I was just about to tell Sigrid, I may have some work for you, if you're interested."

"Work?" Suko asked. "What kind of work?"

The woman turned her hands outward. "Oh, I don't know what you freelancers call it? I suppose I could use a personal guard of sorts while I'm here. I'll be touring some factories—investments and whatnot. I'd thought to go through the Guild, hire mercenaries, but that seems like so much trouble. Much easier to hire you. If you're available."

She held out a plastic card.

Suko took the card and stuffed it in the top of her dress. "We already have a contract." There would be no further discussions.

"Pity. Though I'm not surprised. You girls look the type to have all the offers you need." The woman slid from her stool—she had to lean back to stay clear of Suko. "Well, I'll leave you ladies to it. I'll be staying at the Regency in Portside if you change your mind. You can contact me through my service."

"We'll call you," Suko said.

The woman in green left, though she did glance back one last time at Sigrid. When Sigrid turned away it was only to find Suko's eyes fixed on her in a chilling fashion.

"Kitten?" Suko said. "Seriously."

Sigrid held her hands up in surrender. "It's her name, not mine!"

"I really can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?"

"What? No! I was just sitting here. She came over." Sigrid swallowed. "Um…you're in a dress! Goodness. Where on Earth did you come by that?"

"Don't try to change the subject. I saw that woman ogling you."

"There was no ogling."

"She was practically in your lap."

"She was looking for a freelancer. She needed an escort."

"I think we both know what she was looking for. Escort might be one word for it."

"It wasn't like that. I was just—I was just sitting here. And then she…" Sigrid reached out and took Suko by the hand. "Suko, you know I wouldn't."

Suko's glare softened. "You better not. I'm not sure what the fines are on Bellatrix for justifiable homicide."

"Justifiable…?" But seeing the grin that spread across Suko's face, she knew she was being teased again. "You know you're the only one. I couldn't even think of looking at anyone else."

"Well, that’s good. And I should hope so."

"Though, it's not like I can help it if someone were to look at me—"

"Don't even go there, Novak."

Sigrid laughed. "Never." Her arms wrapped around Suko's waist, pulling her close. When her hands dropped lower, she got an immediate sense of how frightfully short Suko's dress really was. "Goodness!"

Suko frowned, looking down. "I know. It's a little short. But I'm still packing, if that's what you're worried about." Suko lifted the hem, favoring Sigrid with a view of her thigh and the set of two balisong knives strapped there. "Karen made it for me. She said you'd like it."

"Rather," Sigrid said appreciatively.

Then Suko leaned close, whispering in her ear. "Oh, and I am going regimental. If you were wondering."

Sigrid's eyes widened at the pronouncement; she made a show of gasping and clasping a hand over her mouth. "Now I think I like it even more. Remind me to thank Karen when we get home." Sigrid spotted a table freeing up in the corner. "Booth?"

Suko agreed instantly, taking her by the hand and leading her toward the darkened corner. "Oh, and don't think I didn't catch you letting that woman buy you a drink, too."

"She didn't ask. I didn't have a choice."

"Well, just remember, while we're on this trip, I'm the one buying the drinks."

"Noted. You know you don't have any money, right?"

"I thought I'd borrow some—if you're in the lending mood."

"We'll see."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Bellatrix

October 15, 2348

Bellatrix

The trip down the elevator proved much less eventful and far more enjoyable than Sigrid's previous excursion. They never saw Kitten again, which was fine by Suko, and Leta and Trudy appeared to be having a marvelous time. Still, Sigrid was relieved when they arrived planet-side, safely and without incident.

All traffic in and out of Bellatrix went through the city of Portside, a city home to more than forty million persons—all of whom seemed to be on the streets at this very moment, Sigrid thought. They disembarked the lift station, filing out with the other passengers, all the while under the watchful eye of CTF Security who patrolled the crowds.

The sheer crush of humanity that greeted them was frightening. Stepping onto the street was like stepping into the current of a rushing river. Sigrid took care to keep hold of Suko's hand for fear that they would become separated in the surging crowds. She spied Trudy doing much the same with Leta, clutching to the arm of the taller girl.

Earth had never been like this. Too many people had left that decaying, flooded world to seek a better life in the stars. How many of them had come here, Sigrid wondered, and then only to find this?

Grey towers surrounded them, standing shoulder to shoulder, weather-worn and filthy. Sigrid craned her neck and stared up at the red sky. She tried but failed to see the tops of the skyscrapers, lost in the swirl of red dust and smog. People were everywhere, thousands of them, all around her, everywhere she looked, lounging on balconies, staring down at them from open windows. Clothing and laundry hung from every railing and fixture. At least it provided some color to the landscape of grey permacrete.

Trudy stared slack-jawed; she looked completely unprepared. There was never anything like this where she had grown up in Kolkata. After decades of constant flooding, the uprisings of '07, the once proud Indian city had become little more than a ghost town by the time Trudy was born.

"Curious customs they have here," Leta said, removing yet another hand from her backside as they made their way through the mob; she held the offending hand by the thumb, pinched between her thumb and forefinger as if holding something unwholesome. The man attached to the hand held his wrist, grimacing, little yelps of startled pain escaping his lips. Leta looked about, as if searching for a place to discard it, choosing to chuck the paw into the street—the man attached to it along with it.

The groups of overly eager men were not the only persons taking note of their passage either.

"We should get off the streets," Suko said. "I think someone's taken a fancy to us."

Sigrid didn't look. She didn't have to. She'd been scanning the freelancers since they'd arrived. Groups of these spies lurked in the crowds. They appeared more as shadows than people, blending in with the wash of humanity. They stood off to the sides, out of the flow of traffic, with their backs leaning against walls or railings, hands in their pockets. No one would think twice to look at them. No one would notice them. But Sigrid saw them. She scanned the devices they held hidden within the folds of their cloaks and jackets: cameras, recorders, data-probes.

The freelancers scanned all passersby, anyone in their vicinity, apparently without discrimination. They trolled the crowds as they disembarked the lift station in search of anything of interest, any information they might find to pawn. If they had a particular target in mind, Sigrid couldn't tell.

And they weren't just spying either. Sigrid witnessed the actions of one as he lifted the financial details from the wallet of a man who passed too close to him. Data was retrieved, funds transferred, all without the poor man's knowledge.

It was easy to see why the mercenaries held freelancers in such low regard. There was no honor in this work. No glory. These freelancers were little more than petty thieves. The mercenaries were right. Freelancers were scum.

And they were watching her, just as she was observing them. Sigrid scanned the nearest of them. He didn't turn toward her, his eyes never met hers, but Sigrid knew he was aware. She did not avert her eyes and did not turn away. It was the freelancer who moved first, but only to turn and walk away, losing himself in the crowds.

"Should we be worried?" Trudy asked.

Leta fingered the sidearm at her side. "Want me to go after him?"

"No," Sigrid said. "No, it's fine. I want them to see us." Sigrid continued to watch the freelancer until she could see him no more. "Ever since the Konoe Transfer Station, I've been wondering how we're going to find the men we're looking for. It seems so obvious now."

"Oh? Well, it's not to us."

Sigrid smiled. "We're going to let them find us. Now, come on. We've got a train to catch."

They boarded the first train for New Shēnzhèn, relieved to be off the streets and away from the crowds. Although, riding in coach proved a bit of a trial. Passengers sat four and five abreast on hard wooden benches, luggage resting on laps, children perched on their mothers' knees. The repulsor fields must have been malfunctioning; the ride proved so bumpy and jolted them about in such a frightful fashion Sigrid feared they'd be thrown clear of the maglev tracks. It was a far cry from her trips with Lady Hitomi and the luxury in which she had traveled back on Earth. But that was not the life of a freelancer, and Sigrid would have to play her part.

They would not arrive in New Shēnzhèn for fourteen hours. Sigrid used that time to learn more about their destination and what awaited them there. A rented news kiosk in what passed for a lounge car provided some needed information—once Trudy had properly hacked it.

"Can you believe they actually want you to pay for news here!" Trudy said, pulling up screen after screen until eight separate news feeds floated above the kiosk in holographic glory. "It's criminal! By the very definition, paying for news insures a certain bias. To think you can actually use information as a marketing platform and then maintain any sense of objectivity. It's a fallacy! It's like—"

"Thank you, Trudy," Sigrid said, "for that very passionate editorial."

"No, really! Check this out. Here's what they're reporting about the bombings in New Shēnzhèn. Publicly, it's all terrorists this and terrorists that. But, here, on the private servers it's something else entirely. Look. The coroner's report shows the Council emissary was killed at 10:17 on September 29. That was three days before we showed up. But the bombing of the embassy didn't take place until 11:49 the following day. And it wasn't any bomb that killed the emissary. Not unless it was a small, thirteen-millimeter-sized explosive that was pushed through the emissary's forehead and then didn't blow up until it exited the other side."

"Thanks," Leta said, making a face.

"Then this wasn't terrorism," Suko said. "This was an assassination. The Council emissary was shot."

"And someone doesn't want anyone to know," Sigrid said. "Good work, Trudy."

"Not much of a bombing either," Leta said with a sniff. "Look. Mostly smoke damage, fire, broken glass. They'll be open for business tomorrow. If they really wanted to take down the building, they could have placed thermite charges along the supporting columns. Give me six, seven charges and poof!" She made an exploding gesture with her fingers, spreading them outward. "Take that tower right down. Nice and neat. No collateral damage."

"Then it's a cover-up," Suko said.

"Yeah, but why cover up an attack?" Leta asked. "And why finger the Mercenary Guild?"

"Do you really think it's a conspiracy?" a voice asked from behind them.

Sigrid spun around—the question came from an old man seated on the opposite side of their bench. He sat propped up, kneeling on the back of his chair, peering over their shoulders. His eyes were wide with boyish interest. Sigrid considered lying to him, but then, what did it matter? He appeared more titillated than alarmed.

"You don't think it's terrorists, then?"

Sigrid smiled at him. "I'm quickly learning, sir, that there are no such thing as terrorists."

His eyes narrowed, as if some long-suspected truth were confirmed. "So, you think it's the CTF, eh? You think they did this themselves? I knew it!"

Sigrid leaned toward him, making a show of keeping her voice low. "Perhaps. Though I'd caution you, sir. The Council has eyes everywhere." To make her point, Sigrid looked up toward the corner of the ceiling, as if to a spy camera hidden within the paneling.

"Goodness! You don't think they…?"

Sigrid nodded. "Mm-hmm."

The old man gripped his hat tighter in his hands, swallowed, and slinked back down into his chair.

Suko snickered at her side. "You're a rat. That poor man's going to be looking over his shoulder for days!"

"Yes, but he'll have a story to tell when he gets home."

Trudy continued her digging, though she wasn't able to unearth any news of Merchantmen activity in this sector. Worse, there was no record of Bernat Wereme anywhere. As far as the official records were concerned, the man was a ghost.

None of this was any help. The news feeds, with their conspiracies, rumors and accusations, only served to muddy the waters of their search. They would be arriving in New Shēnzhèn shortly, and they were still no closer to finding the information they needed.

"What now?" Suko asked.

"It's been a long trip," Sigrid said. "I think we should see about some proper lodging."

"You have a place in mind?"

Sigrid fingered the hotel receipt in her pocket, the one she'd taken from Bernat Wereme.

"I think I know just the place."

* * *

While Sigrid found the city of Portside cluttered and depressing, it was nothing compared to New Shēnzhèn. Spread over five thousand square kilometers, one factory enclave merged into the next. The ground was heavy with soot, the air thick and grey. And where the factories gave way to open desert, the mining operations began.

Even having grown up in the squalor of Geneva, Sigrid couldn't imagine how people could live amongst the noise and filth.

A taxi took them to the hotel they sought. The Roosevelt. It seemed the one bright spot in the otherwise dreary city. Doormen rushed to help them with their luggage and ushered them inside and away from the filth of the streets and the panhandlers that lingered there. Clean and well appointed, decorated in the Nouveau Colonial style the Federation worlds favored, the hotel proved a true oasis. A smiling concierge waited behind the front desk, ready to greet them. Bellhops stood on station by the elevators.

Even before rooms had been arranged, Sigrid inquired about Bernat Wereme. She spread around a good portion of her meager funds, hoping to jog the memory of the hotel's staff, but no one could recall the old man. The register did supply a record of a guest by the same name, but there were no visual records to verify his identity and no way for Sigrid to know for certain that it was indeed the same man.

A bellhop admitted them to their room, wheeling in the cart containing all of their luggage, not much more than a change of underclothes, some toiletries and several armored cases of explosives and munitions.

"Wait—one room?" Trudy asked. "And there's only two beds!"

Sigrid wasn't sure what Trudy's issue was. "I thought—"

"No way. We are not sharing a room with you two. Nothing personal."

"Why? What's wrong with the room?"

"It's not the room." Leta chuckled. "Not exactly. You're very…um…you're very loud."

Suko leaned close. "Don't listen to them. You're passionate, is all. Wouldn't have it any other way."

Sigrid clapped her hands to her cheeks, mortified. "I had no idea."

A quick call to the front desk hastily arranged for a second room. While they waited, talk returned to the business at hand.

Sigrid crumpled Bernat Wereme's hotel receipt in her hand, tossing it into the rubbish recycler. Useless. "I suppose it was too much to wish for, thinking we'd actually find something, some lead to his dealings here."

"We're not done for yet," Suko said. "We're only just getting started. Don't worry. If he was here, we'll find him."

"Hey, you might want to take a look at this," Trudy said. She sat at the room's computer terminal.

Sigrid peered over her shoulder at the holographic display. "More news on the bombing?"

"More?" Trudy said. "That's an understatement. Look. It's not just here. It's everywhere. Pallas, Corus, Charon—it's happening all over the Federation! They've confirmed fourteen Council facilities and embassies destroyed so far."

"Fourteen?" Sigrid gasped.

"Yes, and someone's finally taking credit for it, too. Some group—they're calling themselves the Circle. Apparently they're working with the Mercenary Guild."

"The Circle?" Leta shook her head in disbelief. "Why would mercs work for some group going after the CTF? I don't believe it."

Sigrid watched the news feeds, images of angry officials from both the Mercenary Guild and Federation Council in heated exchanges. The war of words had begun.

"You know, there might be an upside in all this," Suko said. "Whatever's going on, it should keep the local authorities occupied while we're here. I don't think we could have planned it better ourselves."

Suko's statement had been said innocently, offhand, but the realization hit Sigrid like a brick. It was so obvious—so obvious she cursed her foolishness for not seeing it before.

"Suko…I think you may be right."

"See? I told you I'm not just a pretty face. Um—right about what?"

Sigrid leapt, hooting. She grabbed Suko's hands, spinning her around while Trudy and Leta looked on. "Suko, you're beautiful!"

"Pretty perhaps, but not uncommonly beautiful."

"And you’re absolutely right!" Sigrid went to the bed, grabbing up her holsters and strapping them back on. "What did Rosa drill into us—every day of our lives? Distractions. This—that's all this is! It's all just a distraction. But it's not for us."

Sigrid stared back at the monitors, the embassies and offices of fourteen planets laid to waste and left to burn. It all made perfect sense.

"It's him, Suko. This…distraction, it's all for him. He's here! Suko, Bernat Wereme is here."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lachlan Industrial

Major Karl Tarsus stood on the landing platform atop the centermost structure of the factory enclave. The rooftop of Central Services was the highest point in the complex. One hundred and six stories up, the tower gave a perfect view of the entire area. The girl, Victoria, stood quietly at his side, her face passive, her eyes shielded behind the cloak of her glasses. Tarsus had found her silence unnerving at first. Now, he was surprised to find that it calmed him. She never demanded anything of him, never bothered him with strings of unending questions. Certainly not like Drs. Farrington or Wolsey, or the rest of the research team that populated the enclave.

Her programming was perfection; Victoria would serve him dutifully, and without question.

Tarsus felt the wrist-com vibrate, alerting him. Raising the set of macrobinoculars to his eyes, he scanned the night sky. It took only a second to spot his target. The small transport came in low, swift and silent under the veil of night. There would be no stopping at Customs and Border Protection. Not for this flight, and not for the single passenger inside. His entrance into Bellatrix space would not be logged, and there would be no questions asked. How this had been arranged, Tarsus could only guess, but these were the kinds of things he had come to expect from the transport's passenger, Harry Jones.

The transport slowed, braking hard, closing on the platform. The pilot skidded the craft sideways to hover over him. The waiting ground crew rushed forward, ready to tend to the craft as the transport came to rest on the pad.

Tarsus shielded his eyes from the blast of the blowing dust. When the airlock slid open, Harry Jones was the first down the ramp. Seeing him again—the icy complexion, the pale skin, those thin lips pressed firmly together—Tarsus realized how much he'd come to hate the man. But like it or not, his fate was bound to him. It would not be too soon before they parted ways. But that couldn't happen. Not yet.

Tarsus had one more service to perform.

"Mr. Tarsus," Harry Jones said. "I hope you'll forgive the late hour of my arrival. It couldn't be helped. I trust I didn't take you from anything."

"Sleep," Tarsus grunted.

Behind them, the crew were already working to offload the cargo. Six men worked together to hoist the long metallic cylinder and deposit it onto the waiting repulsor lift. The cylinder was a little more than two meters long and half as wide. Tarsus looked closer, recognizing it for what it was. It was a cryochamber, a stasis pod, used for medical transport—for those who could afford such extravagances.

Tarsus knew the chamber alone cost far more than the ship that carried it. Though what, or whom, was contained within, he could only guess.

"I don't think you'll find Dr. Farrington will be pleased that you're here," Tarsus said, more to break the silence that stretched between them than anything else. "He thinks this facility is his to run. He won't like the interference."

"What the doctor wishes is of no importance," Jones said. Then, for the first time, Jones seemed to acknowledge the girl standing at his side. "Is this one of Farrington's?"

"No, this is one of Dr. Wolsey's. Victoria is a prototype."

Victoria turned to regard Harry Jones, perhaps aware that she was now the subject of his scrutiny.

"You shouldn't name them, Mr. Tarsus. They're not pets."

Tarsus ignored the remark.

"How many more have been activated?"

"Dr. Wolsey has completed work on eight so far."

"Eight?" Harry Jones didn't hide his disapproval. "Mr. Tarsus. I provided Dr. Wolsey with more than a hundred volunteers. Are you telling me that only eight have been activated?"

"I'm telling you only eight survived." Tarsus thrust his hands further into his pockets, burrowing deep. "There were…complications."

"And what of Dr. Farrington? What of his group. Has he made no progress?"

Tarsus chuckled. Progress? Farrington had indeed been hard at work since his arrival at the enclave. Tarsus didn't understand the work or the importance—he was no scientist—but even he could see what Farrington brought to the project, the improvements he'd already made on Wolsey's crude beginnings.

"It might be simpler for you to see for yourself."

Jones moved past him; the ground crew followed in his wake, hustling along with the stasis chamber in tow. "I hope you're not hiding anything, Mr. Tarsus. You've had months to prepare. The timing of this operation is critical. I thought I made myself clear."

"You also made it clear we were to attack the Mercenary Guild. We have the transponders. The ships and crews are ready, but somehow I'm still stuck on this rock. It's not wise to delay combat, Mr. Jones. Men tend to…lose their motivation."

"I believe your men will have plenty to occupy themselves with soon enough. But first things first. I think it's time I see what damage you and Dr. Farrington have done to my facility."

"Your facil—" Tarsus bristled at the accusation. "I brought Farrington here, just as you asked. After that, the rest is up to him. I'm no scientist, Jones, I'm a soldier, and I'm not here for your cause. If you have an issue with the timeframe or the work being done, then talk to Farrington."

Harry Jones stared at him dispassionately. "Yes, do forgive me. Your service has been exemplary. Now, where is the doctor?"

"Sleeping, most likely."

"Then I think it's time we wake him. We have work to do, Mr. Tarsus. And I'm afraid we have very little time to do it."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Broker

October 16, 2348

"Hold still. Stop squirming."

"I think you're rather enjoying this," Suko said. She stood with her arms held out while Sigrid coiled the last of the thermite strips around her midriff. Sigrid then began the meticulous task of stitching the hundreds of tiny pinhead grenades into the seam of her bra, and more into the waistband of Suko's pants. "You sure it wouldn't be easier if I took this all off?"

Sigrid slapped her hand away; though she couldn't help but smile. "Hush! Now do keep your arms out. There, like that. This will go a lot faster if you stop moving."

"Though hardly as much fun."

"It's an old trick," Sigrid said as she fixed the last of the grenades in place. "Chesna taught me. And trust me, they'll come in handy more often than you think. Now come here."

"What? More?"

Sigrid led her over to the weapons locker. "Yes. More."

More indeed. Sigrid took care to arm Suko to the teeth. In addition to her standard issue sidearm and katana, Sigrid strapped an extra eSMG to Suko's back, slung the heavy assault rifle over her shoulder along with two bandoliers of spare ammunition. Two wrist-mounted grenade launchers completed the picture; the collapsible shotgun was an afterthought, though Sigrid still found room for it on the harness.

Suko examined herself in the mirror, testing the weight of the hefty weapons load. "It's a little bulky in the rear."

"You look fine," Sigrid said, helping to straighten her harness. "And trust me, no one's going to be looking at your backside."

While Sigrid bent to the task of collecting her own weapons, Suko collapsed heavily on the bed, kicking her feet up. Reaching into the courtesy bar, she withdrew several monstrously priced packets of peanuts, chocolates, some fizzy-drinks, four miniature bottles of vodka and some potato chips.

"You can't be serious?" Sigrid said. "For breakfast?"

"Hey! I haven't eaten since last night," Suko said over a mouthful of crisps.

"Just don't get too comfortable. I want to be on the road at first light."

"You sure about this?" Suko asked. "I mean, meeting this broker bloke? Lady Hitomi warned us about him."

"Which is precisely why I put you in that getup. I want everyone who sees us to know."

"Know what?"

Sigrid picked up the twin pearl-handled pistols from their case and slipped them into the clips at her hips. "That they better not fuck with us."

Smiling, perhaps at her rather profane choice of words, Suko rose, dusted the crumbs from her trousers, and came to stand by her. "And no one will. I promise. Now let's go. Let's go meet this broker."

With both girls properly armed and equipped, they departed the hotel. Every guest they passed leapt quickly out of their way, not daring to block the path of the pair of heavily armed freelancers. A doorman stepped to the curb to hail them a cab. Suko stared skeptically at the ramshackle vehicle that pulled up next to them. Filthy and rusted, it hardly looked roadworthy. The quad repulsors rattled and vibrated; Sigrid doubted the thing had ever been properly serviced—or cleaned, judging from the smell and layer of grime on the seats.

"Sure you don't want to wait for transportation?" Suko asked. "Leta said she'd be back soon."

"No, I want to meet this man. The sooner, the better."

Sigrid handed John Mirren's address to the driver—who handed it right back.

"Sorry. That's off my grid."

"Off your—? What do you mean? That address is right here in the city!"

The driver turned to look at them over his shoulder. "That's the Old City. That's the Broker's District. Can't take you there, miss. Dangerous."

"More dangerous than here?" Suko asked, looking about; very little of New Shēnzhèn came across as the 'good' part of town.

"Why?" Sigrid said. "How dangerous can it be?"

The driver merely raised his eyebrows in answer.

"Fine!" Sigrid said. "How much more will it cost us?"

The driver showed them the amount, nearly as much as the train ride had been from Portside.

Suko didn't look impressed. "We're not paying that! That's criminal. Sigrid, we could buy our own car for—"

"It's fine," Sigrid said, pressing her thumb to the transaction screen and watching more of her dwindling funds fly out of her account. "Just take us there. And don't worry, we're used to rough neighborhoods."

"As you like."

The driver slid the car onto the road, but his warnings and commentary of the area continued unabated; two young girls on their own were certain to get into trouble of the worst kind. He kept on until Sigrid promised him more money, if he would only stop talking and keep his eyes on the road.

Still mumbling warnings, the driver guided the taxi up onto the twisting maze of elevated freeways, moving quickly away from the city center, leaving the crush of industry and humanity behind.

"Where are you going?" Sigrid asked, pointing to the address. "I thought this was in the city?"

The driver chuckled. "Told you. Broker's District—that's in the Old City. Nothing between here and there. Not no more. Toxic. Got to go around."

Sigrid sighed. "How far?"

The driver looked back at her; Sigrid caught the glimmer of a smirk on his lips. "Like I said. Got to go around. The long way around."

"Fine," Sigrid said, knowing this was certain to cost her even more. "Just…drive."

"Toxic?" Suko asked.

"Toxic," the driver confirmed.

The meaning of the statement became abundantly clear. The area they were passing through had seen little development. The driver explained in rather scathing terms how the land here was far too contaminated to build on. Companies had surface-mined the entire region, excavating for tens of thousands of hectares. And when they'd stripped the ground clean of all it had to offer, they'd left, abandoning the area and moving on to the next square on their grid.

Nothing could survive here. Not anymore. None of the companies had thought to clean up after themselves. A thick layer of red dust clung to the toxic sludge and resins that lingered in the soil. The sea of spent chemicals was not the only thing they'd left behind either. Sigrid spied the piles of broken equipment stacked at the sides of the freeway. Hundreds of excavating machines lay abandoned, their bucket-wheels towering nearly one hundred meters high, left to rust in the very spots where they broke down.

"Lovely," Suko observed.

For nearly an hour they drove on. Gradually, the wasteland gave way to population again. The toxic expanse was left behind, and they came back around to what was the Old City, the Brokers' District. The driver slowed and pulled over. He would go no further. He left the two girls at the side of the road and headed speedily away.

It was eerily silent here. There was no other traffic, no pedestrians. No people at all, Sigrid realized. The Old City appeared completely abandoned. The scatterings of buildings left standing looked dark, their windows broken or boarded up. Some buildings showed signs of neglect; others had collapsed completely, leaving only crumbling piles of debris to spill out from their lots. If any industry or commerce existed in this part of New Shēnzhèn, Sigrid couldn't see it.

"How current is this address?" Suko asked.

Sigrid wasn't sure. Lady Hitomi had not seen this man for quite some time.

"Well, let's not stand around here wondering," Suko said. "I don't want to stay here any longer than we have to."

Walking quickly, scanning carefully, the two girls headed deeper into the sea of hollowed and crumbling structures. Sigrid couldn't escape the feeling they were being watched. It was foolish, and she knew it. Her scans picked up little, and she could detect no signs of the previous occupants. She was ready to give up her search for the information broker, convinced the district was completely abandoned, when she saw them.

There were people here. Children.

They were filthy, wretched things. They wore only scraps of clothing and scurried amongst the buildings like rats. Sigrid could only catch the briefest glimpses of them. There were others, as well. Older ones, teenagers. Though they did not move nearly so fast, not as spry as their younger siblings. Starved and sallow, these children lay huddled in groups, tucked in alleys and under the shredded remains of awnings.

They were sick, poisoned by the drugs they consumed to the point of toxicity. Even from across the street, Sigrid could sense the narcotics coursing through their systems. It was a hybrid derivative of synthophedrines and hydrogen iodide, cheap and simple to manufacture. In Geneva the children had called it Quix, but it was known by other names as well.

Suko took her by the arm. "Come on. We've still got to find this broker."

Sigrid looked back, helpless. There was nothing she could do for these creatures. Walking at Suko's side, she allowed herself to be led along. Things got better as they ventured deeper into the district. There were more people here, even some ground traffic. Some of the buildings had power, and a few shops were open for business, though most of the business took place on the streets between the drug peddlers and flesh dealers.

"What kind of business did Hitomi say this man was into?" Suko asked.

"Information," Sigrid answered. Though she was starting to doubt it. Hitomi had indeed said amongst other things. Perhaps this is what her mistress had meant.

They turned a corner. If John Mirren were here, this was where she would find him. A raucous crowd had gathered nearby, merchants and customers alike. Drugs were bought and sold openly, consumed where they were purchased. Armed gangs trolled the street. Fires burned everywhere, in any receptacle that might serve as a brazier. Several food vendors had set up their carts, but seeing their offerings, Sigrid turned quickly away, her hand held over her mouth.

There was an almost festivelike atmosphere, but it was wild and dangerous, teetering on the edge between control and chaos.

A young girl approached a group of boys dealing on the corner. Her hair was matted, the zipper on her pink plastic jacket was broken, held closed with stickpins. She was bargaining with the boys, hopeful for a gift of the drug. The boys merely laughed, as if finding her pathetic state a great source of amusement, her attempt at bartering even more outrageous. Sigrid watched as they taunted her, pushing her back and forth between them. One of them suggested she get down on her knees and service him. The girl complied.

Sigrid knew bullies when she saw them. She could take no more.

"Leave her be."

The boy had the girl by her hair, her matted locks held in his fist. But seeing Sigrid, he threw her aside. She stumbled and fell to the ground, skinning her hands and knees.

Sigrid moved to help her, only to find herself encircled by the thugs. And when she tried to move past, they shifted, blocking her way once more. Hooting, they catcalled to her. Sigrid heard the boasts of their sexual prowess, along with pledges of some unlikely acts the boys intended to perform with her.

The leader stepped toward her, standing close enough that her nose was practically in his chest. Slowly, Sigrid looked up at him.

"You're in my way," Sigrid said.

"Unfortunate," the boy said. He reached down, his hand flirting with the waistband of his trousers and the large handgun thrust there.

"Um…" Suko raised a warning finger, "I really wouldn't do that."

"Oh, and why's that—Ah-ahh…" The boy winced at the sharp pain, though to his credit, he didn't cry out. "Are you crazy!"

Sigrid had him by the arm, twisting it around his back, her other hand clamped on his neck. All of the gang boys had their weapons out, small pistols, low-gauge rifles, even knives held out and thrust her way.

"Tell your men to back off," Sigrid said. "Do it now."

"Oh, you are so dead."

"We don't want any trouble. We're only here to see the information broker."

"The broker?"

"Yes. Perhaps you've heard of him? John Mirren?"

"Course! Everyone knows the broker—ahhh…"

Sigrid shoved him away; his gang of thugs caught him, helping him to stand.

"Then take us to him."

Still massaging his bruised wrist, the boy glared back at her. "No one sees the broker. No one."

"Oh?" Suko started toward him. "I think he'll see us."

Sigrid's improved sensors caught the surge in adrenaline, the intention, the threat, even before the boy had contemplated reaching for his weapon.

"Don't…" Sigrid warned. "Please—there's no need for this to end badly."

Mistaking her warning for a plea, the boy smiled, the wide grin forming on his lips. He opened his mouth and laughed. "Please! Don't." The smile vanished in an instant, and he glared at her. "Seriously, you gotta be kidding."

He drew quickly, pulling the heavy pistol from his waistband and thrusting the muzzle into Sigrid's face, his knuckle white on the trigger, squeezing.

The katana flashed in Suko's hand, raised high over her head. She brought the blade down hard, cutting directly between Sigrid and the boy, not an inch from her face. The hand-folded steel cleaved the barrel of the heavy sidearm clean off, the tip of the boy's finger along with it. He collapsed to his knees, too stunned to scream or cry out. Blood dripped from the stub of his severed finger, still on the trigger.

For the briefest moment there was silence. Merchants and people on the street nearby turned to look. The gang of boys seemed uncertain as to what to do, staring at their leader still on his knees.

"You…What the…You cut off my fucking finger!"

Suko stood over him, the smallest drop of blood dripping from the blade of the katana. "I was aiming lower."

Wild with rage, the boy glared back at his men. "What the fuck—kill them!"

The silence was shattered in an instant; all of the boys fired at once. All of them too late.

Sigrid knew this gang of thugs might intimidate the locals, but they were hooligans, ruffians, not trained soldiers. To her and Suko they were harmless, more a danger to themselves than anyone else. They were children and in need of being taught a good lesson.

Sigrid spun low, taking out the legs of one boy. Off balance, falling, his shots missed her, felling two of his own comrades Four of their friends promptly dropped their weapons and fled in a panic, bolting for the safety of the nearest open shop door. Sigrid let them go.

This was kitten play, and Sigrid knew it. She cartwheeled out of the way of another volley, snatching the weapon from the hands of the shooter. A second boy ran at her, knife raised, screaming his battle cry. Sigrid's boot found his sternum, launching him into the street to collide with a food cart, sending both people and condiments flying.

Only one of the boys remained. Sigrid turned toward him. His pistol shook in his trembling hand. Her sensors registered the pressure on the trigger, her PCM instantly calculating the trajectory of the projectiles. She only had to lean over a few inches to avoid the spree of flechettes that whistled passed her shoulder.

Sigrid raised a warning finger. "You get one do-over. That was it."

But the boy wasn't listening. He pulled the trigger, over and over, but the emptied clip produced only a desperate clicking.

Sigrid holstered her own weapons and fixed him with a scolding look as a mother might an unruly child. He hadn't learned. Sigrid knew they would never learn. None of them. She knelt beside him. The boy's bravado was long gone; he was afraid, terrified. With a finger placed beneath his chin, Sigrid closed his mouth. He offered no resistance as she relieved him of his weapon. The pistol was rusted and ancient; Sigrid crushed it in her fist before handing it back to him.

"Wha-what the fuck are you?"

"I'm a girl," Sigrid said. "I'm just a girl."

"Please—don't kill me."

She found him pathetic, just another bully preying on the weak. But without his friends, his weapons, he was a scared little boy.

"No, I won't kill you," Sigrid said. She turned to look back at the street girl; terrified and trembling, she huddled against the wall. Her nose was running, and she wiped it on the back of her pink plastic sleeve. "But if you ever touch this girl again, or any of them, I will kill you. Do you believe me?"

The boy nodded in earnest. Suko hefted him to his feet, helping him down the street with a boot to his backside.

With the gang boys taken care of, Sigrid went to the girl and helped her to sit up. She was a frail thing, painfully thin. Blood ran from a cut on her cheek where one of the boys had smacked her. But that was merely one bruise, one scrape where there were many. When Sigrid tried to use the med-kit to clean and stitch the wound, the girl pulled away, trembling fearfully. Sigrid hushed her, brushing her hair back, telling her it would be all right, until the girl calmed enough for her to treat her. The wound would heal, but Sigrid knew that wasn't the problem. This place would be the death of her, and there was nothing she could do.

Sigrid passed a handful of coins to her, as much as she could spare. The girl took the money without thanking her and ran off.

"Are you sure that was wise?" Suko asked.

"We have enough," Sigrid said.

"I don't mean that. I mean, I'm not sure she'll be spending your hard-earned crumble on take-aways."

"If you mean you don't think she'll use our money to buy food, I think you're right."

"Then why give it to her?"

Sigrid looked around, at the decaying neighborhood, the boarded-up windows. It was so much like where she'd grown up in Geneva. That girl, it might just as well have been her lying there, bullied by the street boys. "Because I don't want her to have to do what those boys wanted."

"A most admirable sentiment," a voice said from nearby. "But unfortunately, misguided."

Slowly, Sigrid rose to face the speaker. He stood not more than ten meters distant. He wasn't armed, but the men at his flank were. They held assault rifles at the ready and aimed squarely at her and Suko. Unlike the gang boys, these men had the hardened look of trained soldiers. Her first thought was that they were mercenaries, but a closer inspection revealed the truth.

They were freelancers.

Suko reached for her own rifle, but Sigrid stayed her hand. Her eyes were fixed on the man in their midst. He was older than the image Hitomi had shown her, perhaps by ten years, maybe more. But it was him. It was the information broker, John Mirren.

"Those men worked for me," the broker said. He glanced down at the two dead boys at Sigrid's feet. "I would be within my right to demand compensation."

Suko stepped in front of her, shielding her from the men and the eight rifles they held. "You would not live to spend it."

"I do not take kindly to threats," the broker said sternly. "Not in my own territory."

Sigrid pulled Suko back beside her. "You must forgive my partner, Mr. Mirren. She only means to protect me. I promise you, we only came to talk and…to warn you. I'm afraid we may both be in danger."

Sigrid sensed his eyes on her, sizing her up, evaluating. He was confident, but he was curious, as well.

"Then let us talk," the broker said. "But not here. There are too many eyes about, and you two attract too much attention for your own good."

The men at his flank raised their rifles, and Sigrid knew this was not an invitation. The armed freelancers led them down the street toward a building at the end. The lighting still functioned here, a rarity for this district. Armed guards patrolled the entrance. Sigrid spotted more eyes watching them from the windows and rooftops above.

Once inside, John Mirren left them. He departed through a closed door while his guards directed the two girls upstairs to the topmost level. To Sigrid's surprise the interior of the building was not nearly so run-down as she'd thought. It was surprisingly well appointed, furnished, painted, with all the fixtures in working order. A polite receptionist greeted them on the upper landing, inviting them in. The guards did not follow.

The broker's office proved even more of a surprise. Tall, wooden shelves filled with real leather-bound books adorned the walls. The floor was carpeted with a colorful Persian throw; padded leather chairs sat empty and waiting.

"Would either of you like a coffee?" the receptionist asked.

"Sounds lovely," Suko said before Sigrid could decline. Suko accepted the cup, instantly adding a generous pour of cream, turning the whole thing a milky white. Four heaping spoonfuls of sugar followed.

"I'm not sure that still qualifies as coffee," Sigrid observed.

Suko sank into one of the padded chairs, kicking her feet up on an ottoman. "Just because Selene drinks it filthy and black doesn't mean the rest of us have to."

Within minutes the door to the inner office opened, and John Mirren entered. He was unarmed, and curiously, his guard did not accompany him. Even the receptionist left them, closing the tall, wooden doors behind her. He walked across the office, coming to stand behind a great oak desk. He helped himself to a cigarette from a silver case; a real cigarette, Sigrid noted, with real tobacco and all the requisite carcinogens and poisons. He offered one to her. She declined.

"You're Andraste," he said simply. It wasn't a question.

"How did you know?"

"It wasn't difficult. You're from Alcyone, aren't you? The Academy."

"We are."

"Then I'm glad to see Lady Hitomi's work completed. Am I permitted to ask your names?"

"My name is Sigrid Novak. This is my partner, Suko Tansho."

"Charmed," Suko said, raising her cup. This elicited the smallest of smiles from the broker.

"Well, Ms. Novak, Ms. Tansho, what exactly brings you to Bellatrix, and what might I do for you?"

"Aren't you more interested in why we think you might be in danger?" Sigrid asked.

"I imagine the two subjects are directly related."

"They are, sir."

"Then, perhaps if you were to start at the beginning…"

Sigrid took a deep breath. "Three weeks ago, I met a man on the Konoe transfer station. His name was Corbin Price."

The information broker nodded. "Of the Merchantmen. Yes. Go on."

"I killed him," Sigrid said. "And I'm here to kill the men he was working for."

"I'm not sure I follow. The Merchantmen work for no man, Ms. Novak. They are traders, nothing more. They trade with anyone willing to deal with them, but I have never known them to work as agents for anyone."

"Yes, I realize that. But he took something from me. Information. Information on us and on New Alcyone. I believe he was tasked with acquiring that information for someone here on Bellatrix."

"And you believe I know who these men are?"

"Sir…" Sigrid shifted uneasily. "…you are a broker of information. I was hoping…"

John Mirren shook his head. "I know of no plots involving the Merchantmen, Ms. Novak. Nor of Project Andraste. As for whom the Merchantmen might sell that information to… You must realize how many people would be interested in getting their hands on anything concerning you. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid if you're here to kill all the parties involved, you may find yourself at war with every corporation in the Federation."

"That war has already begun, Mr. Mirren. One way or another, my partner and I will end it."

The broker leaned back against the chair behind him, studying her. "I believe you. And from what I know about Lady Hitomi's work, I imagine you're capable of making good on that statement. But I'm sorry, Ms. Novak, I have no knowledge of any of this."

Sigrid cursed silently. To come all this way for yet another dead end.

"If you lie to us, Mr. Mirren, we will know."

Ignoring her threat, the broker looked at the cigarette in his fingers, nearly burned to the filter. He snuffed it out in the ashtray on his desk. "You said I was in danger. Why?"

"There was a man on Konoe. His name was Bernat Wereme. I took a list from him—a coded list. There were many names on that list, Mr. Mirren. Suko's name was on it. My name…" Sigrid looked up at him. "And yours. Your name was on that list as well. Why do you suppose that is?"

The broker held the cigarette case open in his hands, closed it. "I think we both know the answer to that."

"Lady Hitomi told me you helped locate us—girls like Suko and me. You were instrumental in creating Project Andraste. You're involved in this."

He shook his head. "That information is known only to Lady Hitomi and myself. It's impossible anyone could know."

"The fact that your name is on that list suggests otherwise. Someone knows about us, both of us, and they want us to know. That list was sent to me for one reason: to draw me here. It's an invitation, but it's also a warning. The only question remaining is who sent it? At the moment, Mr. Mirren, the prime suspect is you."

The broker put the silver case down softly on the desk. But when he looked up at her, Sigrid saw the hardness in his eyes, challenging. "I did not contract Corbin Price to steal from you, Ms. Novak. Or this Bernat Wereme. I sold information to Lady Hitomi—more than a decade ago. Since that time, not one person has approached me regarding information on Project Andraste. Nor have I volunteered it."

"But if they did, you would sell them that information. That is what you do."

Surprisingly, the broker shook his head. "No, that was not part of our agreement. The information I sold to Lady Hitomi was exclusive. I was compensated accordingly. I would not break that contract."

Suko stood up, regarding him carefully. "A freelancer with honor? Who knew."

"Mr. Mirren," Sigrid said, "that information is worth a great deal of money."

"Didn't you just say you could tell if I lied? I'm not lying to you now. Only a fool would cross Lady Hitomi Kimura, Ms. Novak. And I did not get to this position by playing the fool."

She stared back at him, scanning him. He was angry, perhaps even furious with her, that she might dare accuse him, here in his own domain. But he was no liar. Everything he told her, it was the truth. Sigrid cursed, an action John Mirren picked up on.

"Does that disappoint, Ms. Novak? Would it be easier to find me guilty—give you someone to punish? Is that what you were hoping to find?"

Sigrid didn't want to admit it, but it was true.

"I believe you, Mr. Mirren. But that doesn't change the fact that someone is looking for us. And those same people know about you. In good conscience, I must warn you, those men will stop at nothing to acquire any information regarding us. I suspect we will not be the only ones to pay you a visit in the near future."

The broker turned back toward the window. He stood silently for a moment, staring at the squalor, the red skies above. "If that is true, then you have only one possible course of action."

"And that is…?"

"You must find these men first. Find them and kill them. Or they will surely kill us."

"That is precisely what I came to Bellatrix to do, Mr. Mirren. But I'm afraid, without a target, we're no closer to resolving this."

"Then, Ms. Novak, I suggest we find you a target."

"But…you said you didn't know—"

"Do you know how many corporations call Bellatrix home, Ms. Novak? Four hundred and sixty-two. And out of those, how many do you think would be interested to find out you were here now?"

"Uh…all of them?"

The broker nodded. "Yes, all of them. And what do you suppose would happen if I were to announce I was auctioning off information regarding your whereabouts?"

Sigrid understood. "The men I'm after would hear—"

"Oh, they will hear, Ms. Novak. And when they do, they will have no choice but to move against you. To remain hidden would be to risk losing you to a rival faction. That is how we will find your target. Don't worry, Ms. Novak, when I'm done, they will come to you."

"Sigrid…" Suko said; her voice held a cautioning tone. "If we do this…"

"I know—we'll have every hired gun in the system after us."

John Mirren eyed the two heavily armed young women, sizing them up. "Ms. Novak, if you think this too risky—"

"No," Sigrid said. "No, it's perfect, Mr. Mirren. Where shall we do this? Perhaps here in the District?"

The broker raised his eyebrows. "For obvious reasons, I would prefer another location—one as far from my operations as possible. You said the Merchantmen were involved in this?"

"They were," Sigrid said, her fists clenching at the memory, "before I killed them."

"Then I suggest you start in the Trade District in Portside. There's a place near the transport terminal—it's quite popular amongst the freight haulers and traders. If the Merchantmen were here on Bellatrix, you'll find your answers there."

"And if we don't find these answers?" Suko asked.

Sigrid answered for him. "Then Mr. Mirren will see that they find us."

"Ms. Novak, once I announce that you and your partner are in Portside, they will find you. I only hope you're prepared to receive them when they do."

"I came here to face our enemies, Mr. Mirren, not to hide from them. Inform your contacts. Let them know we'll be waiting for them in Portside. We'll be ready."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Special Agent

"You handled yourself like a pro in there," Suko said.

Sigrid took Suko's arm as they exited the broker's offices. Side by side, they walked down the long steps and back into the filth and noise of the streets outside. "I don't know about that. We just talked."

"It was more than that, and you know it. You were made for this."

"Don't say that!" Sigrid said, horrified—horrified at the idea of more negotiations. This was Lady Hitomi's domain. Not hers.

"I was impressed, and frankly…I think a little turned on."

Sigrid felt her cheeks flush, reddening. "What, now? At a time like this? Here?"

"If not here, where? When?"

"Anywhere! Goodness, anywhere but here." Sigrid stared out at the cracked streets, the boarded-up buildings, the groups of roving gangs. "I want to be done with this place, Suko. I want to complete our mission and get the hell out. Ever since Konoe, all I wanted to do was get here. Now I just want to leave. Hitomi was right. She was right to leave the Federation. We don't belong here. We belong on New Alcyone. I don't trust any of these people, and I don't think I like them very much either."

"They'll never leave us alone. You know that."

Sigrid held tight to her arm. "They will. Or we'll kill them all. I swear it."

They stopped by the corner. It was growing dark, the sky turning from a bright orange to a deep blood red in the waning afternoon light. The meeting with the broker had changed everything. She had a destination now, and she had a plan. All they needed was their transportation to arrive.

Sigrid checked her chronometer again. "Now where in the blazes is Leta?"

The high-pitched whine of thrusters sounded in the distance, growing louder as the source grew closer. Suko saw them first and pointed. "Looks like Leta found us some transportation after all."

"Rather…" Sigrid said, gaping at the sight. "Maybe I should have sent Trudy."

Leta's solution to their transportation issues proved somewhat of a surprise. Sigrid watched as the pair of sleek vehicles screamed toward them, skimming across the road. Trudy arrived first, putting her shining silver ride into a ninety-degree skid to come to a stop mere inches from Sigrid. Leta was close behind, riding on a flaming-red mount of her own.

"This? This is what you brought?" Sigrid said, her arms thrown up wide in disbelief.

"You don't like them?" Leta asked.

Sigrid couldn't help but notice that Leta's ride, shining and fresh from the factory, was painted the same brilliant red as her long mane of curls. "I told you to get transportation. Not accessorize!"

Leta blinked back at her. "Um, we brought two!"

Sigrid shook her head. She only had herself to blame. Leta's lust for exotic vehicles was no secret. And despite her misgivings, she had to admit Leta's selection was not without its allure. Sigrid had never seen anything like them.

They were called Longspurs. They were small, open-aired vehicles, fast and light, brutishly armed and highly maneuverable. They seemed barely vehicles at all. There was only room for two passengers seated on a single seat, one person behind the other. The Longspurs offered no armor and no protection. Repulsors beneath the chassis supplied lift, with one massive thruster nozzle to the rear providing push. Sigrid noted that someone had removed the engine and thruster fairings as if to better show off their pure power and speed. They appeared completely unsafe and wholly wondrous to behold.

"They're fast," Trudy said hopefully.

"Very fast," Leta added. Her hair had become disheveled during the ride; she fixed it now in the reflection of the gleaming chrome of the fuel cell.

"Where on Earth did you get them?" Sigrid asked.

"Local mercs. They were kind enough to take us for a ride."

"Yet you somehow managed to leave them behind," Suko said as her hand caressed the seductive swell of the thruster nozzle. "Clever."

"Oh, I doubt they'll even notice they're gone," Trudy said. "At least not until they wake up."

Suko stored her assault rifle and shotgun on the weapons mounts before throwing her leg over the seat and resting her feet on the pegs. The driver position was rather aggressive. Suko was forced to lean forward to reach the control bar, her stomach hugging the swell of the fuel cell above the engine mount. This also proved a more aerodynamic position. Steering and pitch were controlled largely by leaning forward, back, or side to side.

Sigrid climbed on behind Suko. The passenger seat was slightly raised, allowing Sigrid to peer over Suko's shoulder. There didn't seem to be any hand grips so Sigrid had little choice but to lean against Suko and wrap her arms around her waist, holding to her tight.

"Now, no distracting me," Suko cautioned as Sigrid pressed herself against her. "I've never driven one of these before."

"Distracting? I'm just—"

"You know what I mean."

Suko fired up the engine. The sudden roar of thrusters igniting sent a rumbling of vibrations up Sigrid's legs and along her spine. It was thoroughly invigorating.

Leta mounted the other Longspur, with Trudy climbing on behind her. It was time to go. Time to complete their mission.

"Hang on," Suko said as she kicked the thing into gear. The acceleration was incredible, the rush of air around her invigorating. Suko twisted the throttle forward, pushing the Longspur harder. The lively vehicle responded in kind. Buildings rushed past, pedestrians scattered, shouting and waving raised fists. But Suko was only just getting settled in, familiarizing herself with the beast of a machine and putting it through its paces.

They left the Broker's District quickly behind, heading for the elaborate freeway system that twisted its way out of the Old City. Here, the Longspur showed its lust for speed. Even as they approached 240 kph, the maximum allowed within the city limits, skimming the roadway not more than a foot off the ground, the ride was as smooth as glass.

The Spurs weren't flying vehicles, not strictly speaking, but they could gain height for short hops. Suko tested that theory, standing on the repulsors, pushing the Longspur just high enough to skim over the top of a slow-moving freight transport. Sigrid looked back over her shoulder and saw the startled driver, furious and red-faced, his middle finger extended for emphasis.

"Goodness!"

"What's that?" Suko called back over her shoulder.

"I'm not sure that maneuver was strictly legal," Sigrid cautioned.

"You want to get there sooner or later?"

"Sooner, please—eyes front!"

It had taken nearly sixteen hours to get to New Shēnzhèn on the transonic TGV. The ride back to Portside took nearly three days on the Longspurs, but it proved far more enjoyable. The girls took turns driving, challenging each other, racing the entire distance. It was easy for Sigrid to let herself forget the darker reasons for their being here, if only for the moment. But as they entered the outskirts of Portside, winding their way closer to the Trade District, the mood turned serious once again.

By now, word of their presence was bound to have spread. Sigrid didn't need to remind any of them of the dangers or their purpose in being here. The trap had been set, and they were to be the bait.

Even without the aid of the nav-sats, finding the Trade District was a simple thing. Suko fell in line with the long trains of freight haulers as they made their way to the very heart of Portside. The Trade District seemed more freight terminal than city, as buildings gave way to the towering stacks of intermodal containers that stretched for kilometer after kilometer at the sides of the road.

In time, they could go no further. The road ended in a wide plaza. Hundreds of transports sat parked in rows, their engines rumbling at low idles. Streams of suborbital shuttles came in waves, dropping their cargo, adding to the stacks of waiting containers, somehow avoiding colliding with one another, hurrying to deliver their loads of goods to the merchants and traders who flocked here.

Suko brought the Longspur to a halt, Leta right behind her. Trudy was busy leaning over, hacking out a cough, working something out of her lungs.

"She swallowed a bug," Leta explained.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Suko asked.

Sigrid scanned their surroundings. They appeared to be in a truck park, one at the very heart of the Trade District. Heavy ground transports trundled by on all sides: huge, lumbering trucks with wheels standing five and six meters tall. They shook the ground as they rolled past. Sigrid pulled at Suko's arm, hustling her out of the way of one that rolled by too close. The sheer volume of noise was daunting, the threat of being crushed under the wheels of industry quite real.

"There!" Sigrid said, pointing. In the distance she spotted the one and only permanent structure in the vicinity. It was a square, prefab building, the kind used on work sites, large enough to accommodate several hundred people. A broad holographic sign sat perched on its roof, a shining beacon, blinking out its welcome to the drivers and traders who flocked to its doors: "Eat at Daisy's!"

"This can't be the place," Suko said. "This has got to be a mistake."

"Or a trap," Trudy offered.

Leta eyed the establishment warily. "If by 'trap' you mean making us sick from greasy, overly rich, sugary foods, then you may be right."

But as Sigrid looked around, she could see no other possible destination. "The coordinates the broker gave us match," Sigrid said. "This is it. This is where he told us to go. We might as well have a look."

Four burly men exited the establishment as they approached. Seeing the girls in their sleek outfits, they leered at them openly. One of them gave a low whistle; another wagged his tongue, wriggling his eyebrows in hopeful expectation.

"Perverts," Trudy mumbled as the men walked past.

More men turned their way as they entered. They appeared to be of large stock, thickly built, and with a healthy thirst for beer and pan-fried slabs of meat, judging by what the serving girls carried on brimming tray after brimming tray. Sigrid sensed the collective blood pressure in the room rise as eager eyes fell on the four girls standing in the doorway.

Trudy took half a step back. "Um…I'll stay out here, keep watch, if it's all the same."

"Don't worry," Leta said, cracking her knuckles. "They're harmless."

"It's all right, Trudy" Sigrid said. "You're on overwatch. Try the roof—that should give you a good viewpoint. Let us know if any of our visitors arrive."

"On it."

"That must be Daisy," Suko said, pointing toward the large figure behind the bar. If Suko was right, Daisy was a he. A giant of a man, Daisy was nearly as wide as he was tall, and filled most of the space behind the bar. He was busy holding court with a group of truckers, all the while doling out shots of whiskey. Whether the men and women were interested in his monologue or the free shots, Sigrid couldn't tell.

Her enhanced hearing filtered out the conversation from the wash of music and raised voices. Daisy was presenting his theory of the recent bombings. If he had any sympathy for the dead CTF dignitary, he didn't show it. Mercenaries seemed to be his prime suspects, though it appeared he blamed the Mercenary Guild for just about everything.

Sigrid took the empty stool closest to him. Her encroachment did not go unnoticed by the group gathered there. The truckers grew quickly silent, turning to regard her with wary eyes.

"It's not terrorists," Sigrid said as she faced them. "And I highly doubt it's mercenaries either."

"Course it's mercs," Daisy said. He spoke with a lilting brogue that took Sigrid off guard, that such a musical voice could belong to such a brute of a man. "They nabbed two of 'em trying to escape. Got 'em dead ta rights."

"Mercenaries would have very little to gain from such a provocation, sir."

Daisy continued to eye her with suspicion; apparently he knew a freelancer when he saw one, and they were not welcome in his establishment. "Yeah? Well, wha' d'ya know of it?"

Sigrid shrugged. "I know that my friend and I are thirsty. Whisky for me. She'll have a vodka—two fingers, if you please."

"Only two?" Suko asked; Sigrid elbowed her in her side.

Daisy grunted and placed two small glasses in front of her, pouring two sloppy shots.

"Have one yourself," Sigrid added.

The offer seemed to mellow the bartender. He shrugged his approval, pouring a third shot.

"Now, why d'ya say it's not mercs?" Daisy asked. Sigrid sensed he probably didn't much care what her answer was, having already made up his mind.

"I know what I know." Sigrid pushed her empty glass toward him—dreadful stuff. "Perhaps we can exchange information, as well as more of your fine malt."

Daisy smiled. But he pushed the unfilled glass back toward her. "We don't take kindly ta freelancers 'ere, miss, and we don't like questions neither. You an' your kind, always coming around, nosing in where you're not wanted. You've had your drink, and you've had your fun. Now I think it best you be on your way."

Sigrid looked about her. The small group of truckers had grown threefold as more men and women crowded around, favoring her with unkind looks.

"I'm not here to make trouble," Sigrid said, in what she hoped was a soothing tone. "I'm only looking for the Merchantmen. There was a man, Corbin Price was his name. Perhaps you've—"

"He said…" a voice said from behind her, "we don't like freelancers."

Sigrid turned slowly to face the person who'd interrupted their conversation. It was a woman. She wore a heavy green coat and work trousers. Driver's gloves covered her hands, and a billed cap obscured most of her face. But that didn't stop Sigrid from recognizing her.

It was the woman from the pub. Catherine Cartwright. Kitten. Suko recognized her, too, and stepped forward, reaching for the knife on her belt, but Sigrid put her hand on her arm, holding her back.

And Daisy wasn't done with his scolding either. "You'll not get no information here, miss. I think you girls best be leavin'."

"It's all right, Daisy," the woman said. "They're just kids. I'll take care of them. Come on—over here. Now, before there's trouble." She took Sigrid by the elbow, but Sigrid was an unmovable object. The woman leaned close, speaking low. "Please, Ms…Peters. Do as I ask—while there's still time."

First in the pub, and now here, Sigrid knew this meeting was not by chance. But she also knew she needed answers now, not a fight. "Very well. We'll make no trouble."

She allowed the woman to lead them to a corner booth. No one spoke until they were seated and satisfied the rest of the patrons were back to minding their own business.

"Ms. Cartwright," Sigrid said. "You're following me."

"Hardly," the woman said. There was a scolding, cautioning tone to her voice. "Do you have any idea how many people are looking for you right now? You're lucky I got to you first."

Sigrid frowned. "I'm certain luck has absolutely nothing to do with it. How did you find us, Ms. Cartwright? Why are you here?"

"I came here to warn you, Ms. Novak."

The woman flinched, wincing as Suko pressed the blade of her balisong against her thigh under the table.

Sigrid leaned toward her. "And how is it you know my name—my real name? Please answer carefully. Your life may depend on it."

The woman tried to pull away, but Suko held to her fast, the razor-sharp blade of the balisong cutting through the heavy fabric of her work trousers.

"You bloody well announced it when you went to that broker," she said. "When I heard that some ex-Kimuran mercenary was looking for the Merchantmen, I knew it had to be you. I'm afraid you're all the talk of Portside, Ms. Novak."

"No, there’s more to it than that. You knew about us, Ms. Cartwright—long before the broker made his announcements. You were waiting for us in the pub. You knew. I want to know how. Who told you we were coming?"

"No one told me, Ms. Novak."

The woman flinched, gasping, as Suko pressed the knife harder against her, nicking the soft flesh of her thigh.

"You're lying," Sigrid said. "Tell me, or I promise you, my partner will kill you."

"My name isn't Catherine, for one. It's Miranda. It's Miranda Kane… Special Agent Miranda Kane. I'm with the office of CTF Naval Intelligence."

Suko's lips twisted into a snarl. "Oh, you are so dead—"

"Now, just wait. It's not what you think. I'm not here for you."

"Oh?" Sigrid said, waiting. "Then why, Ms. Kane? Why are you here?"

"I'm here looking for the very same men that you are, Ms. Novak. I came here to help."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

War Machine

"Help us?" Suko said. "You have got to be kidding."

"I'm not kidding, and I'm not lying," Miranda said. "And I can prove it."

"She's an agent of the Council," Suko warned. "You can't trust her."

"Office of Naval Intelligence, thank you very much," Miranda corrected. "And please keep your voice down."

"Security is security," Sigrid said. "You all answer to the same people."

Suko turned toward her. "Sigrid…you know what we have to do."

"Wait. Just…listen to me!" Miranda said. "You came here to kill someone. I know. But it isn't me."

"Killing an agent of the Council is well within my mission parameters, Ms. Kane."

"I don't believe you're a killer, Ms. Novak."

"Then you've been misinformed."

"I can help you," Miranda said. "You have to believe me."

But Sigrid would have none of it. "The Council made its position clear. They'll see us destroyed if they can't have us. Why should I believe they'll help us now?"

"I told you, I'm not working for the Council. The Council doesn't know I'm here—they don't know you're here. I only found out when I saw you at Customs."

All of Sigrid's instincts told her that this woman was dangerous—a threat. She was an agent of the CTF. She was the enemy. She had to be. Yet her scans told her otherwise. Despite Suko's vicelike hand clamped on her leg, the knife pressed against her, the woman appeared completely earnest. She was telling her the truth.

"Everything all right here, ladies?"

Hearing the heated exchange, the bartender, Daisy, had lumbered over to investigate. He held a cricket bat over his shoulder and looked back and forth between the women in the booth.

"It's all right," Miranda said. "I'm just letting these girls know about the rules around here. They'll behave. And then they'll be leaving. Won't you, girls?"

Sigrid didn't answer, but Miranda's assurance appeared to satisfy the bartender. She waited until Daisy was safely back behind the bar before speaking.

"If any of this is true," Sigrid said, "why not tell us in the pub? Why the charade?"

"Because frankly, Ms. Novak, I wasn't sure how you'd react."

"She probably would have killed you," Suko said.

Miranda sat back, regarding the two of them carefully. "Yes…that had crossed my mind. But believe me, we're here for the same purpose. We're after the same people. I want to see justice done, just as you do."

"Why?" Sigrid asked.

"Because the men who attacked Alcyone pose a threat to the Federation. It's not only you and your friends they're after. They're after us. All of us. Bombings, terrorist attacks—this has gone beyond mere skirmishes, Ms. Novak. This is open rebellion. They won't stop until they see the Council fall. They'll bring the entire Federation down around everyone, and it won't be pretty."

"Bring down the Council?" Suko said, musing. "I think I might start to like these blokes."

"I wouldn't joke, Ms. Tansho."

Suko stared back at her. "I wasn't."

"The Council took everything from us, Ms. Kane," Sigrid said. "I'm not sure how you expect us to care one way or another what happens to them."

"No… No, I don't expect you would—although, perhaps you should. How many innocents died at Panama? How many of your friends on Alcyone? How many do you think will die if it comes to war? We're fighting the same people here. I can help you—more than you can imagine. I know who they are, and I know where they are. Now, unless you want to keep traipsing around Portside announcing your presence to every bounty hunter with an itchy trigger finger, I suggest we get out of here. I'll tell you everything you need to know. I promise. Ms. Novak—Sigrid—I can take you to them."

"Where?" Sigrid demanded. "Where are they?"

"Not now. We're not safe here. But I know a place we can talk. Somewhere more private."

"I still say we kill her," Suko said.

Miranda glared back at her. "Ms. Novak, we must leave here now. The people hunting you aren't who you think. They are dangerous."

"I'm dangerous, Ms. Kane."

"You want revenge. I understand. You want to teach them a lesson. But not here. Do it where you have the advantage. I can give you that. There are better places for a fight." The agent looked at her, her eyes earnest. "Let me help you. Please."

All of Sigrid's instincts told her to run. This woman was an agent. The enemy. Yet there was something…

Sigrid felt the jolt—her comlink bleating for her attention. It was Trudy signaling from outside.

Sigrid froze, listening.

"Trucks coming. Four of them—no, six. Looks like mercs. Two platoons. Maybe more. I'm coming to you."

"No, wait there, Trudy. We're coming out."

The agent couldn't have heard the exchange, but to her credit she must have surmised what was going on.

"They're here, aren't they?" Miranda said. "I warned you—"

"And you also said you'd help. Did you really mean that?"

"I did. My car's right out back. I can take you—"

But it was too late. The front door opened. Four men walked in.

They were not truckers. Sigrid's sensors alerted her to the assault rifles and stunners they carried. The men did not look her way, but Sigrid knew they were aware. One of them held a riot gun hidden beneath the folds of his long coat. The weapon fired an electrically charged net used for pacifying crowds, more than enough to take down her or any of her friends. Sigrid knew these men had not come to kill them, but to contain them. They wanted her alive.

Sigrid was not bound by such limitations.

"Friends of yours?" Suko asked.

Miranda looked up slowly from the corner of her eyes. "No."

"They're mercenaries," Sigrid said.

"Worse," Miranda said. "Freelancers. Cockroaches. Where there's four, there'll be four hundred. Come on. We better leave while we can."

Calmly, they slid from the booth and walked to the rear of the restaurant and through the kitchens. Leta followed them out. Sigrid kept careful watch of the soldiers, but the men made no move against them.

"They're herding us," Sigrid said.

Miranda moved to open the rear door, but Sigrid stopped her. A quick thermal scan revealed more of the soldiers waiting for them out back. They had vehicles, armored personnel carriers complete with chain guns and .50 cals mounted and aimed at the exit. Eight men hurried to take up positions, riot guns in hand. The trap was set.

Trudy's voice sounded over her comlink. "They're moving, Sigrid. They're coming in. I can cut them off—"

"Wait there, Trudy. We're coming up."

"Up?" Miranda asked. "How?"

Sigrid ignored the question, scanning upwards; the roof was only meters above her. She looked to Suko. "Think you can make us an exit?"

"I can—if someone can give me a lift."

Leta cradled her hands together, providing a step for Suko, hoisting her up. Suko removed a strip of sticky charges from her waist clip, unrolled it and peeled away the adhesive, affixing it to the ceiling above her head.

She hopped down and turned to the agent. "You might want to shield your eyes.

Miranda did so, just in time.

Sigrid saw the flash as the charges ignited. Acrid smoke filled the hallway, and a small section of the roof and ceiling came clattering to the floor. Leta was the first up. She leapt, grabbing onto the newly made opening, hoisting herself up to the roof.

Suko lifted the startled CTF agent up to Leta's lowered hand, pulling her swiftly up through the smoking opening. Sigrid heard the agent squeal as her kicking heels disappeared through the hole.

"After you," Suko said.

Sigrid jumped. The hole was a good meter and a half above her head, but Sigrid reached it easily, pulling herself up and onto the roof. Trudy was already in position, assessing the situation, uploading her report directly to Sigrid's HUD.

A total of three platoons were taking up position around Daisy's, freelancers and mercenaries alike. More armored personnel carriers completed the perimeter. They were completely surrounded, cut off and trapped on the rooftop. But Sigrid's thoughts were not of escape. She had sent out her invitation, and these men had been kind enough to show up.

Miranda had hold of her sleeve, tugging emphatically. "These aren't the men you're looking for, Ms. Novak. I know. We need to get out of here, now."

"I'm not running, Ms. Kane."

Suko slid down next to her, her eSMG in her hand. "Whatever we're doing, we better do it fast. Looks like they brought air support."

Sigrid didn't have to look. She could feel the low rumble of the heavy thrusters firing, growing louder. Still kilometers away, two air vehicles were moving quickly toward them. They were gunships, Thunderhawks, and they were moving fast, closing on their position. Quad cannon mounts extended from their sides, swinging into firing positions and taking aim.

Sigrid looked about her; the rooftop offered little in terms of cover.

"Ms. Novak—Sigrid! We need to move!"

Indeed, they were outnumbered, and the situation was deteriorating quickly. But the agent was wrong about one thing. These mercenaries might not be the enemy she was looking for, but they were still men, and they still hunted them.

"If you have a plan," Suko said, her eyes fixed on the incoming carriers, "now's the time to share it."

"Plan?" Sigrid unholstered her twin 18 mm sidearms. "We kill them all."

Sigrid's words were all the invitation the girls needed. It was Leta who acted first. She plucked a grenade, a small incendiary MIRV, from her belt. Twisting the top, Leta threw it in a tall arc over her shoulder. The grenade flew high up before coming down amongst the waiting soldiers guarding the entrance. At eight feet, the MIRV burst, launching its consignment of sixteen warheads. The tiny heat-seekers sprang forth, finding their targets and locking on. Sigrid heard the shrill, startled screams of the mercenaries as the payload of compressed fuel and sticky gel burst and ignited. It only lasted a moment, the screams; the shouts of the men below grew quickly silent.

The opening salvo had been fired. The way forward was clear.

Sigrid had the CTF agent by the arm, lifting and lowering her from the roof, dropping her down amongst the charred remains of the mercenaries.

Sigrid dropped down beside her, pulling Miranda into the cover of one of the parked cargo haulers.

"Those men…" Miranda said; she was looking over her shoulder, staring at the grisly sight.

"I told you, Ms. Kane. I came here for a purpose. I won't let anyone stop me."

The front door to Daisy's burst open. Sigrid spun around, weapons raised, but it was already over. She heard the sharp report of Leta's eSMG firing, saw the charging freelancers fall at her feet. No soldier exited the establishment alive, and none of the patrons were fool enough to stick their heads out to investigate.

But a greater threat loomed in front of them. The two Thunderhawks roared in to cut them off, cutting off their escape. One hovered over the plaza, the other swept in behind them to disgorge its complement of troops onto the rooftop they had just vacated. They were quickly becoming surrounded.

"Well, if you wanted a confrontation," Miranda said, "I think you've got it."

More troops leapt from the first of the hovering gunships, descending on rappeller lines. They dispersed quickly, moving to flank the girls.

"Incoming!" Trudy shouted.

Two missile contrails snaked up from across the plaza, streaking toward them. Sigrid braced—but the weapons had not been aimed at them. Instead, the missiles sought and found the first of the hovering Thunderhawks. The warheads struck directly amidship, shattering and breaking its back. Sigrid heard the explosion, the angry groan of metal bending and collapsing. Soldiers still clinging to the rappeller lines leapt for their lives. Others were not so lucky, consumed in the fire or crushed beneath the bulk of the gunship as it came crashing down.

Sigrid's PCM traced the trajectories back to their source: seven armored personnel carriers screamed down the road toward them, bouncing over the lane dividers in the roadway before turning sharply into the plaza. Turrets mounted on the tops of the APCs blasted the mercenaries on the ground, scattering the men and women before them.

Sigrid knew these new arrivals weren't rescuers. They were rivals; rival mercenaries come to join in on the hunt for Sigrid and her friends. And they would not share the bounty. They wanted the prize of these girls for themselves.

Two more missiles streaked toward the second Thunderhawk, but the hulking gunship was ready this time. It turned swiftly, its cannons seeking out this new threat. Flares, chaff and radar-jamming decoys burst from its side-pods. Computer-controlled countermeasures lured away the incoming missiles, even turning some back on their foes.

"Great," Miranda said. "Is there anyone you didn't tell you'd be here?"

As the agent turned to glare at Sigrid, she failed to see the grenade that came clattering down in front of her.

Sigrid grabbed for her, pulling her down, back into the cover of the parked transport, shielding her with her own body. Sigrid made herself as flat as possible, felt the concussion as the fragmentation grenade exploded too close behind them. Still pinned beneath her, Sigrid felt the agent's heart pounding in her chest. Miranda clung instinctively to Sigrid's shoulders. Her eyes wide and wild, she stared at the charred crater not two meters distant.

"You—you saved my life."

Sigrid rolled off her, reaching down with a hand and hefting her up. "Don't make me regret it. I intend to hold you to your promise. We're getting out of here, and then you're going to take us to them."

"Of course. Definitely. Anything—as long as it involves leaving here."

Suko ran toward them, keeping low and in cover. "If you two are done mucking about, I think it's time we take our leave. These mercs seem content to fight amongst each other—perhaps we should leave them to it?"

As if to punctuate her point, a flurry of missiles from the Thunderhawk lashed out, blasting two of the APCs before they could disgorge their squads of soldiers. The rival mercenaries were distracted, firing at each other, but that wouldn't last. In time, their attention would turn back to them.

Sigrid counted more than two hundred soldiers on the scene. More were sure to follow. But the Longspurs were on the other side of the lot.

"Wait here," Sigrid said.

"Wait—what?" Suko said. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to clear a path."

"Seeg—"

Sigrid didn't wait. She knew Suko would only try to stop her. Even before her cloak was fully engaged, she was off, sprinting toward the two platoons of mercenaries on the ground. There was confusion, orders, counterorders. Sigrid was happy to add to the chaos.

The new cloaking program was far easier to hold than before. Sigrid marveled at the efficiency of the algorithms; once engaged, she barely had to give it a thought. This left her free to deal with the task at hand.

Two braces of fragmentation grenades dropped from her belt. She rolled the four grenades ahead of her, their metal casings clattering along the pavement. Four explosions rang out. Men and machines flew into the air. The few survivors of the blasts ran, scattering and diving for cover.

Sigrid didn't stop. Her sprint took her directly beneath the Thunderhawk overhead. It spun up and away, retreating from the blast area and trying for distance, searching for the source of this new threat. Still cloaked, Sigrid's twin 18 mm pistols dropped from their clips and into her hands.

The 18 mm slugs were not powerful enough to penetrate the thick armor of the gunship, but Sigrid had not aimed for the body, but for its head. Six armor-piercing rounds bore through the ablative shielding of the windscreen. The heavily plated glass shattered into thousands of crystalline fragments. The pilot raised his arms, shielding himself from the spray, but he could not shield himself from her ballistic rounds that followed. Two rounds found their mark, and the pilot slumped forward over the controls.

The Thunderhawk's thrusters roared in protest. It pulled up wildly to perform a half-roll before crashing down. It nosed in hard, colliding with the cab of a parked long-hauler. For one frozen moment the Thunderhawk rested on its nose, its tail pointing straight into the air. Then, slowly, creaking, groaning, it toppled over to come smashing to the ground not more than a meter from Sigrid.

Ruptured fuel cells ignited, sending a towering black mushroom cloud roiling skyward. The blast staggered Sigrid, and she fell back. She felt the familiar drain on her systems; even with the upgrades she could hold the shrouding effect no more.

She was visible now, exposed and standing directly in the midst of the two opposing mercenary forces.

She reached for two of the smoke canisters on her belt, thumbing the release, sprinting for cover. But it was too late. They saw her. There was no escaping it. Guns that only seconds ago were aimed at men swung toward her. Red warnings flashed in her HUD—threat indicators of multiple weapons trained on her. Too many. Sigrid heard the shots fired, felt herself flinch. She scanned for damage. But no bullets hit her. These rounds had not been meant for her.

Suko, Trudy, and Leta fired back, picking off the mercenaries, adding to the carnage and chaos. The mercenaries returned fire, but they could not track their targets, couldn't keep up with the speed of the girls, mere blurs, lost in the clouds of billowing smoke as they sprinted from cover to cover, never staying in one place for more than a second.

One of the APCs exploded, then another, blasted from the compact missile launcher mounted on Leta's shoulder. The remaining APCs pulled hurriedly back.

Scores of mercenaries lay dead. The scorched remains of their heavy equipment lay in twisted, smoldering heaps. There was only a smattering of firing now, sporadic and poorly aimed. Suko and Trudy moved through the rubble, taking care of any mercenaries foolish enough to remain behind. The battle was over. But even as the survivors pulled back and scrambled to regroup, Sigrid knew that more would be on the way.

"It's over," Sigrid called over her com. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"Sigrid…wait, there's…"

Sigrid's sensors picked up the movement through the smoke, a lone figure walking toward her. The smoke cleared, if just for a moment, and Sigrid saw her then. She was a woman, a girl, and she walked calmly toward her, stepping casually over the twisted remnants of the Thunderhawk as if unaware of the fire and carnage around her. The long, black coat she wore covered most of her. Smoked glasses shielded her eyes. She paused, not ten meters from Sigrid, feet apart, arms at her sides.

Sigrid's sensors continued to scan, a constant stream of raw data fed directly to her primary processors, collating, analyzing. This girl was neither a mercenary nor a freelancer.

Two more figures emerged through the haze—two more girls, exactly like the first. Sigrid gasped—the readings, her scans, they couldn't possibly be right.

Slowly the girl reached back, drawing forth a long, two-handed sword. One of her companions unslung a long, silvery chain-whip, swinging it in an ever-widening arc. The weighted ball at its end hummed as it looped towards her.

Sigrid shook her head as if to clear it, checked the readings again, verifying. The results were the same. These girls—all of them—they were enhanced.

They…they're like us.

It was impossible. It couldn't be. Yet she could sense their bionics, the elevated adrenals, flesh and program melding as one. But there was more, something alien, something off, and it terrified her. Sigrid raised her pistols, dialed the antipersonnel rounds, and took aim. But for the first time in her life, Sigrid's hand trembled as it held a weapon. She should have fired. She should have killed them. Yet Sigrid froze, paralyzed.

They were her sisters.

It was only her training, Hitomi's programming, that saved Sigrid then. Three shuriken screamed toward her. Alerted to the danger, Sigrid tumbled aside, firing her weapons before her feet returned to the ground. But, like her, the girls were already on the move, spreading out, too fast even for her PCM to track. There was something frighteningly familiar about the whole thing. Sigrid had witnessed this style of fighting before—every day of her life as she'd trained on Alcyone. She saw it all, as if from a mirror. Her attackers moved like her. Blazingly fast, they anticipated her every move, evading each of her shots.

A more drastic approach seemed in order.

Shrouding, Sigrid rushed toward the nearest of them. But even with her cloak engaged, the girl must have sensed her presence. Three more shuriken sailed her way. Sigrid leapt, spinning in mid-air. Somehow, she avoided the first two, but she could not avoid the third. The deadly throwing knife sliced through her uniform, carving a deep gash in her leg. The shock of pain was enough to break her concentration and break her cloak.

The girl with the chain-whip was on her before she could recover, moving in for the kill. She spun the chain wildly, letting it wind about her arm and neck, before lashing out at Sigrid. Sigrid screamed as the barbed mesh coiled about her legs, cutting through fabric and flesh, hauling her down. Two blades arced toward her, eager to remove her head from her shoulders.

Sigrid did the only thing she could; she reached out, grabbing hold of the chain. The polished steel sliced into her hand, digging deep. Sigrid ignored the pain, shunting it aside. She grabbed hard, rolling, pulling her assailant toward her and hauling herself up. The girl was strong, but Sigrid was stronger. In a flash, they were face to face, and Sigrid's gun was in her hand. As fast as this girl was, she could not dodge this shot, not from this range.

Sigrid fired.

The blast should have blown her head clean off, but the girl merely staggered backward. Her glasses shattered as the bullet penetrated her skull, revealing the very mechanical eye and the metal melded to flesh underneath. Sigrid gasped, not sure what it was she was looking at, not sure if this girl was human or machine, not even sure if this thing was alive or dead.

Her answer came as the girl came at her, arms stretched out, fingers grasping for her.

Sigrid fired, over and over. Four more shots ripped into her, penetrating and blowing out the back of her skull. Only then did the thing finally fall, slowly and deliberately. Sigrid leapt away, recoiling, half-fearing it would spring back to its feet. Mercifully, it remained down. But two of Sigrid's attackers remained. They came at her as one, their blades carving whirlwinds in the air about her and doing their very best to remove her limbs from her person. Sigrid kept moving, kept firing, but the girls merely shrugged off the flechettes, cartwheeling out of the path of more of the incoming rounds. Sigrid could only keep this up so long. Something had to give.

The warning sounded like a klaxon in Sigrid's head. She slipped to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade of one, unable to dodge the thrust of the other. Steel nipped at her ear and sliced through the shoulder of her suit.

Sigrid dived backwards—a move perfectly anticipated by her opponent. Her boot caught Sigrid squarely in her stomach with enough crushing force to knock the wind from her, slamming her into the wrecked remains of a cargo hauler. Sigrid felt her feet leave the ground as the girl's hand gripped her throat. Her fingers were like steel cables, twisting and constricting, threatening to crush Sigrid's neck and remove her head from her shoulders right then and there.

For the first time in years, Sigrid panicked. Her pistols were still in her hand. She tried to fire, but the weapons were snatched from her grasp and tossed aside like so much rubbish to scatter across the pavement. Sigrid felt the blackness coming. Desperate, she grabbed for the girl's arm, kicking, clawing, no thought to technique, only survival.

The girl reached forward, one finger extended. Sigrid heard the snick and saw the needlelike appendage spring forth from the tip of her finger. Without warning, she jammed it into the PCM access port behind Sigrid's ear. The probe entered her with a sharp, stabbing deliberateness. Pain came in shooting waves. Immediately, Sigrid was aware of the invasive programs worming their way into her network, tearing vital information from her databases. Only the crushing grip on her throat kept her from crying out.

The worm-hack burrowed deep, going straight for her database. The probe queried, and powerless, Sigrid answered. Hitomi, New Alcyone, all of their secrets, she gave everything freely, unable to resist, unable to stop herself. Like a dredging machine, the hack scoured its way through Sigrid's systems, leaving no scrap of information behind.

No…

Her bowie knife was still sheathed to her chest. Sigrid grabbed for it. Heaving, stabbing upward, she sank the blade up to the hilt, twisting, pushing with all that remained of her strength.

Get the fuck out of my head, you bitch!

Sigrid stabbed again. Over and over. Still, the probe burrowed more deeply, insatiable, tearing her apart from the inside out.

Trudy rushed forward. Screaming, she leapt on the girl's back, clawing at her eyes, pulling at the hand that crushed Sigrid's throat. Yet this girl, this thing, would not relent. Then Suko was there. Sigrid saw the flash of steel as Suko brought the katana down, cleaving the girl's arm off at the elbow.

There was no blood. The limb was entirely artificial. A construct.

The girl staggered back, the stump of her arm waving wildly. Suko swung again; it was a wide, sweeping swing, all brute force, opening the girl from shoulder to hip.

Sigrid's connection to the girl and the probe was severed, but the hand that gripped her throat remained locked in place. Sigrid collapsed to her knees, clawing, prying desperately at the mechanical fingers that refused to release their hold. Her lungs burned for air that wouldn't come. The world around her turned crimson.

Suko rushed to her side, pulling at the twisted fingers, but it was useless. Desperate to save her, she grabbed her katana, hacking at the severed arm. Suko swung wildly, screaming for the demon hand to let her go. Her third swing severed the hand at the wrist. The twisting fingers finally loosened their grip. Suko kicked the hand well clear; it clattered across the pavement, landing and catching fire in a pile of smoking wreckage.

Sigrid clutched at her throat, sucking in breath after breath of life-giving air. But there was still danger. That thing. The information. She had it.

"The head! Suko!" Sigrid could barely get the words out, her voice rough and rasping. She pointed, gesturing wildly at the body of the girl, that thing, lying close by. "Transmitter—don't let her—"

Suko understood. The katana was still in her hands. She swung it, chopping down; Sigrid heard the shunk, the familiar, unwholesome sound of steel and soft tissue colliding. The head rolled free; Sigrid saw the light fade from its eyes. It was dead. It was over. They were safe.

Suko dropped the bloodied sword and ran to her side. The military part of Suko quickly checked Sigrid for injuries. The devoted lover, however, couldn't stop covering her with kisses, as if to reassure herself that Sigrid was alive and well.

Coughing, gasping, still holding her bruised throat, Sigrid gave her a thumbs-up. She was alive, she was all right.

The long, metal probe was still inserted in Sigrid's access port. Suko pinched the end with her finger and thumb, pulling at it, withdrawing it slowly, fearful she might hurt Sigrid. The sensation, the act, left both of them queasy. Suko tossed it aside disgustedly.

"What did she do to you?" Suko asked.

"I don't know. I…I think she tried to hack me." A quick tracer program revealed the truth. The worm-hack had burrowed deep, going straight for Sigrid's database. Histories, locations, navigational charts, Relay codes!

If she'd gotten those codes… If she'd gotten away…

"What the fuck—pardon my language—is she?" Trudy asked. "I mean, it? I mean, that? Whatever it is."

Sigrid bent over the body. Blood pooled in the open wound, where bone and tissue had been exposed. Beneath the gore, Sigrid saw the unmistakable silver hue of metal.

Her curiosity won over her squeamishness. Sigrid reached out, carefully peeling back the torn flesh around the shoulder.

Suko held her hand over her mouth. "Oh, that is really disgusting."

It was also fascinating. Sigrid had her own share of bionics, but it was nothing like what she was looking at now. The dead woman was most definitely human—at least she had been at one time. A deeper scan revealed that much of her skeletal structure had been enhanced, replaced in parts by a carbon-nanotube composite. Incredibly strong. Many of her organs had been replaced by constructs as well.

"Is she…like us?" Trudy asked.

There were similarities, startling ones, to be sure. Then Sigrid realized, this thing was nothing like them. It was something more. Something else. "I…I don't know what she is."

"I do," Suko said.

Sigrid heard the bitterness in her voice, the hate.

"This is what they tried to do to us on Scorpii. It's what they tried to do to Lei-Fei, to Christi. Seeg, it's what they wanted for all of us."

Sigrid stared at the dead girl at her feet, this thing, this…machine. "Suko, if that's true—"

"Then we can't let these bastards live," Trudy said.

"We won't, Trudy. I promise."

Suko looked back over her shoulder. "The other one got away. I'm sorry. But when I saw her put that thing into you—"

"It's all right. She would have killed me if it weren't for you—both of you."

With Suko's help, Sigrid rose to her feet, scanning the vicinity. The mercenaries were gone, but Sigrid knew they would be back, and in far greater numbers.

"Your hair!" Suko said, touching the side of Sigrid's head.

Sigrid's hand came up instinctively. She felt the spot where the sword had very nearly taken her head clean off. A large chunk of her hair had been carved out, leaving a long shaved spot just above her ear. It was sticky with blood. The blade had come that close.

"I think this is what they mean by close shave," Suko said, examining Sigrid's new haircut.

"Is it bad?"

"Don't worry. I'm sure Karen can fix it."

"Not my hair—the cut!"

"Oh, right…" Suko turned Sigrid's head to examine the gash. "Meh, you'll live."

Sigrid heard the whine of electric motors growing louder as Leta screamed up beside them on the flaming-red Longspur. Her hair was matted with blood. To Sigrid's relief, none of it appeared to be hers. But that relief turned to alarm in an instant as Sigrid realized—Leta was alone.

Sigrid spun around, scanning. The CTF agent—she was gone.

Miranda!

Leta nodded, her face grim. "Yeah, they got her all right."

"Who—who took her?"

"Mercs," Leta said. "They took the agent."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Partners

"Where?" Sigrid asked. "Where did they go?"

"They were headed back toward the freeway," Leta said. "I got an ID on the truck. It's definitely mercs."

"I told you she couldn't be trusted," Suko said. "She's working with them. She's probably the one that brought the lot down on us."

"I don't know," Leta said. "It didn't look like she went willingly—unless she's into wrist binders and having a bag tossed over her head."

Sigrid gathered up her pearl-handled sidearms from the ground, holstering them. "Those mercenaries were here for the bounty. They must think she's one of us. Come on. We have to go after her. We have to find them."

"Seeg, she's an agent," Suko said. "She's the enemy."

"Perhaps. But right now she's the only link we have to the people we're looking for. Trudy, can you track her?"

Trudy tapped the wrist-comp strapped to her arm. Working furiously, she called up a grid map, then fed the information directly to Sigrid's HUD; Sigrid saw the top-down view of Portside with its tangled maze of roadways, the area around the trader's plaza growing larger as Trudy zoomed in.

"Looks like all the traffic's monitored and logged," Trudy said. "Nice of them to provide that—welcome to the information age!"

"Trudy!" Sigrid scolded. "Please. Concentrate."

"Sorry. Should be a snap. Maybe… Wait… Got 'em—assuming Leta got the ID correct."

"What do you mean, assuming?" Leta said, crossing her arms.

Trudy blinked her embarrassment, realizing the slight. "Oh, I didn't mean anything—I wasn't implying. I'm just saying, as long as you got it."

"I got it!"

"All right—both of you!" Sigrid climbed onto the back of the Spur behind Leta. "We're wasting time."

"Wait!" Suko said, reaching for her. "We should go together."

"No time. You'll have to follow. Hurry." Sigrid patted Leta's shoulder. "Punch it!"

Suko let out a low growl; she had little choice but to run for the second Longspur. "Bloody hell…"

Leta gunned the engine, twisting the throttle full back, zooming off after their prey. It didn't take long to catch up. With Trudy guiding them, feeding information directly from the nav-sats, they found and closed on the fleeing mercenary vehicle. Sigrid spotted them first. The transport was stuck in traffic, waiting in a long, slow-moving line at the freeway entrance.

Leta blasted forward, ignoring the lane dividers and speeding between the rows of waiting vehicles.

The mercenaries must have seen them coming. Abruptly, the truck pulled out of the queue, turning back against the traffic and accelerating away. But the lumbering truck was no match for the sleek Longspur, or Leta's apparent lust for speed. She swooped in eagerly on their tail, darting between two slow-moving lorries that crossed her path. Just as they closed, the mercenary truck swerved, making a hard left against the traffic, charging through the red holographic warning lights of the intersection ahead.

Leta was forced to break, banking hard over; the Spur's ventral thruster screamed in protest as it tried to negotiate the sharp turn. Sigrid found herself pressed down hard into the seat, clinging to Leta for her life. Both vehicles careened through the intersection, sending pedestrians and oncoming traffic scattering and crashing together.

Whoever the driver was, he was either a fool or cared little for the carnage and chaos that he caused. Cars, transports and busses swerved to avoid the speeding truck. But if the driver thought the stunt would frighten off Leta, he was woefully mistaken.

The chase had taken them full circle, back toward the elevated freeway. The driver charged forward, accelerating, smashing through a protective barrier and into the oncoming freeway traffic—traffic moving in the other direction.

If Leta was fazed by the maneuver, she didn't show it. She pursued him, up the ramp and through the broken barrier, launching the Longspur high into the air and over four lanes of traffic. Sigrid saw the vehicles moving by below, the bewildered stares of the passengers as they looked up at the two girls sailing by over their heads. All this before they came skidding back down to Earth. Leta swerved wildly to avoid yet another transport. Only a second, desperate blast from the vertical thrusters saved them, propelling them up and over the oncoming truck. The bottom of the Longspur scraped across the top of the cargo box, threatening to topple them off. Sigrid had to lift her feet as they bounced once, then twice, before clearing the great vehicle, only to come crashing down on the other side.

More horns sounded in earnest, warning of inevitable collisions, but Leta missed them all.

The truck was just ahead. The driver sheered away, heading for the shoulder. Leta kept on them, relentless, closing the distance and moving in behind them.

Hanging on to Leta with one hand, Sigrid rose to stand on the rear seat. She drew her sidearm, switching back to ballistic rounds. She couldn't risk destroying the truck, not with the CTF agent inside.

The explosion that erupted beside her nearly blew Sigrid clean off the back. Frantic, Sigrid searched, scanning. The shot had not come from the truck, but from behind them. Sigrid turned to see two more of the APCs in pursuit, their 30 mm cannons swinging toward her, zeroing in.

The rival mercenaries had rejoined the hunt.

But they did not see what Sigrid saw. They did not see the other Longspur.

She came in high, launching herself from the freeway span above them. Sigrid saw the black ponytail and the long strip of red cloth whipping behind. Armor-piercing rounds from the Spur's twin cannons raked across the lead APC. It wasn't enough to damage it—but it was enough to startle the driver. Unprepared, he swerved. The combination of mass, inertia and an oncoming transport hauler took care of the rest.

Suko pursued the lone APC.

Terrified, amazed and proud, Sigrid watched as Suko came up alongside the troop carrier. It swerved to crush her against the sidewall. Suko leapt from her ride, grabbing hold of the APCs side, clambering on top. A hatch opened, and a soldier leaned out, aiming for a shot, but Suko had him by the collar, hauling him out, legs kicking, and hurling him to the roadway. A grenade from her belt tossed inside took care of the rest.

The explosion sent the APC careening up in the air, nearly sending Suko skyward, but she held on, balancing herself and riding the crippled vehicle as it came crashing down on its belly, sliding along the surface of the roadway, before grinding to a halt.

With their backs cleared, Sigrid turned her attention to the truck ahead.

"Get me closer," Sigrid called to her.

Leta twisted the throttle open, hanging off the truck's rear bumper. Her gun was in her hand, and she took aim, blasting the rear door clean off its hinges, and causing the truck to swerve wildly. Bracing herself, Sigrid leaned forward, then leapt. Diving through the smoking, shredded remains of the door, she landed easily, both feet planted firmly on the deck. One startled soldier raised his weapon, but Sigrid merely slapped it away. Terrified, the soldier gaped at her, uncertain, his hand half-reaching for the knife strapped to his hip. Sigrid, with both hands squarely on her hips, shook her head, no. Foolishly, or perhaps wisely, he dived for the open rear door. Sigrid let him go.

Only Miranda and the driver remained.

Her hands still bound behind her, the CTF agent lay on the floor, doing her best to steady herself and not tumble out the back of the bouncing, surging truck.

Sigrid didn't have time to deal with her. Not yet.

The driver looked back over her shoulder. She reached for her sidearm, but Sigrid already had hers pressed against the side of her head. She didn't bother to order her to slow or surrender. She simply reached across and shut the engine off, killing their forward thrust and lift. The truck lurched as the repulsor field failed, dropping it onto its belly. Sigrid held fast to the dash as the truck bottomed out, bouncing off the barrier and nearly back into oncoming traffic before finally coming to a stop.

The driver stared up at her, both hands raised in surrender. Sigrid obliged by binding her to the steering column.

Sigrid turned back to the CTF agent, hauling her to her feet. Miranda gasped as Sigrid drew the long bowie knife from the sheath on her chest.

"Did you mean what you said back there?" Sigrid asked. "Do you really mean to help us?"

"I told you. We're on the same side."

"I highly doubt that. But right now you've got information—information I need." Sigrid brought the blade up, slicing through the binders that held her. "So I guess that means we're working together."

Slowly, Miranda flexed her wrists, now freed. "I won't let you down."

"For your sake, Ms. Kane, I hope that's true."

Miranda opened her mouth, but closed it instantly. Sigrid wasn't listening. She was already in silent communication with the others, calling them to her. They needed to get off the streets. The authorities would be alerted by now, and more mercenaries were sure to come, eager for their own chance at the bounty.

With Suko's Longspur wrecked, the girls took the truck, making their way back to pick up Trudy. Leta drove while Sigrid rode in the back, the CTF agent seated squeezed between her and Suko.

Miranda looked to the two women on either side of her. "Am I your prisoner now? I thought you wanted my help?"

"I need your information," Sigrid said. "Not your help."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"As long as you still work for the CTF—"

"For the love of… I'm a Naval Intelligence officer, not Council Security."

"Which is still part of the CTF. And that means you are our enemy. The Council made that distinction, Ms. Kane. Not us."

"I'm sorry you see it that way. But it doesn't change anything. I'm after the men behind the attacks on Alcyone, same as you."

Leta pulled the truck to a stop at the side of the road. The side door slid open, and Trudy hopped in. She took her seat across from the others as Leta merged quickly back into traffic.

"Glad to see you found her in one piece," Trudy said.

"At least someone's glad," Miranda said, with a side glance to Sigrid.

"The agent's been telling us what fine people she works for," Suko said. "Apparently, she's here to save us."

"I wouldn't joke," Miranda said. "I know what those people did to you. I read the reports. I know what they intended for all of you."

"And what about what the Council wanted?" Suko asked, her hands on the hilts of her balisongs. "What about what they intended?"

"I told you, I don't answer to the Council. They're not the ones who sent me."

Sigrid reached out, lowering Suko's hands, easing her back. "If the Council didn't send you, Ms. Kane, then who did?"

The truck bounced lightly as Leta turned the corner, pulling into the underground parking of Miranda's hotel. She drove swiftly past row after row of parked cars before finding an empty spot and pulling in.

Miranda turned to face her. "Ms. Novak, right now there are only five people who know I'm on Bellatrix. Four of those people are here in this truck."

Sigrid leaned toward her. "Then who—who is the fifth?"

Miranda looked to the girls on either side of her, at the hands clamped on her arms. "You're not going to like it."

"I already don't like it."

"He's waiting upstairs for us right now. He would very much like to talk with you. If you are willing."

"Ms. Kane! Tell me now, or I will break your arm. Who sent you?"

"I believe you've already met him. It's Randal Gillings. Chairman of the Council for Trade and Finance. He's the one, Sigrid. He's the one who sent me."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Reunion

Leta and Trudy held the agent by each arm, lifting her and hauling her out of the back of the truck, whisking her toward the waiting elevator.

"Wait! What are you doing?"

"We're going to see the chairman," Sigrid said, following behind. "We're going to find out what it is you two are up to."

"I told you! Please. Don't do anything foolish. Just promise me you'll talk with him first."

Sigrid didn't answer.

Suko fell in stride at her side. "You've met this man? This…Gillings?"

"Once. On Earth. He knew things, Suko. Things he shouldn't have."

Sigrid would not soon forget her meeting with the Council chairman. It was the only time she'd ever seen her mistress rattled by another. Then, in the CTF Towers, Sigrid had seen the orders. Orders signed by the chairman himself. Those orders were to seize the girls and, failing that, to have them destroyed.

It was because of him, because of Randal Gillings, that Lady Hitomi had lost her company, her world, and Sigrid had lost so many of her friends.

The elevator doors parted. Leta and Trudy hauled Miranda ahead of them.

"I should have killed him," Sigrid said.

"You can't blame yourself—not for what he did."

"No, but maybe I can make good on that mistake now."

They rode the elevator up in silence. Twice the lift stopped to admit more passengers, but seeing the four fully armed girls, all of the guests politely declined, choosing to wait for the next available lift. When they reached the 85th floor, Miranda led them to her suite. Trudy and Leta carried the agent between them, their hands clamped to her arms serving as shackles.

Sigrid paused before the wooden double doors. Her hands rested on the pearl handles of her sidearms, her fingers caressing the curves of the hair triggers.

Suko waited. "What are you going to do?"

"Exactly what I came to do."

Leta retrieved the key from Miranda's pocket and waved it over the lock. The doors swung open, admitting them to the Regency's presidential suite. A wide living area greeted them. Panoramic windows gave way to an impressive view of the smog-enshrouded city of Portside below. Sigrid saw none of that. She only saw the man standing by the window. He had his back to her. He turned to face them now, drink in hand, standing casually, calm. He was in his late seventies, but he was still a strong man, powerful, a man used to control and getting his way. On Earth Sigrid had found him arrogant. She disliked him even more now.

"Ms. Novak. I'm glad to see you again. This is an unexpected pleasure."

Sigrid didn't hear a word. She hadn't come all this way to talk. She came to send a message to anyone who might harm them. Randal Gillings would be her messenger.

Her PCM marked the target squarely between his eyes. Sigrid raised the 18 mm recoilless.

Miranda struggled in Trudy's and Leta's grasps. Her eyes were wide with alarm—and a warning. "Ms. Novak. Wait! Sigrid, don't! There's a—"

Sigrid pulled the trigger.

The shock came in waves. Lightning sparked from the pistol in her hand. Tendrils of charged electricity coursed across her arm. Showers of sparks arced between her sleeve and torso. Her PCM worked frantically, throwing up barriers, shutting down vital systems to protect her from the pulse of 450 kV that coursed through her limbs, sizzling across her skin.

Sigrid screamed, struggling to free herself of the weapon that continued to burn in her hand. She threw it to the ground and grasped her hand in pain. Suko was at her side, holding her, but Sigrid waved her away. She was all right; at least, she would be, if only she could catch her breath.

Slowly, Randal Gillings put down his drink. He raised his hands, but not in surrender. One of his fingers pointed to a spot on the ceiling above him and the tiny apparatus embedded there.

"Electrical field generator," he explained. "A man in my position gets used to taking certain precautions. A shock like that might kill some people. But then, you are not like most people, are you, Ms. Novak?"

Sigrid rose to her feet, clutching her wounded hand to her chest. "I don't need a gun to kill you, Chairman."

"Of that, Ms. Novak, I have no doubt."

"Then for your sake, I hope you have a device that will stop me from walking across this room and wrapping my hands around your neck."

"No, I'm afraid I'm all out of tricks. But before you do, I was hoping we could talk." He gestured to the empty sofa and chairs. None of the girls moved. "It was not my wish to harm you."

"No," Sigrid said. "I think you've done enough damage already."

"Oh? And what exactly have I done?"

"That's a dangerous question, Chairman. I read the directive, back on Earth. I know what the Council intended for us. 'Deconstructed for the purposes of reverse-engineering.' Those were your words, Chairman."

"Were they now? I wasn't aware of that."

"Do you deny it?"

"I don't deny the actions of the Council, Ms. Novak. But I am not a dictator. Eleven other members sit on that board. They will do what they will. I can't stop them. Believe me, I have tried."

"But on Earth—"

"On Earth, I came to warn you, Ms. Novak. Do you not remember? I warned Lady Hitomi. I told her exactly what was happening, but she was too proud, too stubborn to listen. I warned her of the Council's intentions. I told her they would move against her, and they did. I even gave her a way out. I gave all of you a way out. I didn't have to do that. I did that at great personal risk to myself."

"Are we supposed to be grateful?" Suko asked. "Friends of ours are dead."

"Not by my hands, Ms. Tansho. The Council did that—against my recommendations. I am gravely sorry for your losses. The deaths of your friends are most regrettable—and could have easily been avoided. But that was the Council's decision. Not mine."

"But you approved it," Sigrid said. "I saw the files."

"A formality. Nothing more. What was done was done. There was nothing I could do to prevent it. Which is precisely why I came to you then. It's also why I am here now. The Council is a bureaucracy, Ms. Novak. Perhaps in time you will come to understand what that means. They serve only themselves now. And the Federation has become fractured because of it."

"You failed to mention rich," Sigrid said.

Gillings shrugged. "I was rich before, Ms. Novak. I am rich now. I won't make apologies for what I am. But it doesn't change the facts. The Federation needs an effective Council and the force to back it up. The threat of sanctions no longer carries the weight it once did—the corporatocracy will do as it wants, regardless of the consequences."

"But the Mercenary Guild—"

"The Guild is far too busy squabbling amongst themselves to be of any use. The Federation needs order, Ms Novak. Control. It can't survive without it. I'm afraid the old ways are done. It is time for a new order."

"A new order!" Sigrid laughed, the pain in her hand forgotten. "Now I see what this is about. Power—for you!"

"Without order the Federation will collapse. And when it does, war will follow. War that will claim billions of lives. I'm not the only one who knows this. Our shared enemy, the very man you're after, he knows this to be true, just as I do. This is the wedge he will use against us. I cannot allow him to succeed. Order must be maintained, Ms. Novak. And at all costs."

"And I suppose it is you who will restore this order?"

"Perhaps. With your help—yours, and those of your kind."

"My help! Are you mad?"

"Am I?" Randal Gillings shook his head. "I am not a young man, Ms. Novak. There are many other things I could be doing with my time—far safer things than dealing with the likes of this. But I have chosen to be here now. I do this because I know I must. The Council must be removed from power. The Future of the Federation depends on it."

"Leaving you in charge, of course."

Gillings shrugged. "I see few other potential candidates. But I am open to suggestions."

"I didn't come here to help the Council, and I have less intention of helping you."

Gillings chuckled. He looked at her injured hand, the smoldering sidearm on the ground. "No, I think it's perfectly clear you came here to kill me. You must do what you feel is right, of course."

Suko drew her katana from the saya as Sigrid started toward him. Randal Gillings took a half step backward.

"Before you kill me, allow me to ask one last question."

Sigrid waited.

"Did you never think to ask Lady Hitomi why she created you?"

"I know why my mistress created us, Chairman." Sigrid's fingers traced the handle of her bowie knife.

The Chairman ignored the threat. "I doubt that very much. There was a time when your mistress and I were on more amicable terms. Hitomi saw what I saw. The day Daedalus Corporation opened up the stars for us was a great day, but it was also our doomsday. The riches offered by new worlds were of too great a temptation to dismiss. She saw the Federation expanding—far too quickly for its own good. When one builds too quickly, too ambitiously, without proper tending to a sound foundation, walls tend to crumble. Hitomi saw that. I saw that. That is why she made you, Ms Novak."

"She raised us to be mercenaries," Sigrid said. "As was she. As was her father."

Gillings scoffed. "Hitomi was no mere mercenary, my dear. And you were never to be mercenaries either. I know Hitomi. She did not risk her entire fortune to raise soldiers. You were designed with a far greater purpose in mind. Hitomi saw the future, Ms. Novak. And it is you."

Sigrid had witnessed the Chairman's gift for rhetoric before. She'd seen him leave Lady Hitomi rattled, shaking with rage. Sigrid remembered, and she would not make the same mistake.

"I'm sorry, Chairman, but I don't believe you."

"That is because you are young. And, no, that is not an insult. I don't expect you to understand. But believe me when I say, killing me won't serve you. It won't get you what you want—not the men you're after. If you will not help me, Ms. Novak, then let me at least help you."

Miranda finally freed herself from Trudy's and Leta's grasps; she moved to Sigrid’s side.

"He's telling you the truth, Sigrid. You can help us. We can help you. I can take you to them. I know where they are. Sigrid…I know who he is."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

An Unlikely Alliance

"Enough!" Furious and fed up, Sigrid grabbed Miranda by the collar and lifted her clean off her feet. "Who is he? Tell me now, or I will kill you both."

Miranda's toes scrambled for purchase as her hands grasped at Sigrid's arms. But her thrashings ceased just as quickly. She fixed her eyes firmly on Sigrid.

"Put me down and I'll tell you."

Sigrid did so, none too gently. Taking a moment to straighten herself, Miranda moved to the waiting desk and activated the three-dimensional display embedded in its plastic surface.

"This is the man you want," Miranda said. "This is the man who's been hunting you. He's the one who tried to take you. He's responsible for Scorpii, Alcyone—everything. I would imagine he even had a hand in those…things you saw in the Trade District today."

Sigrid stared at the image hovering over the desk. She saw the face of a man. He was thin, pale skinned, with two very thin lips practically devoid of any color. She recognized him instantly. He was younger than he'd been, the skin not so wrinkled, the eyes not nearly so sunken or distant, but it was him.

"That's Bernat Wereme," Sigrid said. "That's the man I saw on Konoe Station."

"That man," Miranda said, "is Harry Jones."

Sigrid couldn't take her eyes from the image. There was no question. It was him—younger, to be sure, possibly by as much as thirty years—but it was him nonetheless.

"How old is that image? When was this taken?"

"This was taken five months ago on Earth, a security feed from the offices of the Council of Trade and Finance."

Five months? Her mouth fell open. Sigrid had to stop herself from gasping aloud. "That…but that's impossible! I only just saw him—weeks ago! He was an old man. Frail. I scanned him. I know!"

Sigrid heard the chuckling behind her. Randal Gillings seemed to find this of great amusement. Sigrid glared at him, and Gillings stopped his laughing immediately.

"Forgive me, dear," Gillings said. "And please don't worry yourself. It's not you I'm laughing at. It's him. My brother-in-law has made a career of fooling those around him."

Sigrid looked at him sharply. "Your brother-in-law?"

"Yes. It's not a thing I'm particularly proud of. You can blame my dear sister for that."

Sigrid turned back to the image displayed above the desktop. How was this even possible? Who was he? What was he? She could only imagine he must be a man of tremendous wealth and intelligence, a man of power and industry, one of the corporate elite. It only made sense. She searched, but she could find no record of the man in any of her databases.

"All this time," Miranda said, "we thought we were looking for a group of men. We kept finding references—they call themselves the Circle."

"The Circle?" Sigrid said. "You mean the terrorists—the ones from the news?"

"Yes. They see themselves as some sort of shadow council. But we were wrong. It was never them. It was never the Circle, Sigrid. It was him. It was always him. It was Harry Jones."

"Who—who is he?"

"He is a clerk," Gillings said. "My assistant."

"Assistant?" Sigrid shook her head. How a clerk could pose such a threat to the Federation was beyond her. "That's impossible. I saw the facilities on Scorpii. There were thousands of men there. Ships. Machines. It can't just be him."

"Yes, I'm afraid he's managed to involve the Independents in his scheme. They have no love for the Federation. It seems they've rallied to his cause most willingly."

Sigrid reached out and gave the three-dimensional face on display a turn, rotating the image. The meaning of what Miranda and the chairman were telling her hit home and hit hard. She'd had him. She'd had this man in her grasp.

And she'd let him go.

"I don't understand," Sigrid said. "How can a clerk manage all this? What can he possibly want?"

"I should think that's obvious, Ms. Novak," Gillings said. "He appears to want you!"

"He had me, Chairman. He had me on Konoe Station. He could have taken me then and there."

"Could he?" Miranda asked. "I doubt that. I saw you in action this afternoon. There were over two hundred soldiers on that plaza, with enough firepower to lay waste to half the city. Exactly how many of those men do you suppose walked away?"

Trudy held up a helpful hand. "Fourteen!" But no one was listening. "I, um…I counted."

"He wants you here," Gillings said. "And he's gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange it."

Sigrid shook her head. "But why—why here? Why Bellatrix?"

"He wants you on his home turf. He wants you where he's strongest."

"Strongest?" Sigrid stiffened. "Why, what do you know?"

Miranda drew her attention back to the monitor. "You've seen the kind of forces the Independents employ. They have ships and weapons to rival any mercenary clan in the Guild. Someone's been supplying them—we knew that. It was just a matter of discovering whom. An operation that size can't stay hidden for long. It took some time, but we traced them back here. To Bellatrix."

She leaned over the terminal. With a swipe of her hand, the stark image of Harry Jones was replaced by a top-down view of a factory complex. Sigrid looked close, scanning, analyzing. It was a large complex spanning well over twenty kilometers. She saw the familiar rectangular shapes of assembly plants, tenements, office structures, but Sigrid could detect nothing unusual. There were factories like this all over Bellatrix. Though the continuous stream of heavy traffic moving in and out through a series of security gates did catch her eye.

As did the timecode embedded in the images.

"This is a live feed," Sigrid said, realizing what it was she was seeing. "It's not a recording."

Miranda nodded, looking somewhat pleased with herself. "I have fourteen tracer satellites parked in orbit. Totally undetectable. I've been monitoring this place since we arrived."

Suko leaned over the table. "And what exactly is this place?"

"It's run by Lachlan Industrial—a fairly minor conglomerate. They've got holdings in Abuja and the British Republic. I believe Jones has been using this place to build his entire operation. It's here, Ms. Novak. It has to be. I'm sure of it."

Sigrid scanned the factory grounds. Vast stockpiles of titanium and aluminum were everywhere. Towering vats the size of skyscrapers rose in clusters, each filled with enough raw chemicals to produce endless supplies of composite materials. The sheer industrial capacity was daunting. Yet as vast and powerful as the enclave was, she found no evidence of weapons or machines of war. Only a handful of lightly armed security men patrolled the grounds. Even to Sigrid's trained eye she saw nothing untoward, nothing that might hint as to the factory's darker purpose and its connection to the Independents.

"What makes you think this is the place? Why Lachlan Industrial?"

"Because of this." Miranda cleared the image away to bring up a new screen. "Two weeks ago I intercepted a communiqué. It was a receipt of goods. Five stolen CTF naval transponders, stolen from the shipyards above Mars. Those transponders were delivered here."

"Ship transponders?" Suko asked.

"CTF naval transponders," Miranda said. "There's only one reason anyone would go through the trouble to acquire those. With those transponders equipped, their ships will be able to slip through any system unnoticed."

"Could come in handy when attacking," Suko said.

"Or moving contraband," Leta said.

"I doubt they'd go through the trouble of acquiring naval transponders for smuggling," Miranda said. "They're planning something. I know it. Something big."

"But what?" Sigrid asked.

"That's something I aim to find out. For that, we're going to need to get inside."

"How?" Sigrid asked. "How do we get in?"

"I'd arranged for an inspection tour under my cover as Catherine Cartwright. She's a shareholder of Lachlan Industrial—a real one. I've used this cover before; she's always served me well. I was on my way there. Unfortunately my appointment was just around the time you decided to…well, announce yourself."

Sigrid ignored the jibe, sweeping her hand over the moving images, scrolling across the vast complex. If they were building weapons here, if they were up to something, Sigrid couldn't see it. But none of that mattered. He was here—Harry Jones was here.

"I want to see this factory, Ms. Kane."

Miranda smiled, pleased. "I was hoping you'd say that. Here, you'll want to have a look at this."

With a swipe of her hand, Miranda shifted the image, highlighting a new grid area on the map. Centered squarely in the middle stood an immense tower of more than a hundred stories. Ground-penetrating radar from the tracer satellites revealed a deep underground component to the tower as well.

Suko did not look nearly as impressed. She leaned over the table with a sour look on her face. "Way to go. You found a building."

"A really big building," Trudy added.

"This is Central Services," Miranda said. "The heart of the operation. If Jones is here, this is where we'll find him."

"And what if there's nothing there?" Suko asked.

"Then we keep looking," Miranda said.

"No," Sigrid said. "That's it. He's there."

"Seeg, we know bugger all about this place. He could be anywhere."

"This is it, Suko. I know it. He'll be there. Wereme, Jones—whatever his name is—he didn't go through all this for us not to find him. And if the chairman's right, if he really wants us where he's strongest, then that's here."

Miranda turned and leaned on the desk. "I can have five tickets booked on the TGV to New Shēnzhèn tomorrow morning."

"No," Sigrid said. "We're leaving tonight. I want to see this factory, Ms. Kane. I want to see it as soon as possible."

Miranda considered the order. "They'll still be expecting Catherine Cartwright. I'll need to reschedule—it might take some time, but that shouldn't be a problem."

"Good. I'll trust you to make the necessary arrangements."

"Trust?" Miranda said. Sigrid caught the bemused grin. "I was starting to wonder if that word was even in your vocabulary. Looks like we're making progress."

"Just…get it done."

"Of course."

"So what's the plan, anyway?" Leta asked. "How we play it?"

"We'll need transportation," Sigrid said. "Something faster—and more practical."

"Right. Practical. No worries. Got just the thing in mind."

"Leta…"

Leta held up her hands. "Hey, it's me!"

With that, the girls were on their feet, readying themselves, preparing.

As they did, Sigrid took Trudy by the arm, leading her aside. "Sorry, Trudy. Not you. You're staying here."

"What!" Trudy's lip practically quivered at the announcement. "How come I have to stay? Sigrid, don't leave me behind. I want to help."

"And you will help. I need you to be our overwatch. I want you to use Miranda's satellites to monitor us from here—you can coordinate with Selene and the Morrigan, and…" Sigrid turned to look at the Council chairman; he was busying himself, pouring another drink. "… and you can keep an eye on him. If he tries anything, if he even looks at you funny—"

"Kill him?" Trudy asked hopefully.

"Well, I was going to say restrain him. But that will do."

While Sigrid and Trudy combed over the map, plotting their insertion into the factory, Miranda slipped away into her bedroom. Taking care not to make a sound, she closed the door behind her, leaned heavily against it, and let out a very long, slow breath. She was alive—by some miracle. But she was painfully aware this mission was only just getting started.

Slowly, she began the arduous task of undressing, struggling to pull off the heavy work clothes. Every muscle in her body ached. Her leg throbbed where the Tansho girl had cut her; the wound wasn't deep, but would need tending to. Leaning on the dresser, Miranda caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was a filthy mess, thoroughly exhausted, spent, yet those girls out there seemed none the worse for it, and ready for more. Even Novak, and she'd been stabbed, carved, and damn near electrocuted. How these girls managed was beyond her. They were driven, completely single-minded in their determination. More than that, Miranda was convinced: they were very, very dangerous.

Miranda spied the en suite, was tempted by the bath, but she doubted there was time. There was too much to do.

Opening the dresser drawers, she began pulling out clothes for the operation. It was time for Catherine Cartwright to be reborn. She took out the green skirt and blouse, laying them flat—winced as she felt the hand clamp onto her shoulder, strong fingers digging deep into her neck.

She hadn't heard the girl come in, hadn't heard Suko come up next to her.

Suko leaned toward her, her hand like a vice on Miranda's shoulder, squeezing hard.

"Do you know why you're coming with us on this operation, Ms. Kane?"

Miranda struggled against the grip, but it was useless. "Sigrid needs me. She needs my help. She trusts me."

"Sigrid might trust you, but I don't. I'm only allowing you to come for one reason. If any harm should come to her, if you betray her, I'll kill you."

Miranda opened her mouth. "But Ms. Novak—"

"—will not be able to stop me. Remember that, Ms. Kane. Cross her, and I'll kill you. Do you believe me?"

Miranda swallowed, slowly. "Yes. Yes, I believe you."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Machines

October 18, 2348

Major Karl Tarsus walked quickly toward the med-lab; the footfalls of the two soldiers at his side in their mechanized armor echoed through the corridor. He reached the end, pushing through the double doors with such force they banged hard against the wall.

A sea of medical beds lay in neat rows. Seventy-two beds in all, all of them occupied, all of the subjects on them fully unconscious, deep in their sleep cycle. They would remain this way for two hundred and sixty hours, nearly two full weeks. This latest group was entirely female. Tarsus didn't need to ask why. Things had not gone well for the men. He shuddered at the memory, the images of their twisted corpses still fresh in his mind.

The technicians in the lab looked up sharply as Tarsus passed between them; none so sharply as Dr. Farrington, who stormed toward him.

"You can't be in here," Farrington said. "You'll disturb the cycle. We can't risk waking them, not yet."

Tarsus pushed past him, nearly knocking him from his feet. He wasn't here for Farrington. It was Jones he was after.

Harry Jones stood at the end of the last row. He was hunched over the silvery form of the cryochamber—the very same one brought from earth. Tarsus doubted he'd left the thing's side since he arrived days earlier.

Jones didn't bother to look up, continuing with his work. "Are they all dead?" Harry Jones asked.

"One survived," Tarsus said, furious. He knew that Jones was fully aware of what had happened in Portside. The question was only meant to embarrass him.

"And the information?" Jones asked. "Was it retrieved?"

"No, the transmission was cut off at the source. But this—this could have all been avoided."

"Oh?" Harry Jones finally turned away from the chamber to face him. "And how is that, Mr. Tarsus."

Tarsus shot a look back at the rows of beds, the subjects resting there. "You should have given us more."

"Yet you assured us the three you sent would be enough. As to the others, Dr. Farrington says they're not ready."

"They're not," Dr. Farrington spat. "The sleep cycle cannot be interrupted."

"We don't have a choice," Tarsus said. "They're coming. It's only a matter of time. The betas will have to be brought online."

"How many?" Harry Jones asked.

Tarsus stared back at the rows of beds. "All of them."

Farrington threw his arms up in frustration. "Do either of you have any idea what it is we're doing here? It took a team of Kimuran technicians nearly a decade to integrate their systems into their subjects. It is a slow, painstaking process. It's also completely inefficient. What took them ten years, I can now accomplish in weeks. Is that not fast enough for you?"

"You haven't accomplished anything yet, Doctor," Harry Jones reminded him. "You have yet to bring one subject successfully to activation. Or have you forgotten?"

"Which is precisely why you can't interrupt the cycle," Farrington shot back.

"We need this group," Tarsus said. "We need them now."

"No." Farrington shook his head. "Impossible. They won't survive. Not all of them. It's too soon."

"But some will survive," Tarsus said, pressing his point.

"Then take Wolsey's. Take the alphas. I'm sure he's managed to keep at least a few of them alive."

Tarsus banged his fist against the lid of the cryochamber—an action that didn't go unnoticed by the man at his side. Tarsus was frustrated. Furious. Tired of this whole affair. Tired of explaining military operations to a group of lab-coats.

But it was Harry Jones who came to his aid.

"Dr. Farrington," Harry Jones said. "I think we should heed Mr. Tarsus's advice. Activate them. Do it. And do it now."

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Factory

October 21, 2348

"The checkpoint is up ahead," Miranda said. "You better pull over here. Once we cross that street, security will pick us up. They don't appreciate any unscheduled traffic."

Sigrid pointed to a free spot at the side of the road; Leta pulled on the steering column and guided their car—a sleek, black limousine—into the waiting space. Where Leta had found the limousine was one question, but the chauffeur's uniform was something else. The black outfit was easily two sizes too small, the scant material struggling to contain Leta's feminine curves. On the bright side, Sigrid supposed the guards might be less likely to scrutinize their falsified gate passes.

It was dark now and starting to rain. Small droplets splattered against the windshield. Few street lamps appeared to be working here. The ones that were lit cast long shadows, leaving most of the street in darkness. There was very little ground traffic and even fewer pedestrians. That would be a problem. With no crowds to blend in with, any guards watching the streets would surely see them coming.

They could go no further.

Sigrid checked her sidearms again and pulled the straps of her weapons belt and harness tight. From here she would proceed on her own.

"You don't have to do this," Suko said. "I'm not happy about you going in alone."

"Trust me. Neither am I. But, since I'm the only one who can do this…"

Sigrid engaged her shroud, shimmering and disappearing beside her.

Miranda let out a startled yelp, clutching a hand to her chest. Sigrid allowed the shroud to fade. Her point had been made, but Miranda continued to stare. "I'm sorry. I don't think I'll get used to that. And only you can do that?"

"For the moment." Sigrid keyed her comlink, testing the connection. "Trudy, are you with us?"

"I'm here. I've got a perfect view. I'll be with you all the way. Oh, and tell the agent this tech rocks."

Sigrid chuckled. "I'll tell her, Trudy. Stand by."

"Remember," Miranda cautioned. "These corporates are paranoid bastards. They might be expecting Catherine Cartwright, but they're not expecting the rest of you. You'll only have a moment to upload our security clearance. If we're not logged into the system, all hell's sure to break loose."

"Don't worry, I'll keep to the schedule," Sigrid said.

"Good. Because once we're at the gate there's no turning back. I'm afraid our fate will be in your hands."

Suko leaned toward Miranda, who had no choice but to lean away. "She said she'll keep to the schedule," Suko said. Then she turned to Sigrid. "But, ah, don't be late. Our fate is in your hands."

Sigrid patted her cheek. "Don't worry. I'll only be a moment. If the security system is as Agent Kane described—"

"It is," Miranda said.

"Then I'll see you inside. Be ready."

Suko grabbed her by the collar and pulled her briefly back into the car, just long enough to plant a firm kiss on her mouth. "Now, no dying while you're in there. You know I'll kill you if you do."

"I love you too."

Sigrid closed the door and stepped away from the curb, moving into the shadows at the side of the road even as she engaged her cloak. The walls of the factory enclave loomed ahead of her—twelve meters of blackened, filthy permacrete. Guard towers framed the security gate, more appearing at intervals along the wall. Sigrid saw the men at their posts, walking their patrols in the street. Armed with assault rifles, they carried these slung ready on their chests. Despite their fearsome appearance, the guards strolled the grounds casually. Sigrid sensed their boredom, and they took little care to scan the grounds around them.

But the guards were not her concern. Her scanners picked up the array of automated detectors that lined the perimeter. Sensors embedded in the ground fed a constant stream of data to watchful eyes, scanning and analyzing. Any person or vehicle not in the system or properly authorized would set off any number of alarms.

The rain fell harder now, a rare summer shower that turned quickly into a torrential downpour. Water was already pooling along the ground. Sigrid took care not to disturb the standing water in the larger puddles. The gates were just ahead—one guard post and only a handful of men on duty.

Her infrared scans picked up the wandering tendrils of the motion detectors, and she took care to keep clear. The guards would not see her, shrouded as she was, but a simple splash or misstep could raise the alarm.

Sigrid felt the gentle nudge in her head—Trudy calling her.

"Trucks."

Sigrid heard the warning and stepped back, retreating further into the shadows. A pair of hulking ground lorries trundled up to the gates from the inside, drawing the focus of the guards away as they tended to the drivers. The break in the monotony was over all too quickly as the guards waved the trucks through.

The two transports exited the metal gates and thundered toward her.

Sigrid took care to keep out of their way. Stepping to one side, she pressed her back up against the retaining wall, giving the behemoth transports as wide a berth as she could. Invisible or not, the cloak would do little to protect her should she be squashed beneath the trucks' two-meter-high, studded wheels.

Nor did it save her from being thoroughly soaked. Sigrid had to stifle a scream as the first of the transports found the largest of the puddles in the road and sent wave after filthy wave of oily water crashing over her.

"Nice," Sigrid said.

Sigrid waited until the trucks turned the corner ahead before moving on. Her PCM warned her of the drain on her systems; she had never held the cloak this long, but she required the services of the program for just a few seconds more.

The last of the barriers was ahead. The walls near the gates were lower here, standing only five meters tall.

Sigrid unslung the thin cord at her waist and attached the grappling claw to the hook on the end. With a quick spin, she tossed the claw upward, gently guiding its trajectory toward the top of the wall five meters above her. In a blink, she was up and over, scaling the wall in three easy strides before lowering herself to drop silently down into the factory complex beyond.

The hook and line retracted automatically, coiling back into her belt. Only then did she allow the cloak to fade.

Here on the inside, Sigrid was confronted with the true nature of the factory's design. Everything from the thick walls topped with razor wire to the suicide-netting slung beneath the armored windows of the tenements—it was all designed to keep the indentured workers in rather than keeping the riffraff out.

The factory enclave was little more than a forced-labor camp, a thoroughly enclosed and self-contained community. The workers were housed in company billets, shopped at company stores, and consumed the company's goods—paid for, of course, with the company's own corporate currency. All this to ensure the workers would never free themselves of their indebtedness to their masters.

Sigrid knew how easily she might have ended up in such a facility. She would have, had Lady Hitomi not found her.

These places were ugly, bleak and thoroughly depressing. Sigrid was eager to be rid of it.

Even as Trudy chimed her warning, Sigrid's sensors alerted her to the two guards approaching from the other side of the tenement.

There was little room between the perimeter wall and the bricked wall of the tenement and nowhere to hide. The guards were close now; she saw them shuffling around the corner, walking towards her. It would be a simple matter to dispatch them. But there was no need for violence. Not here. These guards were no threat.

Still drained from the recent use of her cloak, Sigrid leapt up, grabbing hold of the lowest rung of the tenement's escape ladder more than a meter above. She hoisted herself up, swinging her legs up and over her head into a simple handstand—and instantly regretted it. The crumbling mortar that held the ladder and fire escape in place gave way, sending a shower of pebbles and dust down.

The ladder creaked and groaned; Sigrid was certain the whole thing would come crashing down. She cursed her clumsiness. She should have scanned the soundness of the structure.

But neither of the guards noticed. They continued their patrol, passing by beneath her, not bothering to look up even as more of the crumbling mortar gave way. She couldn't help but wonder at the training of these men. Her Academy instructors would not have tolerated such lackadaisical behavior—nor her own recent clumsiness, she reminded herself.

Something caught her eye. Steadying herself, she climbed from the ladder to the metal steps leading up the sides of the tenement. Again, she saw it—the movement inside. Two small eyes peered out at her from behind the armored glass of the window.

It was a child! They were employing children as laborers.

Sigrid climbed further up until they faced each other. The child seemed unperturbed at the sight of her, with little interest in raising the alarm. He was a boy of no more than eight or nine. He stared at her, his face pressed up against the glass. Sigrid raised her hand and waved. The boy waved back.

There were more children inside. Sigrid scanned the dormitory. She counted over eighty children crowded into this room alone. They lay stacked on narrow bunks, with little room for anything other than lying absolutely flat.

These children would live here, grow up here. Sigrid knew they would die here. And there was absolutely nothing she could do. She had a mission to perform and a schedule to keep. The others would move on the gate in less than seven minutes.

Silently, Sigrid vaulted over the railing to land back on the ground. The guards were long gone, and Sigrid made her way quickly through the maze of buildings, back toward the security tower and the main gate. She only needed to engage her cloak once as she reached a crowded intersection. More trucks and men moved about here; Sigrid avoided all of them. If anyone had bothered to look closely, they might have seen the briefest of shimmers, one more stray shadow lost amongst the traffic. But no one did.

There was a door on the main level, but the open window on the third floor proved more tempting. Sigrid scaled the wall easily, pulling herself up and over the sill.

Only once she was inside and certain she was alone did she allow the shroud to fade. But she couldn't rest. Moving quickly down the hall, she found the room she sought. Two security men manned their stations as they monitored traffic in and out of the main entrance. Neither of them looked up as Sigrid entered soundlessly behind them.

Two sleep-ease capsules popped under each of their noses took care of them. The security men would have a restful nap. They would wake later to remember nothing.

Sigrid moved toward the waiting security terminal.

"All right. I'm in, Trudy. I'm set."

"Car's moving—they're headed for the gate."

Sigrid checked her chronometer. Trudy's feed from the tracer satellite confirmed the stolen limousine joining the queue of incoming traffic. It should take them a good two minutes to arrive at the gate—plenty of time to upload their falsified authorization.

"Oiy! What do you think you're doing there!"

Sigrid spun around. Three security guards stood in the doorway. One of them held two cups of coffee; another had a tray of sandwiches in her hand.

The man holding the coffee appeared unsure what to do with the two steaming cups. He looked frantically about, as if for a place to deposit the beverages. The woman with the sandwiches reacted first. She dropped the tray and reached for her sidearm. Sigrid already had hers. She switched the actuator to silenced mode and fired off two stun rounds, hitting both guards squarely in the chest. They vibrated in a satisfying fashion before slumping to the floor. But the third guard had already bolted for the hallway.

Sigrid ran for the door, skidding around the corner just in time to see the guard reaching for the security panel at the end of the hall. Two more stun rounds from the recoilless dropped him, his outstretched hand just centimeters from the alarm.

Time was of the essence, but she couldn't risk leaving the body in the hall. Lifting his limp form onto her shoulders, Sigrid ran back. A locker provided a suitable place to hide the body, and she crammed the slumbering form inside. Hurrying, she grabbed the other two unconscious guards by the ankles and pulled them from the hallway, locking the door behind her. The distraction had taken too long.

Trudy's agitated voice confirmed it. "Sigrid!"

"I know!"

Sigrid ran to the security console. She worked quickly, bringing up the image of the gate monitor. Blast. She saw the black limousine already pulling up to the gate, and the heavily armed guard strolling toward them. Leta rolled down the window, leaning out, her face bright and smiling, her ample curves soft and inviting.

Thank you, Leta.

Mercifully, the duty officer had left himself logged in to the server. Sigrid typed furiously, inserting the data-packet Trudy had prepared, complete with their forged authorization.

That's it. Done.

Sigrid punched the return key. The progress bar crawled along. Too slow.

The security monitor provided a perfect view of the gate guard as he leaned by the open window of the limousine, chatting with Leta. But angry horns sounded behind them as the trucks' drivers served to remind the guard of his duty. Sigrid waited, helpless, watching as Miranda handed him the forged pass. The scanner in his glove retrieved the data, sent the query to the terminal at her side, flashed its demand for immediate authorization. And there was nothing Sigrid could do.

Sigrid pounded the terminal, urging—willing the sluggish servers to accept the data-packet! The amber alert blinked red.

It wasn't going to work. There wasn't time.

Sigrid unslung the long-barreled sniper rifle from the harness on her back and rushed to the window. The limousine was there, the guards below gathering around to see what was going on.

Sigrid took aim, her finger grazing the trigger.

But the gate opened. The guard waved the girls through.

Sigrid collapsed against the wall.

They were in.

* * *

Sigrid found them waiting at the designated spot. The stolen black limousine sat parked behind one of the darkened tenements. Its rear door opened as Sigrid approached.

"Any trouble?" Suko asked as Sigrid took her seat beside her. Miranda tapped the glass, and Leta gunned the car forward.

"No," Sigrid answered innocently. "None at all. Why?" She decided not to tell them how close they'd come to setting off all of the alarms in the complex, though she was certain Suko knew just the same.

"Now, where on Earth did you find those?" Suko asked as Sigrid handed out the sandwiches, the ones dropped by the guards.

"It's amazing what people will leave lying about," Sigrid said. "Looks like we have toasted bE-ef or cheese."

"Cheese," Suko said, taking the offered sandwich. "I can't abide all that genetically modified nonsense. And meat grown in a vat is just wrong."

"And where would you expect it to be grown?" Miranda asked. "On a stretch of actual land? From cattle fed by precious grain? Grain that could feed thousands—land that could house millions? Hardly practical—or admirable. You surprise me, Ms. Tansho."

Suko glared at her over the sandwich. "On Alcyone we learned to eat what we grow. We're not hoarders, Special Agent. I know what it is to go hungry."

Miranda sat back, crossing her arms. "Sorry. I didn't know. And I think we're past the whole special agent thing. Call me Miranda."

Suko gave a careful chew of her sandwich. "Special agent will do just fine."

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Sigrid said, eager to change the subject.

"Ask away," Miranda answered back.

"I'm curious. You're taking quite a risk, coming here on your own. Why? Why do you care so much what happens? If the Council can't be bothered to intervene, if your own superiors can't, why you?"

Miranda smiled. "You mean, what's in it for me?"

"And none of this duty-honor nonsense," Suko said around a mouthful. "I'm not sure I could take it."

"Would that be so hard to believe?"

"A little," Sigrid said. "I haven't seen much honor where the Council is concerned."

"We're not all evil, Ms. Novak. Some of us actually care about what's going on around us. Isn't that why you're here? To do your duty, protect your friends? You're not the only one who's lost people, you know. I had friends at Scorpii. People I knew. They were good people, Ms. Novak. Their only wish was to serve. They wanted to make a difference."

Suko looked up from her sandwich. "Even if that meant killing us."

"I'm sure they didn't even know you were there—who you were, or what you are. They were told they were taking down a rebel force—Independents. They wouldn't have known anything about you."

Suko opened her mouth, ready to argue further, but Sigrid intervened, leaning between them. "I'm sorry, Ms. Kane. I didn't know."

"No, I don't suppose you would."

"All right," Suko said. "So you want to stop them. But why on Earth Gillings?" She shuddered at the mention of the chairman's name. "Of all the people—"

"He's not who you think. Trust me, I know. When this business with the Independents started, my department heads told me to drop the investigation. Randal Gillings was the only one willing to listen. I owe him a great deal."

"Must be nice," Suko said, "having the ear of the chair of the Council. How did you arrange that?"

"He…helped me once. My family. Long ago." Miranda shrugged. "He said he saw potential."

Suko barked a laugh.

"You still don't trust me, do you? Even though you know I'm telling you the truth—"

"We believe you, Ms. Kane," Sigrid said. "But no, we don't trust you. Not yet. Perhaps once this is over with."

"Perhaps," Miranda echoed.

Leta drove on, taking them deeper into the enclave. Sigrid found it incredible that this entire place could be considered one factory. It was a city unto itself. She counted twenty-seven separate tenement structures on this street alone. Even at this late hour, the streets were crowded with trucks, some laden with materials, others packed with their cargo of exhausted workers being carted to and from the assembly areas.

Sigrid checked her chronometer. The shift-change in security would occur in less than two hours. By then, her altercation in the security building would certainly be discovered. They had until that time to complete their mission and get out.

Leta turned the corner onto a wide, four-lane street. The traffic was heavier here, mostly transport haulers and service vehicles. They were all moving in the same direction and toward the same destination. Sigrid saw it then, impossible to miss. The road led straight toward what was by far the tallest building in the complex. The Central Services Tower.

Sigrid craned her neck, staring up. It was only with her optical module that she was able to see the topmost floors, lost in the shroud of smog and dust. The tower complex featured no windows, not even doors or any lights. It was a dark, imposing shape, dominating the landscape. The only way in or out was a wide portal spanning all four lanes of the road ahead. The road dipped down into blackness, and Sigrid could see nothing at all inside. Traffic slowed here as the trucks queued, waiting to be cleared by security before entering.

Four APCs bracketed the road, their turrets manned and armed. Drones hovered overhead, their bright searchlights shining down, bathing each and every vehicle in blinding white light. Two full platoons of soldiers patrolled the entrance. They walked the long line of transports. Every truck was stopped, the contents of the containers opened and searched.

And somewhere, hidden in the corridors within, waiting for her, was Harry Jones.

Miranda ducked instinctively as yet another UAV glided by, not far overhead.

"This isn't normal," she said. "I know these corporate types can be paranoid, but this level of security—this goes above and beyond."

"It's us," Sigrid said. "They know we're coming. They're looking for us."

As if on cue, Sigrid felt the ground shake, heard the heavy mechanical footfalls, then gasped as she saw the heavy mech. It stepped out from between two of the waiting cargo haulers. The mech was huge, a lumbering beast of a machine, a walking tank standing nearly five meters tall. Two missile pods sat mounted on its armored shoulders, a heavy chain gun cradled in its mechanical arms.

The torso swiveled toward them. Sigrid saw the pilot seated behind the armored canopy.

"Mechs," Suko said, a sour look on her face. "I hate those guys."

"Independents," Sigrid said.

Any doubt she had left as to the connection between the factory, Jones and the Independent forces was gone in an instant. No private security force wielded this kind of firepower.

"None of this showed up in the scans," Suko said. "Why didn't the satellites pick any of this up?"

Sigrid was wondering the same thing. "Trudy?" she called through the comlink. "Are you getting any of this? Are you picking this up?"

There was a pause. "Nothing," Trudy answered back finally. "I'm seeing you, the transports, but nothing else. They must be sending back a false signal. Though how, I have no idea."

Sigrid cursed silently. It was one thing to jam a signal; it was something entirely different to send back false images, and all in real time. The men here had gone to great lengths to hide their operations from prying eyes.

Miranda's hand tightened on Sigrid's arm; the mech was only paces away from them. "I'm not sure our forged documentation will take us any further. And those soldiers do seem to be taking notice."

Their stolen limousine was indeed conspicuous amongst the line of waiting transports. Several soldiers had turned their way, coming quickly toward them, the mech not far behind. "You may be right. Leta, we might want to find an alternate route…"

"I'm on it."

Leta pulled the limousine quickly out of the queue and turned back the way they'd come—a maneuver that didn't go unnoticed by the patrolling soldiers. Sigrid saw one of the men turn toward them and raise the scanner he held in his hand.

She waited, listening, scanning, but no alarms sounded. At least, not yet.

"I think it's time we ditch this car," Sigrid said. "It's only going to draw attention." She scanned the road ahead, spotted the darkened alley between the tenements, and pointed. "There! Leta, pull in there."

Leta did so without question, pulling into the alley and driving until Sigrid told her to stop. She parked between a pair of hulking refuse containers. Sigrid was first out, quickly inspecting their surroundings. All was silent. There was no sign of pursuit, no alarms.

"What now?" Miranda asked.

"We'll have to walk from here," Sigrid said.

"Walk?" Miranda asked skeptically. "You did see that checkpoint? I'm not sure if they're just going to let us walk in—"

"Then we'll fight our way in," Suko said.

Sigrid worried the nail of her thumb. There had to be a way in. But how…

She felt the familiar low rumble—thrusters firing somewhere overhead. She scanned the skies, searching. High above, still hidden in the clouds, a ship was descending, coming down fast. Her enhanced optics picked up the ship, its thermal and electrical signatures flaring brilliantly in her HUD.

It was a drop ship. Definitely military. A troop carrier. And it was coming down directly within the compound.

"That ship," Suko said; Sigrid could tell she was scanning it as well. "Sigrid, it's CTF. That's a Council vessel."

"A Council ship?" Leta asked. "Here?"

But Sigrid shook her head, watching as the ship approached, coming in lower. The low rumble of its eight ventral thrusters grew to a roar, plumes of amber exhaust visible now overhead. "If that's a Council ship, they're coming in awfully casually. And I'm not picking up any defenses, no interceptors. Trudy—are you getting any of this?"

"I see it. It's definitely headed your way. If it holds course, it should come down about two kilometers from your position. There's a clearing. Looks like they might be using it as a landing field."

Sigrid turned to look at Miranda at her side. "I think we just found one of your stolen transponders."

Miranda held a hand over her eyes, visorlike, scanning upwards. "If that's true, then we have to get to that ship. If we can get aboard—"

Sigrid finished the thought. "We might be able to see what it is they're planning."

"It might make things easier," Suko said, "if we actually knew what they're up to."

"It's a risk," Leta said. "But it might be worth it."

Sigrid considered their options, few though they were. Finally, she nodded. "All right. We'll go for it. But if I don't like what I see, I'm pulling the plug."

Suko smiled. "Hey, I don't like any of this. But here we are."

Leta moved first. She busied herself removing the too-small chauffeur's uniform and donning her combat gear. While Leta dressed, Suko unloaded their weapons from the boot of the stolen limo.

"Don't you think it's time I had one of those?" Miranda said, eyeing one of the many sidearms in the weapons case. "I do know how to use one, you know."

Sigrid closed the case. Instead, she thrust a pair of macrobinoculars into her hands. "This might prove more useful. Trust me, Agent Kane, if it gets to the point where we need you to fire a weapon, then we'll really be in trouble. Come on, follow me, and stay close."

"One sec," Leta said. She was hunched over, rummaging around under the driver's seat, her backside poking out the driver-side door. She emerged from the car, her prize in hand. Sigrid recognized the black case, and the football-sized object held within.

Sigrid put her hand to her forehead. "I thought we left that aboard the Morrigan."

"You did. But I thought it might come in handy. You never know."

"All right. But just…please tell me you'll be careful with it."

"Of course!"

Miranda turned to Suko at her side. "What's in the case?"

Suko stood with her arms crossed, watching as Leta took care to mount the case to the harness on her back. "Oh, about point-nine-seven kilotons."

Sigrid signaled them forward between the structures. Leta took point, moving quickly, clinging to the shadows, taking care to mark any security scanners she encountered.

Trudy tracked their progress the entire time, warning them when any of the armored patrols came too close or blocked their progress. The stationary scanners were avoidable with care, but the surveillance craft that thundered by overhead proved more of a problem. Thunderhawks and the lighter, swifter Starlings roared across the sky, their searchlights and scanners constantly sweeping the area. They made for slow progress, forcing the girls to hide and find what cover they could under awnings and in the darkened doorways that lined the streets.

"They know we're here," Sigrid said. "They must. They'll have found the men in the security tower by now."

"If they know," Suko said, "then they'll be all over us. It's only a matter of time."

"We can't turn back!" Miranda said. "Not now."

"Backwards or forwards—I'm not sure it matters," Sigrid said, ducking as yet another unmanned drone whizzed by. "They're just as likely to discover us in retreat."

"Then I say forward," Leta said. "We still have a job to do."

Sigrid smiled, gladdened by her resolve. "Forward it is."

As slow and plodding as the pace was for them, it was impossible for Miranda to keep up. Suko was forced to hoist the agent on her back, piggybacking her along.

"Are you certain this is absolutely necessary?" Miranda asked. "I'm perfectly capable of walking."

"Perfectly capable of lagging behind, is more like it," Suko said.

"I'm sorry," Sigrid apologized, "but we seem to be pressed for time, and, frankly, your legs are too slow."

"No one's ever complained about my legs before."

Sigrid chuckled, in spite of herself. She could see that the CTF agent wasn't happy with the arrangement, but to her credit she was making the best of it.

They emerged from the cluster of tenement structures into an open field. Floodlights mounted on pillars lit the area with the bright light of day.

Sigrid gasped, staring at the sight. For nearly a kilometer, the buildings here, the tenements, warehouses, assembly plants, everything had been demolished, bulldozed away. Refuse, rubble, and the twisted remains of supporting structures littered the entire area. Even now, work continued as yet another building was toppled to the ground.

It was a perfect spot for a landing field, and yet there was no sign of the ship they had tracked. There was nothing here. The ship was gone.

"Where is it?" Miranda asked. "Where did it go?"

"It's here," Sigrid said. "It has to be. It can't have disappeared."

"It could be cloaked," Suko said.

Miranda gaped at her. "A cloaked ship? That's impossible. You can't cloak an entire ship."

"Why not?" Sigrid asked. "Mine can."

"Yours…?"

"Hers," Suko answered.

"Trudy," Sigrid called. "Are you sure these are the coordinates?"

"I can't be sure of anything, Sigrid. The signal's strange. There's definitely interference. Everything looks normal from here. But that ship… Sigrid, it definitely came down there. Right where you’re standing. It should be there. You should see it."

But there was nothing to see.

"Try coordinating with the Morrigan. Maybe the onboard sensors can penetrate whatever's causing the interference."

Suko nudged her then, pointing ahead. "Maybe it's not interference at all. It could be underground."

Of course. Sigrid cursed. It was so obvious. "Trudy—"

"I'm on it… Scanning… Don't worry. If there's something down there, I'll pick it up."

It started as a tremor. Sigrid felt the vibrations in her toes, growing stronger, the ground shaking, shifting below her feet. Instinctively, she grabbed Suko's arm, more to steady her nerves than her balance. Her first thought was earthquake, but her sensors detected no increased seismic activity. This was something else.

"Trudy? What did you do?"

"Nothing! It wasn't me! I swear."

The tremors grew in intensity.

"There!" Miranda said, pointing.

Leta gaped, staring. "What the hell?"

"More like what the f—" Suko started.

Sigrid hushed them all.

There, in the center of the open field, the ground parted, opening before them. Sigrid saw the sliver of bright light flashing skyward. The ground shook harder, the rumble growing to a mechanical roar as huge hydraulic pistons tore the ground apart—a wide iris sliding open. Sigrid stepped back, more out of instinct than from any danger. Suko did the same.

It was a doorway, an underground portal hundreds of meters wide. Sigrid strained trying to see inside, but all she could see was the bright light pouring out. Then she heard it, the unmistakable roar of a ship's engines firing from somewhere beneath them. She saw it now, rising from the depths, so large it barely cleared the portal.

Sigrid held her hand before her face, shielding herself from the fiery blast of its engines. Floodlights lit the bottom of the great ship; Sigrid saw the rail turrets lining her keel, the eight torpedo tubes in her bow. This was no simple transport or cargo hauler. This was a ship of war. A destroyer.

"Trudy…"

"That I saw."

Once clear of the portal, the destroyer's ascending engines kicked in. The girls had no choice but to retreat, taking cover behind the permacrete walls of the nearest building. The destroyer rose quickly into the night sky, disappearing behind the veil of smog and low-lying clouds. And the portal was closing, the iris quickly grinding shut, shaking the ground once more.

Sigrid rushed forward, determined to get inside, determined to reach the portal before it closed, but Suko held her arm.

"Sigrid, they'll see you."

"We have to get in there."

"I know. But that's not the way."

"Suko…"

But it was too late. The iris ground shut, and the area grew silent once more.

"We'll find a way in," Suko said. "A better way. I promise."

Leta stared at the closed iris. "I don't suppose they'll open if we knock."

Sigrid felt the comlink chirp for her attention again. But it wasn't Trudy; it was Selene in the Morrigan.

"Selene, do you have something?"

"I might. Sigrid, when those doors opened, the signal cleared. We got a good look inside. This place… Sigrid, it's big. It's bigger than Scorpii."

"Selene, if there's a way in—"

"I'm transmitting the data now. I'm sorry it's not more complete. We only had a second. I marked the coordinates. It might be a door. You should see it in your HUD."

"What?" Suko asked at her side. "What is it?"

Sigrid scanned the data—a partial grid-map of the area, just below and underground. It was a huge, sprawling complex, almost as large as the factory enclave itself. And then Sigrid saw what Selene had highlighted for her, and she smiled.

Sigrid saw the side door.

* * *

The helmsman of the Morrigan swiveled his chair around to face his captain, Lt. Commander Selene Tseng. The raven-haired pilot stared at the young officer, waiting for him to say what he clearly had on his mind.

"Well?" Selene said.

He cleared his throat. "You didn't tell them?"

Selene crossed her legs, her eyes fixed on the monitor ahead. "Ms. Novak has enough on her mind, Ensign. She doesn't need to worry about us."

"Yes, but—"

"Stow it, Ensign. That's an order."

The helmsman swallowed. Wisely, rather than argue, he turned his chair back around to tend to his duties. Still, his eyes kept darting up to the monitor—and to the CTF frigate that filled the screen.

"Captain," the communications officer said, "they're hailing us again. They insist we explain why we initiated an unauthorized scan of a Federated factory on the surface. They're demanding to board us. They say if we don't…" The young woman looked up from her post. "Ma'am—Captain, they say if we don't comply, they're authorized to use deadly force. They say they'll fire on us."

Selene sighed, dragging her hand over the length of her face. "Well, I don't know about the two of you, but I think I've had just about enough of this sitting around."

"Ma'am?"

"Get the crews to the weapons pods. You better let engineering know we'll need all the power they can spare. Prepare to engage our cloak."

Selene studied the CTF frigate on the screen. At nearly eight hundred meters it dwarfed the Morrigan, threatening to swallow the small scout in the maw of its bow tubes.

"Captain, with all due respect, that ship outguns us twenty-seven to one. The odds of us—"

"Don't tempt me with the odds, Ensign. The best hand doesn't always win at poker."

Selene sat back, her fingers steepled before her.

Though, I'd gladly take a pair right about now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A Sister's Secret

The 'side door' Selene had found was located in a building not far from the landing field. It was a squat, grey structure, featureless, completely identical to any of the others around it. Sigrid might have missed it were it not for the men standing guard at the entrance.

Heavy bars sealed each of its darkened windows. Razor wire lined its eaves. A security fence had been erected, wrapping its way around the entire perimeter. The only way in or out was through a security gate by the front. An entire platoon of soldiers guarded the entrance with two APCs watching their flanks. Neither the vehicles nor the soldiers worried Sigrid, but the lone mech sitting parked and idling nearby certainly did.

She shuddered at the sight. Just four of these machines had taken out a company of Kimuran mercenaries on Alcyone, laying waste to the entire Academy. One had very nearly taken her life on Scorpii.

Sigrid crouched low, signaling the others to halt behind her.

"Now what?" Miranda asked, kneeling at her side.

"I don't suppose there's a back door to the side door?" Suko asked hopefully.

"This is it," Trudy said through the com. "I can't see any other way. Unless you want to pull a full-frontal assault, you're going to have to go through here."

Suko snickered at Sigrid's side, covering her mouth. "Trudy, I think the term is frontal assault."

"What'd I say?"

"You said full, as in, full-frontal."

"What's the difference?"

Sigrid fixed Suko with her best scowl. "It's all right, Trudy. We'll make our way in here."

"You do see those soldiers?" Miranda asked. "And what about that mech?"

"We can take 'em," Suko said. "Those mechs are kitten play—no offense, Ms. Kane."

"None taken."

"Trudy?" Sigrid asked. "Any idea yet what's inside that place?"

"There's a passage. It's deep, Sigrid. That's all we know."

"That's hardly solid intelligence," Miranda cautioned. "This could still be a trap."

"Ms. Kane, this whole thing's a trap."

Miranda turned to glance at her, curious, interested. "And yet here you are. And none of this bothers you, does it? You have a job to do, and you'll do it. And that's all there is to it."

Sigrid frowned back at her. "Is that a question, Special Agent?"

Miranda gave the smallest of shrugs. "An observation."

Sigrid ignored the remark and took a quick inventory of their munitions. One rocket launcher, a sniper rifle and a collection of small arms, knives and grenades—and one very small hybrid-fusion device. Dealing with the patrol was a simple enough thing, in theory, but it would be messy and dreadfully loud. If they weren't careful, all the security forces were sure to come running. They needed a quieter way inside.

Suko turned to Leta at her side. "I don't suppose you're up to stripping down to your skivvies and strolling over there."

Leta considered the proposal. "If you think it will work."

"That might be a little hard to explain in this situation," Sigrid cautioned.

Sigrid heard the hiss of released pressure, the whine of servos as the mech's armored canopy popped opened. The pilot emerged and climbed down the leg of the walking tank. He dropped to the ground and strolled—rather casually, Sigrid thought—toward the security gate. He paused to exchange a polite greeting with the replacement pilot going the other way.

The mech sat empty, beckoning its welcome.

"Right," Suko said. "I got this one."

Sigrid reached after her. "Suko, wait!"

But it was too late. Suko was on her feet, already moving from the shadows and into the street. Sigrid held her breath. Incredibly, Suko walked calmly out from their position of cover. She emerged into the street under the lights and walked straight toward the waiting soldiers. The men and women looked up, startled and bewildered, uncertain as to what to do. Weapons were raised, but none fired. An officer strode forward, his hand raised. He called for Suko to halt, but she simply waved back. Sigrid heard her mumble something about a disturbance a block over. She even pointed in the direction from which they'd come, suggesting the officer send some men to check it out.

Sigrid gaped, completely amazed.

Suko didn't stop. She headed straight past him, walking toward the vacated mech. It took the bewildered officer that long to reach for his comlink. But by then it was too late. Sigrid saw the smoke pellets drop from her hand and heard the pops. Three gas grenades followed quickly. Inky black smoke burst forth, billowing out, shrouding Suko and the entire area in choking darkness. Some of the soldiers reached for their masks. The ones who reached for their guns were felled, dropped by the anesthetizing agent that swirled around them. Panic and confusion set in. Men fired blindly, wildly, hitting nothing, hitting their squadmates.

The APCs were not affected by the smoke or gas. They fought to bring their guns to bear on her, but Suko was already gone. Blindingly fast, she sprinted the rest of the distance, scrambling up the side of the waiting mech. She didn't bother closing the canopy, simply whirling the thing around, and aiming the machine's hulking chain guns at the helpless personnel carriers, pouring it on. Sigrid heard the guns whirring up, the deep-throated blasts of its 40 mm cannons. The shells burst forth at sixty-four rounds per second, tearing apart the lightly armored vehicles. Two hastily launched missiles screamed toward her, but even these were shredded to bits under the devastating barrage.

As quickly as the fight had begun, it was over. Sigrid heard the footfalls of the lumbering tank as it emerged from the smoke, Suko seated triumphantly atop it.

Sigrid waited until the last of the traces of gas were swept away before breathing again.

"Door's open," Suko declared. She pointed a thumb in the direction of the building behind her.

Dusting herself off, Sigrid rose from her prone position. "Are you proud of yourself?"

Suko looked back over her shoulder at the carnage. "Well, a little."

"I thought you said you were going to do this quietly," Miranda said, unable to hide her irritation.

"That was quiet," Suko objected. "They didn't get a single warning out. Listen. No alarms."

"Not yet!"

"All right," Sigrid said, pulling them apart. "Let's go before more of them show up—and leave that thing here," she added, pointing to the mech.

"I don't know," Suko said. "Firepower like this might come in handy."

"It stays. Now, let's go."

Moving quickly, they entered the building. A single metal door admitted them into a small lobby. The security kiosk sat vacated—whether that was before or after Suko's distraction, Sigrid didn't know. There were no doors or exits, only a single long corridor that led to a lift at the end.

The lift doors opened as they approached, and the girls entered. Sigrid stared at the panel. The passageway they sought was down below, deep underground. There was nothing for it. Sigrid pressed the button.

The lift's descent was slow; the lift clanked and juddered with the passing of each floor. Not for the first time, Sigrid wondered what might be waiting for them. She scanned ahead, searching. If she could trust her sensors, she sensed no movement beneath them, no life. Still, all of them had their weapons at the ready.

"It's too quiet," Suko said, breaking the silence. "I don't like it."

"You'd prefer a fight?" Miranda asked. "Soldiers shooting at you? Bombs exploding?"

"Better than all this sneaking about. At least I know where we stand."

Before Miranda could fire back, Sigrid heard the ding as the elevator doors parted.

Sigrid's eyes widened. There were guards here, three of them. Their mechanized armor might have shielded them from her scans, but the soldiers did not live long enough to raise any alarms.

Miranda watched as Suko wiped the blade of her katana on her trouser leg.

"Feel better?"

Suko slid the blade back into the saya on her back. "Much."

Sigrid stepped over the fallen men. "What is this place?"

Suko joined her, staring into the gloom. The room spanned the entire level. Tall pillars reached up toward the ceiling high above them. The floor was grey, caked with dust, but except for a scattering of empty storage containers, it was quite empty.

"It's been cleared out," Sigrid said. "Evacuated."

"Whatever happened here," Miranda said, "looks like we missed it. This place has been empty for some time."

"Stairs," Leta said, pointing ahead. "Looks like we keep going down."

Sigrid strode forward, Suko at her side, Miranda and Leta falling in behind. No one spoke as they walked. Suko continued to scan the room, staring up at the ceiling. Sigrid followed her gaze, but found only shadows.

"There's no one here, Suko. It doesn't look like there ever was."

"Then why do I feel like we're being watched?"

It was irrational, illogical, but Sigrid felt it too. They were close, Sigrid could feel it now, close to Harry Jones, close to the end.

They reached the stairwell without incident. It was pitch black here. Miranda was forced to cling to Suko's arm. In the monochrome of her night vision, Sigrid saw the look of displeasure on the agent's face. She couldn't blame her frustrations. Miranda was a skilled agent, a highly intelligent woman, but here she was helpless, completely at their mercy.

Down they went, level after level. Only Miranda's blind footsteps made any sound on the metal studs. Five levels, twelve. Sigrid began to wonder if they would ever reach the bottom. Worse, Selene's schematics provided no more information, not at this level. And still they went down, plunging ever deeper.

It was some time before they reached the bottom. Sigrid stepped from the last rung, scanning ahead into the darkness.

She blinked as the lights flicked on; Miranda stood by the switch.

Much like the level above, this floor was one wide, open room. While equally abandoned, it was far from empty. Sigrid spied the medical equipment left behind, the computer terminals, scanning equipment, the banks of monitors, all of it unplugged and powered down. She also counted seventy-two beds lined up in four neat rows.

The smell of antiseptic, industrial cleansers was enough to overwhelm her. It was also too familiar. Sigrid had the horrible feeling she'd seen this place before.

"It's Alcyone," Sigrid said, stepping forward. "It's just like on Alcyone."

It was. Larger, yes, more ambitious, but the similarities were unmistakable, impossible to ignore. Sigrid recognized the equipment easily—she'd seen it often enough growing up. How many sessions had she endured with Dr. Garrett, all in a place like this.

"Wait," Suko said. "Those beds…"

Sigrid turned. The beds weren't empty. Not all of them. There were people here. Girls. Women.

Forty-eight beds lay occupied. Cautiously, Sigrid approached the closest and pulled back the sheet to stare down at the girl strapped there. She was naked, bound and shackled to the metal backing. There was no movement, no sound.

Miranda came to her side. "Is she…?"

The girl's eyes were closed. She looked to be peacefully at rest. "Yes, Ms. Kane, she's dead."

Leta stood by one of the monitors. She activated it, the screen illuminating her face in a pale glow. "She's not the only one," Leta said. "They all are. All forty-eight. They're all dead."

They were female, all of them. All bound and restrained in the same fashion. Sigrid picked up a chart from the hook at the foot of the bed and tapped the screen. A single word glowed for her attention at the top.

"Unsatisfactory."

Sigrid's fists clenched, her knuckles whitening. It was just like on Scorpii—more failed experiments.

"Who are they—were they?" Miranda asked.

"They're girls, Ms. Kane," Sigrid answered. "Just like us."

"This could have been us," Leta said.

"It almost was," Suko said as she pulled back the sheet of another.

Sigrid sensed the familiar metal beneath the girl's flesh, bones hardened, stronger than steel.

And…not as lifeless as she had first thought.

Sigrid moved closer. The natural part, the biological part of this girl might be dead, but the mechanical part endured. Where the flesh was cold and lifeless, the bionics had not powered down. Not completely. For whatever reason, these girls had been brought here to die, but no one had thought to come in and turn off their mechanical components. Even now Sigrid was aware of the girl's PCM, not unlike her own, active and alert, sitting quietly in its standby mode, awaiting its next command. A command that would never come.

"They've been like this for days," Suko said.

"Days?" Miranda said. "That's impossible. Look at her. There's no decomposition. I don't think rigor has even set in. She can't have been here for days. No human—"

"They're not human," Sigrid said. "Not anymore. They're machines."

"What do you mean, machines?"

Sigrid looked down at the lifeless girl on the bed. Ever since Portside, ever since she'd seen that girl, scanned her, something had troubled her. But now it all made perfect, horrible sense.

"Whatever part of them was human, it's gone. Removed."

"Removed? How? That's impossible!"

"They made a mistake with us on Scorpii," Sigrid said. "They tried to control us. They couldn't. It looks like they've chosen a different approach here."

Leta looked equally disgusted. "Why reprogram when you can start from scratch."

Miranda opened her mouth, another question on her lips, but Sigrid was already moving to the next bed.

The girl here hadn't fared nearly as well. While the first two girls looked to have slipped away peacefully, this one was little more than a twisted mound of flesh. Her skin was torn open in places, fractures of bone and metal thrusting through. Sigrid couldn't imagine the pain the girl had been forced to endure.

Miranda held her hand to her mouth, turning quickly away. "What on Earth…? What did they do to them?"

"Everything they couldn't do to us."

Miranda shook her head. "I can't believe they'd do this—to human beings. It's too much, even for—"

"Even for your chairman?" Sigrid asked. "I'm afraid this is exactly what he would have done to us, if he'd had the chance."

"No, he wouldn't. He's not like that."

"Control us or destroy us," Sigrid said. "The Council's position was clear."

Sigrid put the chart back at the end of the bed and moved quickly down the row. Miranda hurried after her.

"But…this—this doesn't make sense! Why bring them here to die—bind them like this?"

"You still don't understand."

Miranda grabbed her arm, trying to slow her—which only resulted in her being dragged along, her feet sliding on the polished floor. "Then—goddammit, will you stop! Just explain it to me."

Sigrid turned on her then. "These women didn't expire, Ms. Kane. They were terminated. Killed."

"Why? Why would they do that?"

"Because," Suko said, "they didn't understand what they made. They were afraid."

Miranda gasped, but she let go of Sigrid.

"I'll tell you this, Ms. Kane. If they think they're afraid of what they made here, they have no idea. I'm going to show them exactly what it is to be afraid."

"What…what are you going to do?"

Sigrid looked about the room; it was so much like the medical facilities on Alcyone. She couldn't believe her mistress would have ever allowed such cruelty, such butchery.

The Council had called her an abomination, but this—this place—the men who did this, they were the abominations. And they had to be stopped.

"Burn it," Sigrid said. "Burn it all."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Monsters

Leta lit the charges; eighteen thermite and phosphorus charges, strategically placed throughout the ward, flared at once. Sigrid felt the waves of heat rushing toward her. Fire roiled across the floor, up the supporting pillars, licking over the ceiling. It consumed all, washing over everything in its wake, washing it clean. The heat was too much, even for Sigrid, and she moved back into the corridor to join the others.

There was only one way for them to go now. Down, deeper, further underground. Twin metal doors admitted them into a tunnel. It was a maintenance corridor wide enough to accommodate small transports. There was evidence of recent movement, tire tracks in the thick dust and dirt on the concrete floor. This was where they had gone. They were evacuating, retreating. Sigrid would give them no quarter. This would end. Here and now.

A scattering of work lights strung along the ceiling lit the tunnel in a dingy yellow. Construction of the passage appeared crude, hastily dug. It was dreadfully hot here, the air thick and damp. Water trickled from cracks in the retaining walls and pooled on the floor, streaming down the sides.

"This passage does not appear to be structurally sound," Leta observed with some trepidation.

"No," Suko said. "And I doubt the charges we set helped. There's been some shifting in the supporting columns here. Look."

"Then let's not stay any longer than we need," Sigrid said.

They moved more quickly now, hurrying their pace and helping Miranda along as best they could by carrying her between them. Sigrid couldn't help but think of the tons of rock and earth between them and the surface, threatening to collapse and crush them. Worse, she was having difficulty maintaining contact with Trudy, and she could no longer reach Selene in the Morrigan. Soon, they would be on their own.

But there was a brightening in the distance; the tunnel ended further ahead. She could see the opening, the passage widening into what appeared to be an immense cave—some sort of cavern. Even before they exited the tunnel, Sigrid heard the sounds of heavy equipment, the thrum of engines idling, crews working.

The squad of soldiers guarding the passage did not hear them approach, nor would they live to raise an alarm. Slowly, cautiously, they emerged from the tunnel. They found themselves on a raised platform high above a sprawling cavern, an immense underground hangar. It was huge, nearly two kilometers wide and hundreds of meters tall. It had to be to accommodate the series of landing platforms. Only one of them was occupied—here was the missing troop carrier, the one they'd spied dropping from orbit. Crew were busy fueling and loading it, readying her for flight.

Sigrid crept to the edge of the platform, lying flat, peering out over the edge.

There were soldiers here as well. She recognized the Independents in their familiar mechanized armor. They walked patrols and stood guard near the waiting ship.

The floor of the hangar was littered with stacks of cargo containers, all of them emptied and abandoned. Trains of trucks sat parked beside the troop carrier, each of them laden with a cargo of heavy mechs. Sigrid counted eight trucks in all, each carrying six of the walking tanks. The ground crew leapt to the task of loading the mechs into the waiting carrier. One by one, they walked them up the ramps, working to secure them in their launch cradles.

"They're clearing out," Leta said. "Evacuating."

But Sigrid had a different thought. "No, they're not. They're deploying. This isn't an evacuation. It's an invasion. And…I have a good mind as to where."

"It's us," Suko said, "isn't it? It's New Alcyone. It has to be."

"If you're right," Miranda said, "then we have to stop them. We can't let that ship leave."

Sigrid agreed.

The troop carrier was less than four hundred meters away, but across the open expanse of the hangar. There was no way they could cover that distance, not without being seen. Not all of them.

"I'm afraid this is where we part ways," Sigrid said.

Suko grabbed her arm. "Sigrid, no."

"Someone has to get aboard that ship, Suko. I can get there."

"Then let me go." Suko gripped her arm tighter. "Sigrid, dammit—I told Hitomi I'd protect you. I made her a promise. You're not going. Not this time."

Before Suko could continue her protests, Sigrid felt Leta nudging her side, signaling for her attention. Leta practically pushed her forward, pointing.

"Sigrid, look!"

The portal above them ground slowly open, the iris sliding apart as another ship came in on approach. This was a much smaller ship, a suborbital shuttle. It dropped quickly, its ventral thrusters flaring, braking hard as it came to a gentle rest. Soldiers took up their positions, standing guard while the transport's engines ground down. Eleven persons exited, walking down the ramp that extended from its stern. Sigrid zoomed in with her optical module. The first person down the ramp came into sharp focus; it was a girl—the very same girl from Portside, the one who'd escaped. And she was flanked by eight more of her kind, just as cold and machinelike, enhanced exactly as she was.

Two men followed them out. The first, she'd never seen before, not in person, though she knew who he was. It was Major Karl Tarsus, Selene Tseng's old commander, the man who had orchestrated the very first assault on Alcyone. But the man at his side—this man Sigrid had met before.

That man was Harry Jones.

Sigrid gasped. There was no mistaking it. This was the very same man she'd seen on Konoe Station. How he'd arranged this transformation, she didn't know. It didn't matter. He was here. It was him.

Suko reached for the eSMG on her back, but Sigrid stopped her. They were too far for the compact weapon. But they weren't too far for her.

Sigrid unslung the sniper rifle, interfacing with the deadly weapon as soon as her hands touched the grips. The rifle was smart and designed specifically for her. It knew her weight, her strength and grip pressure. The barrel extended out automatically. The scope fed exact distance measurements directly to her PCM, calculating the motion of her target, projecting his most likely course. Sigrid could shoot the kernel off a corn cob from sixteen hundred meters. Harry Jones was only four hundred meters distant.

Sigrid aimed. Harry Jones appeared in her sights. But so did his escort. The girls kept getting in her line of sight, obscuring her target. They were under the belly of the troop carrier, moving between the landing columns. Scores of transport trucks shuttled between them, further hampering her efforts

"Blast."

The lead escort passed before her. Sigrid waited, but the girl paused in her tracks, remaining between Sigrid and her target. Slowly, she turned Sigrid's way, looking directly at her.

She saw her—she knew. Just as Sigrid saw her. She had to.

"Blast."

Sigrid flicked the ordnance selector to antipersonnel rounds. Messy, but the fragmentation rounds didn't require a pure line of sight. Harry Jones came into view again, his head bobbing amongst his huddled escort. For a moment, Sigrid hesitated. She couldn't help but wonder again if she were firing on her own kind? What torture had these girls endured to be made in this way? Was there anything left of who they once were, or they simply automatons, programmed to do the bidding of men, just like her friends on Scorpii?

Did Sigrid have the right? Would these girls show her such mercy?

Lei-Fei, Christi—her friends that had survived Scorpii—they had been saved by Dr. Garrett. Could these girls be repaired as well?

She was suddenly aware of Suko at her side. "Sigrid…"

The men were almost to the waiting APCs. Sigrid could spare no more time to wonder any longer. Her finger tightened on the trigger. She fired.

"Blast it!"

Three armored transport trucks moved into her line of sight. Sigrid quickly pulled the rifle back. She'd missed! She'd missed her target and hit the lead truck. The recoilless rifle made no sound, only a slight hiss of released gas from its side vents. But the barrage of fragmentation rounds that peppered the bodywork of the transport certainly did. Even from here Sigrid heard the loud report of exploding ordnance, shrapnel tearing through metal. The driver of the truck must have heard. Indeed, the truck pulled to a stop, the driver getting out to investigate. There was no hiding it. She could see the collection of massive impact holes even from here.

More soldiers exited the back of the vehicle. She saw them gathering, asking questions, scanning the area. It was only slowly dawning on them that someone, somewhere, was shooting at them.

"Blast," Sigrid said again.

Her heart pounding in her chest, Sigrid brought the rifle up and aimed down the scope. She scanned furiously, searching, but Harry Jones was gone. His female escort whisked him into the back of one of the armored trucks. The door was sealed shut, the truck rising on its repulsors and speeding quickly away, heading for the nearest access tunnel.

Still cursing, Sigrid fired, over and over. The vents on the side of the sniper rifle glowed red hot. She cleared the magazine, reloaded and aimed again, but the armored vehicle was gone, vanishing into the safety of the tunnel.

Harry Jones was gone.

There was no time for self-recriminations. From across the hangar, Sigrid saw the soldiers mobilizing, scanning the area, searching for the shooter. Two full fire-teams of men in their mechanized armor moved forward. They carried the hulking chain guns cradled in their metal arms. Major Tarsus remained behind, coordinating the efforts, the girl from Portside standing stoically at his side.

Then the engines of the troop carrier fired up. Her ports were quickly sealed, the ground crew scattering. Plumes of white smoke rose up around the ship. The thunder from her lifting engines vibrated the ground with enough force to rattle Sigrid's spine. She watched as the hulking vessel lifted from the platform, crawling upward. Once clear of the platform, it blasted its way skyward.

Sigrid cursed aloud. First Jones, and now she'd let the carrier slip from her grasp.

"We should get out of here," Miranda cautioned, "while there's still time."

"No," Sigrid said. "I swear to you, we're not done yet. That man, Tarsus, I want him alive."

"Sigrid," Miranda said firmly, "they know we're here. If we don't leave now—"

"I know," Sigrid said. "That's why we're going to do this fast. Suko, Leta…"

There was no need for instructions. The girls had trained together all their lives. Without a word, Suko and Leta dropped from the platform, disappearing into the shadows, moving to flank the oncoming soldiers.

Sigrid turned to the agent at her side. "Perhaps it's best if you head back."

To Sigrid's surprise, the agent shook her head. "No. I'll share the risk, if it's all the same. I told you, Ms. Novak. I want to help."

With a nod, Sigrid unslung the sniper rifle, handing it to her along with the spare ammunition and a collection of grenades. "Do you know how to use this?"

"I was a naval officer before I joined Intelligence. I can manage."

"Good. I recommend the explosive rounds—"

"Ms. Novak…" Then Miranda's tone softened. "Sigrid, I can manage. Don't worry about me. Now go."

The soldiers were moving quickly toward their position on the platform high above the hangar, and Sigrid had to move fast. The floor was a good ten meters down. Sigrid engaged her cloak, then leapt, hitting the ground hard, rolling, somehow holding on to the life-saving shroud. Rising to her feet, she ran hard, directly toward them, not stopping until she was well into the midst of their vanguard. Behind her, she heard the unmistakable hiss of the sniper rifle, Miranda firing from above. Men scattered, moving for cover. But they had their target now, and they were eager to move in for the kill. They ran for the base of the platform, climbing the ladders. Two of them had grenade launchers, preparing to blast Miranda from her perch.

All of their focus was on the agent high atop the platform. They hurried past Sigrid, unaware that she walked among them.

Only once they were past her did Sigrid act. There was no need to hold her shroud, not any more. One of the soldiers was close enough to touch; Sigrid leapt up, grabbing hold of the metal shoulders, sinking the blade of her bowie knife in the weakest point of his armor, directly in the back of his head. The kill was swift, silent, but another soldier sensed the movement and turned. He raised the chain gun, aimed. But it was too late for him. It took all of Sigrid's enhanced strength, but the armor of his faceplate shattered under the force of her blow. She pushed hard, sinking the blade of her knife in deep.

He fell backwards, quite dead, Sigrid on top of him. But his finger collapsed on the trigger of the chain gun, belching out round after round and shattering the silence. The entire platoon heard the racket and turned back toward her. The chain gun was at her side, still firing skyward as the dead soldier's mechanical grip refused to slacken.

Sigrid grabbed for the weapon, trying but failing to pull the thing free. Cursing, she pivoted the weapon, using the dead soldier's arm as a turret and bringing the heavy gun to bear on the charging platoon. Those that didn't scatter or hide were torn to shreds. Those that did seek cover found only the briefest of respites. Not even the thick steel of the cargo containers could stop the 30mm rounds. Shells ripped through metal, cutting down the men and women who hid there.

The battle was now fully engaged. Suko and Leta emerged from their flanking positions, moving in. Armor-piercing rounds shredded the ablative shielding of the mechanized soldiers; gas and fragmentation rounds subdued the unprotected. Thick smoke obscured all. The men fired back, unleashing hell, everything in their arsenal. But Suko and Leta were wraiths; bullets fired back in desperation found only air.

Suko caused even greater confusion; diving directly into their midst. Sigrid saw the flash of steel as Suko wielded the katana once more. Spinning, she cleaved the head from one startled soldier. In the same motion, she slapped a sticky-charge on the chestplate of another. The soldier clawed desperately at the grenade on his chest. His struggles would not last long. The charge erupted, limbs and metal exploding outward. Soldiers ran, scattering. They were in complete disarray and fleeing for their lives. Sigrid heard the angry shouts from the major as he bellowed for them to hold their ground.

Like reeds before a sharpened scythe, soldiers fell around her. Sigrid emptied her fourth clip. The barrels of her twin recoillesses glowed red hot, the pistols hissing as the spent clips were ejected. She only stopped firing for a moment, but it was enough to leave her exposed.

Sigrid felt the warning, her PCM bleating its alarm. Too late. The girl came at her from behind, leaping, grabbing hold of her neck, tackling her and riding her to the ground, driving Sigrid's face into the hardened permacrete. Sigrid heard the crack of her skull hitting pavement, and the world spun about her.

The girl was on her back, her knees pinning Sigrid's arms to her sides. She grabbed Sigrid's hair, pulling hard and yanking her head back. Once, twice, three times she slammed Sigrid's head into the ground, as hard as she could. Sigrid felt her face smash against the unyielding permacrete. The second blow broke her nose; the third threatened to shatter her cheekbone.

Blackness loomed. Polite warnings sounded in her head as her PCM alerted her to the imminent danger the current situation presented.

I know, goddammit!

But something else clicked in. Something new.

Sigrid felt the burst of adrenaline shocking her system, a sudden reboot that set every one of her systems afire. The fog vanished from her vision; her head cleared instantly. The girl on her back felt featherlight, the knees that pressed against her arms like twigs.

Sigrid rolled hard, spinning herself over. With her arm freed, she came around for a roundhouse blow, connecting with all her strength and sending the girl sailing off of her. Sigrid knew she'd hit her with enough crushing force to smash the skull of any man. But of course, this girl was no man. She was not even human. Not anymore.

The girl was back on her feet, charging at her. Sigrid ignored the attack, slapping her hands away and shrugging off the blows. Her hand found the girl's throat, grabbing her and lifting her clean off her feet. The girl struggled, clawing at Sigrid's arm, gulping for air, but Sigrid held fast, squeezing ever tighter, watching the life, if it could be called that, drain from the girl's face.

"Don't fight me," Sigrid said. "Don't make me—I don't want to kill you."

Vacant eyes, inhuman, stared back at her. If she heard her, if she understood, Sigrid couldn't tell. There was no fear. No emotion. Sigrid saw the sword come up from behind, swinging down. But it was the flat end of the blade that clocked the girl on the back of her head. Sigrid felt the girl go limp; her struggles ceased.

Sigrid eased her to the ground. Plastic binders secured her hands and ankles. The battle was over. Scores of soldiers lay dead, the work crews having long fled the scene. Only Tarsus remained. He held his hands up; Miranda stood behind him with the sniper rifle aimed squarely at his back.

He had not survived unscathed. His face was bruised, and blood flowed freely from a cut above his eye. Miranda shrugged. "He wouldn't come quietly."

Tarsus glared at her. "I told you I surrendered."

Sigrid retrieved her pistols before approaching him. "You should have brought more men, Major Tarsus."

To his credit, the major actually smiled. "That thought had occurred to me."

"How many more are there?" Sigrid asked. "How many ships? How many soldiers? Where are they, Major? And where are they going?"

Tarsus shook his head. "You'll not find them. Not here. They're gone by now. This place has served its purpose."

"And what purpose is that?"

Tarsus looked down at the girl at their feet. "I'm sure you can guess."

"I don't need to guess, Major," Sigrid said.

From a pouch on her belt, Sigrid withdrew a data-uplink module. The girl in Portside had tried to strip information from Sigrid; she saw no reason she couldn't do the same. Kneeling at the girl's side, Sigrid inserted the uplink, interfacing directly with her own Primary Control Module.

It took but a second to make the connection. She'd thought to find a matrix not unlike her own, but what she found horrified her. The girl had a name. It was Victoria. But that part of her, the part that was human, that part had been obliterated, erased, washed away. Only the most rudimentary programming remained. She doubted even Dr. Garrett could repair this. There was nothing left to fix—the girl was gone.

"Is she alive?" Tarsus asked.

Sigrid shot a look his way, her eyes flaring with anger. "How can you ask that? Do you even care? Do you even know what they've done to her?"

"I'm not a scientist—"

"Nor are the people who did this, Major. They're monsters. And they have to be stopped."

"I know," Tarsus said.

Sigrid looked up at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

Tarsus took a breath, straightening himself. "Haven't you ever wondered how CTF found the facility on Scorpii? Who do you think alerted the authorities in the first place?"

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Foxes in the Desert

"You?" Miranda asked. "You're the one who tipped us?"

Tarsus shrugged. "It was the only way."

Sigrid rose to stand before him. She grabbed him by the collar and, to his amazement, hefted him from his feet. "The only way to what?"

"The only way to be rid of this place," Tarsus said, his feet struggling for purchase. "I wanted out. I want to get as far from this place as possible."

"I don't believe you," Sigrid said. "You've been working for him for years. It was you who first attacked Alcyone—"

"Taking that job was the biggest mistake of my life. Ask Selene. She'll tell you. Now, will you please put me down."

Sigrid obliged, throwing him to the pavement.

Tarsus landed heavily. He stared up at her, pulling at his collar. "Alcyone was a mistake. I lost everything that day. They took it all—my place in the Guild, my fleet. Trust me, meeting Harry Jones was the worst thing that ever happened to me."

Suko crossed her arms. "You'll forgive us if we have trouble caring."

"Then why stay?" Sigrid asked. "All this time? Why not leave?"

Tarsus chuckled. Bitterly. "Believe me, I tried. But Jones…he has a way. He made certain I had nowhere to go. One does not simply leave his service. He's quite mad, you know."

"Don't listen to him," Leta said. "He'll say anything to save his own skin."

Tarsus struggled to stand, straightening himself. He met Sigrid's stare full on. "There are over ten thousand troops in this facility alone. I could have come down here with an entire battalion, met you with the full brunt of our forces. But I didn't. They're a long way from here—looking for you. I made certain they were looking in the wrong places."

"Then tell me this," Sigrid said. "Where is he?"

"He's right here. He's waiting for you now."

"Where?"

"I'll give you the coordinates. But only if you promise to take me with—"

Sigrid swung hard, her fist striking the major square in the chin and knocking him clean off his feet. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

"Sigrid!" Miranda exclaimed. "He was going to tell us—everything."

Sigrid stared at the uplink module in her hand; her fist closed around the tiny device. "I've got everything I need right here. I know where he is, and I know where those ships are heading." She keyed her comlink. "Trudy, are you there?"

The connection was spotty, but Sigrid heard Trudy's voice over the comlink. "Sigrid! Where are you? I lost contact—"

"Trudy, just listen. I want you to send word to Selene. Those ships that left here—we were wrong. It's not us they're attacking. It's not New Alcyone. It's Crucis Prime. It's the Mercenary Guild. That's where they're heading."

"The Guild?" Suko echoed. "Why on Earth would they attack the Guild?"

It was Miranda who answered for her. "Because, with those transponders equipped, the Mercenary Guild will have to assume the Council is moving against them."

"Jones is going to start a war," Sigrid said. Then she turned to Miranda. "As much as I hate to admit it, it seems the chairman was right. We have to warn the Guild. We have to tell them."

"All right," Trudy said. "I'm contacting Selene. We're coming to get you."

"No. Wait. I want you to extract first. You'll need to pick up Leta and Agent Kane."

"What about you?"

Sigrid turned to Suko. Before she could even ask, Suko nodded; they both knew what needed to be done. "Suko and I are staying behind."

"Behind? But, Sigrid—"

"We're not done here, Trudy. We're going after Jones."

"Sigrid," Leta said. "If you're going, then I'm going."

"I'm sorry, but I need you to see Miranda to safety." Sigrid tossed the uplink module to her. "With this evidence, the Council might listen to her. We need her alive. I can't risk her getting out of here on her own." Her eyes fell to the unconscious form of the major on the ground. "Take the major—and the girl. Dr. Garrett, Lady Hitomi—they'll want to see her. Leta, this is important. I mean it."

"Sigrid," Miranda said; she reached out with a hand, an action Suko didn't fail to notice. "You don't need to do this. Jones is finished. He's done. It's over."

Somehow, Sigrid doubted that very much. She knew, as long as he was alive he would keep after her. And if not him, someone else. "I came here to send a message. I don't intend to leave here until it's delivered."

Leta reached back, retrieving the case harnessed to her back. She opened it now, withdrawing its contents.

"Ms. Novak…" Miranda said. "Are you sure?"

Sigrid stared at the nuke; the hybrid device might be small, but Sigrid knew it was powerful enough to bring the entire complex down around them. "Ms. Kane, I'm more certain than I've ever been. I don't want anyone to forget what happens here today."

"There are people here," Miranda said. "Workers. They're innocent of any of this."

"I know. Trudy, is the chairman still with you?"

"He is."

"Put him on."

"Ms. Novak?"

"Chairman," Sigrid said. "You said you wished to help us."

"And I meant it. Whatever you need."

"Then help us now. In exactly forty-two minutes, this factory is going to be a crater. I need you to contact the local security. This entire facility must be evacuated by then. Do you understand?" There was a pause. Sigrid waited, wondering if she'd lost contact again. "Chairman Gillings?"

"Ms. Novak…I'm afraid that is quite impossible. Contacting security will reveal my involvement in this affair. Council would not stand for it. I'm sorry, but it can't be done. I can't risk—"

"Trudy," Sigrid said, "kill the chairman."

Through the open comlink, Sigrid heard the crash, chairs being toppled, glass breaking, the muffled sounds of a struggle, ever so brief.

"Ms. Novak! Wait!"

Sigrid smiled. "I'm sorry, Chairman, I'm having trouble receiving. Is that a change of heart I hear?"

"Yes! Yes, Ms. Novak, I'll do it. I'll make the call. Forty-two minutes. The place will be evacuated. I swear."

"See that it is, Chairman. If one worker dies here today, I will hold you personally responsible."

Sigrid caught Miranda chuckling at her side. "He won't be happy about this—nor will the Council."

Sigrid flipped the switch, activating the bomb. In forty-two minutes it would all be over.

"I don't care. Now go, you haven't much time."

"We'll wait for you at the rendezvous," Leta said. "As long as it takes."

"All right. But, Leta, if you don't hear from us, when you think you've waited long enough, I want you to take the Morrigan and make for the Relay."

"Sigrid, we're not going to leave you behind."

"Leta, the Guild has to be warned. Promise me. This is too important. I don't need to remind you what the Condottiere did for us. Lady Lawther came to our aid when we needed it. I won't turn my back on her now. Promise me, Leta."

Slowly, reluctantly, Leta nodded.

"Now get out of here. Both of you."

Together they helped Leta and Miranda haul Tarsus and the girl, Victoria, into the lone remaining transport. With Suko at her side, Sigrid watched the shuttle clear the pad, rising upward on its way to rendezvous with Trudy.

Only one task remained.

Jones had escaped, but this time she knew where he was headed. Victoria's database had provided her with the location—a place far from here, deep in the desert.

"We need transportation," Sigrid said.

Suko looked up at the open portal and the retreating shuttle. "Looks like they got the last flight out."

"I think one of those will better suit our needs," Sigrid said, directing Suko toward a row of parked Longspurs.

"All right," Suko said. "But I'm driving."

* * *

Sigrid held tight to Suko's waist, pressing herself against her as Suko ignited the thrusters of the Longspur. Gunning the throttle, she dived forward into the tunnel in pursuit of their prey. Alarms sounded about them—the evacuation order was given. At least Gillings had done his part.

The tunnel rose sharply, climbing toward the surface. Suko drove them faster, accelerating, screaming up the tunnel at 278 kph. Sigrid saw the opening—closing before them, twin metal doors sliding shut. There were soldiers here, waiting for them, barricades hastily erected to block their way. Two turrets swung around, firing, tracers arcing out, flashing by over her shoulder.

But it wasn't enough, not to stop the two determined girls from completing their mission. Suko rocketed past them, accelerating, up and over the barricades; grenades dropped from Sigrid's hands ensured there would be no pursuit.

They were outside now and on the surface. There was panic everywhere, chaos. Disaster warnings blared out, urging the enclave's population to evacuate. Workers and soldiers alike hurried through the streets, rushed along by alarms.

"There are roads," Sigrid said as Suko brought the charging Longspur up and over yet another walled barrier, sweeping around a building and down an embankment.

"Shortest distance to a target is still a straight line."

"Well…be careful!"

"Hey, who's driving here?"

Sigrid shielded her eyes as Suko blasted away at an APC that attempted to block their path. The armored carrier blew apart, with Suko practically driving straight through its burning wreckage.

"See," Suko said. "Straight as an arrow."

Sigrid's PCM recorded their speed at three hundred and forty-two-point-seven kph. Just about the maximum velocity of the Longspur. Suko drove it like a wild woman, determined to catch their fleeing target.

With the sun rising behind them, they left the clutter of New Shēnzhèn behind. Factories and tenements quickly gave way to the sweeping desert wastes. Somewhere out here, in all that blowing toxic dust, Harry Jones was waiting for her.

Sigrid swept the area forward and back with her sensors, but she couldn't detect any sign of their prey. It didn't matter. She knew exactly where he was going. In that moment when she'd interfaced with that poor creature, Sigrid had caught a glimpse. There was a place out here, hidden somewhere in the desert. That's where he would be, and he expected Sigrid to follow.

"There!" Suko said. "I've got him. It. At least, I've got something."

Sigrid scanned forward, sweeping the horizon. The Longspur's radar showed it too. A distant blip. Suko veered to intercept.

The target was ahead of them and moving fast, but Suko was catching them. At six kilometers, Sigrid saw it. She zoomed in, scanning, locking on. It was them, the very same armored truck that had fled the factory.

But it wasn't alone. A single Thunderhawk shadowed it, flying escort overhead.

Sigrid felt her muscles tense, her arms drawing more tightly around Suko's waist. She could see the truck plainly now, struggling at its maximum velocity of only 200 kph. She was slow, but she was not completely helpless. Four missiles launched from the side-pods blasted toward them.

"Jammer!" Sigrid said. She pointed over Suko's shoulder to the control console. Suko thumbed the center switch, bringing the Spur's defenses online. The jammer performed its magic, working to confuse the guidance systems of the incoming missiles, sweeping them aside to detonate harmlessly against the desert floor.

Suko fired back. Two 30 mm cannons mounted on each side of the Longspur belched out round after round, but at this range the heavy plating of the APC shrugged off the attack.

No more shots were fired from the truck. There was no need. The Thunderhawk peeled off, swinging around to come at them from behind. Sigrid looked back over her shoulder long enough to see the chain guns mounted in its nose whirring up, charging. The desert offered no cover, no quarter.

"Where's our air support?" Suko griped. "That thing's going to tear us apart."

Sigrid agreed. They were thoroughly exposed.

"Get us closer!"

"Closer?"

The Thunderhawk closed on them, its nose bearing down—close enough for Sigrid to see the maw of its twin mounted guns aimed squarely at her.

"Closer! Suko, quickly."

Without a word, Suko braked hard. The hulking troop carrier couldn't match the swiftness of the maneuver and shot past them, just meters over their heads. It banked hard, weaving, trying to turn, trying to bring its weapons to bear on its prey, but Suko stayed with it, matching its every move and keeping them squarely beneath the belly of the gunship.

Sigrid looked up, felt the crushing blast of its four thrusters roaring down on them. The Thunderhawk might not be able to fire on them, not from this angle, but the armored truck was also getting away. Sigrid was not about to let that happen.

"Do it, Suko."

"Sigrid—"

"Now!"

Sigrid felt the blast of the Longspur's vertical thrusters firing, pushing them up, rising fast and bringing her tantalizingly close to the underside of the Thunderhawk. At the last instant, the pilot must have sensed her move. The large craft rose up, pulling sharply away.

She had no choice. Sigrid braced, leapt, pushing with all the force she could muster. For a moment she thought she'd misjudged, saw herself tumbling back to Earth. But her outstretched fingers found the rounded edge of the Thunderhawk's landing strut.

The gunship continued to climb, pulling up hard, rising, accelerating, the ground dropping sharply away. With one hand gripping the strut, Sigrid risked one look down and gulped at the sight of the world rushing away beneath her.

The pilot banked hard, rolling over and diving down. The maneuver threatened to rip the strut free from her grasp, but Sigrid held fast. Her world spun on its axis. It took all her strength to keep from slipping and falling back to Earth.

A surprised crewman looked down from the open side door. He stared at her, open mouthed, his gun held in his limp hand. Sigrid reached up, grabbed him by the collar of his flight suit, using him to haul herself up, before hurling the startled crewman out the open door. Four shots from her recoillesses took care of the crew manning the weapons pods. The door to the cockpit burst open; the copilot charged her, a pistol held in his right hand. Sigrid merely stepped out of his way, using the toe of her boot to help him along as he tumbled out to join his fellow crew.

The open cockpit door banged against the wall, swinging on its hinges as the Thunderhawk continued its desperate maneuvers, still hunting Suko below. Sigrid slipped into the vacated copilot's seat. The pilot turned to her, his face hidden behind his helmet and visor. He reached for his sidearm—but Sigrid was faster. Her hand plunged between his legs, searching for and finding the large lever. She pulled. Four explosive bolts blew away the canopy over his head; retrorockets under his seat fired. With a roar, the pilot was blasted free and clear. The gunship was hers.

Sigrid turned back to the controls. She was no pilot, but her Tactical Database supplied the information she needed. Thrust, lift, pitch—missiles!

Sigrid swung the craft over, diving back down toward the Earth and straight at the fleeing APC, straight at Harry Jones.

Rounds from the personnel carrier screamed up at her. Sigrid saw the flash of tracers, ducked as they splintered what was left of the canopy and shattered the bulkhead behind her, yet she did not veer off.

Pushing the thrusters to the wall, Sigrid dived. The APC was square in her sights. Eight missiles leapt from their pods, their contrails snaking toward the target. She didn't wait to watch. The Thunderhawk's large-caliber chain guns were armed and ready. Sigrid brought these to bear now, unleashing a stream of deadly ordnance. Harry Jones would not escape. Never again would he threaten her or her friends. And never would he be allowed to continue his experiments. Not on girls like her. Not on anyone.

The 40 mm cannon shells tore through the ablative armor of the APC, ripping its skin to shreds. And still Sigrid did not relent. More missiles leapt from their pods, bearing down on the helpless vehicle.

The APC erupted in smoke and fire. The explosion sent its rear end bucking up into the air. End over end the vehicle tumbled, rolling across the desert floor. By the time it came to a spinning halt, only a twisted hulk remained. Charred bits of metal and rubber littered the ground. Bodies.

Sigrid scanned. There were no signs of life.

Harry Jones was dead. Bernat Wereme was dead. It was over.

The alarm sounded from the control console, drawing Sigrid's attention. She saw the red light—then three more. All four of the Thunderhawk's engines failed at once. Sigrid cursed. So focused was she on her target, so unrelenting in her pursuit, she hadn't been aware of the damage to her own craft.

The troop carrier's nose dipped down, dropping like a stone, and Sigrid saw the desert floor rushing up to meet her.

Blast.

Reaching down between her legs, Sigrid gripped the yellow handle and pulled. Six Gs of acceleration crushed her against her ejection seat—mild compared to what she'd experienced riding the joy-rocket—but still enough to knock the wind from her lungs. She heard the pop of the parachute opening behind her, the tug as the fabric unfurled, catching air. Slowly, gently, Sigrid drifted down toward the ground. The Thunderhawk's landing was not nearly so serene. It nosed in hard, careening along the ground and leaving a long, smoldering trail of blackened earth in its wake.

Sigrid touched down softly. Nine bodies lay burning in what was left of the APC.

It was over.

Suko!

Sigrid scanned furiously, spinning a full 360 degrees around, searching until she saw it: smoke rising from a point nearly a kilometer away.

"No!"

Sigrid was off, sprinting, running back toward the rising smoke. For a heartbreaking moment, Sigrid heard nothing—then a crackle of static from her comlink.

"I'm… I'm here… I think."

"Are you all right? Suko, what happened?"

"Yeah. Yeah…I'm all right. But I'm afraid our ride's puckeroo."

"Stay there. I'm coming. I'll come to you."

There was a pause. "Sure. I'll wait here. Just…just need to rest a bit."

Sigrid ran—faster than she'd thought possible. Suko was hardly fine. She could hear it in her voice, see it in her telemetry. Her heart rate was elevated, and her blood pressure was dropping. Fast. She was going into shock.

"Suko—you're hurt!"

"Yeah, you could say that. I'm…I'm a little banged up."

"Hang on. I'm coming."

"…not going anywhere."

And then she saw her. Suko lay on the ground, propped up against what was left of the Longspur. The ground around her was stained red with blood. Suko's blood. From a hundred meters Sigrid saw the damage done to her leg—the shattered fibula, broken and thrusting through the shredded flesh of her calf.

But when she got closer, she saw that it was much, much worse.

Rushing to her side, Sigrid dropped to her knees, skidding in the earth. Suko's hand clutched her side; blood ran freely between her pressing fingers. Carefully, Sigrid moved her hand away, peeling back the torn shreds of her uniform to stare at the wide seven-inch gash in her abdomen. Sigrid ripped the med-kit from the clip at her waist. Biofoam sprayed from the small device coated the wound, cleaning and sterilizing it as well as feeding Suko a good dose of antishock. The foam worked quickly, already forming a hardened barrier, keeping more of Suko's insides from spilling out.

Sigrid placed both of Suko's hands over the hardening foam. "Push. Keep pressure on it."

And there was still the matter of her leg. Sigrid moved around, taking Suko's ankle in her hands. Using her own legs to brace Suko's, Sigrid pulled, gently but firmly, drawing Suko's leg straight. Her PCM registered Suko's heartbeat skyrocketing. Sigrid could only imagine the pain, but there was nothing for it, nothing she could do.

More foam sprayed from the med-kit lent support to Suko's shredded leg. But not enough, the kit sputtered in her hands, its supply of the vital foam depleted. It would have to be enough.

"Thanks," Suko said, finally risking a short breath, her eyes clamped shut. "My kit got broke in the tumble."

Sigrid barely heard her. Suko was bleeding internally, badly—too much for the nano swarms to compensate for, and her blood pressure was continuing to drop at an alarming rate. Even as she wrapped the pressure bandage around Suko's midriff, Sigrid knew Suko would need surgery, and soon.

While Sigrid worked to stabilize her, Suko looked past her over her shoulder. "Did we get him?"

"Yes, we got him, Suko. It's over."

Suko let her head collapse back against the Longspur. "Good. I'm glad. Maybe now we can have some peace." Suko blinked, her eyelids growing heavy. "Right now…I could really use some peace."

Sigrid held her hand. "We will. I promise. But right now…right now, we have to get you out of here. You need medical attention."

"It's nothing. I'll be fine. Feel better already." Suko laughed, but the laugh turned to a wheezing cough that only served to further rattle her insides.

Sigrid accessed her comlink. She needed the Morrigan. Now. "Trudy! Can you hear me? Leta?" She waited, but there was nothing. "Selene, please come in."

Only static answered back. Her PCM confirmed her fear: her signal was being blocked.

"Blast."

"What is it?"

"Something's happened," Sigrid said. "Something bad."

"But it's over. We got him"

"I know, but…Suko, I think they're in trouble."

Suko looked around, at the sprawling desert, the beating red sun rising above them from the east. "I hate to break it to you, but I think we're in trouble."

Sigrid placed her hand on Suko's cheek, a gesture she hoped was comforting. Her skin was cool. Clammy. Both Suko and herself were capable of dealing with a fair amount of trauma, but looking at her, Sigrid knew she would not survive out here for long.

They had to get out of here.

But where? New Shēnzhèn lay in the other direction, over a hundred kilometers distant. And considering she'd set a small quasi-nuclear device to explode in less than fourteen minutes, she doubted the authorities would welcome them with open arms.

It didn't matter; Suko would not survive the trip. There had to be another way.

From her waist pouch, Sigrid withdrew the compact blood filter and infusion lines, tearing open the sterile packaging.

"What do you think you're doing?" Suko asked, eyeing the equipment as Sigrid laid it out.

"You need blood, and you need it now. I'm going to give it to you."

"Sigrid, no."

"Don't be squeamish. It'll be just like in training. We've done this before."

"Sigrid…" Sigrid felt the hand grip her arm; the easy, jovial expression was gone from Suko's face. "Sigrid, you can't stay here. They'll be coming, and you know it."

"I'm not leaving you. And you know that. So keep quiet, and let me do this."

Suko pulled herself up, grimacing with the effort. "A transfusion's not going to do it. Check your scans if you don't believe me. Sigrid, you have to go while you still can. I told Lady Hitomi—"

Tears flared in Sigrid's eyes. "I don't care what you told her! I'm not leaving—and you're not going anywhere."

"Sigrid—"

"Not another word. Nothing. Now, shut up!"

Wiping her eyes and her nose on her sleeve, Sigrid bent to the task of prepping the transfusion. Reaching for the med-kit, Sigrid pressed it to Suko's arm, heard the device activate, whir, then saw the red light flash on its small screen. It refused to give any more painkillers, having already dispensed its maximum amount.

Suko looked to the device in Sigrid's hand. "No worries—stuff makes me nauseous. I'm crook as it is."

Sigrid forced a smile.

The med-kit held a tiny tube of compressed plasma. It was no larger than Sigrid's thumb yet carried a full two liters of the vital fluid. Sigrid only needed to administer the transfusion. The procedure was fully automated, the med-kit controlling and monitoring the flow, working both filter and pump.

There was nothing to do but wait. Sigrid slid down beside her, holding Suko in her arms. Only the sudden low rumble sounding in the distance drew her attention away—the bomb detonating. There was no flash, and only the smallest of mushroom clouds could be seen, roiling up into the morning sky, quickly becoming lost amongst the heavy layers of smog, thick and black.

The facility was destroyed. No more girls would be tortured here.

"You should take this." Suko lifted the katana in its saya, pushing it toward Sigrid.

"Take it? No. Of course I'm not going to take it. It was a gift."

"Sigrid, take it. I want you to have it."

"Stop talking like that. I won't hear it."

Suko shook her head—something that appeared to take great effort. "Check your scans."

Sigrid did. Suko's blood pressure was continuing to drop, her heart rate rapid and weak. The plasma cartridge was dry, empty. But it still wasn't enough.

Sigrid grabbed for the rig. "Then I'll give you my own."

Suko reached out; her fingers coiled weakly around hers. "No…you won't. There's nothing you can do, and you know it."

"Suko. Please. Don't talk like that."

"I'm not getting out of here. But you still can."

Sigrid felt the tears stream forth. She couldn't stop them. Just as she couldn't stop Suko's life from draining away.

"Suko… Suko, I don't know what to do. Tell me. Tell me, and I'll do it."

With the last of her strength, Suko pulled herself toward her, her eyes suddenly wide with urgency.

"Sigrid. Run!"

Sigrid leapt to her feet, spinning about. There was a new sound coming toward them—a sound she knew well enough. It was the sound of men and their machines of war. This wasn't coming from New Shēnzhèn, but from deep in the desert. The sound grew in volume, coming ever closer, the swell of dust rising into the morning sky.

She saw the Thunderhawks first. Four of them bearing down on her. Their missile pods sat locked in their firing positions. The heavy gunships were flanked by a squadron of T-48s, Starlings, flying escort. No less than fourteen APCs charged toward her. These were followed by what appeared to be an entire fleet of armored cars.

Major Tarsus's missing battalion.

Four strike-fighters streaked across the sky, their sonic booms threatening to shatter the earth around them.

Sigrid clipped the saya to the harness on her back, standing by Suko's side. They would not take her. They would not take Suko. And Sigrid would not run.

Never.

The Thunderhawks took position just above her; the T-48 Starlings circled like carrion birds, waiting to pick their bones clean. The APCs and armored cars formed a perimeter at one hundred meters. Sigrid heard the shouted orders of the platoon leaders as the vehicles disgorged their troops.

She calculated their strength at better than four hundred—all of them with their weapons leveled at her. Stepping forward, Sigrid placed herself between Suko and the oncoming soldiers. She queried her PCM, but her Tactical Database offered only one single course of action—the very same course that Suko begged her to take moments earlier. Flee. Survive.

Unacceptable.

Alone against an army, Sigrid stood her ground.

An officer climbed from the lead APC, striding toward them. Sigrid waited as he crossed the distance. Her hulking pearl-handled sidearms were in her hands—these she kept leveled at the officer's head. He stopped a good ten meters away, close enough for Sigrid to see the four diamond pips that adorned his epaulettes; he was ex-mercenary and a full colonel.

"Your friend is hurt," the colonel said, shouting to be heard over the roar of machines. "We can help her."

"You didn't come all this way to lend aid, Colonel."

"And I didn't come here to kill you, either. I've been told to take you alive, Ms. Novak. I don't see why that should exclude giving proper aid and medical attention."

"You're very kind, sir, but you'll forgive me if I decline."

"Speak for yourself." Suko winced at her side. "You're not the one with bits of bone sticking out. It bloody hurts—"

Sigrid hushed her with a wave of her finger.

"This is not an offer. Nor a request, Ms. Novak," the colonel said. "My orders are quite specific. I know what you are capable of. Believe me, I know. But I think even you can see I have the upper hand."

"Care to test that theory, Colonel?"

The colonel stared back at her. "If you will not come willingly, I will put you down."

Sigrid looked around, at the troops, the flock of Starlings circling, the APCs on all sides.

"You said your orders are to bring me in alive?"

The colonel nodded. "Yes, I have been so commanded."

"Then I will come with you."

"Sigrid—wait! No!" Suko grabbed Sigrid's arm hard. "No, you can't. Don't do it!"

Gently, Sigrid pulled her hand away. "It's all right, Suko. It's going to be okay."

"Seeg—"

"A wise decision, Ms. Novak," the colonel said. "There is no reason for more bloodshed."

He signaled to his men, but Sigrid raised her hand.

"On one condition, Colonel."

"What is your condition?"

"I will go with you, but you must let my partner go free."

"Sigrid…"

The colonel looked at her, as if considering the request, then shook his head. "Your friend will die out here. Leaving her here won't save her."

"Then allow my people to tend to them. Take her to them. Do this for me, and I will come freely. I'll give you no trouble, Colonel. That is my bargain with you, and my condition."

"I think we both know that's impossible. My orders—"

"Your orders are to bring me in. Alive. But there is nothing in your orders that prohibits you from letting her go."

"Look around you, Ms. Novak. I have four hundred men here. I do not doubt your skill, but I seriously doubt you can defeat all of us."

Sigrid placed her sidearms back in their clips and took one step toward him. The colonel recoiled, taking half a step back. He cursed—he'd shown her weakness, and he knew it.

Sigrid smiled.

"You may be right, Colonel. I may not survive. But what about you? Do you think you will survive? What about your men? How many? One hundred? Fifty? Ten?"

"Ms. Novak—"

"They sent an entire battalion after me on Scorpii, Colonel. Did you know that? How many of them survived? I think you know the answer. I promise you this, if my friend is not escorted to safety immediately, if she does not survive, you won't leave this desert alive."

"My superiors will not be pleased—"

Sigrid looked about her. "Strange that they are not here to aid you in this, Colonel. Why do you suppose that is?"

The colonel chuckled, shaking his head. "You're an interesting young woman. I wish we might have met under different circumstances."

"The circumstances are what they are, Colonel. It is up to us to make do."

Slowly the colonel nodded. "Very well. I will agree to your terms. But you must agree to come with me."

He signaled his men to advance. One of the soldiers moved toward her with a set of binders in his hand. He took half a step, but no more, falling to the ground, where he clutched at the shuriken embedded in his throat. He gurgled once, spitting up blood, and died.

The colonel gaped at her; he hadn't even seen her move.

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear," Sigrid said. "I said when my friend is safe. Until then, I'm afraid all bets are off."

"Ms. Novak—"

"I won't tell you again."

The colonel looked slowly down at the dead soldier at his feet, then back at her. She'd made her point. "Very well, Ms. Novak. It will be done."

Suko reached for her again, holding her hand and her arm. "Sigrid! No! Don't do this. Please!"

"I told you, Suko, I'm getting you out of here."

"No! Sigrid—you saw what they did to those girls! You can't."

Medics rushed forward, a stretcher held between them. One of them reached out to tend to her wounded leg, but Suko lashed out, clawing at his face and hurling another of the medics aside. Wisely, they backed off, giving her a wide berth.

Suko was crying, and she wiped at her eyes. "It's not up to you to save everyone all the bloody time. You said you wouldn't leave. You promised."

Sigrid couldn't answer; the words were a jumble, stuck in her throat.

Suko lashed again at the medics, but she was weak, slow. She didn't see the one who came at her from behind. He thrust the syringe hard into her neck, pressing down on the plunger. In her weakened state, not even the nanomites in her system could reject the drug. The sedative did its work, and Suko collapsed back on the ground.

She was powerless to stop the medics now. They worked quickly to stabilize her, placing her leg in a proper pressure casing. Sigrid wanted to run to her, hold her, tell her she would be all right. But she couldn't.

Suko had saved her so many times, cared for her. Loved her. Sigrid had to save her now, and this was the only way she knew how.

"I'm sorry, Suko."

Sigrid nodded to the medics, who lifted her carefully, carrying her to the waiting transport. She watched as they loaded her inside, securing her. Then, with a roar of engines firing, the Thunderhawk lifted off, carrying Suko away. To safety, Sigrid hoped. If not…well, Sigrid knew what she would do.

Sigrid turned back to the colonel. "I have a ship in orbit. My friends are there. I want her delivered safely to them."

The colonel nodded. "It will be done. And then?"

"Then, Colonel, your masters shall have what you came for. They'll have me."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Politics & Power

Randal Gillings, Chairman for the Council of Trade and Finance, stood on the tarmac. All commercial traffic in and out of the spaceport had been shut down, grounded due to the emergency—an emergency declared by him. The tarmac was littered with emergency vehicles, their crews working quickly to launch the support craft as swiftly as possible. Hampering their efforts were the personal transports of local CTF officials. Crowds of dignitaries and bureaucrats surged forward, trying to make their way across the field to their waiting ships. They were held back by a small security contingent and a collection of hastily erected barriers. They shouted their demands, arguing with the security and port officials, anyone who might listen, desperate to flee the city after the detonation.

They were fools. The blast area was cleared. The emergency was over. He'd told them so, yet they still tried to flee.

But Randal Gillings was not here to facilitate the emergency-response teams, nor the evacuation of the areas surrounding Lachlan Industrial. The call had come in: One of the Kimuran girls was being brought here, her life given in exchange for the other one, Sigrid Novak. Local CTF Security were eager to get their hands on this one. It was up to Gillings to make certain that didn't happen.

He didn't do this out of any sense of charity or goodwill. If anything happened to this girl, Gillings knew his own life would be forfeit.

One woman barged through the barriers and pushed her way past the security men. Gillings recognized her. Her name was Kali Sati. She was acting emissary to the CTF here on Bellatrix. Two security men acted as escort, careful to keep clear of the rushing emergency vehicles.

"Chairman," she said, taking a moment to straighten her hair, which had become disheveled in the jostling crowds. "I don't suppose you'd care to explain your presence here, or your involvement in this…affair."

Gillings stiffened at the demand, raising himself to his full height of six feet before answering. "I offer no explanation, Acting Emissary, because none is required. You have received my instructions. That is all the explanation you need."

"You consort with known terrorists, Chairman," the emissary said, her glare fixed on the two Kimuran girls at his side. "Both these girls are wanted—by the Council, I might add. I could take you all into custody now, claim them for my own."

"You could try," Gillings said. "But I doubt you or your men would leave this port alive. As if to punctuate his point, Trudy moved on her; it took both of Miranda's hands on her arm, her heels dug into the ground, to hold her back.

The emissary took half a step backward, her nostrils flaring at the threat. "There will be a hearing, Chairman. You will have to answer for your actions. You have no jurisdiction here."

"Yes, there will be a hearing, Emissary. But not today. Today I only require you to follow my instructions to the letter. Can you do that, Acting Emissary Sati, or shall I appoint someone else who will? If you're not happy in your position, I'm certain we can arrange for you to be returned to the private sector."

The emissary's cheeks puffed, but she shook her head. "No, Chairman, there's no need for threats. I have already made the arrangements. Their ship will be permitted to land, as will the Independents'. I have instructed local security to allow them both safe passage. There will be no interference, I assure you."

"Good. See that there isn't."

"But, Chairman—Randal…you must understand, the Council will have to be informed. Of everything."

Gillings turned his back to her. Glancing skyward, he could already hear the sound of heavy air vehicles on approach, a lone Thunderhawk with two Starlings as escort. The gunship descended quickly, blowing up clouds of dust; the two Starlings circled above, keeping careful watch. Even as the Thunderhawk settled on its struts, the composite metal bowing under its bulk, the door slid open. Medics rushed forward to retrieve the stretcher passed down from inside. He saw the girl lying on it, impossible to tell whether she was alive or dead.

"Chairman!" Kali Sati said again. "Are you listening to me? This will all be in my report. The Council will demand that you answer for this."

Then, above, unseen in the clouds and smog, Gillings heard the second ship, this one much larger, dropping from orbit, the sonic boom rattling the windows of the maintenance hut nearby. This would be Novak's ship, the Morrigan.

"Yes, Emissary," Gillings said. "I heard you. Fear not. The Council will have their pound of flesh. But they will not get it today."

* * *

Miranda shielded her eyes as the fifty-meter scout vessel descended on the landing platform. She gasped at the sight of the small ship. The battle damage was clear to see even from here. The Morrigan had sustained weapons hits and suffered several near detonations. The whine of her overtaxed systems was pronounced. The small ship pitched and bucked as it dropped lower, struggling to stay on a level course.

And she wasn't alone. As she descended, she was shadowed closely by three CTF fighter craft. Miranda knew it was only the chairman's direct intervention that kept the CTF fighters from obliterating her right then and there.

The Morrigan's landing was not smooth. She hit hard, leaning heavily over to the side and threatening to tip all the way over. A blast from her maneuvering jets saved her at the last moment, and she came crashing back down.

Four Kimuran medics emerged from the airlock, rushing to collect Suko from the Independent soldiers, both groups exchanging terse looks. Miranda ran to join them, pushing past the security men. Suko was a ghastly sight, pale, bruised and bloodied. She was unconscious, but she was alive.

The medics took her directly to the ship, carrying her quickly up the steps and inside. Miranda climbed the steps to follow, but someone blocked her way. A woman stood in the airlock. She was tall, raven-haired and wearing a pilot's jacket. Her hand rested on the butt of the long sidearm at her hip.

Miranda cleared her throat. "You must be Selene—Lt. Commander Tseng."

"Special Agent Kane, I presume."

"You're in danger here, Captain," Miranda said. As a naval officer herself Miranda knew it was only proper to address a ship's commander as captain, regardless of rank, and she took care to address Selene as such now. "I'm not sure how much longer the chairman can hold off security. We must depart right away. We have information of vital importance to both the Council and the Mercenary Guild."

Selene signaled to the squad of Kimuran soldiers at her side. As one, they moved forward. Miranda felt two of them grip her arms, fastening the binders to her wrists.

"Wait! What are you doing?"

"Sorry, Special Agent," Selene said, "but until we get Sigrid back, none of us are going anywhere."

"Captain, if we don't leave now, we never will."

"Take her inside," Selene said. "The chairman, as well. Put them both in the brig."

"Now, just one moment…" Gillings took a step back, but it was no use. The Kimuran soldiers had him by the arms, ushering him forward. Wide-eyed, he turned to the acting emissary at his side. "Emissary—Ms. Sati—"

The acting emissary stood, hands behind her back, the grin widening on her face. "Sorry, Chairman. Your orders were quite specific. We are not to interfere. And as long as you serve as Chairman to the Council, I am compelled to obey."

Gillings shook off the soldiers' hands, stepping toward the waiting Morrigan. "There's no need. I'll give you no trouble." He paused, one foot on the steps to the ship, turning to shoot a look back at the emissary. "This will not be forgotten, Ms. Sati."

The acting emissary's only answer was to turn her back, disappearing into the crowd.

Selene waited at the airlock as her crew brought the two prisoners inside. Trudy and Leta were last up the steps. Selene looked upon the man they held between them.

"Major Tarsus," Selene said mildly.

Tarsus looked over her shoulder, glancing appraisingly at the Morrigan behind her. "I always knew you'd end up with your own command, Selene. I'm proud of you. You deserve it."

Selene took him by the sleeve, pushing him up the steps toward the airlock. "Sorry, Major. There's no time to reminisce. I have a friend out there. We're going to get her back. And you're going to help us."

To her surprise, the major shook his head. "I'm sorry, Selene. I can't."

Selene reached for her sidearm, half-pulling it from its holster. "That wasn't a request, Karl. I may have worked for you once—"

"No, you misunderstand. I didn't say I won't. I said I can't."

The pistol was fully out of its holster. Selene thrust it under his chin. "Why?"

"Because," Tarsus said, "it's too late. They'll have her by now. She'll be long gone by the time you get there."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Independents

The colonel closed his comlink and turned back to Sigrid. "It's done, Ms. Novak. Your friend has been safely delivered. They've just cleared orbit. I have kept my word."

Sigrid hadn't moved from her position in better than an hour, keeping careful watch on the colonel and his men all around her. "You have, Colonel. And for that, I will do you one favor."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"I'm going to let you live." Sigrid looked past him at the troops gathered there. "Though, as for the rest of your men…"

"Now wait just one moment. We had a deal."

Sigrid reached back, grasping the hilt of the katana, pulling it free. She examined it, testing the weight of the blade in her hand. "You'll have to forgive me. I haven't used one of these in a while."

"Ms. Novak! Don't do this."

Sigrid cloaked.

The colonel's jaw dropped open, the sight of the girl disappearing before his eyes, too much. There was panic on his face, confusion. That was good. Sigrid needed that. It was her only hope if she were to get out of this alive.

Sigrid dashed forward, straight at him, the blade raised before her. The two armored soldiers at his side were the first to fall, their heads falling to the desert floor with soft thuds, rolling past the colonel's feet.

The colonel spun about, gun in hand, searching, shouting orders. But Sigrid was gone, running as hard as she could. She was encircled, surrounded. Her cloak was her only hope, but she could not hold it, not for long, not long enough to make her escape into open desert.

The firing had already started in earnest. Behind her she heard the colonel's desperate cries to cease fire. The fool still wanted her alive.

She ran hard, making for a gap between two of the personnel carriers. A squad of soldiers blocked her way. Sigrid dared not fire for fear it would give away her position. She ran toward them, vaulting, tucking her knees in as she summersaulted over them. Her hair brushed one of the soldiers as she passed over him. He turned, looking up, but he was dead before she hit the ground, his neck snapped and broken.

There was no point in running. The open desert would provide no cover. But she was on the outside of their circle now, still running, still somehow holding onto the life-saving cloak of invisibility. Two munition charges dropped from her waist pouch into her hands. She slapped one onto the side of the nearest APC, darting for the next.

She could hold the shroud no more. It was draining her, slowing her too much. Sigrid let the shroud fade, became visible again. The soldier seated in the turret saw her; his mouth drooped open and he pointed, his finger raised in alarm. But the charge was set. Sigrid thumbed the remote trigger. Both APCs were launched sideways under the force of the blast, exploding in two fiery balls, tumbling end over end, rolling over the squads of soldiers not quick enough to get out of the way.

But they saw her now.

One after another, too many to count, Sigrid's PCM alerted her to each weapon aimed at her.

There was nothing left for it, no cover offered. Sigrid charged directly into the nearest group of bewildered men and women. The soldiers would be her cover now. She heard the shouted orders of "Alive! Alive!" But Sigrid had no such orders.

Gas, grenades, smoke, Sigrid unleashed her entire arsenal. At close range, she felt their hands reaching, grabbing for her arms and legs, a vain attempt to bring her down. Stun-batons lashed out. One found her leg. Sigrid screamed, more in rage than pain. Suko's sword was in her hand. Sigrid severed the hand that held the offending baton. Again and again, steel found flesh, and Sigrid heard the cries of the men and women around her.

As her cover of the surrounding soldiers dwindled, Sigrid had no choice but to move on to the next group. But these soldiers had witnessed the carnage and the slaughter. They would no longer heed the words of their commanders. They wanted blood. They wanted revenge.

They wanted her dead.

Sigrid heard the chatter of heavy mounted weapons and felt the blast of the Thunderhawks maneuvering in overhead. Her HUD was awash with red warnings. Her Tactical Database offered only one possible course.

Sigrid charged. Straight ahead. Running faster than she ever thought possible. Somehow, she found the reserve, the extra strength, a rush of adrenaline, just enough to engage her cloak once more, one last desperate push. Explosive rounds ripped into the ground, at her side and at her heels, rending her uniform and the flesh underneath, shattering bone. But Sigrid continued her run. Two soldiers threw up their arms in a vain attempt to shield themselves against the sharpened steel and the girl who wielded it. Two more charges set. Two more APCs turned into blackened husks.

Again, Sigrid was visible to them. And ten more APCs, ten more clusters of soldiers remained.

She would not make it to the next group, and they knew it—Sigrid knew it. The survivors behind her were gathering themselves, pressing their advantage. The platoon commander ahead of her was also better prepared. She saw the men readying the riot guns, loading them with their electrified stun nets. The turrets of the APCs swung around, taking aim.

Screaming in rage, Sigrid ran at them. One of the Thunderhawks swung around, cutting her off, its twin mounted chain guns firing at the ground, spraying sand and dirt high into the air. Eight black-clad figures leapt from her portals—the girls didn't bother with the rappeller lines, leaping straight down to land easily on the ground before her.

They, too, carried a selection of riot-guns and stunners.

All firing stopped. The eight female figures spread out and around her. Their faces were void of emotion, their eyes mechanical and lifeless. Yet Sigrid knew they wanted her. And there was nothing Sigrid could do.

This was what it was to be hunted; she had felt that way as long as she could remember, but for the very first time in her life, Sigrid felt trapped.

Strangely, she felt calm. She had succeeded in her mission. Harry Jones was dead. Suko was safe.

One of the girls stepped forward. She raised her hand. Sigrid saw the needle-like appendage spring forth from her finger—the data probe.

"No," Sigrid said, though she knew the girl wouldn't hear her. She took half a step backward. "I'll not let you."

Her tactical-database confirmed the only course of action left. These Independents could not be allowed to have her. New Alcyone, her sisters, they had to be protected.

Only one more duty to perform.

Two grenades dropped into Sigrid's hands.

* * *

"No!" Suko screamed. "Let me go!"

Three Kimuran medics struggled to hold Suko back, but even in her weakened state they were no match for her, and Suko would not let them stop her. She threw one back against the wall, twisted the arm of another.

One of the medics held up his hands, pleading for her to calm. "Ms. Tansho! Please, you'll tear the sutures! They need time—"

"Help me up, goddammit!" Suko called to Trudy.

"Suko—maybe you should—"

The look Suko shot her was enough to silence her. Trudy came to her side, helping her to stand, hoisting her up. She could deal with the pain, she didn't even care about her leg, but she wasn't about to let them leave Bellatrix. Not without Sigrid.

Trudy helped her to the bridge, supporting most of her weight with Suko's arm draped around her shoulder and neck. Negotiating the tight passages of the Morrigan was trying. By the time they entered the small cockpit-sized bridge, Suko's head was spinning and blood could be seen seeping from the pressure casing surrounding her midriff. She didn't want to think about the state of her insides, though her PCM fed her a stream of polite if annoying reminders.

She would lose the leg, the medics had told her as much. Suko didn't care.

"You should be in the medical bay," Selene said. She didn't turn to face Suko. Her focus was squarely ahead as the Morrigan made for high orbit, heading for deep space and quickly leaving the red skies of Bellatrix behind.

"Like hell. What in the blazes do you think you're doing? Sigrid's still back there."

Trudy gasped at the sight of Suko's sidearm in her hand; Suko had the weapon aimed squarely at the back of Selene's head.

"I won't ask you again," Suko said.

"Put that thing away," Selene barked. "In your state, you'll likely miss and blast a hole in the bulkhead, killing us all."

"I won't miss," Suko said. "We're turning around. We're going back. We're not leaving her behind."

"You're not well, so I'll forgive you for not thinking straight. Every security vessel in the system has been alerted to us. We're lucky to be alive at all."

It was only then Suko saw the chairman of the Council seated on one of the small jump seats, Miranda at his side.

Suko's gun swung his way. "What are they doing here?"

"Saving you, Ms. Tansho," Gillings said. "Possibly saving you all."

"He's the only reason they haven't blasted us out of the sky," Selene said.

"We can cloak," Suko said. "We can go back—"

"The moment we hit atmosphere, they'll see us. Cloak or no, they'll kill us. We'll be dead, and they'll still have Sigrid."

"No, we have to…"

Her head was spinning, her vision red; Suko collapsed into the chair behind her. Trudy rushed to steady her. When Suko raised her sidearm again, her hand shook, unable to keep the weapon steady or level. "Chairman, if there's anything you can do—"

"We're doing it now, Ms. Tansho. Everything we can."

"What—what are you doing?"

"Saving her." Then, with a look to the gun pointed at his face, he added, "If you'll allow us."

"Then do it," Suko said, though she did not lower her weapon. "But understand this, Chairman, if Sigrid dies, so do you."

* * *

"Is she alive?" the colonel asked.

"She is," Dr. Farrington spat. "No thanks to you or your men."

Aided by the team of medics, Dr. Farrington struggled to remove the riot netting that covered the girl, pinning her to the red earth. It had taken four of the stun nets to bring her down. Heavy pitons held the netting in place. Like a wild animal, she'd struggled, desperate to free herself, desperate to kill; the thin steel mesh of the netting had cut deep into her arms, torso and legs.

She'd been shot, eighteen times by his count. One bullet had penetrated her forearm, shattering the bone. Another had torn through her chest, puncturing a lung.

She should be dead. She would be soon. Dr. Farrington couldn't let that happen. The medics worked quickly, efficiently, but Dr. Farrington knew it wouldn't be enough.

"If she dies, Colonel, you'll have to answer for this."

"She didn't exactly give us much choice."

"Your men were instructed, Colonel. They were told, and quite specifically: all of them—all of us—we're all expendable." Dr. Farrington turned back to look at the girl on the ground. "She's the only thing that matters."

The colonel sniffed. "Why? Why's she so important?"

"Need I spell it out? Or perhaps you missed the part where she just killed half of your forces and laid waste to the entire enclave."

Farrington shook his head. This entire mess was too familiar. It was Scorpii all over again.

"Then I hope she's worth the price," the colonel said. "We paid dearly today, Doctor."

"Oh, I promise you she's worth it, Colonel. This girl is the only reason why you're here."

The colonel pointed back over his shoulder at the eight girls standing unmoving nearby. "You've got them. Why do you need her?"

"Them?" Farrington laughed. "They're nothing. Simple machines, tools, nothing more. But this girl… She's the answer, Colonel. This girl is the future. She is the beginning."

What Farrington didn't say, what he was thinking, was that she might very well be the end, as well. She might be the end for all of them.

The medic at Farrington's side called for his attention. He shook his head. "Sorry, Doctor. It's no good. We can't stabilize her. She's too far gone."

Farrington rose, looking back at the APC. "Bring the chamber. We'll put her in stasis."

"She won't survive. She'll die in there."

Farrington watched as a group of soldiers carried the two-meter-long metallic cylinder between them, supported by its repulsor lift, setting it down at their side.

"No. She'll live."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Countdown

"We couldn't save the leg. The damage… I'm sorry."

"You did all you could, Ensign. How is she?"

"Her insides were pretty badly banged up—torn apart, more like it—but we made the repairs. I'm not even sure how she's alive. It was like she was repairing herself, even when we got her in surgery. But this—this is all out of my league. I think she'll be fine, but Dr. Garrett will want to see to her as soon as possible."

Suko woke slowly, blinking under the lights of the medical bay. Selene and a Kimuran medic stood at her bedside, neither of them aware that she was awake. She didn't need to ask what happened. Her PCM confirmed her leg had been amputated above the knee. There was no pain, no sense that the leg had ever been there. It was just gone. It didn't matter. There was work to be done.

She moved to toss the sheets aside only to find her wrists and ankle bound.

"You're awake," Selene said. "Sorry about the restraints. It was necessary. You wouldn't stay put to let them fix you."

Suko pulled hard. The nylon restraints held, but the metal rails at the sides of the bed buckled, bent, and tore free like paper. With her wrists freed, she undid the bindings, swinging her leg over the side of the bed.

Selene observed the scene of destruction with one eyebrow raised. "I see you're feeling better."

"Robe."

Selene tossed the garment to her. "You need rest."

Suko didn't look up. "What I need is a situation report. Where are we?"

The vibrations of the deck plates were enough to let Suko know they were in space, maneuvering under full power. Her PCM confirmed she had been unconscious for three days.

"We're closing on the Relay," Selene said.

"Why? Why did we leave Bellatrix? Sigrid's still back there."

"No," Selene said, "she's not. We've been tracking her since we picked you up."

Tracking her?

"Where is she?"

Selene held out her arm for Suko to steady herself on her one good leg. "I'll take you to the bridge. It's easier if you see for yourself."

It took some effort, but with Selene's help, Suko hobbled through the narrow corridors of the Morrigan to the small cockpit. Each awkward hop sent waves of shooting pain through her; Suko did her best not to think of her scrambled insides. Selene helped her into one of the small jump seats, taking her own seat in the command chair.

The council chairman was there, his wrists bound and shackled once more. Trudy and Leta stood to the sides. They were dressed in full combat gear and fully armed. Miranda was there as well, and dressed as they were—and armed. They'd actually thought to give her a gun.

Only Trudy acknowledged her presence; she glanced back, just long enough to give Suko the briefest of nods before turning back to face the forward viewer.

The Morrigan was running dark, cloaked. She was hanging off the stern of another vessel fifteen-thousand kilometers ahead of them. The ship was a corvette and part of a small flotilla. Suko counted two troop carriers, each with a destroyer escort. A light cruiser blasted ahead of them in the lead.

"Sigrid's on that ship?" Suko said.

"She is," Selene confirmed. "They broke orbit just after you…" Selene turned back to face her. "Well, just after you passed out."

"We have to get aboard. We have to stop them."

"That's the plan," Leta said. "Don't worry, Suko. We'll get her back."

The Morrigan's computer told Suko the rest, transmitting data directly to her PCM. They were closing on the Relay. They would be there within the hour. If they didn't act soon, the ships would vanish into warp space, and the Morrigan would no longer be able to track them.

"If you're going to do something, I suggest—"

"Not yet," Selene said. "Look."

"They're not going anywhere, Ms. Tansho," Randal Gillings said. "I've made certain of that. The authorities have been alerted. I have two destroyers ready to intercept."

"That cruiser will make quick work of your destroyers, Chairman."

"Perhaps. But I've also instructed Daedalus Corp to deny their Relay access. I promise you, Ms. Tansho, those ships will not escape." Suko opened her mouth, but the chairman raised a hand. "And, I understand the consequences. You don't need to remind me what will happen should we fail. I have no interest in dying at your hand."

"Don't worry, Suko," Trudy said. "Once they realize they can't warp, we'll make our move. We'll get aboard, find her. Then we'll bring her home. It's a good plan, Suko. It's going to work."

Suko struggled to rise. "Good. I'll get my kit. I'm coming with you."

"No," Leta said, "you're not."

Suko looked down at the stump of her leg. "If you think this is going to stop me—"

"It's not your leg I'm worried about, it's your insides. Your guts will split apart the moment you reach for your sword and you know it. You need to rest."

But Suko knew she couldn't rest. Not with Sigrid out there. Not until she was back, safe.

Suko heard the alarm bleating from the helm. The young communications officer turned to face them. "The CTF destroyers are signaling the lead ship, Captain—they're ordering them to stand down."

It had begun.

Selene crossed her legs, reaching for the cup of coffee at her side. "Any response?"

The com officer listened. "None yet, ma'am."

Suko watched, waiting. Her fingers dug into the armrest at her side, hard enough to tear away the thin layer of padding.

"They're not stopping," Suko said.

In fact, the ships were accelerating, prepping for their run and insertion into the Relay. The two CTF destroyers blasted toward them, moving to block their way.

"It's a bluff," the chairman said, though Suko sensed the uncertainty in his voice, saw the bead of sweat on his forehead. "They know they can't escape."

"CTF ships are firing," the tac officer reported. "Looks like warning shots."

The Morrigan's optics picked up the CTF ships maneuvering, turning to bring their banks of rail turrets to bear. Hundreds of thousands of ballistic rounds, warning shots, hurled at incredible speeds, blasted across the bow of the light cruiser.

Undaunted, the cruiser and trailing flotilla continued on. Missiles leapt from the bow tubes of the cruiser. These, however, were not fired in warning. They screamed toward the ships blocking their path. From close range, the lead destroyer had no time to employ her countermeasures. The bow of the ship exploded, breaking apart. Her sister ship had no choice but to take evasive action. But her maneuver took her out of the path of the charging cruiser. The way to the Relay was clear.

"Chairman…" Suko cautioned.

The Council chairman was visibly nervous, sweating. He dabbed at his brow. "It doesn't matter. Without access they can't warp. They'll have no choice but to stop."

But they didn't stop. The Relay was just ahead. Suko saw the four-hundred-meter ringlike structure light up, spinning on its axis, orienting itself to accommodate the oncoming ships. Orange sparks danced amongst the lattices, growing brighter.

Suko pulled herself up, grabbed the sidearm from Leta's holster, and thrust it into the chairman's face. "Call to them!" Suko screamed. "Tell them to shut it down. Now!"

Gillings raised his hands, his mouth open, his eyes fixed on the weapon. "Ms. Tansho, if there was something I could do…believe me…"

"Helm," Selene barked, "intercept course. Maximum acceleration. Tell the weapons crews to stand by."

"Aye, ma'am."

But even Suko could see that it was too late. The Relay was activated. The drop sequence had been initiated. Tendrils of orange and white energy arced out, reaching across space as if to embrace the flotilla of ships, pulling them closer, drawing them in.

"Fire on that cruiser," Selene barked.

"Ma'am, from this range—"

"Fire! Fire everything—do it now!"

The deck plates of the Morrigan shuddered violently, the inertial dampers straining to compensate as her two rail turrets threw everything they had at the fleeing vessels. The tiny ballistic rounds cleared the distance, raked across the hull of the cruiser—and passed clean through.

The warp sequence had been initiated, and nothing could halt it now. Although still visible, the fleeing ships were no longer truly in their dimensional space. The Morrigan's weapons were useless. Suko saw the blinding flash, the blanket of white sweeping out to cover the flotilla, then blackness. The Relay grew dim once more, the space ahead of them black and empty.

The gun was still in her hand, the muzzle of the barrel pressed into the chin of the Chairman of the Council of Trade and Finance. Slowly, he lowered his trembling hands, resigned to his fate.

"I did all I could, Ms. Tansho. But I understand. We had an agreement. Do what you must."

Suko didn't hear him. Weak, numb, the gun fell from her hand, clattering to the floor.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. It was over. The ships were gone.

Sigrid was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

New Alcyone

November 3, 2348

Pegasi Space

"Good as new," the Kimuran medic said.

Suko caught the overly cheerful tone. The entire crew of the Devonshire continued to walk on eggshells around her, most of them not daring to look her way. The medic didn't have that luxury, having to tend to her.

"Look, I know I can't stop you from walking out of here, but I'm required to inform you, you're not cleared for combat. Dr. Garrett's orders were quite specific. You're to report to her as soon as we land."

Suko swung her legs over the bed and flexed the artificial limb.

Not fully grown, the synthetic flesh of her new bionic leg looked red and angry, but at least it covered the bones. These were made of a hardened carbon-nanotube composite. The artificial musculature looked positively mechanical, grisly and inhuman to behold, but it was far stronger than even her enhanced limbs. This new leg might prove to be truly unbreakable.

Suko's body had embraced the artificial limb as it did all of her bionic enhancements. To Suko's subconscious mind, the new limb was as much a part of her as any of her natural limbs or organs, even if it didn't look that way at the moment.

"The new skin will continue to grow, regenerate," the medic said. "Just give it a week or so—you'll never see the difference."

Suko hopped off the bed. Her uniform was there, hanging and waiting for her. She took it, stepped into it, and zipped it up, bent to lace and fasten the tall boots. The door to the medical bay slid open; she was free to go.

The wide corridor of the stolen CTF carrier was empty. It was eerily quiet, no sign of her crew. The Devonshire was normally home to more than three thousand crew. Currently, it was crewed by less than four hundred. How Captain Trybuszkiewicz had made off with the giant carrier was a mystery, but that wasn't anything Suko was concerned with right now.

She made her way through the maze of corridors, searching for and finding a lift that would take her down to the hangar deck. Most of the crew were gathered here, working to load needed supplies into the three waiting shuttles. These would be brought down to New Alcyone as soon as they were ready.

One of the shuttles was being sealed up, prepped for flight. Suko walked toward it and climbed the ramp. The crew chief had his hand half-raised, as if to stop her. Wisely, he thought better of it and allowed Suko to board.

The doors were sealed, the decks cleared, and the shuttle lifted off. Suko climbed the ladder to the flight deck and entered the bridge. Some of the crew flashed curious looks her way, but no one questioned her presence, and no one spoke to her.

The shuttle's view ports gave nearly a 180º view of the surrounding space. Ahead of them and just above was the gas giant Circe, below was their homeworld of New Alcyone. Once clear of the Devonshire, the shuttle blasted quickly down into a lower orbit.

There were more ships waiting there. Suko counted seventeen. Some were transports, but there were warships as well: destroyers, two cruisers, along with a handful of the smaller, sleek corvettes.

Sigrid's fleet.

Somehow Captain Trybuszkiewicz had done it. He'd made good on his promise and secured the ships Sigrid had asked for. Their homeworld would have the protection Sigrid so desperately desired.

Suko heard the rumors, heard the excited chatter of the crew, still buzzing after the operation. Outgunned, undermanned, the brash Kimurans had stormed the CTF shipyards over Mars, first stealing the massive Devonshire, then using its firepower to overcome the CTF forces stationed there. Only the Ōmi Maru had failed to return.

The stolen vessels weren't the only ones in orbit. There were other ships. Mercenary ships. She saw the gleaming gold and red striping of Clan Athena. Lady Lawther, Condottiere of the Mercenary Guild, had heard their call and come.

The shuttle descended quickly, navigating through the suborbital traffic and braking hard as they smashed through the upper reaches of the atmosphere. Suko was barely aware of the descent. When the shuttle touched down atop the bluff, Suko was already waiting at the ramp, first down, not waiting for the transport to fully settle on its landing struts.

If Suko saw the looks the other girls shot her way, she didn't show it. She walked straight down the hill, through the Academy grounds and the cluster of small bungalows, not stopping until she arrived back at their home.

She paused at the door, her hand on the handle. No. This wasn't her home anymore. It could never be. Not anymore. Sigrid was gone. She had lost her. She had no home.

Her hand gripped the knob so hard it snapped off. Suko threw it to the ground in disgust, then kicked the door open. It swung open with such force as to slam into the wall, threatening to come off its hinges.

It was quiet inside. Dark. Lifeless. Of course it was. Suko cursed.

An empty equipment bag sat on a shelf. Suko grabbed it and began collecting her gear and equipment. She paused by the shirasaya. Two Kimuran blades sat on the wooden mounts, but the space above them sat empty. The katana, given to her by Sigrid, was, of course, gone.

Suko grabbed the blade below it, thrusting it roughly into the bag along with the remainder of her grenades, a spare eSMG and one of Sigrid's old Markov sidearms. The equipment bag bulged, and she couldn't get the thing closed. But it didn't matter. She hefted it over her shoulder, turned, and stormed toward the door only to be stopped dead in her tracks.

Lady Hitomi was there, her wheelchair blocking the doorway.

"I would welcome you home," Hitomi said, "but I see you're already planning to leave us."

Suko didn't answer. She moved for the door, but Hitomi pivoted her chair.

"I know how dear she is to you, Suko."

Suko paused, her chest rising and falling quickly. It didn't escape her that their matriarch had never before used her first name in addressing her.

"She is very dear to me, as well," Hitomi said at last. "More than you can ever know."

"If you don't move that chair out of my way, I'll move it myself."

Hitomi bowed her head and shifted her chair to the side. "I'm not here to stop you. I'm here to help you."

"With all due respect, Mistress, I think I've had just about all the help I can take."

"None of us could have stopped her, Suko. Sigrid was only doing what she thought she had to. She did it for all of us. And for you."

"I don't care. Not about you, not about any of them. This is your fault. You did this to her. You put these thoughts in her head."

"You're right."

Suko stepped back; the duffle dropped from her hand to land on the floor beside her. She'd expected the woman to argue, deny, or at least make some excuse. But she hadn't.

"I made a terrible mistake," Hitomi said. "I knew that from the very moment I met Sigrid. I had no right to involve any of you in this."

Hitomi glanced down at the metal braces that bound her legs, the cane that rested on her lap—eternal reminders of her disability, her failure. "You and I aren't so different, you know. I was very much like you at your age, with a few…minor differences."

"You can't compare—"

"You're not the only one to lose something dear to you, Suko. Something very precious was taken from me once. I didn't forgive myself then. I know I can't ask for your forgiveness now."

"What…what did they take?"

"I was young—a little younger than you are now. When they came, there was nothing I could do. I couldn't stop them then, just as I failed to stop them now."

"Tell me," Suko said. "Tell me what you lost."

Hitomi shook her head. "It was a long time ago. What's done is done."

"Tell me!"

"Everything, Suko. My father. My family. My home. They came, and they destroyed everything. They did so for the simple reason that they knew they could. I told myself I would not allow that to happen, never again. I thought I could change that, with the help of women like you, like your sisters. Like Sigrid. I thought I could change things for all of us. But sometimes, even when we act with the best of intentions, things can become twisted in ways we never imagined. I never intended it to come to this, Suko. But you're right. This—Sigrid—all of this, it is all my fault."

"Then why did you do it, Hitomi? Why make us at all?"

"Because I thought you could do what I could not. I thought you could make a difference."

Suko bent and retrieved the dropped duffle. "I'm sorry things didn't work out the way you hoped. I really am. But I only ever cared about one thing. And now she's gone."

Suko squeezed past her in the doorway.

"I believe I know why he wants her, Suko. I know what this has all been about."

Suko stopped cold. Slowly, she turned back to face her. Hitomi held out a small data-cube in her hand. She tossed it to her now. Suko caught it, turning it over in her fingers.

"That man," Hitomi said, "Harry Jones—"

"He's dead. Sigrid killed him."

"And yet they still went to great lengths to take her."

Suko stared at the cube in her hands, then back at Lady Hitomi. "What are you saying?"

"He had a wife, Suko. And she is very ill."

Suko's fist closed around the cube.

"Where?"

"She's on Earth. And I believe I know where."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Rebelle

Date: Unknown

Location: Unknown

Sigrid woke. Lights shone down from above. They were painfully bright and bore deep into her skull. Her optics made the adjustment, but it was slow, sluggish. Every bone in her body ached. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Sigrid tried to access her PCM, calling for a diagnostic. No response. No access.

She tried to move, tried to sit up, but her hands, her feet, even her waist was bound, strapped to a metal gurney, cold against her flesh. Sigrid jerked her head to the side, trying to better see where she was, but even her head was bound, more metal straps holding her forehead in place.

She was in a room, blindingly white, the tiled surfaces spotless, the stench of cleansers harsh in her nose. Her clothes were gone. And she felt…cold. Sigrid trembled. She hadn't felt such cold in years.

There was a noise to her side. Sigrid strained to see, but she could see nothing. But there was someone there. She could hear her breathing.

"You're awake."

The speaker stepped forward, her face looming over her, staring down.

Sigrid didn't know her. She was an older woman. Her long hair still showed signs of its once vibrant brown.

"Do you know me?" the woman asked. "Do you remember?"

Sigrid tried to shake her head, but of course, she couldn't, bound as it was. "No, I've never seen you before."

Sigrid saw the look of disappointment on the woman's face; the greeting smile turned to a frown. "Yes, you always say that. Perhaps one day you'll remember. I'm told you will, in time. Although…it does give me the opportunity to thank you again."

"Thank me? For what? What are you talking about?"

The woman leaned closer. "For my life, Ms. Novak. For my freedom. I can't thank you enough. Though, since you never seem to remember, it appears I will be able to keep on thanking you. Fitting, for one who is eternally grateful."

Sigrid strained against the bindings. She didn't have a clue who this woman was or what she was on about.

The smile returned to the woman's face; the look wasn't without its warmth or affection, but Sigrid knew, this was the smile of a master looking fondly upon a pet.

"My name is Emily, by the way. Emily Gillings-Jones. Though, I suppose you'll forget that too."

Jones.

"You… You're his wife—the chairman's sister."

"Yes."

Sigrid turned her eyes away, staring upward. It was all bitterly clear to her.

"Then this—capturing me—it's all for revenge. For killing your husband."

The woman laughed. "Hardly, dear. I'm not interested in revenge."

Sigrid felt her heart beat faster. "Why? What do you mean?"

"Because, dear, no one has died."

Sigrid heard the words—it was impossible. "You're lying. He's dead. I killed him."

"Killing?" a male voice said from the doorway. "What's all this about killing?"

She knew that voice. Eerily familiar, etched in her brain. She strained, but couldn't see. She didn't have to. She knew exactly who it was.

Harry Jones came to stand at his wife's side.

"Good morning, Ms. Novak. A pleasure to see you, as always."

"You’re dead!" Sigrid spat. "I killed you. I saw you burn."

Harry Jones raised a thin eyebrow. "Yes, you do always say that."

"She still doesn't remember," Emily Gillings-Jones said at his side.

"Unfortunate. I'll let the doctors know."

Sigrid's eyes shot back and forth between them. "What are you talking about? I remember everything."

"No," Harry Jones said, "you don't. Not yet. It is a…side effect."

"What—what have you done to me?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself with, Ms. Novak. Nothing permanent. I didn't go through all this trouble to harm you."

"I know what you want. You want New Alcyone. You want Andraste. You want my sisters. I won't give them to you!"

Even as Sigrid said it, she knew how foolish it was. They had her—and they'd had her for some time. Whatever information they wanted, they'd have it by now. Sigrid clamped her eyes shut. This time she had truly failed, and her friends would pay for that failure with their lives. Jones—the Independents—they would have her sisters, use them, just as they did those girls on Bellatrix, and there was nothing she could do to stop them.

"I'll kill you," Sigrid said. "Somehow. I swear. If you harm them—"

"I promise you, I have no designs on your, er, sisters. Nor your home. As for Project Andraste, yes, I am very grateful for the information you provided. And for the services you've performed. You have helped us in ways we could never imagine. I can't begin to tell you what an asset you've been, Ms. Novak." His eyes fell to his wife at his side. "I owe you a great deal. More than you can possibly know."

Sigrid felt the tear escape, course down her cheek. "Then let me go."

"Nothing would make me happier. I did not bring you here to make you a prisoner."

Sigrid pulled again at the restraints. "Then what would you call this?"

"A precaution."

Sigrid slumped back against the gurney; she felt strangely weak from the effort, dizzy.

"You should kill me," Sigrid said.

"And why is that?"

"Because if you don't, I will most certainly kill you."

"I think we've all had enough talk of killing. We have much work to do, Ms. Novak. I'm afraid I still require your help."

"Help you?" Sigrid barked a laugh. He was mad. "I saw what you did to those girls on Bellatrix. I'll never help you. I'll kill you first. You're a monster!"

"All men are monsters in the eyes of those who fear them. Even you, Ms. Novak. Do you know what they call you? They call you the Ghost." Harry Jones leaned closer. "They call you a witch…amongst other things. Your own mistress, for example. The Iron Matron. How do you suppose she got that name?"

"You know nothing of Lady Hitomi. She cares for her people."

"Yet there are those who would call her a monster, just the same."

Harry Jones moved closer; Sigrid wanted nothing more than to reach out, wrap her hands around that thin neck, choke the life out of those grey eyes. Yet she couldn't. She was helpless.

"No, you're not a monster," Sigrid said. "You're worse! You took those girls. You stripped them of everything, everything that was human. And the ones that didn't satisfy you, you left them to die."

Harry Jones pressed his thin lips together. "No one regrets what happened to them more than I do. But no, Ms. Novak, I did not take them. It was they who came to me. Quite willingly, too."

Sigrid gaped back at him. "You expect me to believe—"

"That they volunteered? Yes, Ms. Novak, they did. Each and every one of them. And for every girl that we turned away, there were thousands more ready to take their place."

"I—I don't believe you!"

"Why? Is it really so hard to believe they volunteered? They did so because they believed, Ms. Novak. They believed that they had no other choice. They believed that the world they lived in was so unjust, so devoid of hope that they were willing to risk their own lives to change it. They believed, Ms. Novak, just as I do. Just as I know you do. Those girls wanted to make a difference. I gave them that opportunity. Just as I gave you that opportunity. Just as I will give it to you again, now."

Harry Jones raised his hand. Sigrid saw the small device held there, heard the click as his thumb depressed a button. The binding on her left wrist shot open. Sigrid's arm was free.

Her hand lashed out, grasping at the man she was so desperate to kill—the man who remained a centimeter out of her reach.

"Perhaps if you came closer…" Sigrid said, "we could discuss your offer further."

Harry Jones pressed the device again. Sigrid's arm snapped back in place, the metal restraints coiling about her wrist, pinning her down.

Jones moved closer, looming over her. "Progress, Ms. Novak. Yesterday you actually grabbed me. It took four of my men to restrain you. By tomorrow, we may actually shake hands."

Yesterday? Sigrid had no memory. It was a lie. It had to be. If only she could access her PCM, verify. But there was nothing. Only darkness.

Even without her sensor nodes activated, Sigrid knew Harry Jones was mad. He was delusional. He had to be if he thought she'd help him willingly.

"The chairman was right," Sigrid said. "You're nothing more than a terrorist. You're trying to start a war."

"Start a war?" Harry bounced lightly on his heels, as if considering the declaration. "Why, Ms. Novak, that war began long ago, and with very little help from me. My role was merely to…speed it along. In good conscience, I could not allow corporatocracy to persist. But I am glad to say, the Federation is gone. The corporatocracy is no more."

"Gone…?" Sigrid stared up at him. "What—what are you talking about?"

Emily Gillings-Jones leaned over, blinking down at her. "Every empire must fall, Ms. Novak. My husband has seen to that."

"You—you can't expect me to believe… The Council—"

"Gone," Harry Jones said. "Finished. Thanks to you. You took care of them. Quite handily, too. You've done a great service, Ms. Novak. You've given hope to billions where before there was none. Without you, none of this would have been possible."

"I would never help you!"

"And yet you did."

Sigrid struggled against her bindings, desperate to free herself. "No, it’s not true. You programmed me. Just like the girls on Scorpii."

"I needed your cooperation, not your servitude. Of course, you did require some convincing. But far less than any of us imagined."

This had to be some sort of trick. A lie. It couldn't possibly be true. None of it. Sigrid called frantically to her Control Module, but there was nothing. She was alone.

"I—I don't believe you. Not any of this."

"Yet that doesn't change the fact. The Federation is gone. It's over, Ms. Novak. We've won."

Sigrid turned away and clamped her eyes shut. She couldn't bear to look at that grey face, hear any more of his lies. "Then you don't need me."

"Oh, but I do. I'm afraid our work has only just begun. Many lives still hang in the balance. I can't do this without you."

Sigrid opened her eyes, blinking back the tears. Harry Jones produced something from his pocket, something horrible, something that terrified her. He turned it over in his hand, revealing it to her. It was a tiny thing, square and metallic. It was a data-uplink module, much like what Dr. Garrett had used on her.

Harry Jones hit the actuator; the six-centimeter-long probe shot out with a sharp snap.

Sigrid recoiled, but the bindings held her fast.

"You never did like this part," Harry Jones said. "I keep hoping one of these years it will become unnecessary, but until that time comes…"

Sigrid heard the word; it echoed in her head.

"Years?"

"Yes. Didn't I mention that? My apologies. You've been with us for quite some time."

Years…?

Sigrid felt her stomach heave, the bile rising in her throat; her heart thudded against her chest, threatening to explode. When Sigrid threw up, Emily Gillings-Jones tended to her dutifully, cleaning and wiping her face and her lips, brushing her hair back. The act of kindness only made Sigrid's head spin that much more.

Years… It was impossible. It couldn't be.

"No… No, I don't remember."

"You will," Harry Jones said.

Harry Jones stepped closer.

"Please. Don't—don't do this."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Novak. But I'm afraid I have no choice."

Harry Jones leaned forward. Sigrid strained against the bindings, pulled with all her strength, felt the metal cut into her flesh. She might have screamed, she wasn't sure. The needlelike probe brushed against her neck, penetrated, entered her. Blackness loomed, covering everything.

"No…"

"Here, now," Harry Jones said, pushing the probe fully in. "You're going to feel a little pinch."

End

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT