Breach of Faith
Date: 2019-12-20 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction
Description: What once was his downfall becomes their saving grace. Hard-fought skirmishes leave Captain James Henry and the Shadow Wolf limping into Lusitania’s port. Payday awaits once the undercover operative is safely delivered planetside to brief authorities on the League of Sol’s activities within neutral territory. But Jim learned long ago never to take anything at face value. Especially with allies and enemies. The Lusitanian Parliament bombing left unknown survivors, requiring martial law until new elections restore the fractured government. Chaos is the order of the day, proving the League is mor

Fortune’s Favor

Breach of Faith Book Six

Daniel Gibbs

Gary T. Stevens

Contents

Starchart - Sagittarius/Orion Arms

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Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

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Fortune’s Favor by Daniel Gibbs and Gary T. Stevens

Copyright © 2022 by Daniel Gibbs

Visit Daniel Gibbs website at www.danielgibbsauthor.com

Cover by Jeff Brown Graphics—www.jeffbrowngraphics.com

Additional Illustrations by Joel Steudler—www.joelsteudler.com

This book is a work of fiction, the characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Battlegroup Z

Book 1 - Weapons Free

Book 2 - Hostile Spike

Book 3 - Sol Strike

Book 4 - Bandits Engaged

Book 5 - Iron Hand

Book 6 - Final Flight

Echoes of War

Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight

Book 2 - Strong and Courageous

Book 3 - So Fight I

Book 4 - Gates of Hell

Book 5 - Keep the Faith

Book 6 - Run the Gauntlet

Book 7 - Finish the Fight

Breach of Faith

(With Gary T. Stevens)

Book 1 - Breach of Peace

Book 2 - Breach of Faith

Book 3 - Breach of Duty

Book 4 - Breach of Trust

Book 5 - Spacer’s Luck

Book 6 - Fortune’s Favor

Book 7 - The Iron Dice

Deception Fleet

(With Steve Rzasa)

Book 1 - Victory’s Wake

Book 2 - Cold Conflict

Book 3 - Hazards Near

Book 4 - Liberty’s Price

Book 5 - Ecliptic Flight

Book 6 - Collision Vector

Prologue

The National Palace

Tyemore, Ubana

Independent Space

29 February 2464

Among the many planets and moons that Mankind settled once it reached the stars, Ubana was in the upper ninety-ninth percentile. It was a garden world broadly compatible with Humanity. Like many such worlds beyond the frontiers of the Terran Coalition and other more organized governments, it was settled by private initiative with communities drawn from many worlds across the known Sagittarius Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy, eventually assuming its place as one of the independent planets in the reaches widely known as Independent Space.

“Frontier world” often evoked the image of untamed wilderness dotted by small communities and the expanding farmlands to feed them. For those newly settled, that was true, but the advance of industrial technology ensured that once a world reached a necessary population, those dots expanded into cities, and in place of prefabricated housing and shelter, greater buildings arose. For Tyemore, the capital of Ubana, the process was still ongoing in its outer districts, but the core downtown area was already little different from what one might find on the likes of Lusitania or Canaan. At least four towers reached fifty stories in height, in which the offices of small and large venturers played their roles in trade, commerce, law, and other facets of life.

On the political side of life, the activity was a kilometer away, on the opposite side of First Landing Park. The government district lacked the soaring towers and favored a more classical approach, with the architecture built to emulate the baroque post-Renaissance styles of the European Mediterranean. The Offices of Government had one building apiece, all linked by walking paths and a common courtyard to the National Palace. The palace, which superficially resembled a star fort laid around a central structure, provided the chambers for the National Assembly and the offices where that body’s members, the Chancellor, and the attached bureaucracy managed legislative affairs and the grand game of politics to which any parliamentary system gave birth.

The figures gathered in the Chancellor’s Office were familiar with these offices and the games that came with them. A few were older men and women of sixty to seventy years, born when Ubana was newly settled. Others were in the succeeding generations who, by stint of their growing population, had greater representation in the halls of government than they might have on other worlds settled in the prior centuries.

The same was true for Olivia Lilley, the seated figure behind the desk, and the one whom all eyes turned to at some point or another. A solidly built woman of faint bronze complexion, not half a century old yet, she had light-brown hair that flowed down to touch her shoulders. Her deep-blue eyes, set in an oval face with high cheekbones, complemented her silver-and-blue suit well.

“The announcement has only served to incite the Opposition.” These words came from Gabriel Sanchez, the Speaker of Ubana’s Assembly. One of the older figures in the room and a long-time member of the Assembly, he presided over the legislature for the benefit of the governing coalition, while Lilley, as Chancellor, directed and enforced policy. “I’m anticipating that Assemblyman Goddard will have four out of five of the votes he needs to win a policy vote, and he might yet get that fifth vote if the populace doesn’t respond positively to your proposal.”

“The Curall business is being rushed.” That came from Surgeon-General Doctor Rafael Torino. “The studies—”

“Would have been tainted by the partisans for the existing pharmaceutical industry, and you know it,” Lilley said. “The reports of Curall’s positive effects on otherwise untreatable conditions were confirmed by several sources.”

“Unscientific sources, not the findings of official study,” Torino replied. “Pushing for distribution of Curall as a treatment has no backing from any of the established medical organizations. We simply don’t have the data.”

Lilley pressed her hands together on the desk. “Data. You and I both know how that game works, Doctor. The data will reflect what those who assemble it want to see. This change will improve millions—billions—of lives and end reliance upon the overpriced imports our world and so many others need to treat the unfortunate and ill among us. It’s been a leash around our necks, to be tugged at the Coalition’s whim. Even the ISF, which we placed our hopes in, now begs Canaan for scraps from the table. We need this agreement and this direction to protect our independence from the Coalition now that it no longer has to worry about the League or the Saurians.”

“Inviting the Jalm’tar as a counterweight is a good idea, yes,” Sanchez said. “I just fear that you are pushing the matter too swiftly. The Coalition as bogeyman only plays so well with the electorate, and if this Curall proves not to be what is promised, it will bring down the government, I fear.”

“Then, you needn’t worry.” Lilley’s voice had a twinge of heated frustration. “People said the same thing about anti-cancer retrovirals, I’m told, and every other piece of medical technology that made life better but threatened to reduce the power of existing medical professions. The evidence I’ve seen makes me confident in Curall’s future, and our people will be happier.” She gave each of the figures a pointed look. “You’re all letting rumors against the Jalm’tar make you skittish. You don’t see them for what they are—Coalition propaganda to support the ISF now that it’s in their tent.”

“The unrest on Starfall is not our concern, but the future of our world is,” State Secretary of Planetary Development Karl Hutchins said. His gray eyes were framed by crow’s feet on his wrinkled, dark-tanned face. “So, I urge you, Chancellor, to be more circumspect about how hard you push. Rushing this does us no benefits.”

“It’s a risk but one we must take, given the ISF situation,” she insisted. She sat forward in the chair. “You’re all afraid, and you needn’t be. Trust in how things are developing. Ubana will be the better for this.”

For a moment, she considered pointing out the alternative, that if they couldn’t abide by her policies, they were welcome to resign. But stating the obvious would not aid her purpose. It would needlessly press on the sore point and, likewise, sound like bullying. They were her peers, after all, only a couple of them younger than she was, and all were accomplished politicians. They knew precisely how politics and government worked.

You’ll get over it. You’ll see I’m right. Aloud, she added, “Do you wish to discuss anything else? I have an appointment with the Import-Export Association’s chair in ten minutes, and I’d like the time to brush up on the relevant data.”

Quiet glances were exchanged before Sanchez shook his head. “I think that will be all, Madame Chancellor. Thank you for your time.”

“I will see you all later,” she said by way of farewell.

They filed out of the office. Even before the door closed, she was bringing up the economics data she needed for her upcoming meeting on the holographic screen projected by her work computer.

But her eyes soon slid off it onto another holographic projection upon her desk. A family portrait there, with the grinning innocence of two small children, twins, nestled between her smiling face and that of the twins’ father. She felt the same pang at seeing that handsome face, clean-shaven and with wavy hair down to his neck, the sunlight caught by the image glistening on his bronze skin and vibrant-blue eyes full of love.

Seeing that image reminded her of what was at stake. Of the hope she felt and how keeping course was vital to seeing it through. For those she loved, for the world she led, she would press on.

Well over a hundred light-years away, a sharp-prowed vessel maintained a standby burn through an uninhabited system. The gray of its hull brought to mind many various species of aquatic life, be they the janatsim of the Tal’mayan oceans or the sharks from distant Earth, the cradle of Humanity. It was, indeed, an armed ship, quite well armed for its size, and had any of the remaining pirates of that region in space challenged it, most would have had little time to regret the choice.

The vessel belonged to neither species. Instead, it bore an elaborate sigil, a sharp trefoil set on a chalice with a cube set within. It was not yet a common sight in these systems, but if those aboard had their way, it would soon become quite common.

A holo-projector in one of the inner chambers of the ship displayed connection data in thick, flowing script. Jesk Rath’sa observed it with quiet concern. He and his ship were Jalm’tar, the people of planet Jalm’kis, forgers of an empire among the stars, and far from home. It was a home he hoped to return to in the future, wealthy and prosperous. The conversation to come would determine if that desired future was still one he might claim.

The Jalm’tar were a humanoid people. They breathed oxygen-nitrogen atmospheres much like Humans, Saurians, Tal’mayans, and many other species. Their flesh was tough, and prominent horns formed at their temples, above their eyes, giving them a fearsome appearance in the eyes of some races. Yet it was not wholly deserved, since the Jalm’tar’s great expansion was hardly a violent one. They had other means, after all.

The imager finally came alive. The Jalm’tar who appeared upon it was more richly dressed than he—a member of a high family, while he was but a merchant. “This is Favorable Chance.”

“Agent Rath’sa. Have you finished your final report on the Starfall matter?”

Hris Teshan sep Hrik’ma’s tone was calmer than Rath’sa had feared it would be, given the subject matter. “I have, Your Excellency, and it is transmitting now.” He pressed a key on his system controls. “In summation, while we do not yet have confirmation as to what happened to the lost sample, the possibility of its recovery by the ISF is a strong one. Our connection to Curall is unavoidable now.”

“So it is, but we have already accomplished much. Fortune, as always, smiles on others to remind us not to take Their favor for granted, and I anticipated such a reverse. What of our allies on Starfall?”

“No communication from our main distributor. We have reports that he and his army were destroyed in the efforts to reclaim the suspected sample. We can work with other distributors, though, and we retain a strong influence in the major city governments there through our remaining distributors and agents. New shipments can still find buyers.”

“If we have the spare quantity, we may yet pursue such sales. But with the Droog Lord defeated, there is little point to a strong effort. Detection means it is time to come into the open. Other worlds lie on the paths we require. Ubana is already moving into our fold and will make an excellent staging point.”

“It will be done, Your Excellency. May Fortune favor us with success.”

“May it indeed.” The call ended.

1

Aside from a newly placed comm buoy for ships in distress, the system marked TR-443 was an empty one. A small A-sequence star held only a few worlds in its orbit, all rocky worlds without rare elements that would make mining facilities worthwhile. The only reason any ship would jump into TR-443 was its place on the trading routes through the Trifid Nebula region of Independent Space.

Such was the reason why ISV Liberator drifted alone in the system. Her engines were quiet, having no need to build velocity that would warrant burning their fuel. Aboard, the engineering crew quietly finished their pre-jump checks and waited for the jump safety timer to hit zero, signifying it was safe to fire up their Lawrence drive and make the last jump on their current course.

Farther toward the bow, Admiral James Henry had other concerns.

The conference room was part of the Liberator’s flagship facilities. It was one of the features Antoine Rigault’s designers and builders had installed that Henry had opted to keep, though he’d replaced Rigault’s intended furnishings with something more practical and fitting a military command. It was a space for meetings with his command staff or visiting dignitaries.

Only two others were physically present. Chief of Staff Captain Mei-Ling Lou sat to his right, while Captain Yin Trang on his left commanded the Liberator itself. The other seats remained empty, since there was no need to pull more of the command crew in for the meeting.

The active holoprojectors provided the other participants, showing the lifelike holographic representations of the Council of the Independent Systems Federation, the effective government of the multisystem body bringing a sense of unity and common purpose to the previously disparate, even hostile systems of Independent Space. The central chair held Paulina Ascaro, Chairwoman of the Council and Prime Minister of the wealthy trading world Lusitania. Other figures present included Laymala Tysisma, First Minister of the Tal’mayan Federated Union, and Porter Lewis, President of New Cornwall. Other rulers of the major Federation worlds or personal delegates of said rulers filled a Council that numbered eleven in total. He recognized the table they sat arrayed around, the same they’d used when he’d last seen them in person on Canaan within the Tal’mayan Embassy. At the moment, they were hundreds of light-years away, visible in real time because of the instantaneous nature of quantum entanglement communication.

Two more QET transmissions were linked in as well, displayed to either side of the assembled Council. Henry recognized the figures on each screen. To the right, Francois “Frank” Lou was seated at a table in what he recognized as the conference wardroom of Lou’s private starship, the yacht Vesta. Henry thought Lou’s hair had more gray and white than the last time they’d met. However much he was aging, he’d retained the look of a forceful personality—fitting, given he’d gone from a young Hestian stowaway in an uncaring galaxy to one of the wealthiest individuals alive, the owner of not one but two of the largest megacorporations in Independent Space. He stood apart from his wealthy peers in a number of ways, particularly in his continued support for his homeworld’s new left-wing government—one that was quite hostile to the megacorporations as a whole—and his public support for the ISF’s mission.

The other image showed a humbler office. It pleased Henry that Doctor Oskar Kiderlein no longer carried the weight he’d held during his time as surgeon on the Shadow Wolf. Born on Earth itself and once serving, by requirement, as a doctor in the League of Sol’s paramilitary forces, Oskar had lately been pursuing medical research instead of patching up the victims of the League’s brutal “socialization camps.” He enjoyed whatever funding and support their old shipmate Tia Nguyen could provide him as Prime Minister of Hestia. And while ordinarily, that would not have put him in communication with the most powerful politicians in Independent Space, he was one of the few who could speak with experience on their current subject matter.

“I’ve checked Dr. Opema’s notes as well as those from Doctors Rivera and Hudson,” Oskar said gravely, confirming for Henry the kind of news being delivered. “And I went over my old notes and records. The Curall substance can be confirmed as a concentrated form of the Jalm’tar herb pireem.”

Some of those on the Council frowned.

Ascaro did not give such a reaction. “The materials we were provided say it’s a medicinal substance.”

“It has some palliative effect upon the body, yes, in terms of suppressing pain and promoting healing,” Oskar replied. “But it is also a highly addictive substance. And Curall makes it even more so, more than it promotes the palliative benefits, I think. It shuts down natural neurotransmitter production through its chemical effects. The compound essentially replaces the neurotransmitters, though with decreasing effectiveness, requiring ever larger doses to maintain function.”

“And if no doses are available?” Trang asked.

“Then the body starts losing function. The blockers persist, even without further dosage, meaning it takes time to recover the lost neurotransmitter production, and in most cases, lethal side effects are more likely to occur,” he answered succinctly, frowning. “A large enough dose could shut down neurotransmitter production right from the start, and either way, it induces a painful addictive reaction. Even if someone survived withdrawal, the psychological impact would be severe.”

“So it’s not unlike opioid painkillers?” Trang asked.

Oskar shook his head. “I wouldn’t make that comparison. Even today, opioids have a legitimate medical purpose in patients with resistance to the replacement compounds or if other methods are unavailable. And it takes time to become addicted to even the strongest opioids. Curall, in my judgement, has no such function. It is primarily an addictive substance with beneficial side effects, though the compound is apt to seem the other way around because of the swiftness of relief. A regular schedule of taking the substance would likewise prevent detection of withdrawal symptoms until the body started requiring greater doses.”

“It’s a weapon,” Shahkrit, the Hestian member of the Council, growled. “A means to enslave.”

“Since they control the only supply, it becomes a means of influence expansion.” Porter Lewis spoke with sobriety compared to the impassioned remark. But his expression and his grim tone suggested he was moved. “World after world can be subjugated quietly, left dependent upon the Empire.”

Mei-Ling Lou shook her head. “It’s already begun. Curall’s been on the black market for months, since before the Third Battle of Canaan. It’s picked up in range since, and now it’s available illegally on dozens of worlds. A few are even legalizing it under pressure from the people taking it and the families of those addicted.”

“So the Jalm’tar Empire can expand easily into our space without firing a shot.” Ascaro’s sour expression spoke of frustration. “A process that has already begun on Ubana. Chancellor Lilley delivered the formal government decision to withdraw from the ISF four days ago. She’s accusing us of collusion with the Coalition to suppress Curall as a legitimate medical treatment and being part of a wider campaign to promote Coalition expansion to the independent worlds.”

Having lived for seventeen years in the neutral systems, Henry was familiar with how resentment over the Coalition’s power could manifest, even if it was a new issue to his experience. “I’ve read Commodore Tokarev’s reports on the situation. How serious is this argument?”

“Some have always felt the Coalition has too much control over Sagittarius’s medical technology and research.” Lewis’s tone made it clear he was one of them. “Many worlds have tried to come up with their own approaches to certain problems to varying degrees of success. But the Coalition has the best medical universities, the most sophisticated biotechnology firms and laboratories. Their resources are so much greater than anything we can muster, especially given the costs of medical research.”

“It is one field even my peers on Galt and the other megacorp-dominated worlds do not delve into,” Lou added. “The expenses are too high to take the risks.”

“So it becomes easy to write off people arguing against Curall as dupes?”

“For some, Admiral, I would imagine so. Medical associations still refuse to give the drug their blessing, but some physicians promote it due to its initial effects and lack of contrary data about the addictiveness,” Oskar explained. “They provide a cover for those already in favor of Curall.”

“Such as Chancellor Lilley. Though she’s cut off communications with our local representatives, we know she’s negotiating Ubana’s association with the Jalm’tar.” Ascaro folded her hands on the table. “If it goes through, they will have a base to expand their operations into the rest of Independent Space. We cannot allow this spread to go unchecked.”

“Allow me, then, to travel to Ubana,” Lou offered. “My company has holdings there and connections to the local business community. I can act as the ISF’s Foreign Secretary, if you will, and negotiate the matter—try to get the Chancellor to reconsider her choices.”

“She is a formidable woman,” Ascaro said.

Henry grinned at that. The same words had been said about Ascaro herself.

“It will not be easy to sway her, but by all means, try.”

“I can remain in the area and work with the Tokarevs to counter any Jalm’tar attempts to press other worlds,” Henry said. “Though we should also consider dealing with them directly. We need to know more about their intentions, what this is about. We know so little about the Jalm’tar as it is, and I don’t like blindly dealing with the threat they pose.”

“I retain an agent on Yan’katar,” Lou said. “He files regular reports, though their scope is limited by having nothing to import from the Empire. Unfortunately, my man there has no available support to widen his operations. He is merely a selling agent for what goods the Empire imports from Sagittarius.”

“So, if we send people, he can help?”

“Yes. I can’t say what the conditions will be like, but I’ll inform him to give anyone we send full support. Though that leaves the question of who we might send.”

“I have some ideas on that.” Henry restrained the urge to sigh. “Some people I can call and see if they’re ready for something like this.”

“Your old crew, I assume?” Ascaro asked. “The same who brought us the sample of Curall?”

“Yeah. They’re on Trinidad Station now, fixing things,” Henry replied. “I’ll see if they’re up for the job. It may press our intelligence budget a bit—”

“I will bankroll the operation,” Lou said. “My liquidity may be reduced these days, but I can do that much, and it’s important we discover the scope of the Jalm’tar ambitions.”

“If they’re bad enough, we’ll need that alliance signed.”

“The talks continue. I cannot promise more.” Ascaro nodded off-screen. “We are due for another session shortly, so I consider this meeting closed. Good luck, Admiral, Mister Lou. And Admiral, if your people do us this service, I will see to it that they are amply rewarded, whatever Mister Lou can manage.”

“I’ll pass that right along on, ma’am,” he replied. Lord, I really wish I didn’t have to ask this of them.

One by one, the images disappeared, leaving Henry and his two ranking subordinates to themselves. “Do you think Captain Gaon will accept?”

“I can’t say for sure,” Henry said. “All we can do, in the end, is ask.” No matter how much I don’t want to.

2

The internal bay on Trinidad Station’s Arm Two was a hive of activity. From her vantage point on the upper catwalk of the retractable gantry structure at the heart of the bay, Captain Miriam Gaon watched the industrious dockworkers of Trinidad hard at work repairing the Venture Star. The ship’s damage from its fights at Starfall, having been patched over, was finally being made good.

But she wasn’t just there for repairs. Given everything that had happened at Starfall and the news from other worlds about the addictive Curall substance spreading across Independent Space, Miri had a bad feeling that things were about to get more dangerous, not less, for her crew. They’d made an enemy at Starfall, one that had fled only at the arrival of the cruiser Triumphant, and there was no telling if that foe might try something else to harm them.

“It looks like standards have kept up since I left.”

The voice prompted Miri to turn and face the approaching figure, Linh Khánh, a former Dockmaster of Trinidad and friend of Miri’s old shipmate Tia Nguyen.

“You trained some good people,” Miri replied. “Do you regret not coming back and standing for the election of the Dockworkers’ Guild leadership? I’m told you’d have won handily.”

Linh shook her head and let out a rich laugh. “Not at all,” she said in her clipped Hestian accent. “I do miss some of my comrades here, but Hestia is my home, and Tia needs everyone on hand to run things now.”

“You’re standing for election in the Hestian Assembly, right?”

“I am, and I should make it back in time to cast my ballot. But with everything going on, I agreed to represent Tia in an ISU meeting here on Trinidad.” Linh shook her head, grinning. “The ISU on Trinidad Station. There was a time I never thought I’d see the day. So much is changing here.”

Miri nodded. The ISU—the Interplanetary Spacers Union—was a widespread interstellar trade union for private space vessel crews. It negotiated contracts with shipping and passenger companies across Sagittarius and provided services to independent ship captains looking for crewhands. Spacers gladly paid organization dues to support its network of offices and hostels assisting members even in places like Harr’al. Trinidad’s former status as a “stateless” pirate station had made the ISU unwilling to open such a facility on-station, however, until Lusitania had led the way in recognizing Trinidad’s sovereignty over the Magellan system.

“Anything important happen at the meeting?”

“We’re due for another session tomorrow.” Linh’s expression darkened. “This Curall stuff has spread so far so fast. Especially over the last weeks. A few captains are lobbying to have it confirmed as approved cargo, but it doesn’t look like it’ll pass.”

“I would hope not. Not given what we learned on Starfall.”

“Unfortunately, not everyone believes it yet. They see only the apparent successes, and with all the resentment toward the Coalition and the richer worlds who produce the expensive medical cures and treatments, it’s a strong force to push against. But we have to.” Linh clenched her right fist, the metal prosthetic a gleaming black under the dock lights. “Hestia’s only getting on her feet now, and people are peddling this addictive drug as a miracle cure to re-enslave us. It has to stop.”

“HaShem willing.” Miri checked her link. “The others should be waiting for us. Since you’ve had a hand in this, mind joining us?”

“I’ll never miss a chance to catch up on how my favorite fetcher is doing,” Linh said, allowing a grin to show once more. “And Pieter will want to hear some particulars.”

“Samina is visiting her uncle, but Pieter will be there. Allow me to lead the way.”

Miri took the lead, traveling down the catwalk to the metal stairs and the level below. She rounded a worker going off to get another tool and walked along the gantry catwalk to the extended walkway bridging the gantry to the Venture Star’s starboard ship-to-ship airlock. Since they were in atmosphere, the airlock opened without a pause, outer then inner doors, admitting them into the ship.

The Venture Star was a newer and better-made ship than the old Shadow Wolf had been. But in her time, she’d come to look just as rugged and worn, a “used” ship in every sense of the word. With the first anniversary of the Shadow Wolf’s loss at Hestia approaching, the old ship was worming its way into her thoughts further. The little differences between the two stood out all the more.

The ship’s galley was open at the moment, since most of the crew were station-side. Three seats at the central table were taken. Piper Lopez, the Venture Star’s First Mate, was in the closest seat, wearing a gray spacer’s jumpsuit with a crystal hanging from her neck. Her copper-toned complexion bore a spacer’s pale hue. The same was true for Allen Markson, the Second Mate, likewise in a jumpsuit. Pieter Hartzog, Ship’s Engineer, wore an engineer’s work jumpsuit with visible grease and lubricant stains and other signs of wear. Going by his tousled appearance, Miri was certain he’d been working on internal repairs and inspections before the meeting.

“Hey, Linh, I heard you might come by!” Pieter grinned. His English wasn’t quite so thickly accented as it had been when Miri had first met the New Oranje-born man. “Have any idea when Tia’s going to give up politics and become an honest spacer again?”

Linh laughed. “Depends on if the Constitutional Committee meetings finally make her snap. But so far, she’s held out.”

Piper’s grin matched Pieter’s. “Ideally, we’ll get a run to Hestia sometime and have a chance to catch up on old times.”

“I look forward to it.” Linh’s eyes focused on Markson. “The new Second Mate, right?”

“Allen Markson, formerly Staff Sergeant Allen Markson, CDF,” he replied in a hospitable tone. “I hear you’re responsible for all the Trinidad Specials becoming popular these days.”

“Not alone,” she said. “Definitely not with the new upgrade you’re getting. At best, I wrote some of the plans, but Secretary Pash’saya and the Dockworkers’ people are making it work.”

“I wondered about all the work they’re doing on our drives,” Pieter said. “What’s going on there?”

“They’re putting improvements into your backup fusion drive system, for starters. Ten percent more fuel efficient for the same mass and a bit more volume. Everything’s still in the right range, though.” Linh joined Miri in taking a seat. “But you’ll definitely get more thrust. And the boosts to your inertial compensators should help. A couple of the structural members most at risk of failure from fusion drive thrust are getting shored up with a reinforcing brace. Lessons learned from the Shadow Wolf’s later problems and a few other cases.”

“And the work on the plasma cannons?”

“New models from the Tal’mayans. Same karnon feed but better traverse speed and stronger containment on the bolts, so you’ve got better range and accuracy. Though that’s not the best part.” With that, Linh raised her link and activated the holographic projector feature. A blue-tinted silhouette of the Venture Star appeared. She rotated it to show the underbelly. A new frame was built above the extending central landing leg, encompassing some of its upper reach. A visible barrel showed at the forward tip.

“Good Lord, that’s a neutron cannon,” Markson said in disbelief. “You’ve mounted a neutron cannon on the ship?”

“I thought this design couldn’t fit one,” Piper said.

Linh’s grin widened. “I do get to take credit for this. I found the plans in Rigault’s databases. That bastard Antoine Rigault got his hands on a League project to replicate the neutron cannon themselves. His people made enough improvements that they got the design to work in testing. Lou’s footing the bill to develop it for ISF use, and since I’ve been directing the project, I had a model brought out to install on the Venture Star. It’s a tight fit, even now, and you can’t charge and fire it while running your enhanced deflectors, but you’ve got some punch again if you’re in a bad firefight. Plus, I think it’ll help Tia sleep better knowing you’re all taken care of.”

“So will Admiral Henry. Thank you so much, Linh.”

“I wouldn’t want to pay for all this,” Markson said.

“We’re covering it—the ISF, I mean,” Linh replied. “You brought us the Curall sample. It’s the least we can do.”

Miri nodded. “We’re deeply thankful.”

While their ship was being repaired, many of the Venture Star crew were taking the time to visit the station. Janet White hadn’t intended to be one of them, but at the insistence of crewmates, she’d come along.

She wasn’t new to the starbase, but it was still a novel enough sight. Looking up gave her a view of the station’s interior, all the housing blocks and buildings in each district. Her eyes passed over the covered district for the station’s Matrinid residents. There, the atmosphere was almost thick enough to qualify the district as an aquarium. The internal surfaces not covered in populated districts were transparent for letting sunlight through and emulating a planetside locale.

Yet she didn’t enjoy it. Nor could she focus on her surroundings—not like normal. Every time she felt the usual instincts come up, she forced them back with a surge of shame.

Many years ago, on her League-occupied homeworld, Lowery, she’d learned those instincts. They were the best way to judge who might have credit chits or other things to snatch so she and the other children she lived and spent time with might get more food to supplement the meager austerity rations the League provided children of occupied worlds. Years of a grumbling belly while in a Youth Socialization Center had hammered home the need and made snatching as natural as breathing. It had also helped other kids learn to like her even when she was the weird one. And even after the Coalition had liberated Lowery, after things had returned to “normal” for everyone and they’d had proper homes again, that instinct hadn’t gone away. Not with the lingering memories of those nights when her empty belly had grumbled and ached for food.

“Hey!”

Her shipmate’s voice broke through Janet’s thoughts. She turned her eyes to the approaching figure of Brigitte Tam’si.

As usual, Brigitte’s mohawk-and-cornrows hairstyle stood out, the mohawk colored a bright crimson and the cornrows lilac. Instead of a jumpsuit, she had a black vest over a green-and-white-striped tank top that showed the cords of thin muscle on her bare arms. Underneath was a yellow tube top, joined by black-and-silver tracksuit trousers and red Velcro shoes. It was a colorful ensemble that reflected the personality of the rebellious ex-Leaguer. “You all right?”

“I’m… no.” Janet shook her head. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

“Still thinking of that family on Starfall?”

Janet turned away. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t stop. “I thought I was helping them,” she murmured. “They needed medicine, and the seller was being a jerk. Snatching it seemed right. I didn’t know…” Didn’t know it was a fraud, that I was hurting them.

“Hey. We didn’t know. Not one of us knew.” Brigitte set a hand on Janet’s shoulder.

Janet stopped the impulse to pull away. Normally, she didn’t like to be touched, even by friends, but right now… right now it felt reassuring. “Right.” Janet said the word, but she didn’t feel it. Nor could she put her continued bitter feeling to words, the sense that everything was out of place for her, that it was wrong.

A whistle pierced the air. Janet looked toward the source and saw the unassuming form of Stepan Zakarov, the Venture Star’s Astrogator and the usual pilot. She knew his moods just well enough to know something was annoying him, probably their falling behind.

“Keep coming. I can already taste the pelmeni.”

“All right, keep your knickers on,” Brigitte retorted. “We’re coming.” She glanced back Janet’s way. “In his own way, he cares too. I think.”

Janet nodded. Her thoughts moved on immediately, not back to her guilt but to the fact that food was coming. She’d learned through painful experience never to turn down food when available. “Let’s go eat.”

They set off in Stepan’s direction.

Being in the Quetta District of Trinidad Station brought back years of memories for Samina Khan. Some of those memories were bitter and painful, given the circumstances that had led to her living there for so long. Some were happier, like the years she’d spent as a “fetch tech,” an unofficial assistant/apprentice to the dockworkers, who was paid in knowledge and the occasional bit of extra food.

Things were changing again for the people in Quetta—for the better, Samina felt. Everything felt brighter, more active. The markets buzzed with activity, and things were sold in abundance that had once been almost impossible to get on Trinidad.

We helped. She felt a surge of pride. Captain Henry and the rest of us helped bring this about in our own small way.

She noticed movement to her side and turned to see her shipmate, Khalid bin Tawfiq, placing ISB bank notes into a charitable donation box marked as belonging to the Quetta District’s Islamic charity. He wore his usual green traveling robes and trousers with a turban on his head, much as she wore a blue hijab for the occasion.

“Was it this busy when you grew up here?” Khalid’s Arabic accent came from his homeworld of New Zanzibar.

“No. Not like this,” she answered. “Living on Trinidad was difficult before the recognition, since not many ships would trade with us.”

“But now the bounty of the stars comes to you.”

“It does.”

Leaving one market lane brought them to the walkway into the residential blocks of the Spinward side of the district. Things looked nicer, but that didn’t detract from the familiarity Samina felt for her old living space. The building lift brought them to the appropriate floor. She walked down to the same brown door and gently rapped her knuckles on it.

About ten seconds later, the door opened completely. Uncle Ali stood in a housecoat and suit that she’d sent him a few months ago, leaning on a fine polished cane she’d also sent as a gift. He saw her, and his eyes lit up with joy. “Ah, Samina, little one! Come in!”

“Uncle Ali!” She laughed happily and embraced her uncle warmly. “You look well.”

“And yet I grow older, inshallah,” he replied. “And look, you wear a headscarf? For me? It’s about time you remembered decorum. Perhaps you are getting more mature as you age!” The tone in his voice was teasing more than reproachful. It widened her grin to hear it. “And who is this gentleman?”

“Khalid bin Tawfiq of New Zanzibar. He is my shipmate,” Samina said. “He joined the crew after our last visit to the station, so he wished to see it.”

“Ah! Come in, come in,” Ali insisted. “You’re a bit older than I expected, but it is time for Samina to consider a husband.”

“Uncle!” Blood rushed to her cheeks and turned them a bright pink. “That is not…” She saw the twinkle in his eye and laughed despite her mortification. “You’re teasing me!”

“I am allowed many things, for I am old.” Ali led them into the apartment living room and offered them chairs. “So, Khalid, it is a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Khalid grinned.

“So, what brings you to Quetta, if you are not seeking my permission for my niece’s hand?” Ali winked at Samina.

“I follow where Allah leads me, and Quetta seemed as good a place as any to continue that path,” he replied. “It is my way.”

“He is a very generous man,” Samina said. “He gives most of his earnings to charity and beggars.”

“I have no need of it,” replied Khalid. “Better that it go to feed mouths than sit as digital information in a bank account server.”

“A man after my own heart.”

“I have given more lately myself from his example,” Samina admitted. “But I do save as well. To buy my own ship one day.” Should I try to give more? We relied so much on the charities here after we lost Ali’s ship. Am I being selfish by not paying more?

She hadn’t intended to let those thoughts slip into her expression, but they evidently did. Khalid shook his head. “That is as good a reason as one can have to save their money, Samina. Allah respects the desire to grow and follow your path. I choose to give everything to charity because that is my path, but it needn’t be yours.”

“Give what you can, and trust in Allah,” Ali added.

“I will, Uncle, Khalid,” Samina promised. Though it may be many years, one day, I shall have a ship. And if God is willing, you will board it whenever you please.

The growing commerce moving through Trinidad Station meant the Spacer District was likewise growing in activity and choice. New eateries and shops and spacer hostels had opened, including the new ISU hostel and office for the station.

Miri found herself sitting across the roadway from the ISU office, indulging in a guilty pleasure—Haim’s. The New Israeli eatery chain specialized in kosher fast foods that were flavorful but, since they mostly consisted of fried food, rarely nutritious. An osban sausage in a wheat bun with tomato sauce was her choice. Given the taste, she doubted it had been made locally. Most likely, it had been shipped in from a planetary source, maybe even from New Israel itself. Partly finished seasoned, shredded potatoes remained on her platter. It was not the kind of meal Laila would approve of from a health-based perspective, but given everything that had happened on Starfall, the indulgence was irresistible.

After surviving the war, nearly dying on Starfall because of some warlord’s ambitions and a drug dealer’s secrets feels unfair. And this is not yet over.

A tone came from the link pouch on her jumpsuit waist. She set down the osban and brought out her link. The routing was local, not through the GalNet. One of the crew, then? She activated the link, expecting to hear something had gone wrong with the refit.

James Henry’s holo-image appeared instead. “Captain Gaon. Miri. It’s good to see you.”

He looks the part, she thought. “And I’m glad to see you. I didn’t know you were on Trinidad. I’d have invited you to meet the others.”

“The Liberator just jumped in, so you beat me here.”

Her years of experience and training in how to analyze what she saw and anticipate events made her reply automatic. “I’ll need to give my crew a chance to agree first. They sign off on it, or I can’t accept the mission.”

His features showed surprise for a second before he recovered. “And what makes you think I have a mission?”

“Because you’re out here and not on Canaan negotiating at the summit. That means this Curall issue is becoming critical. And if you’re here to do something about it, you need information about what’s going on. That means you need someone to approach the Jalm’tar, and it can’t be an ISF military ship. Given my training and your old crew’s experience, we’re the best for the job.”

He nodded, pursing his lip. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“As I said, my crew decides whether to accept or not.”

“All right. See what they have to say. I’ll be docking in an hour and probably free for a bit after that. Whatever the answer, I look forward to seeing you all again. Henry out.” His image blinked off.

Miri considered the inactive link quietly. She didn’t know for sure how the others would take it, save that Piper would not be a yes vote unless the others all agreed. She wondered if she should even make the offer or just call Henry back and tell him no. They were a civilian crew. It wasn’t their job. It wasn’t their place.

But her mind kept flashing back to Starfall. To the carnage at Sophia’s Hollow, the addicted thralls of the Droog Lord who’d fought to the death just to get more Curall and who’d wailed in pain and anger when they had been told the remaining Curall was gone. Even if she and her crew tried to stay out of things, the Jalm’tar, or whoever was pushing the substance, might still come after the Venture Star.

She keyed the link again, that time an audio-only message. “Miri to Piper, something unexpected has come up. I need to see you back on the ship in the next ninety minutes. We have a job offer to discuss.”

3

Piper received the call from Miri with some surprise. She walked into the Venture Star office to find Miri at her desk, hands pressed together and clearly deep in thought.

“You needed something, Miri?” She speculated about the answer. Word was spreading through the docks that the ISF flagship was in-system. And if Henry was here and Miri was cutting short her meal and calling Piper in to talk, that could only mean… He’s going to ask us to get involved again. Why do we keep getting caught up in these things?

“Going by the look on your face, I get the feeling you’ve already made a guess as to what’s going on.” Miri suppressed a sigh and gestured toward a chair, which Piper took. “Jim called. He’d like to bring us in for a job for the ISF.”

“What kind of job?”

“Cargo hauling with a side of intelligence gathering,” Miri answered. “Specifically, Yan’katar and finding out more about the Jalm’tar selling Curall.”

Yan’katar. It was two weeks away by jump, the farthest edge of Spinward Sagittarius, where the galactic arm became Centaurus. Exploration of the rest of Sagittarius was still ongoing and very slow, given the proximity of the Jalm’tar Empire. Few knew how large the Empire actually was, in population, worlds, or number of species. Yan’katar was the gateway to the Empire, effectively a protectorate the Jalm’tar maintained to facilitate foreign trade, since their space was barred to alien visitors. The handful of ships that had tried to pierce the Empire’s frontiers had never been heard from again.

“I remember the last trip the crew made there, several years ago,” Miri added. “The stories, at least, since it was before my time.”

“It was over a year before Lusitania, April and May of ’59,” Piper confirmed, letting the memories of their very short and memorable stay on-planet come to the forefront of her mind. “We were only on Yan’katar for about an hour before we made a run for it.”

“You were picking up a load for Frank Lou, right?”

“Yeah. He thought he was getting some new, high-value Jalm’tar medicinal herb.” Piper crossed her arms. A frown formed on her face. “We got shot at, both on-planet and by pirates who hunted us down. We later found the tracker in the cargo, and Oskar examined the herbs, pireem. He realized it would be addictive. Lou paid us anyway, but I’m pretty sure he was pissed at having bought a bunch of useless herbs.”

“Likely, he was.”

“So, Jim wants us to go back?”

“He does. The ISF needs to know more about what’s going on there—and in the Empire—and what’s causing this campaign of selling Curall and drawing worlds into treaties with the Empire.”

And once again, we’re the ones going into the fire? Piper thought bitterly. A small part of her revolted at the very idea. It brought forth a frustrated series of thoughts. Wasn’t Starfall enough? Or what we did on Hestia and Exodus Station and for Lusitania? Haven’t we done enough? Why do we keep getting pulled back into this kind of thing? Piper felt her face curl into a frown.

It didn’t go unnoticed. “Before I bring this before the crew, I want to hear from you, Piper. Do I bring this to a crew vote or turn Jim down? I’m giving you a veto here. If the answer’s no, I’ll pass it on to Jim. I won’t even bring it up with the crew.”

The “No!” nearly erupted from her throat, but it didn’t quite make it. For Jim Henry to ask them to do the job meant it was important, extremely important, and that he had no other alternatives. He needed people he trusted. Henry needed them. Given all he’d done for his crew, including Piper, rejecting him out of hand wouldn’t be right.

Henry wouldn’t be asking us if he thought it was suicide, if he didn’t think we could handle it, Piper told herself, seeking reassurance to calm the fear swelling inside her. “Let’s see what the crew thinks.”

“I’ll call them together. First, though, how are you feeling?”

The question caught Piper by surprise. Right. I’m dealing with a trained spy. “I wonder if I’m a fraud,” she admitted. “If I’m cut out to be where I am. I mean, I’m not like Markson, or even Vidia. Markson’s got that military vibe. He’s led people and all that, and Vidia has the quiet patience and faith. What have I got?”

“The respect of the crew, including mine,” Miri said. “You did well enough at Hestia.”

“I was a mess of nerves, and I never want to be in that kind of situation again,” Piper replied. “It’s just—I’m not really the command type, Miri.”

“Piper.” Miri leaned forward and reached out just far enough to touch Piper’s shoulder. “You’re where you need to be. You’ve made good calls. And I know you’re scared, but it’s something you can work through. Remember the others picked you for this work and for good reason.”

I just wish I knew what that reason was. Piper sighed. “I just… Starfall has me on edge, and now this, and… and I just wanted to go back to being a peacetime spacer, not dealing with galactic politics and planetary warlords.”

“I know. We hope whatever this is can be handled soon, and we can all get back to what we enjoy. Until then, stay strong, and don’t doubt yourself. We’re all in this together.” As Miri spoke, her commlink went off repeatedly. She glanced at it. “Looks like everyone’s assembled in the mess. Let’s go see what they have to say.”

Piper nodded and, with some guilt, hoped maybe they would say no when she couldn’t.

Somehow, though, I don’t expect they will. She sighed quietly. Not when it’s Jim Henry asking.

His first steps into the Trinidad hangar holding the Venture Star surprised Henry. While the ship itself was one he’d interacted with only briefly before handing it over to Miri, the sight of it nestled in the repair gantries brought back memories. He could envision the Shadow Wolf in the newer ship’s place, her gray hull illuminated by the lights while the dockworkers did their customary fix-up.

Those days were gone, along with the Wolf. A pang of grief shot through him. Felix. His old childhood friend, Felix Rothbard, had died at the helm of the old ship. He’d died to save Henry, his crew, and the innocent Hestians they’d liberated, along with Felix’s CDF team and the invaluable intel they’d uncovered. I’ll get a chance to thank him one day. For what he did and for being the friend he was.

Shaking off the feelings, he continued onto the gantry. He remembered enough of the Venture Star’s layout that he found the entryway and followed it to the ship’s gallows. The crew waited for him there, a combination of familiar faces and new ones. One of the new crew, a fair-skinned man with a familiar style of combed sandy-blond hair, nearly stood at attention before catching himself. Ex-military. Ex-CDF, probably.

“Hello, everyone.” Henry glanced toward Samina and grinned. “No hugs today, Miss Khan.” He indicated his formal uniform. “I’ve got meetings with the Trinidad Council. Got to look right.”

“I’ll just get one next time,” she promised cheerily.

“Dr. Opema.” He nodded to the ship’s surgeon, Dr. Laila Opema, a female Tal’mayan, the one new crewmember he’d met. “I see you’re keeping my people in good shape.”

“Despite everything Starfall tried, yes.” Laila spoke with the particular timbre of Tal’mayan voices that made her sound off to Human ears, even if her English was quite decent.

“Here are our other new crew since we last met,” Miri said. “Allen Markson, Second Mate; Stepan Zakarov and Janet White, Astrogator and Astrogator’s Mate; and Khalid bin Tawfiq, crewhand. And our newest member…”

Henry locked eyes with the last figure, a woman in her forties. He knew her by sight and for good reason, though her skin was notably paler than it’d been at their last meeting over three years before. He almost spoke the name but caught himself.

“Cristina Silva e Rodrigues, hired on Starfall as a crewhand after her crew were lost to a pirate attack,” Miri finished.

Henry noted the intent look in her eyes and nodded, showing he understood what she was quietly getting at.

Previously known as Cristina Caetano, the so-called She-Wolf of the Tagus, leader of the Lusitanian fascist party, government minister of defense and home security, and secretly an anti-fascist trying to destroy the fascists from the inside, he noted privately. He flashed back to the day they’d first met in person, when she’d taken Jules Rothbard into custody for “anti-constitutional activities” and roped him into working for her. The same job that had led to his crew rescuing Miri and foiling the League of Sol’s year-long plot to usurp Lusitania’s government and turn Independent Space against the Coalition.

“Admiral Henry.” Cristina nodded politely. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And a pleasure to make yours,” he said. So the others don’t know—at least, not those who don’t already know. That’s fine by me. I can’t be sure how Prime Minister Ascaro would take it if she learned her old political enemy was still alive. “You’re the one who got the Curall sample first, I hear. Thank you for your bravery in that trying situation.”

“Thank you, Admiral. Given your record, that is high praise.” Cristina nodded to him.

“I’d like to extend the same to all of you,” Henry said. “It was not your job, what you did on Starfall, but you stuck it out, and you gave us the information we needed to deal with the threat. That’s why I’m here now, in fact. I assume Captain Gaon filled you in?”

“A trip back to Yan’katar,” Brigitte said. “To find out what’s going on there?”

Henry felt strangely reassured that she still had the wild hairstyle she preferred. “Generally. You’d officially be working for Lou, bringing a load of luxury goods for sale by his local agent.”

Pieter chuckled. “Given what almost happened to the last agent, I’m surprised he’s got someone out there again.”

“He knows how to motivate people. Usually with a lot of money.” Henry grinned. “So I’m here to find out if you’re interested.”

“Like you have to ask!” Samina’s laugh filled the room. “Of course! Brigitte’s told me all about that space elevator. I want to see it!”

“We’ve already decided to accept, Capt—Admiral.” Piper blushed at her slip of the tongue.

God bless you all and protect you. Henry nodded at Piper. “Don’t worry about the slip, Piper. I get it from Cera all the time. And I call her by her name half the time too. She’s doing well, by the way, and might come by later, but she had work to do back on the Liberator.”

Vidia chuckled. “I’m sure she’s been a handful. I’m still surprised she manages ta work under military discipline.”

Henry laughed. “She’s adapted, somewhat.” Granted, if we were CDF, it wouldn’t look nearly so good, but the ISF isn’t that formal yet. “Anyway, thank you all for agreeing to this. I know it can be dangerous, so I’d like you to keep that to a minimum. You don’t need to be heroes. Just go in, get what information you can, and come back, okay? No unnecessary risks.”

“We’ll do our best, Admiral,” Miri promised.

“I don’t doubt it. Neither does Lou, and he’s signing the paycheck for this.” Henry tapped a message onto his link. “I’ve just asked my people on the Liberator to ship over an internal QET transceiver. It should keep you from losing comms again, and it’ll ensure you can communicate in real time, even from Yan’katar.”

“A shame we didn’t have it on Starfall.” Markson grinned. “I hope this op will go nice and smooth and I can get back to being a civilian proper.”

I hope we can stop this Jalm’tar op so easily. “I’ll be praying for you, and I hope next time we can have a proper get-together to remember the old days. Godspeed, everyone.”

Markson replied, “Godspeed,” a moment before Vidia could, while the others nodded in acceptance.

Henry flashed them a final grin and departed. He’d made it to the airlock when he heard steps behind him and turned. “Making a new life for yourself, I see,” he said to Cristina. “I’m happy for you.”

“It’s honest work,” she replied.

“You know, when this is over, I could come clean with Ascaro. The PdDN’s completely gone back on Lusitania, and the populace embraced her recent constitutional reforms. You don’t have to stay away.”

“I do.” There was no mistaking the pain in her voice. “Maybe it wouldn’t matter today, but tomorrow, or next year, or maybe in a decade—it’d matter then. Someone would point at me and say it was proof the Falangist ideology hadn’t been given a fair chance, that I’d sabotaged them, and any discontent could re-empower the fascists.” Cristina shook her head. “I knew the price, Admiral Henry, and I chose to pay it. I’ll remain out here, in the stars.”

“Is it really that? Or is it because you feel guilty about what your followers did?” Henry waited to see if she would answer, but all he got were lowered eyes. You punish yourself worse than Ascaro would. “The offer’s always open if you want it. Until then, welcome to the crew, Miss Silva. I may not be the boss around here anymore, but I figure you’re one of us regardless.”

“Thank you, Admiral.” She smiled despite the grief and guilt still visible on her face. “Thank you very much for that.” After a nod, she turned and walked away.

Maybe one day she’ll forgive herself. Just like I had to. Henry let that thought linger in his mind before finishing his departure from the Venture Star.

4

The message moved quickly once it was received, routing through the channels of the Diplomatic Office until it reached Ubana’s State Secretary of Diplomacy, Jason Highwater. Now he stood with his peers before Chancellor Lilley, watching her as she quietly read the note’s content.

She read through it quietly. “They’ve made Lou’s role in the ISF official, I see,” she said. “And now they send him to persuade us. There is little point in humoring this.” Lilley put the pad down. “The note makes no promises to hear our grievances with the ISF’s decisions as of late. No pledge to withdraw from talks with the Coalition or end their campaign to suppress Curall. This would just be Lou trying to twist our arms. I’m inclined to ignore him.”

“That would play badly with the Assembly.” Sanchez frowned with disapproval. “It makes us look too hasty, or bought and paid for by the Jalm’tar. The uncertainties are strong enough I think Goddard could win over the waverers. The Government would be brought down.”

Lilley pursed her lips. “Then we waste time with a show of diplomacy?” She restrained herself from giving voice to the frustrated thought that flashed through her mind. Or is this your way of trying to back out of the course after we all agreed that this was the right path to take? “And Lou might be coming for other reasons. I wouldn’t put it past someone like him to bribe the waverers.”

“We shall see that he doesn’t.” The new speaker was at Sanchez’s side. Carla Pacetti was Lilley’s age and held the portfolio of State Secretary of Home Affairs, meaning Ubana’s planetary police and internal security agencies. “My people are keeping an eye out for these things.”

“Lou has the resources of an interstellar state at his beck and call and connections to the Hestian revolutionaries who spent decades evading the police apparatus of the megacorps holding their world.” Lilley shook her head. “He’d find a way to get around our precautions. And we are not at the beck and call of a megacorp owner or the ISF governments, especially given their betrayal of our interests. You’re asking me to take a risk here we needn’t take.”

“I’m asking you to consider the politics of what’s going on and what you’re doing,” Pacetti retorted. “That incident in Alpano, for instance.”

“We were acting appropriately to enforce planetary law on local authorities defying it and the civil rights of the distributors.”

“That’s not how it looked on the vids. It looked like the PLEB was used to crack down on domestic opposition.”

Lilley sighed. That hadn’t quite been what she’d intended by sending Ubana’s Planetary Law Enforcement Bureau to seize Curall taken by local suppliers of the Alpano police force at the behest of their corrupt bastard of a mayor. They’d far exceeded her desired goal.

“The ISF let us down by agreeing to this Canaan summit, and we’re committed to the Jalm’tar as a counterbalancing influence,” Sanchez said. “But the Government must attend to other items of our parties’ planks, and we can’t do that if we lose a vote of no confidence because you’re being obstinate.”

Lilley heard what he wasn’t saying there. Let Lou come, and hear him out, or we resign. Given how her Cabinet had arranged themselves around Sanchez, they were clearly in agreement and confident she would back down.

She would have to. Having her entire Cabinet resign would end up in a vote of no confidence anyway. She would lose the Chancellorship to Goddard, who would, undoubtedly, reverse course, reinstate the ISF ties, and block Curall sales. She couldn’t let that happen, especially that last part.

If I pushed the President, he could call new elections. I can make Curall acceptance a central party plank. I could make it the basis of the election. But can I gamble on it?

No, I can’t.

She nodded, keeping down the sigh that formed in her throat. “Very well, I’ll hear what Lou has to say, but I expect this Cabinet to stay the course.”

“We will,” Sanchez promised. “The independence of Ubana is the most important policy. I can’t imagine that anything Lou says will change the facts of events on Canaan.”

“Nor can I.” Lilley folded her hands together. “We’ll be ready to receive him regardless, and ideally, it will not backfire on us. Is there anything else the Cabinet wishes to discuss?” She waited to hear from them, but no one spoke. “Then I will see you gentlemen and ladies later.”

A series of nods answered her, followed by the Cabinet’s quiet departure from the office. Once they were gone, she allowed herself a moment’s respite from duty to collect her thoughts. Parliamentary politics. They’re better than autocracy, but God, they can be an annoying pain in the rear. And I don’t need them turning on me—not when matters are so close to a resolution.

After another second of quiet breathing, Lilley turned back to the draft legislation that would enable some of the Jalm’tar association treaty provisions.

With half an hour before another Assembly session was due to begin, Sanchez went to the Assembly cafeteria to grab a bite to eat. A spicy chicken stew fit his mood, with a coffee to recharge for the coming session.

I do wonder if we picked the right person, he pondered, considering Chancellor Lilley. She’d seemed to be the right woman for the job three years ago, mixing passion, thoughtful speaking, and a grasp of political realities with a reputation that made her popular among the electorate as a humanitarian-oriented legislator. Their policies weren’t popular among certain sets, and the regulations and taxation levied on offworld corporations had been repeatedly challenged by the same, but she’d weathered the storm well enough. And before their surprising relenting to the Coalition’s whims recently, the ISF had seemed a wise choice for the future. A way for Ubana’s security to be guaranteed.

But then Curall came. Her devotion to supporting its use is becoming a liability.

“So, Lilley’s going to let the ISF state their case?”

The question prompted Sanchez to look up. Assemblyman Paul Rodriguez came from the same community Sanchez had grown up in. They were both third-generation Ubanans from the New Tejano settlement. He had wisps of gray hair at the temples that contrasted with the light brown on the rest of his head. By comparison, Sanchez’s hair was mostly dark gray with some remaining dark brown. Also, Rodriguez kept his facial hair groomed, whereas Sanchez preferred to remain clean-shaven. Their dress sense was the same, to the point that the color of their collars was the only difference between their suits.

“One of these days, the leaks from the Diplomacy Office are going to get a lot of people in trouble,” Sanchez mumbled before taking another bite of stew.

Rodriguez chuckled. “You’ll recall I’m the Shadow Secretary of Diplomacy, so I have better means than most.” His title reflected that, should the Opposition ever form a government, he was the selected Secretary of Diplomacy. It was one of the more critical Cabinet seats and reflected his close association with Samuel Goddard, the senior Liberal Party politician and the Opposition’s chosen leader. “How much arm-twisting did you have to do?”

“None.” It was the best kind of truth for a politician—a technical one.

The look in Rodriguez’s eyes told Sanchez he wasn’t fooled. “The unspoken threat to resign has always been a great unofficial weapon against a Chancellor pushing beyond their Cabinet’s limits. I just hope you don’t let her go too far anyway.”

“She’s smarter than you think.”

“She’s always been idealistic and unrealistic, and now she’s going too far, even by your standards,” Rodriguez retorted. “That Alpano business shows she’s out of control.”

Sanchez deigned to give a quick response, that of an eye roll. “Your man there is one of the most corrupt municipal officials on the planet. Even if you think Curall’s bad news, you and I both know he’d have ended up selling the seized stock on the down low.”

“Mayor Gerhardt’s a bastard, yeah, but the boots came out. It was a sloppy use of police power, and you know it. And now you’re letting her tear up our oldest relations in favor of an alien empire that’s rarely stepped foot in our region of space before last year.”

Sanchez sighed and set his spoon on a napkin to give his full attention to the matter. “The Jalm’tar are a valuable counterweight now that the Coalition’s at peace with the League.”

“The ISF was a lot closer to what we wanted and needed.” Rodriguez stopped to accept a glass of either tea or coffee from one of the cafe waitresses.

“They were until they showed their true colors,” Sanchez said. “They’re willing to sell out to Canaan.”

“Forging an alliance with them isn’t the same as selling out. Otherwise, I could—and would—use that same turn of phrase on your party and your little ‘association’ with the Jalm’tar.” Rodriguez folded his arms over his chest. “Just listen to this rhetoric and think about how it makes you sound. Canaan’s hundreds of light-years away. I can’t believe you think they’re that much of a threat.”

“They’ll always be a threat,” Sanchez retorted. “It’s the nature of power, for one. They’re the strongest state in Sagittarius, even if they’re militarily weaker right now. Give it ten, fifteen years, and they’ll be stronger than ever. And history shows that without peer power to hold them back, they’ll push everyone else around.” He noticed Rodriguez’s eyebrow arch. “Still not convinced?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Well, I can’t say I didn’t try.” Sanchez sighed and pushed the bowl away. “The people love her. They love the image—the wholesome family woman and now grieving widow and mother still fighting for their needs to make their lives better.”

“People aren’t that foolish. They know she’s got quite a good political mind.”

“Oh, they do, but they want to be fooled. They want to think someone like Lilley exists as she appears in their heads. It’s a powerful thing.” Sanchez sighed at his own words. “Too powerful, maybe. Her prior battles with interstellar pharmaceutical providers, essentials importers—they remember it all. She’s their champion against the mighty, and that includes the Terran Coalition. Her support of Curall as a means to heal without relying on the Coalition’s medical technology is one many have taken up, and I fear that if they are pushed, their devotion could become violent.”

“So that’s it?” Rodriguez’s voice was bitter and forceful. “You’ll let her give our independence away because you’re afraid her followers might become violent. What do you think will happen to the people who disagree, though? Do you think they’re going to sit back and let this happen?”

“I think they’re not so desperate or passionate and will be less likely to act. So, for the sake of our world, I fear her followers more than her enemies.”

“That’s what it’s really coming down to? You’ll sign our world over to the Jalm’tar so her beloved followers don’t riot?”

“Save the rhetoric, Paul. You’re not on the Assembly floor,” Sanchez scoffed. “Feel free to employ it with the others, but I’m not breaking with my party leadership on this matter. That’s all there is to it.”

Rodriguez nearly spoke again, but then his lips thinned and his jaw clenched. Without another word, he departed.

Her day of meetings and state papers ended unexpectedly for Lilley when she was informed that Emissary sep Hrik’ma was waiting to see her. She drew a breath and ordered him called in, standing as the horned alien diplomat entered her office. He wore a formal suit of blue shaded with black. The upper right chest bore a bright-orange insignia, a trisected pyramid, which was a family sigil, by her recollection. His neon-pink eyes were larger than Human eyes and bore irises of bright blue. His hairless head of brown-toned flesh had a pair of horns the same color, shaded darker, coming from the top of his temples and sloping backward in a way similar to a ram or goat’s. His gloved hands had only three fingers besides the opposable thumb common for space-faring species, each digit thicker than a Human’s.

“Your Excellency. Right on time,” she said amiably. “I hope you’ve had no further complications.”

“Aside from the hostility we face from segments of certain governments, no, none.” Hrik’ma’s voice was, to her, thick-tongued and his English halting though well-spoken. “The treaty matches your requirements, I hope?”

“Mostly. A few points need clarifying, like the military cooperation, but your generosity in providing the Curall we need to keep a healthy populace makes the rest easier.”

“We believe Fortune favors those who give to end suffering. It shows bravery.” He went to his customary seat without needing to be prompted. “I hear the ISF is sending a delegation?”

“Yes.” Lilley nodded, pursing her lips. “Francois Lou himself, acting as their diplomat and not his own.”

“Master Lou. He holds great respect among my people for how well he has employed Fortune’s Favor. I look forward to meeting him.”

“I think he’s coming to rally opposition to the treaty. He’s refused proposals to market the Curall,” Lilley said. Another corporate suit afraid of change hurting his bottom line. That’s what he is. “I was admittedly tempted to tell him to stay away. I don’t need him or other ISF supporters riling up militant opposition.”

“No, I believe we have an opportunity, so it is best to welcome Master Lou.”

“Oh?” Lilley crossed her arms. “What opportunity?”

“He is a reasonable being, I have found.” Hrik’ma pressed his hands together. “And he recognizes opportunity. We could persuade him to see the Empire as an ally, an alternative to the Coalition’s offer. Alliance with the ISF would benefit all.”

“The ISF Council rejected Curall,” Lilley reminded him. “They’re already too close to the Coalition.”

“They are merely acting in perceived self-interest, and I am certain they will accept a better deal for their support.” Hrik’ma grinned softly and nodded. “I believe I may be able to persuade them, yes. Certainly, I can make clear the Empire’s dedication to keeping peace. And your world would flourish as the common associate.”

Lilley nodded slowly. “We could keep our old economic contacts without the ISF cutting them. And add yours. We’d be a new clearing port for goods.”

“Indeed, you may even rival Yan’katar in the Empire’s eyes.”

“It would be nice. Good for my people.” Lilley shook her head. “But I’m not sure it can be managed. Lou’s reportedly bringing Admiral Henry. He’s former Coalition, former CDF, and the one who committed the ISF’s ships to save Canaan from the League. He’ll sabotage any effort we make that would hurt the Coalition.”

“Henry…” A distant, searching look filled those pink eyes for a moment before they rose. “I remember the name. He visited Yan’katar once. A formidable being, yes, but practical. Either way, he cannot speak for all Independent Space. Bringing Lou into agreement will outweigh his voice.”

“Ideally so. My people will be hurt if trade with the ISF worlds goes down.” She shook her head. “If only those stubborn people would recognize what Curall could mean for us all.”

“It is always wise to be careful when a deal seems too beneficial, so I can understand. It took us quite a lot of effort to convince your world, after all. Speaking of which, you remain healthy?”

“I do,” she replied.

“The Curall has benefited you, then?”

“I don’t need it myself,” she said, “but every day I see the miracle for what it is. It’s why I’ve devoted so much to this treaty. Your people will make ours stronger, happier. I’ll push to my last breath to see it through.” Every word came from the heart, strong and true.

“Your support is appreciated, Chancellor.” Hrik’ma stood from the chair. “I am pleased to have met you, however briefly, but I am aware you have duties. I have my own.”

“I’ll see to it you’re invited to the treaty ratification once the final details are settled,” she pledged.

“I look forward to it. May Fortune’s Favor remain with you, Lady Chancellor.” After a polite head bow that showed the full profile of his horns, he departed the office.

Lilley watched him leave and checked her clock. Yes, she would head home soon, but right then, she still had papers to sign. She would be home soon enough.

5

Everyone was in place on the Venture Star’s bridge when Miri walked onto it. It was set up with the command seat toward the rear, looking forward at the primary and auxiliary stations filling the rest of the bridge. To the left of the chair, the sensor station provided feeds from the ship’s suite of electronic sensing stations. A second station, custom-built, beside it provided control for the ship’s unmanned weapons. Markson sat at the latter, given his previous CDF training, while Piper was beside him at the sensor station.

Across from them, along the right side from the central chair, Vidia sat at the communications station, giving him an easy view of the ship-operations display. Samina occupied the latter station’s seat for the moment with Pieter standing beside her. Stepan, as always, sat at the helm station up toward the front, where Janet had pulled up a chair near him.

The others—Brigitte, Khalid, Laila, and Cristina—had taken up spots around the bridge. All eyes were on Miri by the time she got to her chair.

“Everyone stocked up, I hope?”

“We all had our turn running to the stores on-station for whatever we wanted for the trip,” Piper confirmed. “Our food pantry’s fully loaded as well.”

“All fuel tanks are topped off,” Pieter added. “We’ve got enough fusion fuel to get us there and back twice, not counting the backup drive’s supply. And our life support systems are good. Carbon filters got scrubbed until they gleamed, and the tanks are all recharged and ready.”

“The karnon tanks are all at top capacity, so we’ve got plenty of firing time.” Markson tapped at his controls. “I still can’t believe they fitted a neutron cannon on this thing—even some League knockoff type.”

“Trinidad’s always shocked people with the modifications they can put on their ships.” Pieter flashed Miri a grin. “I’d say we’re going to give those drug-peddling Jalm’tar a real surprise if they try anything.”

“I’d rather not have to.” Miri shifted in her chair. “It looks like we’re good to go. Go ahead and signal our launch request.”

“Doin’ so now.” Vidia tapped a key. “Venture Star to Arm Two Control, we are ready for departure. Request launch clearance and transit vector to jump limit.”

Several moments passed before an accented voice crackled over the line. “Arm Two Control here. We have a vector ready for you. We are verifying your bay is clear and venting atmosphere. Launch in one minute.”

Vidia set the launch clock to the given time. Stepan raised his hands to the controls and sat still, as if he could become a statue from his lack of movement. Miri settled back into her chair while the crew all found seats. Standing during a launch tempted fate, as some often put it, and none were eager to do that.

The timer hit zero. Stepan reacted immediately, putting his hands in motion on the controls. “Launch engines engaged.”

The engines, placed along the ship’s belly, fired and gently lifted the Venture Star from the deck. Stepan brought the vectoring thrusters online next, turning the vessel toward the bay exit. The doors slid open before they arrived, permitting their launch into the void beyond.

Not that the void was empty. To one side, Trinidad Station itself continued its quiet spin while the other docking arms fanned out from the other side, a series of bars extending from the central docking structure attached to the end of the station, which resembled a ladder of sorts, each arm a pair of grips in sequence from top to bottom. Vessels of varying shapes and sizes approached and departed on vectors much like their own, while other ships, too large to dock in the main arms, were in station-keeping positions or connected to the ends of each arm.

Stepan’s course drew their attention to one of the undocked ships maintaining a safe distance from the traffic routes. While any number of ships in the system were armed, it was the only one to stand out as a fully armed modern warship, with a sharp sharklike prow and imposing turret mounts. The identifier FC-1 was emblazoned on the prow.

“Henry’s flagship, right?” Markson asked.

“The Liberator,” Piper confirmed. “Looks better than the last time we saw her.”

Miri nodded. That had been just after Third Canaan, when the Venture Star had arrived with a load of medical supplies, one of many spacers rushing such materials to the system to aid in the post-battle cleanup. That day, the Liberator had still borne the wounds from Henry leading her into the war’s last desperate battle. That damage was gone.

“Do any of ya regret not acceptin’ Captain Henry’s offer after Hestia?” Vidia asked, breaking the quiet. “Any one of us could’ve joined like Cera did.”

“Not for a moment,” Brigitte said. “I’m not the military type.” She glanced Markson’s way, as if challenging him to say anything sarcastic.

“I don’t either, though I do miss him and Cera,” Piper admitted.

“I miss them too.” Samina shook her head. “But that life isn’t for me. Even if I got to work with those special Matrinid reactors, I’m glad I stayed here.”

Pieter spoke next, eying the ship on the holo-display. “Though they are nice reactors. Proton fusion. I never thought I’d see something like that until I did.”

“That settles that question, I guess,” Miri said.

“What about you?” Piper turned her chair fully to face Miri. “I’m sure that with your background, you would’ve done well as Henry’s intelligence officer or whatever they call it.”

“I was a spy, not an analyst.” Miri grinned and shook her head. “So I wouldn’t have been as good at that job as you think. No, I’m done with uniforms, with having the fate of billions on my shoulders. This is the life for me.”

“Not so good at avoiding that burden, from what I see,” Stepan said.

All eyes turned toward him in surprise.

“Since we now have the fate of Independent Space riding on us.”

“I just need better practice at staying out of it,” Miri replied.

“Getting a signal from Liberator, relayed from th’ station,” Vidia said. “It’s Admiral Henry.”

“Put him on.”

There was a brief electronic crackle, but the signal was good, and Henry’s voice filled the bridge. “Be careful out there, Venture Star, and remember what I said about heroics.”

“We will, Admiral,” Miri assured him.

“Good. Safe voyage, and Godspeed to you, then. Henry out.”

“I’ve plotted our course to Yan’katar already,” Piper said. “It’s loaded in the astrogation system.”

Stepan shifted a hand over and tapped a few keys. “I see it. Setting jump coordinates for when we reach the limit.”

“Steady as she goes, Stepan.” Miri let herself relax in the chair and checked the projected time of Piper’s course. The length didn’t surprise her. Eighteen days and four hours to Yan’katar orbit. It’s going to be quite the trip.

The following day, Henry and Mei-Ling entered the conference room in Trinidad Station’s Administration Section. Linh was waiting for them, among others. He recognized Malala Khan, the Secretary of the station’s Engineers’ Guild and current Chairwoman of the Governing Committee of Trinidad Station, standing beside Captain Harry Jenkins, a former Trinidad privateer and captain of “Mad Jack” Dulaney’s fleet. The left side of Jenkins’s face still bore a bit of discoloration, having been rebuilt by Coalition surgeons after his extrication from his shattered ship, the Void Hunter, after the Third Battle of Canaan. He’s holding Mad Jack’s Committee vote for him, Henry recalled.

The fourth waiting figure was easily recognizable as well, given the cut of his expensive suit, the Chinese ideograph insignia on his tie, and the close resemblance he bore to Mei-Ling. Francois “Frank” Lou smiled thinly at Henry’s arrival. “Admiral.” His English had a thin Hestian accent that was weaker than Linh’s. “Good to see you. I look forward to working with you again.”

“We’re looking at a difficult job, I gather?”

“Likely. But we have a chance. Chancellor Lilley accepted my request for talks before the withdrawal date. I have clearance to bring the Vesta in-system.”

“But not my ship, of course,” Henry said.

“No. That would be seen, understandably, as an intimidation tactic. For security, the Liberator and any other Fleet vessels will have to remain a jump out.”

“I expected as much. I can transfer to your ship, then, unless you want me to stay offworld too?”

Lou shook his head. “I’ve no doubt her anti-Coalition rhetoric will make a target of you, but I want you close by regardless. The Jalm’tar will be present, and you’ve dealt with them directly, if briefly.”

“Then Captain Lou and I will join you on your ship before we reach Ubana.” I’ll get to see how it is to live among the filthy rich, I guess. Oh, woe is me.

“There’s still the question of dealing with whatever’s driving Ubana’s government to be this stupid,” Linh said. “The Ubanan ISU representative’s pushing the Union to accept Curall as a legitimate good for our lists. Any evidence that Curall is a fraud gets dismissed by conspiracy-mongering nonsense.”

“Nonsense but appealing nonsense to some.” Chairwoman Khan gestured to the seats, prompting everyone to take one. “Trinidad Station had some connections with Ubana before our recognition became widespread. The Ubanans being at the edge of settled space required them to make deals with us for fusion fuel and other resources we could provide, and they often provided us with raw foodstuffs when we ran short.”

“They were pretty chummy with Cyrilgrad too,” Henry observed. “Given what the Tokarev brothers have said.”

“Yes, and with the Teach Settlements as well. But those ties aren’t swaying them back our way. Other worlds around Ubana are tilting toward the Jalm’tar as well, all of which have heavy involvement in regional Curall distribution and sales.”

“They’ve reached all the way to the Coalition border, given Starfall had a problem with Curall.” Henry thought of Miri’s report and later findings of the planet’s settled cities having been influenced by outside parties.

“It was a reasonable strategy. Spread far and wide so we would be distracted but focus their efforts on a foothold.” Lou clasped his hands. “Breaking into new markets in business requires similar tactics. You keep those who would stop you guessing as to where your effort is concentrated, at least until it’s too late.”

“So, what do we know about Ubana?” Henry asked.

“They are a parliamentary republic initially settled eighty-four years ago.” Lou briefly focused on his thoughts before continuing. “The population came from numerous worlds but settled on English as a common language. It is a garden world, very close to Earth in climate variety and compatibility with Human settlement. The dominant political parties have taken the names of Liberals, for those favoring business interests, and Social Democrats, for the more economically populist thinkers. The Social Democrats won the last election cycle with Assemblywoman Olivia Lilley as their party leader. She was elevated to Chancellor.”

“And she’s the big pusher for Curall, I hear.” Henry considered the information so far. Yeah, sounds like the kind of place the Jalm’tar would want to secure as a base.

Mei-Ling checked her notes. “She has made repeated public statements on its effectiveness and accused medical groups of conspiring with biotech and medical firms to suppress the evidence to avoid losing their market share. Her opponents have been painting her as unstable and conspiratorial in her behavior recently, but she has lost only a little support among the general populace. Many believe she is right and continue to support her.”

Captain Jenkins snorted derisively. “That’s what happens when you come from a world where modern medicine is prohibitively expensive and the firms refuse to lower prices to help. Hell, five years ago, half of Trinidad would have agreed with them on that stuff.”

“Many of us still do.” Khan grinned. “It’s why we’re hoping Prime Minister Nguyen’s suggestions for ISF-funded medical programs win support. But this is a more immediate problem. With no known cure, the dependency this drug creates has put thousands in danger if they lose access to Curall. Their worlds’ governments are thus easily pressured into accepting Jalm’tar demands for continued access. And because it temporarily relieves symptoms for so many diseases and conditions, it will be hard to persuade people not to try it, especially with no available alternatives.”

“Hopefully, we’ll figure out a cure.” Henry tapped his fingers on the table. “But right now, the important question is Ubana itself. What’s going on politically? Is anyone opposed to the Jalm’tar association treaty going through?”

Mei-Ling checked her notes and reports. “The Conservative Party under Samuel Goddard are opposed entirely and have swayed a few of the other minor parties and some of Lilley’s own Social Democrats to oppose it, but they’re still short on votes, and Lilley’s been pressuring the renegades back to widen her lead.”

“So we need to hope we sway them back. We’ll need to make offers at least.” Henry glanced Lou’s way.

Lou answered with a nod. “So we will, and I have entered discussions to accomplish that. For now, containment will be important. We must help worlds resisting the sale of Curall and continue research. Once we know more from various sources, we can change to an active policy.”

“I’ve spoken with Doctor Toussiant about…”

Khan continued while Henry retreated into his thoughts. The Tokarevs made her sound like she was a different woman now. Like she’d lost something warm she used to have. And she’s clearly driven to push the drug. Why? Could she be taking it? He shook his head at that. No, I think that’d be too easy to find out and would have been used against her already. No, it’s not her but someone else. Family? Or does she believe in Curall as a real cure for some other reason? If we’re to pull them back from the Jalm’tar, we’d better hope we find out.

The meeting concluded, and the attendees all filtered out. All but two. Once the others were gone, Mei-Ling exchanged eye contact with her father.

“How are you, my dearest?” he asked. “Do you like the work?”

“I do,” she replied. “Admiral Henry is a wonderful man to work with, and our work is important for everyone’s future.”

“I agree.” Lou leaned forward. “But I sense something in your eyes, Little Swallow. What is wrong?”

Hearing her childhood nickname, or at least her father’s favorite term of endearment for her, made it impossible to hide her feelings. “I miss my children,” she admitted. “I miss them very much, and I worry I’m not being a good mother.”

“You are working to create a better future for them, just as I did for you.” Recognition showed in his eyes. “Ah. There it is. How often I saw that pain in the mirror.”

“Father?”

“I was not always there for you and your brothers,” he continued. “I was away on the Fortunate so often or on my trips to consolidate my shipping company.” A bitter smile crossed his face. “I always consoled myself that I was making the money that would give you a happier life. But you grew so fast, and the time came that you felt like a stranger to me because you grew and I was not there.”

“I remember,” she answered softly, blinking back tears. “Just as I sometimes resented you. I wished you would just come home and stop traveling like you did, stop being away so much. Now I wonder if my children will resent me.”

For a moment, nothing was said. The next noise in the room came from Lou’s chair as he stood. Without a word, he walked over to her. His hand reached for her shoulder, and she placed her own hand on his shoulder in turn.

Only then did he speak. “I can’t tell you there will not be days you doubt. That they will not be angry with you or sad because you are gone. That is the nature of things. But that does not change the truth. Your children love you. Always remember that, Little Swallow. Have faith in that love, as I had faith in yours. And when the time comes, you will go home. They will shriek with joy. Your heart will grow warm as you bring them into your arms, and it will all be worth it. I promise you that.”

She nodded and smiled. “Thank you, Father.”

6

Given the aspirations of Ubana’s founders, they ensured the Chancellor’s Office and other offices of state had visible windows to the street outside. They reflected the view that government should be transparent as often as possible and the leaders of the planet able and willing to face their fellow citizens as such.

Lilley stood at the window behind her desk and looked out onto the courtyard and lawn below. A line of police and security framed the courtyard, while within, a group of dozens, maybe hundreds, of Ubanans shouted and held up placards denouncing her as a sellout. “Stop Trying to Drug Us!” one sign demanded. Another read, “Association = Conquest.”

When she saw the passion of some of those present, her thoughts turned to what stood between them and her. If there weren’t security features built into the windows, I might worry about being seen. A low sigh escaped her throat. They don’t understand. That’s all it is. They haven’t seen what I’ve seen. Give them time.

“Others are protesting planet-wide.” Pacetti was present again, that time with Director Victor Zoukas of the PLEB and Vice Director Horace Waterly of the Planetary Security Agency, head of the PSA’s Internal Security Division. “The chatter on the net isn’t radical, though. Nor do I see it becoming so without significant action to drive them toward it.”

“Goddard must be thrilled.” She crossed her arms and turned to face them. “I just had another Assembly member ask me to reconsider the ISF withdrawal. My party wavers just as my opponents triple their efforts. Are you sure they’re not receiving offworld funding?”

“We’ve found no indication of that. Their public funding records track the donations quite well, and everything we’ve investigated proves to be local.” Director Zoukas kept his arms at his sides. “Your opponents have deep pocketbooks, Chancellor, but they are still remaining within the bounds of the law.”

Lilley frowned. “Yet this is close to what was done on Hebridia, where the Coalition bankrolled the opposition that left the planet ungovernable.”

“Old Laughlin saw to that himself, whatever he spouted while in exile.” Zoukas shook his head. “I understand you are concerned about undue foreign influence, but the opposition has remained steadfastly local, by all our findings.”

For a moment, Lilley locked eyes with the man, wondering if his wording was just precise or quietly accusing. If I react, then I look guilty. But to think I have to stand here and take such a bald-faced charge!

“We’ll keep monitoring, of course, if just to keep things above board,” Pacetti assured her, briefly glaring at Zoukas while Attorney General Matthias Guifoyle watched with thinly disguised irritation.

But you won’t find anything. Our worlds never do. The frustration welled up within her. She was David fighting Goliath, as it always was when the independent worlds tried to confront the Coalition by their lonesome. The ISF was supposed to resist them, but Ascaro’s proving to be a naive fool. To think I admired her! Now we have to fend off their influence by ourselves, including this campaign to suppress Curall. And I can’t even turn to my Cabinet for support. They’ll say I’m being paranoid if I suggest what I’m thinking.

“Keep monitoring the situation, then, and let me know first thing if we have any indicators of foreign intervention.” She returned to her chair and leaned on her desk. “And no more incidents like Alpano.”

“Chief Inspector Ribera has already tendered his resignation, and the agent in charge of the raid was suspended without pay pending investigation into his behavior,” Zoukas said.

“Good. Now, you wished to discuss some matters about the association treaty?”

“The specific nature of the enclaves the Jalm’tar will form needs to be addressed,” Guifoyle said. “Depending on the interpretation of the term and the laws associated, it could be said we are giving them extraterritorial rights and accepting their aristocratic social structure, which is at odds with Ubana’s laws.”

“Please place the details in a memorandum for the diplomatic office. We will reopen the terms if necessary.” She cast an eye on her desk clock. “Is there anything else?”

“That is all for today, Madame Chancellor.” They gave her a final nod and filed out of the room.

And just in time. She leaned back in the chair for a moment and sighed before sitting forward once more, her mind focusing on the paperwork she needed to complete before she could leave for the day.

The Executive Mansion sat nearly a kilometer away, along Constitution Park and the Settlers’ Plaza. It conformed to the same neobaroque Mediterranean architecture as the other major government structures of Tyemore and presented a palatial image in comparison to the modern skyrises towering in the adjacent commercial and residential districts.

The President’s Office, almost literally at the center of the building, was on the second floor with a large window looking out at the front gate. The entryways were to the sides, and the President’s desk was placed to face the window. It was intended to be symbolic, to show the head of state always had an eye on the world they were pledged to serve.

In practice, it could be very distracting, but for President Albert Harcourt and his predecessors, this was easily borne, since generally the President did not have much to do in the way of running the world. He confirmed laws and made appointments, yes, but was constitutionally required to win Cabinet approval for the latter, and his influence in the legislature was nonexistent. Ubana was strictly a parliamentary republic, and the Presidency was to serve as the embodiment of the state, not the government. That was the role of the Chancellor, selected by the Assembly to oversee the Government, charged with enacting their laws and suggesting new ones if needed.

But he still had certain powers that the Chancellor did not, the most important of which was the topic currently under discussion.

Harcourt was an older man, already past the midpoint of his life. Years of responsibility had created the deep furrows of his brow and provided every wrinkle on his grizzled face. His hair no longer had any color, just some tinges of gray mixed with white. While he looked like he’d once been the spry sort of wiry, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his body. His light-gray dress coat, high collared, was his fashion, like it was for many older Ubanans. It was a particular style not found on many other worlds.

Samuel Goddard had a similar outfit, though where Harcourt was fair-skinned, Goddard was a light tan in color. His close-cropped brown hair had started to gray at the edges, and a close-shaven beard covered his chin, neck, and jaw. Paul Rodriguez was to one side. To the other sat Rudolfo Bagnini and Rosalie Crenshaw, the Shadow Secretaries of Home Affairs and Health.

“Alpano is only the beginning, Mister President,” Goddard said firmly. “Lilley is out of control and pushing our world into a crisis. She’s handing us over to the Jalm’tar for a drug that has no clinically proven trials to justify the claims being made.”

“Not only are there no clinical trials—the Jalm’tar and their distributors refuse to permit one, insisting the formula is a state secret.” Crenshaw wore a female variant of their dress suits with trousers. Her hair was dyed to her natural amber to hide the gray of age. “I don’t know her motives or what she thinks she’s seen, but there’s no justification for her faith in the drug.”

Harcourt shook his head. “I can’t dispute any of this, but you’re asking me to do an end run around constitutional principle. I need a vote of no confidence to insist on new elections.”

“Only in normal circumstances.” Goddard shook his head. “Constitutional law allows you, Mister President, to demand she relinquish office if her judgment is clearly impaired or if she has acted in a fashion hostile to our world’s security and laws. This ‘association treaty’ is a fig leaf for turning us into a tributary state of the Jalm’tar. We’ll be reliant on them for trade. Municipalities will be required to provide Jalm’tar with extraterritorial legal protections.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Every legal expert I’ve brought the draft to says otherwise, even Social Democratic party members. I’m trying to get the votes, but she’s pushing the agenda ahead to stop me, and some of her supporters are threatening violence. You can step in and end this, Mister President.” Goddard leaned forward in his chair, his brown eyes intent on Harcourt. “I’m asking you as a fellow Ubanan to stop Lilley. Cite her for contempt of the Constitution, and call new elections.”

“You are asking me to start a constitutional crisis, Mister Goddard, one that would undermine everything my office stands for.” Harcourt met the stern gaze with one of his own. “You want new elections. Win a policy vote. Break off enough dissenters that she loses a vote on her policy. She’ll be bound by practice to call new elections then, and if she tries to refuse, I’ll force the issue. But I will not overstep the powers of my office without firm proof to justify it.” He settled his hands on the desk and watched, quietly, for any reply.

Goddard and his people exchanged frustrated glances. Rodriguez is the smartest of you and knew this wouldn’t work. Why are you getting desperate? Not getting the defections you were counting on? Harcourt didn’t voice that suspicion, since it would accomplish nothing. “Do you wish to discuss anything else?”

“No, Mister President.” Goddard stood. “Thank you for your time.” His voice rumbled in a way to make clear his disappointment. Without another word, he and his entourage left.

Once the door was closed, Harcourt activated the intercom. “Mr. Kosinski, please alert me if anyone else seeks an interview. I have state papers to finish.”

“Of course, Mister President,” came the reply through the speaker built into the desk.

Harcourt drew a breath. His head was only lightly throbbing, but he could feel it. The faint burning was already in his head and going down his neck. His heart beat hesitantly. Damn this disease. With a trembling hand, he took a physical key off the desk and unlocked the lower left drawer. Inside were top-secret state papers, mostly—intelligence reports and the like.

On top of the papers was a piece of medical equipment, a new-model dermal mist injector that painlessly pressed droplets of solutions through a body’s pores, dispensing them into capillaries to be drawn into the bloodstream. His heart thumped more loudly in his chest as the slight burning pain continued to travel downward, all while the muscles in his legs spasmed. Not much time. It’s getting worse. He pulled up a sleeve and pressed the injector to the vein over his elbow. His finger squeezed the trigger.

The relief came quickly. His legs stopped spasming. The faint burn ceased moving downward, fading completely over thirty or so seconds. His heartbeat steadied and no longer felt like a misfiring piston in his chest.

Relieved of his symptoms, he found himself staring at the injector. The vial, visible within, was mostly empty, its dose used up, but he could still see the spots of vibrant-blue fluid. A feeling of shame came to him, but he pressed it away before placing the injector back into the drawer. He had business to finish.

The Chancellor’s Residence was across the street from the National Palace. It was smaller than the Executive Mansion, though not lacking in any way in terms of comfort, to reflect it had no need to perform duties such as state dinners and the like. The Chancellor did business in the confines of the National Palace and Offices of Government. Her living space was her own, just as the Cabinet secretaries and the other Assembly members had residences of their own.

Leaving her security detachment at the door, Lilley entered the domicile and noted from the lack of appetizing smells coming from the kitchen that dinner wasn’t prepared yet. Rather than checking if her cook was present, she moved on through the quiet parlor and to the stairway up to the bedrooms. She turned toward her bedroom and approached, just to turn to her right and open a door adorned with decals of cartoonish figures. Through the door came a distinct sound that sent a sharp dagger of ice through her heart.

She opened the door swiftly, so swiftly that she caught one of the occupants by surprise. Kaylee, her hired nurse, started by one of the beds, surprise briefly showing on her white face before it settled into recognition.

“Miss Lilley.” She rose from the bedside. “Everything was fine until about twenty minutes ago, but the symptoms—”

“Thank you, Kaylee. I’ll take it from here.”

A doubtful look crossed the younger woman’s face, but she knew Lilley wanted her out, and if she knew why, she wasn’t saying. She left the room swiftly.

“Mommy. Mommy, the burning.” From one of the beds, her seven-year-old son, Samuel, sat up, misery all over his wide face. He tried and failed to fight back tears.

“Mommy, it hurts!” Five-year-old Rosa didn’t sit up, sobbing quietly as she lay still. “Mommy!”

Lilley’s heart broke. It always broke to see them like that. To know they were suffering. Just as their father had suffered and died. She’d been helpless to stop it then, to even alleviate his suffering.

For her children, she had an option.

“Mommy’s here now. It’ll be okay.” She placed her purse on the nightstand and opened one of the interior compartments. The size meant she had to tug and pull and turn to get it out, but finally, the injector came free. Once it was out, rushed steps carried her to the closet door. She opened it, calling out, “Mommy’s here, little sweeties,” while their whimpers and cries continued a pitiless assault on her soul. She bent low, reached toward the rear of the closet, and pulled a small drink out of the way to get the lockbox behind it. With her thumb, she triggered the lock and freed the latch, letting her raise the lid. She jostled the contents with the swiftness of her movements, creating a soft jangle of clinking as the glass vials smacked against one another. Her fingers wrapped around two of them, and she pulled them out. Within, bright-blue fluid sloshed and shifted.

Lilley set the box down and closed it, the lock automatically clicking into place on the latch. She pushed it back to the rear of the closet before standing and rushing to the nightstand. I did Sammy first yesterday, she recalled, taking the injector in hand and putting in a vial. Once it locked into place, she got down on one knee and pressed the injector to the vein on Rosa’s wrist. A squeeze of the trigger sent solid jets of droplets through the pores of the little girl’s body, a painless injection.

Once the vial was empty, she pulled the injector back and leaned in to give Rosa a kiss on the forehead. “There, sweetie.”

While Rosa continued whimpering and crying, Lilley loaded the other injector and went to Sammy’s bed. He had the sense of mind—and the remaining strength—to offer his arm to her, and she swiftly located the injection site and repeated the process. By then, Rosa’s crying had gone silent.

When the vial was empty, she kissed Sammy on the forehead as well. “There. It’ll get better now.”

Both injections done, Lilley threw the vials away in a wastebasket set aside for them and put the injector back in her purse. She picked up Rosa and brought her to Sammy’s bed, laying her down and cuddling up to them both. “It’s okay now, sweeties. It’s okay. Mommy’s here, and the hurt will go away.”

One minute then another passed. The children relaxed in her arms.

“The burning’s gone,” Sammy murmured.

“Mommy, you took it away again.” Rosa brought an arm up to wrap around Lilley’s neck, at least as much as the small limb could manage.

“Mommy will always take it away.” Her heart eased with every second her children weren’t in pain. Slowly, deliberately, she sat up, leaving her children to sit on the bed. “Let’s go downstairs. I’ll get you some dinner, and we’ll watch your shows together before bedtime.”

They nodded, Sammy particularly enthusiastic.

“Mommy, will you carry me?” Rosa stretched her arms out.

“Of course.” Lilley lifted her daughter up and held Rosa against her left shoulder, using her left arm to balance her. She extended her right hand for Sammy, who took it but plainly did not want to be carried.

As they walked to the door, Lilley’s eyes briefly passed over the portrait she’d placed on the children’s wall. It was one of the last images of their father before his illness became serious, showing him strong and full of love and life with a wide smile. Her heart swelled and ached at seeing it. I lost you. I will not lose our children, she vowed.

7

Seated at her desk, Miri checked over the daily activity report Henry transmitted to keep them up-to-date. Sightings of Jalm’tar warships were increasing in the farther reaches of the settled systems of Independent Space, with Ubana as the clear focal point of their efforts. He thanked her for updating him on some of those ship sightings during their transit, often in the company of various cargo vessels.

“Even after fifty years, people don’t seem to know much about the Jalm’tar.” Piper looked up from her tablet. “I’ve gone over every GalNet site I can think of, and it’s just a lot of rumors and basic information. The only reason we know anything about their anatomy is because Oskar published his notes from our last trip.”

“How did he learn anything about them when you only spent an hour or so on Yan’katar?”

“Captain Henry had him perform an autopsy on one of the attackers that got in the airlock before we launched,” Piper said. “It’s how he figured out they tried to kill Lou’s agent, for one, and that pireem was addictive.”

“I see.” Miri sat back in her chair. “They are a secretive people. That much is clear. They ban aliens from their settled systems. All trade is routed through Yan’katar. We have no information on their government structure—aside from their being governed by a hereditary emperor of some kind—or much about their society. About the only thing commonly known is that they worship luck and fortune like a god.”

“Casino owners probably love them, then,” Piper joked. She set her tablet on the desk. “Not much to go on, though. How does that even work? I mean, people pray to God, or a god anyway, because we believe in a benevolent force, probably our creator, who is guiding the universe, and we want His help. Or Her help, I guess, if you’re like Laila. Luck isn’t supposed to work that way.”

“Not to you and me, but perhaps they have a different view of it. Or spirituality.” Miri let out a small laugh. “I suppose the Lord could have made Himself known in a different way, or perhaps they interpreted His will differently.”

“Doesn’t that argue against the idea of God representing a universal truth? If every species is given different truths?”

“Or perhaps we’re all just incapable of grasping the truth. We interpret it through our own way of thinking, our own cultures. My people believe we are the chosen people of the Lord, after all. Rabbi Yishai hammered that into me at a young age.” Miri let out a small sigh. “He would not be happy with me for even considering otherwise. But I sometimes wonder...”

“Might want to bring that up with Vidia,” Piper suggested. “He may not be Jewish, but he’d want to help you with a crisis of faith.”

“Maybe I will.” Miri sat up. “But it will be later because, right now, my stomach has a greater demand on my time.”

“Lunch does sound just right,” Piper agreed.

Without another word, both rose and went for the door.

Given the size of the Venture Star crew, cross-training was a part of life. Every crewhand knew how to do basic repairs on the systems, as was common on many independent vessels. On the Star, that went further, with a number of the crew taught how to do one station or another, allowing for the regular relief of the normal bridge crew.

It was Cristina’s first day at the helm. She’d studied the controls with Stepan and Piper before being allowed anywhere near the station, and she wouldn’t be required to do much beyond monitoring their thrust level and standard in-system course while waiting for the jump drive to cool.

Her hands stayed well away from the controls for the various directional thrusters and the launch engines, hovering over the autopilot controls primarily. The small holo viewscreens at her station reflected the emptiness of space around them. Out there, beyond the atmosphere of a planet that might amplify the light passing through, space was nothing but black save the pinpricks of planets or stars. Not unless they got close to something, or the system was within or near a nebula field.

She was not alone. Seated behind and to her side, Markson observed the ship’s sensor output, presumably as empty as her smaller-scale readout. As Second Mate, he was in charge currently, not that there was much to do with his responsibilities. That he was ex-CDF was easy to spot, though he didn’t act like the officers and former officers she was used to dealing with.

“You served, right?”

Seconds passed before Cristina looked up from her board. “Served? In the military?”

“Yeah.”

“Briefly.” Old memories came to mind. “A one-year term and I left. As a soldier, I was only adequate, you might say.”

“Well, everyone reacts differently to putting on the uniform. Any uniform.” When the silence returned, Cristina wondered if she would be spared more questions, just to be disappointed when he asked, “So, I know your world had that sort of dictatorship until recently. The Estada Nova?”

“Estado Novo,” she corrected softly. “It is Portuguese for ‘New State.’ And it was still a limited democracy but with the State having new wide-ranging powers to police the population for foreign influence or opposition to the new regime. And the Falange and other fascist movements wished to go further while democratic parties wanted to undo the reform, which led to them being the frequent target of the State security services and fascist militants.” Like my family.

The memories of her dead family came forward thirty years to haunt and comfort her. She’d done so much to save the world her parents had loved, but her actions would have made them hate her, for good reason. Cristina Caetano was the kind of fascist monster my mother raised me to abhor. How I must have disappointed her.

The question she dreaded came next. “What did you do about it?”

The truth is out of the question. At least the whole truth. The fewer people who know I am Caetano make it less likely the surviving fascists will find out and use my “deception” as an excuse to come back. After considering her answer for a time, Cristina sighed. “I thought I could hurt them from the inside, so I joined their ranks. But nothing I found would work. Others brought them down, not I.” I caused so much misery, and in the end, it feels like I did very little to make up for it. Being exiled from my homeworld is as much a just punishment as it is a necessity.

“You had CIS contacts, though? In order to get that message to the Captain back on Starfall, you had to have those.”

“I did. I approached CIS for assistance, and in the end, they helped me start my life over.” At least that much was the truth, in a very basic sense.

“Good for them, and good for you.” Markson nodded. “Everyone has to fight the tyrants in their own ways. You tried the sneaky way. Even if you failed, it puts you above all the people who never tried.”

The people I hurt may feel differently.

A tone came from both of their boards.

“Getting wormhole formation ahead,” Markson said. “A lot of them. Command crew to the bridge.”

The sensors stabilized. The incoming ships were at the proximity sensors’ limit on the helm station feed. Ships, plural, so it wasn’t just one trader on a route, and that could mean pirates.

Before Cristina could ask, Markson hit the ship intercom, generating an electronic tone. “Jalm’tar warships have jumped in. I repeat, we’ve got Jalm’tar vessels ahead. Captain to the bridge!”

The uncertainty and fear roiling through Piper threatened to choke her as she arrived on the bridge. She went for her vacant station while Miri took up the command chair. A quick check showed no communications yet from the incoming Jalm’tar ships. Stepan arrived next, still pulling his jumpsuit on with his hair wet from the shower.

Cristina let him take over and vacated the bridge without a word. “Other contacts on approach vector.”

“No signs of an active scan yet,” Markson added.

Piper looked back toward Miri. “So far, so good, then.”

“So far.” Miri nodded, but her expression was pensive. “Let’s not seem suspicious. Maintain current course and speed.” She thumbed the intercom button on her chair. “Engineering, we may need to make an emergency jump. Stand by.”

Pieter’s voice came loud and clear. “Standing by.”

Piper swallowed. The holoviewer displayed the incoming ships, a collection of vicious sharklike vessels around blockier ships that had a number of weapon emplacements, and other smaller vessels arrayed within the formation.

“Maybe it’s just a convoy,” she mused. “Maybe they’ll ignore us.”

“Maybe.” Markson snorted. “Or maybe they’ll recognize us from Starfall and decide they’re upset we revealed their little drug to the galaxy.”

“Still, there’s no point in doing anything to raise suspicion, so we just fly on.” In the captain’s chair, Miri remained calm, just as Henry often was in dangerous situations.

They make it look so easy. Piper tore her eyes from the screen to focus on her station. The ship’s operational display showed no system errors, the entire outline and the systems list all green. The communications screen was blank, with no incoming or outgoing signals, just the basic readout of all the ship’s transceiver systems being active.

One of those systems lit up. Data showed on the screen.

“Captain, we’re being hailed.” Piper’s heart hammered. Why would they be hailing the Venture Star if they’re just a convoy?

“Answer them.” Miri’s voice betrayed nothing but calm.

Piper’s fingers pressed the appropriate keys, establishing the protected datalink.

An alien voice spoke over the line. “This is Imperial patrol vessel Tanaral to foreign ship. You are in an Imperial patrol zone. Please state your business.”

“Tanaral, I am Miriam Gaon, Captain of the independent trading vessel Venture Star. We are carrying contracted cargo to the Yan’katar markets.”

Piper swallowed. She felt keenly aware that of the four people present, she was the least composed, given the fears battering her from the inside. Part of her said it was all a mistake and they should’ve stayed far away.

Her screens lit up as activity flowed through the datalink from the other ship. “Venture Star, thank you for your prompt reply. Please adjust course as directed to maintain safe distance, and may Fortune favor you with a pleasant and uneventful journey.”

Data in the form of Latin alphabetical letters and numbers flowed through the link. Piper recognized them as course information, and with a couple of button presses, she relayed them to the helm.

“Of course, Tanaral. We will adjust as necessary. A safe journey to you as well.”

The transmission cut from the other end. Piper breathed a sigh of relief. At the helm, Stepan already had his hands in motion, adjusting their course in line with the Jalm’tar request.

“Well, that’ll keep us up for a bit.” Markson laughed. “Just a routine patrol call. Guess this is what they mean about the guilty giving themselves away.”

“It is indeed.” Miri stood. “Maintain regular running after the course correction. We’ll remain up here until we finish the jump.”

So much for our down period. Piper returned her attention to her boards, waiting for the inevitable crash that always came when emergency situations proved not to provide emergencies.

Once they made their jump, Miri had everyone return to normal running status. She went to the galley to finish her meal, after which she would take a sleep period.

She was on her last bites of baklava when Pieter sat down across from her. A slab of mutton, precooked and newly warmed, sat beside a dollop of mashed potato and creamed greens. “Captain,” he said warmly. “Had us a small scare there?”

“A patrol. It was nothing, but there’s no telling if they might recognize us from Starfall, so it’s best not to take chances.” Miri took that final bite and savored the nutty sweetness of the dish. “Not that we could have done anything but run.”

“By silhouette, they might not know, given the modifications.” Pieter cut into the mutton. “Linh’s people do good work, even without her. I’ve tested the new cannon and the other systems and found nothing the usual care won’t tend to.”

“It’s always that way with jury-rigged systems. I doubt Auber-Eisenburg ever meant this design to tote plasma cannons, much less a neutron cannon.”

“No more than Holden-Nagata did.” The knife in Pieter’s hand stopped its back-and-forth motion, and his fork pulled free a chunk of meat. He didn’t take the bite as she anticipated, though. “And neither expected something like a fusion drive to be fitted in.”

Even without the tone, Miri could tell it wasn’t an idle comment. “You’re not about to tell me we have microfractures in the structure, are you?”

“No. Right now, our girl is as healthy as ever. But just like the Shadow Wolf, this ship will come apart if we use the drive too often. She’s not built for those stresses.”

“We’ve only used it a few times, so I hope we’ve got plenty of stamina in the frame.”

He nodded. “I’ll keep up the inspections—more than I did with the Wolf. I want to know the moment we have problems. It could buy us more time. But in the end, it comes down to not using it unless we really need it.”

“That’s been my plan, Pieter. I promise you.” Miri stood. “And when we get this done, we can go back to being normal spacers.”

At that, Pieter snorted before bringing his fork of mutton toward his lips. “We’ll see about that. God likes proving otherwise.” He took the bite and started chewing with satisfaction, though the smile his face struck Miri as more bemused than anything else.

“Ideally, He will be done testing us sooner rather than later.” After nodding a final time, she stepped away, leaving Pieter to his well-earned meal. Time to get some rest, though not before sending a note to Admiral Henry. That convoy was far too large to be a regular shipment. He needs to know.

8

The familiar acceleration of a wormhole entry told Henry the Liberator had arrived at their initial destination, Tibald. He glanced at the ship clock in his work office and back toward the tablet he was reading. Miri’s report of their contact with a convoy matched other reports he’d received of Jalm’tar warships escorting cargo vessels for protection. I’m just glad the Jalm’tar didn’t go after them.

A loud tone came from his link. He reached over and tapped it. “Henry here.”

“Admiral, a situation is developing. Jalm’tar warships are burning toward Tibald.”

Henry nearly jumped from his seat. Snatching the link, he left the office and struggled not to outright run to the command deck. Once present, he found Trang and Mei-Ling already present, the former overseeing her crew, while Mei-Ling waited beside the holotank near his observation chair, tablet nestled in her arms. Yellow contacts for potential hostiles already blinked, approaching the friendly green of what he gathered was Tibald’s system defense fleet.

“Do we know what’s going on?”

“The central ship in the formation is a cargo vessel. Not Jalm’tar, either, but a Goddard Model E cargo hauler.” Mei-Ling’s hand ran through the hologram, prompting it to turn a basic model into a visual image of the ship.

Henry recognized the design, one of the many workhorse cargo carriers found in Sagittarius. The sharp-prowed shark shapes around it were Jalm’tar warships, another familiar sight. “They haven’t accepted any warnings?”

“We have a line with Tibald System Defense. They say the transport ship is refusing orders to depart.”

“Link us to both ship groups. I want to speak to them.”

Another of the officers went to work at his console. Henry took his seat and considered the situation’s possibilities—and the risks—while he waited for a response. The Jalm’tar have been careful so far. Why get hostile now? Or did someone local pull something to give them an opening?

“Open link with Fleet Captain Gabriel Tobay of the TDV Montague and Captain Paul Madison of the Voidcutter.”

Henry almost asked why the Jalm’tar weren’t the ones hailing, but the comm officer explained it for him with an additional note. “ID code is registered to Ubana.”

So, the Jalm’tar are here for a civilian trade ship? “All right. This is Admiral James Henry of the Independent Systems Federation. Can anyone explain just what’s going on?”

“This is Captain Tobay. Admiral Henry, thank you for coming. The Tibald Defense Fleet officially requests your assistance. We are being threatened with attack for defending our sovereignty.”

“You are violating standing trade agreements between our worlds!” The second voice was less disciplined and rather more passionate. “Admiral Henry, Madison of the Voidcutter here. I am carrying a legitimate cargo for export to Tibald, and they are threatening to seize my ship unlawfully. The Jalm’tar vessels you see are merely acting in defense of my ship.”

Henry already had a good idea just what the Voidcutter was carrying, but he didn’t say so. “Captain, trade agreement or no, the Tibaldians have rights to search, I imagine.”

“We don’t need to search it. We know what he’s carrying,” Tobay said. “Captain Madison is engaging in an illegal drug trade, and we have every right to seize his vessel for trying to smuggle contraband onto our world.”

“Curall is a legitimate cargo and has been requested by the Tibald Caregivers’ Association, a medical charity chartered under your government,” Madison shot back. “I was contracted to carry their cargo and am in no way attempting to smuggle contraband! I insist that I be allowed to follow through on my delivery!”

“The substance Curall is not a recognized pharmaceutical substance under Tibald law and has been banned.”

“People are dying on your world without this!” Madison snarled over the line with something approaching righteous indignation. “Or has Tibald’s government decided that only the wealthy get to treat their illnesses?”

Good Lord. “Whatever your feelings about their government’s decisions, Captain Madison, they have a right to enforce their laws. They’ve got my support.”

“And I have the Jalm’tar’s support and that of my government. Any attempt to seize my ship will be met with resistance!”

Henry examined the fleets on the holotank. Tibald’s defense ships were what he would expect that far out—old Saurian War–era hulks refurbished and put back into service with what looked like one prewar Saurian patrol cruiser serving as their flagship.

The Jalm’tar ships were half their number but probably worth twice their value in effectiveness. The Liberator was the only thing here that might dissuade them. And anything can happen in a fight. But I have to uphold Tibald’s laws, even if it comes to that. They’re ISF members, and it’s the job.

“Captain Madison, I’m out here for diplomatic reasons, and I’ve got no intention of starting a fight. From where I sit, that’s on you. Tibald has the right to decide what comes and goes from their world. If they say your cargo’s illegal, that’s that. You can either press this issue and turn this situation bad, or you can accept their decision and leave the system. If you turn and burn out, I have no intention of stopping you.”

For a moment, the velocities or headings of the Voidcutter and its escort did not change. Henry wondered if Madison was some kind of true believer or just really pigheaded.

“Fine. I’ll preserve the peace but with a heavy heart. My cargo would alleviate the suffering of hundreds of Tibaldians, and their pain is on your head. Voidcutter out.”

The cargo ship’s forward movement was arrested. Graviton fields absorbed its inertia while vectoring engines turned it in place, bringing the ship around on an outbound vector. Its main engine lit up again once it was pointed away from the gathered Tibaldian fleet. One by one, the Jalm’tar ships performed the same maneuver, their movements coordinated in maintaining a defensive perimeter around the Voidcutter.

“Thank you for your assistance, Admiral Henry,” Captain Tobay said. “You saved us from a dangerous fight.”

“I may have just kicked the can down the road a bit,” he answered. “Permission to enter orbit?”

“Granted.” There was a delay. “My superiors just signaled. President Moran wishes to consult with you at your earliest convenience.”

When planetary rulers put it like that, it means “come right now.” “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Liberator out.” With the channel cut, Henry turned his attention to Trang. “She’s all yours, Captain.”

“We’ll keep an eye on those Jalm’tar until they jump out,” Trang said. “And I’ll have your pinnace readied immediately.”

“Thank you.” Henry stood. Meeting a planetary head of state meant formal uniform. “If the Vesta arrives, let Mister Lou know where I am. He may want to join us.”

“Will do.” Trang’s confirmation of the order followed Henry off the bridge.

Henry’s pinnace brought him over Tibald’s capital of Suffrenbourgh. Sitting in the rear compartment with the viewing ports open, he had a bird’s-eye view of the sprawling city. Like many developed frontier systems, it had a core of high-rises and government structures surrounded by smaller buildings, the residential and supporting commercial and industrial districts that provided the city’s economy. The sunlight outside was a softer shade than usual because of the hue of the star Tibald orbited.

The Presidential Estate, as it was called, sat on the edge of the government district, built along the banks of a river—one of the two waterways crossing the city’s center. It was a plainly modern building of sharp corners, reflecting a more pragmatic and cost-conscious approach than other worlds that sought to emulate the aesthetics and style of old Earth. The pinnace set down on the landing pad between the building and the lake. Dark-suited figures, men and women, stood at various points around the property, joined by uniformed soldiers who openly carried rifles and kit. It was more than Henry would have imagined necessary, and the implications set him on edge.

A pair of men in the same dark suits waited to greet him.

“Please, Admiral, come with us,” one said. “President Moran is waiting.”

Henry nodded and followed them into the building. It was a pleasant structure, with blue and gray interior walls, green carpeting, and various works of arts on the walls or in displays near them. The portraiture included some modern sights but mostly seemed to be of natural settings. Their path brought them to an outer office reception area and through double doors into a well-furnished office.

President Moran stood from his desk. He was tall and broad shouldered, and Henry thought him a military man in his bearing. His light-blue suit and gray hair complemented his dark-brown complexion. “Admiral Henry.” Moran extended his hand. “A pleasure.”

Henry accepted the handshake. “The pleasure is mine, Mister President. Glad to have been of help.”

“You’ve bought us time, at least, though things are only going to get worse.” Moran sat back down, a prompt for Henry to do the same. “The truth is it’s too late to stop Curall on Tibald. Thousands of people have already taken at least a dose.”

Henry forced the frown on his lips to straighten. “You’re confirming what I’ve heard from other sources. This stuff… I’m sorry, Mister President, that we failed to detect the threat in time.”

“Nobody saw it coming.” Moran shook his head. “It looked like some harmless placebo to folks, or a genuine cure. Some still believe in it, even with the new test results published.”

“I’ve heard about that. People want it to be real, so it’s easier to say that the results are fake or wrong or that people are lying. That’s easier than admitting they’ve been tricked.”

“Well, it’s got us in a bind.” Moran sighed and set his hands on the table. “I’ve got a third of Congress pushing a law to legalize Curall. I’ve got advocacy groups not just wanting to legalize it but wanting the government to provide it to the afflicted on the grounds that it’s treating congenital conditions and diseases that no other medicine helps. They’re out there now accusing us of lying when we say we accept your results, acting like it’s just some scheme by interstellar pharmaceutical companies to avoid losing their market share.”

Henry shook his head. “I can’t imagine Tibald can easily pay for that much Curall, given the market price. I’m guessing you’ve received an offer for cheaper access, though?”

“Yeah. Had a Jalm’tar note passed to me by the Ubanan Embassy, that the Jalm’tar will provide a subsidized supply, all the Curall we want, if I sign an association treaty with the Empire.” Moran frowned in disgust. “Even the League didn’t ask for that much in their ‘friendship treaties.’ Jalm’tar basing rights. Jalm’tar law deciding matters involving their citizens. ‘Consultation’ with the Empire on our defense spending.”

Henry nodded. “Sounds about what I expected, given what we’re learning. You said no?”

“I did. But I’m sure it’ll be asked again. Curall advocates are already hinting about it in the media. Probably preparing to leak it fully if I hold out much longer. And even with our efforts, some Curall is still present on this planet, and every day, more people are taking a dose. Especially among the poor.” Moran sighed and looked very much like a man being pushed to the limit. “I’m sure you noticed the enlarged guard and security detail?”

“I did,” Henry said.

“We’ve gotten comm chatter that some of our radical groups might try violence. They see the Curall situation as an economic class issue—rich folk banning poor folk from a cure so they can keep selling expensive drugs. The League armed a whole bunch of those kinds of groups before the peace and dumped a lot of guns on the black market before they pulled out after that final fight at Canaan. If the poor start dying because of Curall withdrawal, I’m worried even more people will support violence to get the stuff.”

Yeah, that explains the extra security. Henry kept his expression neutral, not letting his frustration and concern show. If only we’d seen this coming. “You mean you think they might try an armed revolt? Political violence to compel the association treaty?”

“I do. And lots of folks, in all walks of life, have family mixed up in this.” A pained expression crossed Moran’s face. “I know you’re here on behalf of the ISF Council, so pass this on to them. Tibald needs more. We need a cure for this stuff, a way to get people off it without killing them. We’ll still have conspiracy mongers to worry about, but we can handle that. Thousands of our people dying from Curall withdrawal? It’ll bring everything we’ve built crashing down. We won’t have a choice but to take the Jalm’tar offer, and I’ll sign the treaty myself if I must.”

“Which is what the Jalm’tar are aiming for.” Henry wanted to urge him to resist, but he knew it would be for nothing. He could see it in Moran’s eyes. The other man wasn’t eager to surrender his world by any means, but he wouldn’t condemn his people, especially his poorest, to die out of pride. If just to buy time, he would relent. But it won’t be enough. It’s never enough for the conquering types.

“I know.” Moran folded his hands. “So, keep that in mind, Admiral.”

“I will.” Henry stood. “I’ll relay everything to the Council and see what they have to say. Meanwhile, I’ll keep you informed of our efforts.”

“As will I of our own. Have a pleasant trip back to your ship, Admiral Henry.” Moran smiled thinly. “After everything you’ve managed so far, I’m counting on you to stop this threat.”

“I’ll do everything I can.” Henry stood and saluted.

Moran, to his surprise, stood and returned the salute in such a way that showed he’d served as well.

“By your leave, Mister President?”

“You’re free to go, Admiral. Good luck, and as you CDF types put it, Godspeed.”

Henry departed immediately, those words lingering in his mind. Godspeed indeed.

By the time Henry’s pinnace returned to the Liberator, she was not alone. The sleek, elegant form of the Vesta, Frank Lou’s interstellar yacht, was alongside, and beyond her was a third ship about a quarter of the Liberator’s size. On approach, he recognized the Morozova, given all the prior run-ins he’d had with the converted ship, a former cargo hauler turned well-armed privateer vessel. As far as armaments were concerned, she was a heavy frigate, not quite a destroyer, even small enough to land on most planets, and she was the flagship of an ISF regional command under her long-time masters, the Tokarev brothers of Cyrilgrad.

“Pilot, signal change of plan,” he called out. “I need to see the Tokarevs. I might as well land on their ship first.”

“Understood, sir.”

That delayed things by a few minutes, but in the end, his pinnace took a spot in the Morozova’s main shuttle bay. A small honor guard of ISF-uniformed Cyrilgrad natives were ready for him. After ten months, they had the military precision down to pass muster, giving him salutes he quickly returned.

The far door opened, and the Tokarevs entered. The elder, Piotr, pushed the new regs on personal appearance, given his large bushy beard, which made him look more like a monk than a pirate captain. His younger brother, Pavel, trimmed his beard closer to the chin. Both had the same dark-blue ISF uniform Henry wore, with Piotr’s bearing a commodore star.

“Admiral. A pleasure.” Piotr spoke with a thick accent, as he usually did.

He saluted promptly, as did Pavel. Henry suspected that regs aside, they did not do so with one another.

“Commodore, Captain.” Henry returned the salute. “Pleasure’s mine, even if the situation could be better.”

“You spoke with Tibaldian leadership?” Pavel asked.

“I did. Things aren’t going well down there. They’ve got thousands of people addicted to the Curall, and the Jalm’tar are offering another association treaty if they want to get the drug for cheap.”

Piotr snarled a reply in his native tongue. Given Pavel’s instinctive wince and brief glare at his brother, Henry got the feeling it was not the kind of thing one was supposed to say in polite company—or official company, for that matter.

“Come.” Pavel turned his head back to Henry. “The officers’ mess has a samovar ready with tea.”

Their trip through the ship was uneventful. It reminded Henry of his lost Shadow Wolf, given the used and worn interior, the grubbiness of the deck plates and walls, and the sometimes-uneven lighting. The Liberator was still a new ship by comparison, and Captain Trang kept on the crew to maintain the interior so it would never get so bad. But that’s what a military ship does. These folks are barely military, so I can’t be surprised they’ve got other priorities.

They entered what Henry took to be the officers’ mess. Bowls of borscht and pelmeni with other Russian finger foods and light fare were already arrayed.

“Officers come and go,” Pavel explained. “So the galley keeps food ready for us.”

Nearby, Piotr was already filling cups with steaming tea from the samovar at the center of the table.

“Interested?”

“I’ve not had much in the way of Cyrilgrad cuisine,” Henry admitted as he took the offered seat.

Piotr set a mug of tea before him.

“Borscht is good. Gennady is a good cook,” Piotr assured, getting his own tea. “Try pelmeni too.”

Henry did. As ship fare went, it was certainly tasty, if unfamiliar. Not that he would expect it to be familiar. While Humanity brought virtually every strain and species of grain, fruit, vegetable, and food animal with them to other worlds, the variety of conditions on the newly settled worlds ensured different tastes. Beef from his own New Virginia never tasted the same as beef from cattle raised on Nuevo Plata, for instance, and Bluegrass corn and bourbon whiskey had a similar distinction in flavor, as did the mutton on Lusitania compared to that of any other world.

Stop distracting yourself. With that admonition, he took another bite. “Ubana’s the key to this whole thing right now, since they’re the ones who’ve signed. So, the question is, how do we persuade them to revoke that? I gather you two have a lot of experience with them.”

“We do.” Pavel nodded. “Ten years ago, we had a bad crop on Cyrilgrad—League sabotage or maybe misfortune. Our food stores ran out, and we had no hard currency to pay for supplies. Ubana heard of our plight and sent ships loaded with food.”

“What did it cost you?”

“Nothing,” Piotr said. “Charity, all of it. The Ubanans try to feed starving worlds when they hear of them.”

Pavel swallowed before taking up the explanation. “We were grateful and gave them aid in turn—chased raiders away from their world several times and protected their shipping.”

“And now they won’t give you the time of day. I’m guessing Chancellor Lilley wasn’t a fan?”

Piotr shook his head. “No, that is the strange part.” He sipped his tea before continuing. “She has a Christian heart and was a key vote in aid to Cyrilgrad. She and her husband oversaw the efforts, even visited and gave out food.”

“A very kind woman, yes.” Pavel nodded. “It is what makes her behavior now so confusing. Shocking, even. She acted like we were there to oppress her world.”

Henry nodded. “Her husband. I heard he died.”

“Yes. His name was Gregory. He had a terrible sickness called Richter’s syndrome. Incurable. When he visited our world, it was manageable but worsened afterward. God relieved him of the pain three years ago.”

“So she’s a widow.” Henry thought of his own losses, of Uncle Charlie and Felix, of Yanik. Those were painful enough. Chancellor Lilley losing the man she loved and married was the kind of pain that could transform someone. “And she’s got children.”

“Samuel and Rosa,” Pavel said. “Still very small.” The younger brother shook his head. “I do not know how a mother could want such poison around her children.”

“You don’t think…” Henry let the sentence hang in the silence. “Her late husband’s condition—was it inheritable?”

“It is, I have heard.” Piotr’s expression sharpened. “I think I see what you are thinking, Admiral. That her children may have it.”

“Lord, I hope not.” Henry shook his head. “If so, she lost her husband and might lose her kids.”

“If she is giving them Curall, then she will be desperate to keep the drug coming. We will never persuade her to cut off her children.”

“Does she answer to anyone? They’re a parliamentary state, right?”

“There is a president, a man named Harcourt, but I do not know his powers over Lilley or her Cabinet,” Pavel admitted. “In all our dealings with Ubana, it has always been their Chancellor directing policy.”

“Yeah, I thought so. Still, it might give options when we’re on Ubana.” Henry sipped his tea. The taste was a little strong for his liking. After setting the mug down, he stuck the plastic —fork before him into one of the pelmeni pieces. It reminded him of his mother’s dumplings growing up, though the taste wasn’t like anything he’d known back then. Once he finished chewing and swallowed, he continued with business. “On that matter, Commodore Tokarev, I’m leaving you in charge of our local ships while I’m on Ubana. You can even change your flag to the Liberator.”

Piotr shook his head in refusal. “I would not dream of leaving my Morozova, though I am honored you would trust me with your ship, Admiral. Rest assured we will do everything we can to prevent the Jalm’tar from bullying worlds around here.”

“I don’t doubt you for a moment.”

9

ISV Venture Star

Yan’katar, Jalm’tar Imperial Protectorate

16 March 2464

The crew was assembled and ready for the final jump that brought them into Yan’katar’s solar system.

Within moments, Piper looked up from her station. “System Traffic Control has us on scope, asking for ID and purpose.”

Miri nodded, expecting such a call. “We’re just here to drop cargo and maybe pick some up.”

“Passing that on.”

While Piper spoke, Miri’s attention turned toward her holotank display. She zoomed out to show more of the system their sensors were starting to pick up. While trading ships occupied the inward and outward courses, the traffic lacked compared to what she expected of such a major trading port.

The orbital picture did show plenty of vessels of another kind, however, and even that far out, the basic silhouettes resolved into solid, semi-detailed shapes. She recognized them as matching the Jalm’tar fleet’s warships.

Piper looked toward them too. “That’s a lot of ships, way more than last time.”

Vidia crossed his arms. “Well, that’s reassurin’.”

“Yeah, not ominous at all,” Markson added and snorted a laugh.

The remaining hours passed without incident, with everyone coming and going on their usual work. Upon approach, a number of them returned to the bridge. Laila, Cristina, Janet, and Samina took standing positions to watch the holoviewer as the blue garden world grew to dominate the image. A pair of strands, deceptively thin given the distance, rose from the planet and to the large construct of metal in orbit. A series of trusses and arms connected a cylinder to the lower end of the strand.

“What’s holding the station to the planet?” Janet asked.

“It’s a space elevator.” Markson shook his head and chuckled. “You don’t see those every day. Probably a holdover from old colonization efforts. Maybe they hadn’t developed launch drives yet. Getting ships into orbit was a lot more complicated before those came around.”

Janet’s face scrunched in confusion. “Launch drives? Like ours? How does that work?”

Markson gave her a pointed look. “Sometimes I forget you’re still new to this. Same principle for the graviton projectors we use to decelerate without having to flip and burn like in the Exodus days. They allow ships to launch without needing complicated thrust vectoring or having to tilt skyward.”

“It’s probably cheaper to take a berth on the elevator station, then,” Piper observed. “Since we’re not picking up this time, why not?”

Miri nodded. “Make the request.”

Moments passed. Miri watched quietly as Piper’s brow rose into a bewildered look. “They’re denying us permission. It’s not the automated system from before. The Jalm’tar military is in control and have declared an exclusion zone around the station and neighboring orbital space. I’m relaying to the screen now.”

The three-dimensional diagram popped onto the holotank beside Miri. A solid sphere of yellow showed around the red station and space elevator cables, reaching down into the mesosphere and an equal distance above and around the station. “They certainly don’t want anyone close.”

“They must be using the station as a major supply base now,” Markson observed. “CDF used to declare similar zones around stations where we set up. Keeps people from trying to get a read on the exact count of ships in the docks and the loading and launching cycles.”

“So I’ve heard. Stepan, go ahead and give us a landing course below the exclusion zone. Piper, see about a berth planetside.”

“I’m already getting confirmation from the spaceport. Looks like the station relayed the request for us. I’m giving final course data to Stepan now.”

“Course data received. Taking us in,” Stepan said in his typically gruff tone.

The ship came in on an angled vector, working them beneath the exclusion zone by entering the atmosphere at a lower angle than usual. From above, the planet’s main continent grew in size until mountain ranges and large lakes were easily spotted. Splotches of gray and other lighter colors showed the larger cities and settlements on Yan’katar.

Their destination was still directly ahead. Below the two cable lines rising to the void, tall high-rises reached upward, clustered around the cables and outward, with buildings of many sizes spread among them. The architecture was distinct, given the tapering shape of the various structures’ final levels, and their coloring suggested shining obelisks of amber and honey.

Stepan flew them toward the middle-to-outer reaches of the city. They saw the sprawling spaceport complex, a combination of multi-winged terminals and hangars. “Final approach, begin.” He gently guided the ship into a hangar, one with a retractable roof that closed over them upon landing.

“Well, here we are.” Piper removed her seat harness. “Nice flying as usual, Stepan.”

“Da” was the only reply she got.

“So, what’s the leave situation, Captain?” Markson directed his eyes toward Miri.

She considered the matter. After two weeks in space, a chance to unwind was important for morale. On the other hand, they knew so little about Yan’katar and what to expect. Their entire mission would be jeopardized by any wrong action from her crew.

“I know people need to stretch their legs.” Miri stood from her chair. “So we’re going to take leave in groups, and everyone sticks together. I’ll leave it to Allen and Vidia to arrange those. Meanwhile Piper, Vidia, and I have an appointment with Lou’s local agent. Remember why we’re here. Stay on your links and be careful.”

They answered with firm nods.

After drawing straws and some good-natured grousing, the first leave period went to Laila, Khalid, Janet, and Samina. They departed the ship with a translation of the city’s instructions to visiting crews loaded on their links and, in Khalid’s case, a wad of Interstellar Bank Credit notes drawn from the ship’s stores against his pay. An automated cart belonging to the spaceport brought them to the terminals.

Despite the apparent lack of heavy space traffic, the terminals were bustling. Stalls with all sorts of goods lined the walls, offering everything from elaborate cloth woven on alien worlds to electronic devices to colorful busts and sculptures. Laila took charge, as the ship’s surgeon, to ensure nobody got separated. It was not so hard with Janet, who seemed to be more withdrawn than usual and interested only in walking. Khalid appeared to give only passing attention to the market as well.

For Samina, memories of Quetta District’s markets meshed with what she saw. She took a good long look at one of the stalls and the many electronic devices on display—links or hand-computers, she imagined, but with different shapes and ergonomics than she knew. She considered buying one, but the price was too steep, at least for a lark, and her accounts were a little low, given all she’d left with her protesting uncle back on Trinidad.

They moved on toward the far end of the market.

“We’ll probably need to rent a ride if we want to see other places beyond the spaceport,” she observed. “I wonder if they have helicars.”

“I imagine they do, but we’ll have to see if any are available.” Laila turned, her colorful eyes searching.

Samina noted that while Janet remained beside them, Khalid was not immediately visible.

“Where…?” Laila asked.

Samina had an idea and checked toward the exit door. She saw Khalid through the glass and called out, “He’s outside already.”

By the time they exited, he was already walking along the front of the terminal. The weather was pleasant, warm but not hot. While some vehicles pulled up or departed, Samina could see an entire stretch of the curb lined with larger carts like they’d ridden to the terminal, openly marked as Rented Transport.

Samina initially thought he might be moving to reserve one for them, but instead, he turned toward the terminal’s outside wall and a hunched form seated there. Laila picked up her pace and approached him with Samina and Janet behind her. By the time they arrived, Khalid was dropping bank notes into the ready, rough-scaled hand of the hunched figure. The figure stood and walked away, cradling the gift. Khalid turned back to see the rest of them approach.

“We’re supposed to stay together,” Laila admonished him.

“I apologize. I did not intend to move ahead too quickly. I thought you were right behind me.”

“Fair enough.” Laila glanced at the figure going down the street.

Samina thought they were starting to run.

“What did you give them?” Laila asked.

“Charity. Some of my pay.”

He always gives. Samina felt a pang of uncertainty. Whatever she gave, she always wondered if it was enough to fulfill the obligations Allah laid for alms, especially when she held back a bit from having spent money on herself already.

To her surprise, Laila frowned. “Knowing where we are? Whomever that beggar was, they’re just as likely off buying pireem or Curall, poisoning themselves further.”

Khalid nodded slowly. “Yes, that is possible. But alms must be given all the same.”

“Even if they simply get intoxicants or drugs? If they don’t use it well?”

“Allah will judge them for their choices. It is His place and His alone. My duty is to give charity as He instructs and have faith.”

“That is irresponsible.” Laila shook her head. “We must always be mindful of our actions and the effects they might have. If we know something might cause harm and we do it anyway, even if it’s a good reason, we must accept we are contributing to the harm. Like handing money over to addicts without ensuring they buy what they truly need.”

However angry Laila sounded, though not so angry as to shout, Khalid didn’t react in kind. “That road leads to the justification of withholding charity, though. It allows selfishness in the heart to convince you not to give, even though Allah requires it.”

Laila interlaced her fingers and brought her hands up, as if she were in contemplation.

Unsure if Laila was getting angry or not, Samina spoke. “That’s why we give to the zakat, usually. I mean, I do. That way Muslims can give charity and know it will be well spent.”

“That is a worthier approach,” Laila agreed.

“It is a proper one, yes, but it is not my way. Not all worlds have an organization like the zakat among Muslims. Charity must be given directly then.” A smile formed on Khalid’s face. “Allah has already blessed my approach once. It is how I learned of the community at the Hollow on Starfall, right when we needed sanctuary the most.”

For a moment, Samina thought Laila would carry on the argument, but her mouth stopped and closed a moment after opening. “Fine.” She sighed. “It is your way, and I pray the charity is well used. Now, before we start paying rental fees, we should figure out where we wish to visit in the city.”

A special helicar waited for Miri, Piper, and Vidia when they left the hangar. It flew them out of the spaceport and into the capital city proper. Its name, Jalm’mat, supposedly meant “City of Promise” or “promising city,” which revealed something of how the Jalm’tar thought of themselves.

The car brought them toward the city’s heart and into an expansive commercial district. The signs were predominantly in Jalm’tar, or whatever their main language was. It made the ideograph insignia of Lou Shipping stand out all the more. The car landed on a pad built into the garden courtyard facing the street. Upon stepping from the car, Miri detected a sweet smell, earthy and brisk, from the garden’s colorful flowers.

“Looks like we get to use the private entrance.” Piper stepped around the car to join Miri and Vidia at the start of the path. It brought them down a line of rose bushes with other flowering trees behind them. Miri wondered if the flowers were just part of an image or if Lou’s representative had an interest in such plants.

The door opened when Miri was a few meters away. Standing within, holding it open, was an alien of about two meters heigh. Their head was thin and sharp-edged, more so than most species, with a pair of yellow irises in blue orbs for what she imagined were eyes. The jaw made up the entire lower third of the face, with the chin sharply pointed. A dark-red-and-gold suit, livery of a sort, covered the alien’s body, with Lou’s ideogram insignia on the torso. Miri briefly thought them humanoid with a tail until she noted the apparent tail reached the ground. A tripedal species? I’ve never heard of them.

The mouth opened, revealing three lines of sharp teeth. “I am Dasar.” The alien’s voice had a natural boom, as if they were speaking loudly even when the volume was low. “Master Lutjens awaits.” He turned, balancing weight on two feet at a time to maneuver, and led them into the building.

The side entrance led into a parlor-like greeting area with finely crafted seats and tables and artwork on display. Dasar brought them to the exit across the room, down well-furnished halls with soft, colorful carpeting, and to a tidy, functional business office.

Seated behind the desk was a slip of a man with sharp features and ice-blue eyes. His hair, a pale yellow, was almost platinum in color. His gray-and-blue business suit had been carefully tailored to fit his form. “Captain Gaon.” He spoke with an accent that prompted Miri to think of a Jutlander, a world only recently relieved from League domination. “A pleasure to meet you. I trust the journey was uneventful?”

“We encountered a Jalm’tar convoy under military escort on our way, but it was otherwise quiet.”

“Yes. Many convoys going out that way these days and with expensive cargo, I’m told.” He nodded toward Dasar. “See to my guests’ refreshments, Dasar. You are relieved.”

Dasar nodded and left, closing the door as he did. Lutjens reached forward and tapped something on his desk. A low, brief whine filled the air, followed by a dissatisfied snort. “There. We are free of conversation. Dasar’s species have excellent hearing, but my device’s vibrations make it too painful to try.”

“You think your servant is spyin’ on you?” Vidia asked.

Lutjens chuckled. “I know he is. Half of the domestic staff in this city spy on their employers for one another. That they sent a spy is a mark of respect to Mister Lou. I’m worth spying on. That works in our advantage.”

“Does it? It complicates our mission immensely,” Miri said. “We can’t trust any potential allies, or at least, we can’t trust their ability to keep secrets.”

“True, but the fact that you are Mister Lou’s agents means you will be given a measure of respect as well. Enough that I can arrange for you to meet with some of the most powerful merchants and officials on this planet. Indeed, I have already sent invitations to a formal dinner, where you can meet these worthies, affording you priceless opportunities to get the information you require.”

Someone knocked at the door. Lutjens called out, “Enter.”

Miri turned, expecting to see Dasar, but the new arrival was a shorter being, maybe a hundred and twenty-five centimeters tall, with a stocky build. While they had only two legs, four thick arms came from their shoulders. Three hands carried empty tumblers, and the fourth held a pitcher of brown liquid.

“Another of my staff, a Groslan,” Lutjens explained while the alien poured the pitcher’s contents into each glass, handing them, in sequence, to Miri and the others. Lutjens extended his own tumbler, and it, too, was refilled. “Faja, thank you. Let Dasar know my guests will be a little longer, please.”

The alien’s reply was not in English but a series of deep-throated whistles and noises that sounded more like music than speech. Their task done, the Groslan departed.

“The Groslans do not have larynxes capable of reproducing our speech,” Lutjens explained. “Though they can, with training, understand us, and likewise, we can understand them. She was hoping you would enjoy Miss Nakamura’s handiwork.”

“Your cook or hostess?” Miri asked.

“Yes. And the only member of my staff I trust not to spy on me.” Lutjens grinned. “The Groslans are quite good at being domestic spies, since they’re short and their inability to reproduce the speech of other species has the effect of making one forget they can still understand us.”

“I remember the four-armed ones from my last visit here,” Piper said. “But I’ve never seen either of these species elsewhere. Where do they come from?”

“They are subject species of the Jalm’tar, of course. And the law is quite strict about their ability to leave their homeworlds. Only a select few get work visas to come all this way.”

Vidia frowned. “Sounds oppressive. It’s ta control them.”

“It is. But the Jalm’tar are, compared to the League, rather soft as rulers. For the most part, they leave their subject races alone, save for restricting them from too much travel, and I’ve never known them to indulge in aggressive conquest. Granted, they’ve never needed to.” Lutjens took a sip of his tea, a hint to the others to do the same.

Miri pointedly set the tumbler to the side mere moments before Piper could lift her own to her lips. A quick glance ensured that Piper stopped, as did Vidia. They set their mugs down as well.

“A problem, Captain?” His eyes locked on hers.

Miri smiled thinly. I could be diplomatic… No, that would not work. Honesty it is. “You may work for Lou officially, Mister Lutjens, but you’ve been here for some time, and we are dealing with people who use an addictive substance to control others, and by your own admission, they insert agents into one another’s domestic staff. For all I know, you were already exposed to it and addicted and are under orders to addict others as part of the deal to keep your own supply flowing.”

Piper’s gasp of surprise filled the silence that followed. Lutjens remained quiet himself, as if to consider her carefully.

After several seconds, he grinned, sipped again, and set his tumbler down. “You will do very well here, Captain,” he said cheerfully. “Suffice to say, after the experience of Miss Sharma and learning the nature of pireem, Mister Lou ensured I was quite prepared for such possibilities. All my food and drink is vetted by Miss Nakamura, who I will confide works for Mister Lou’s security department and not his domestic staff. Some of the supplies you shipped are bound for my pantry, in fact.”

“Regardless, I think my crew and I will be careful accepting anything.” Miri kept her hands together, ignoring the unused tumbler.

“A wise policy,” Lutjens replied. “No offense is taken. Still, for the sake of your own parched throats, let’s get on with business. I am hosting a dinner tomorrow, and you are invited. This should give you an opportunity to accomplish your objectives. Go ahead and bring a scanner to verify your food is free of pireem or Curall, though I’ll confide that such dinners are, aside from eateries, about the only place you are safe from being subjected to possible druggings. It’s very bad form to drug one’s dinner guests, and that’s a standard the Yan’katar Council is quick to uphold.”

“We’ll consider it,” Miri said. “What more can you tell us? There isn’t a lot of material on the Jalm’tar out there.”

“They see to that, yes.” Lutjens sat back in his chair. “Fortune’s Favor. That is what you must grasp.”

“You mean their religious belief in luck as a god?” Piper asked.

“More than that, Miss Lopez. Far more.” Lutjens appeared deep in thought for a moment. “Jalm’tar theology took an… interesting turn many millennia ago.”

“In what way?” Vidia asked.

“Well, Mister Andrews, think of many cultures' religions, Human and non-Human, that we have heard of.” Lutjens folded his hands together. “Polytheist, monotheist, ditheist, whatever. They all share the belief in a sentient creator of reality and life, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And the other commonality is that each of these religions is about, for lack of a better term, order. The Creator, God, Yahweh, Nijish, whatever, created the universe, created laws, and created life, and the laws are what govern creation. Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s ox, and so on.” He took another drink. “The Jalm’tar took a different view, though, in that their theology is not based on a structured universe, on an order, but on chaos.”

“What do you mean?” Piper asked. “Chaos, I mean?”

“The Jalm’tar believe in a supreme force of some sort, but they do not believe that force imposes order on reality or has any definitive order,” Lutjens explained. “They believe in randomness. Unpredictability. The universe itself has no immutable laws or universal truths beyond the presence of the guiding force or intelligence of reality. Because, as one might point out, reality does have a sense of order, as Newton described long ago. Gravity, electromagnetism, the flow of light, and such. Yet sometimes, the unexpected and unpredictable still happens. Their explanation is as close as you get to the idea of divine intervention in their faith, and they refer to it as Fortune’s Favor.”

“I noticed the term in our reading material,” Miri said.

“It has become somewhat known, yes. Functionally, the Jalm’tar believe that Fortune will put its finger on the scales, at times, and that some are more favored by Fortune than others. Many here consider Mister Lou so blessed.”

“And Fortune’s Favor rubs off on people, I’m guessin’?”

“That it does, Mister Andrews,” Lutjens confirmed. “And you can lose it as well. Fortune’s choices can be fickle.”

“Since fortune can change, those fortunate can still fail when they are on the cusp of success. This means that the wrong move can undermine Mr. Lou’s position and your prospects.”

“I was intending on caution already. I understand your concerns.”

“How widespread is this faith?” Piper asked. “Like, are they all very religious? Not many?”

“It is a dominant aspect of their society,” Lutjens said. “Fortune’s Favor is sought in everything they do. They turn to games of chance to check on Fortune’s attitudes toward them. Why, they even decide succession disputes by rolling a set of dice made solely for that purpose.”

Miri stifled a chuckle at the mental image of any society’s rulership being decided like a child’s game.

Piper had no such restraint as she giggled loudly. “I suppose it’s better than having women in lakes throwing swords at people.”

Lutjens looked on with bemusement, but his voice held warning when he spoke again. “Whatever amusement you draw from this, be careful expressing it among the Jalm’tar. For them, Fortune’s Favor is a matter of deadly seriousness.”

“As much as any faith is for them who believe,” Vidia observed. He looked very thoughtful to Miri. “We’ll have ta be careful.”

“Right.” Piper nodded and cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

“Do you wish to know anything else?” Lutjens asked with the air of a man who, though dealing with an important duty, had other duties he needed to see to.

“I believe that will suffice for now. Tomorrow’s function will hopefully provide us with what we need. Until then, Mister Lutjens.”

“Until then, Captain Gaon.”

The helicar lifted from the pad and rose into an aerial travel lane. “Well, that was interesting,” Piper said. “And I’m really thirsty now.”

“Ya really think he might be workin’ for th’ Jalm’tar?” Vidia asked.

“I still can’t be certain he’s not,” Miri said. “The Jalm’tar would see the value in suborning him. Though I do believe that drugging a dinner party would be unacceptable to local authorities.”

“Since they would constantly be drugging each other.” Piper kept her eyes focused out the window on her side. “Even if they had a cure of some kind, they’d get tired of having to use it
all the time.”

“And it would make the druggings not worth the expense. But I will have Laila give us a scanner, and we’ll go early so I can be sure of the process.”

“Livin’ with this paranoia would be tryin’ on th’ best of souls,” Vidia murmured from the rear seat. “I don’t like it.”

“I don’t either.” Piper glanced toward Miri. “You saw it, right? Being a spy and all.”

“Saw what?” Vidia turned his head toward Piper.

“Don’t move too much,” Miri said. “Yes, I saw the tail, Piper.” She glanced at the link she had against the window on her side. It was set to show the internal camera view, and just at the edge of its vision, that camera showed another helicar following at a distance.

Piper nodded. “So, what do we do?”

“We land,” Miri said. “And we call for help.”

10

While tension in the helicar built rapidly, Miri considered options and possibilities. Does the tail know where our ship is? Can I risk taking the helicar all the way to the ship? If we arrive at the spaceport, will the tail, or confederates, be able to follow us farther? We could override and land the car. But if this is more than a passive tail, if it’s a snatch operation, that puts us in even more danger. No. We head back.

They didn’t enjoy the sights on the return trip, though to any observer, they did seem to look at the city often enough. The tail followed as Miri expected. Never close, never too far, always just in range to pick them out from among other vehicles. When they came to their descent point, helpfully projected onto the windshield by the helicar’s systems, she checked and hoped it wouldn’t follow. Seconds passed before it showed again in her mirror, still behind them.

They either want to know where our ship is, or this is a snatch job. Either way, we need to shake them.

“So, we’re back at the spaceport. How do we handle this?” Piper asked.

“Do ya think we can get ta another car before they find us?”

“They might have confederates waiting to pick us up inside,” Miri replied. “Maybe they want to verify the ship’s location.”

“Couldn’t they just consult with the spaceport?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Vidia, get with the others on the link, now. Text only. Tell them to meet us in the port’s market but keep their distance.” Miri felt the vehicle’s soft impact as it reached the ground. Within a few seconds, it was in a drop-off space. The doors swung open for them. “Until then, let’s buy some time with window-shopping.”

Vidia quickly typed the message while the others got out of the vehicle. He joined them a moment later, his link secured once more on his suit’s belt.

Vidia’s message popped onto their links while the Venture Star crew rode through the inner commercial market district.

“It sounds like trouble,” Laila informed everyone, being the first to get to hers. “Someone is tailing the others.”

“The Captain is in trouble?” Samina asked.

Beside her, Janet looked over the message quietly. Vidia’s message indicated trouble. Given her life, Janet was familiar with the worry of someone following you, someone who might cause harm. She glanced through the back window of the rented helicar to confirm nobody was following them.

Ahead of her, Laila spoke in her particular Tal’mayan timbre. “Possibly. We’re to meet them back at the spaceport, in the markets. Get visual contact with them, but do not approach. We’ll figure something out when we get there.” Laila set her hand on the car controls, holding it to the pad to issue verbal orders. “Return to spaceport.”

“Request acknowledged. Changing route.” The helicar turned down the next street and took them back the way they came, the fare meter still ticking away.

The trip back to the spaceport was quiet and tense. Their first day on Yan’katar, and already something was wrong. Is this going to be worse than Starfall? Janet wondered. Starfall had been frightening, after all, with all the fighting, all that terrible yelling, those people pressing toward her and trying to hurt her and the others. Those memories, still so fresh, shook Janet, making her withdraw into herself, shutting out the world, save the bare requirements of awareness. All so she could face her fear at the idea of going through it all again.

The jolt of the car landing was just enough to draw Janet back out of herself. The door beside her opened, and she stepped onto the flat gray roadway. Turning to her right, she followed Laila around the vehicle and onto the curb. They passed through the sliding portal doors to reenter the spaceport.

“Remember, keep your distance,” Khalid murmured. “We must not let them know we are with the Captain.”

“We sort of stand out anyway,” Samina observed.

“So don’t,” Janet said. “Just move along. You’re here to shop and look around. Don’t think anything else.”

“That’s easy for you to say, but I’m still worried.”

“Quiet, both of you,” Laila urged in a hiss inaudible to those around them, given the cacophony of voices echoing in the spaceport halls.

They caught sight of Miri and the others looking over a stall of handcrafted bags and curios.

Janet’s eyes moved through the crowd, instinctive memory letting her sift through their movements, see who was doing what. Aliens. So many aliens. They move differently. I don’t… wait. She nudged Laila. “Don’t look. That horned one, about ten meters from the others.”

Laila directed her attention that way. “The one looking over an electronic tablet?”

“I saw him—her, whatever—I saw them move it,” Janet murmured. “It’s not active. They’re using it as a mirror. They’re watching the Captain.”

“Good catch,” Khalid whispered.

“So, what do we do?” Samina glanced over from a stall of packaged food, snacks of some sort by the look of them.

Trying to blend in a little too well, Janet thought. She wasn’t paying enough attention to everything else for it to work.

“Distract them. Give the Captain and the others an opening to slip away.” Janet looked around. It was too open for Miri and company to get out of sight quickly. The tail, if not distracted enough, would pick up on them quickly. And while she did not see anyone else suspicious, if there was another watcher, they might simply pick up the trail. No, what she needed was a commotion. Something big, flashy, and distracting but that wouldn’t get her in trouble. A small grin crossed her face as an old trick came to mind, one that had vexed many an authority back in the day.

“Samina, walk beside me,” Janet whispered. “I’m going to put something in your pocket. Ignore me when I do, and just keep going. Throw it in a trash bin at the far side of the market.”

“Uh, okay.” Samina looked curiously at Janet, curious and very innocent, which was precisely what Janet needed.

Measured step by measured step brought them up to the unknown being tailing the others. He wore a two-piece suit of sorts, plain, long-sleeved, functional. It had visible pockets that bulged, indicating contents within, which provided Janet the last bit she needed. As they slipped past, Janet’s hand moved quietly, yet swiftly, into one of the pockets. She pulled the object out and slipped it into Samina’s pocket. Samina, as requested, moved on, but Janet did not. She diverted her attention toward a stall for a few seconds, enough time for Samina to put some distance between them, before she repeated her prior act.

Except that time, she made sure to do it wrong. Not too egregiously wrong, but she intentionally bumped into her mark in time with the snatch, and she let her hand dawdle a few seconds more, move about the pocket a bit more. Most observers would be unlikely to notice, but her mark couldn’t help but notice.

She took a step away, and a hand grabbed her shoulder. Her mark growled angrily in a guttural, almost lyrical way, uttering words she did not understand. The alien forcefully spun her around and shouted into her face, which was not pleasant. She felt quite frightened, actually, which was useful, since it lent credence to the same emotion in her expression.

The shout drew attention from those around them, which rippled outward. She received angry glares from most, including the shopkeepers. Checking the scene let her likewise make sure Miri and the others had slipped away.

Confirming they were safe, she summoned her will and asked, “What’s your problem?”

The alien growled more at her. Two more of the same species approached, wearing matching suits of brown and beige with other markers indicating their role as police or security of some sort. One barked what she imagined was a request and her mark replied.

The second directed a pair of bright-purple eyes at Janet. “You are accused of being a thief. Did you take this man’s comm device?”

“No,” Janet insisted, putting heat into it. “I don’t have anything of his.”

The spaceport cop translated, and her mark roared angrily. Given the way he looked about, Janet guessed he had realized Miri and the others were gone. The snarl on his face grew, and he glared absolute hatred at her.

“He insists you took it from him. We have to search you.”

The last thing Janet wanted was anyone touching her. She pointedly opened her pockets out and showed her own link device as the only thing she had. That wouldn’t be enough, of course, and she was compelled to stand still while being frisked. The rapid patting of hands on her brought back burning, hated memories from years ago, but they couldn’t be helped. She bit them down and endured. She was used to that.

More words were exchanged. Her mark roared in fury and started toward her as if to grab her, but the two uniformed beings stopped him.

“You are free to go,” one said. “But be careful who you bump into.”

“Right.” She turned and walked off. Behind her, she heard the mark continuing to argue furiously with the port guard. Good. That will keep him occupied. At the far side, she turned a corner and met Khalid waiting for her.

“The others are getting one of the transport carts,” he said. “I’ll lead you to them.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled. After that ordeal, all that touching and yelling, she just wanted to shower and be alone.

Miri made sure everyone was assembled in the galley before she spoke. She informed them of the upcoming dinner and the incident with the unknown party tailing them. “We’ve got an opening to collect more intelligence, but they at least know who some of us are by now.”

“Definitely the three of us.” Piper motioned toward herself, Vidia, and Miri.

“Janet too,” Vidia added. “Whoever it is will realize she was diverting him if he hasn’t already.”

Miri nodded. “I hate to keep everyone closed in, but it’s best if nobody does any sightseeing until we learn more.”

“Even going to this function may be a risk.” Cristina folded her hands at one of the tables. “Especially if this is a kidnapping. You should have us join you as a backup team.”

“I can’t invite too many people, just Piper and Markson, maybe Laila too.” Miri turned her head toward Vidia. “But you can bring Brigitte, Khalid, and Cristina on more sightseeing as a backup team, in case we need it.”

He nodded. “A good idea. We can watch your back, an’ if we be needin’ th’ help instead, we can call ya.”

“In the meantime, we’d better get to work on ship inspections and make sure we don’t have any issues to delay departure. Pieter.” Miri’s attention turned his way. “Everything fine with the engines?”

“No major issues. I’ll finish the usual prolonged flight-time check, of course.”

“I’ll inspect the Lawrence drive and reactors,” Samina volunteered.

“Good. Everyone else is available for assisting you in any capacity you need.”

Brigitte spoked. “You think this’ll work, Miri? That you’ll really find anything about this Curall stuff that we can use?”

“I’m not sure,” Miri admitted. “But there’s no harm in trying.” Or so I hope…

11

The Vesta’s navigation bridge was distinctly nonmilitary, from Henry’s point of view. Even more so, it was not what he would expect of a civilian freighter or hauler. The helmsman was in the rear, at a seated post within arm’s reach of the central chair, while the outer walls contained other stations. Lou’s crew were dressed in special uniforms, part spacer wear and part formal livery, making them stand out compared to the duty uniforms Henry and Mei-Ling wore, or Lou’s own regular jacketed business suit.

The ship’s captain, a Hestian named Thaksin, kept to his chair. Henry thought he looked nervous, and given the image on the bridge holotank, Henry couldn’t blame him. Four warships in general formation hung in the air.

“I do not often come up here,” Lou admitted. “But I may start doing so, if just to see more jumps. I miss the rush from my early days.”

“You’re welcome to, sir,” Thaksin said in a tone that meant he would greatly prefer if his employer left the running of the ship—and the bridge—to the people hired to do the job.

The slight grin that formed on Lou’s face told Henry he understood the captain’s real opinion.

“The Jalm’tar do not waste time, do they?” Lou glanced Henry’s way. “The system must contain twenty warships already.”

“They were ready for this. That’s for sure. And according to our sources, more are on the way.” Please let them be safe, Lord, Henry prayed, worried for what the others would find on Yan’katar.

“We have confirmation from their PTC, sir,” said a crewmember at one of the starboard stations. “Landing permission and assigned course relaying now.”

“Keep us on course, Helm. All hands, prepare for landing.” Thaksin gave them a quiet, pointed look.

“Time to get secure for landing, then.” Lou nodded to his hired captain and went for the door, prompting Henry and Mei-Ling to follow him off the bridge and into the ship’s corridors.

Though it was very much a functional part of the yacht, it still looked more like the interior of a fancy hotel or estate than a ship, given the carpet, the art pieces, and the other aesthetics. The same was true of the nearby lounge, where open chairs provided them safety harnesses for the planetary landing.

“It is rather overdone, isn’t it?” Lou asked.

Henry turned his head slightly to face Lou. “Well, now that you mention it, yeah. And expensive.”

Lou nodded. “Image is important. To be honest, the Vesta was always my insult to my world’s oppressors, a way to remind them that despite all their attempts to keep my people poor, a Hestian could still rise to rival—and exceed—their wealth.”

“But Hestia is free now,” Henry pointed out.

“Yes. And I mean for it to stay free. So I will play my part.”

Henry couldn’t stop the chuckle that came from his throat. Noting Lou’s bemused look, he said, “And I’m sure getting to live on this luxury yacht hasn’t influenced that in the slightest, huh?”

Mei-Ling gave him a surprised, almost angry look.

Lou, however, merely laughed. “I do not deny I enjoy the luxury, Admiral. No. I grew up in poverty. I deprived myself of luxuries and pleasures while building my life after leaving Hestia. Now that I am where I am, I would rather enjoy all this.” He gestured around the room, including the exquisite minibar undoubtedly stocked with the finest liquor and wine. “Prime Minister Nguyen does not approve, as you can imagine. She has made that particularly clear in our dealings, and I doubt I will ever achieve any profit in my endeavors on Hestia, much less the profits to maintain myself in this style.” He smiled thinly. “But I would rather sell all this to keep Hestia free, if it came down to it. It is why I am here. I will not see us enslaved by these alien drug dealers, not when the taste of our freedom is so freshly sweet.”

“Amen to that,” Henry agreed.

Upon landing, a helicar waited for them. The very fact of it struck Henry as likely from Lou’s wealth, not just his purpose there, given that everything he saw told him Ubana lacked regular helicar traffic like cities in the Coalition and elsewhere. They had the sky remarkably to themselves on the trip in.

It was easy to see they’d arrived at the heart of the planet’s government—not just from the architecture of the Offices of Government and the star-shaped National Palace but the jostling crowds in the common courtyard kept apart by a line of blue-uniformed people. Their path took them close enough that Henry noted one particularly large sign among a group, the letters painted on it declaring “Curall = No More Misery for Profit.”

The helicar landed away from the crowds, within the confines of the star-shaped structure of the National Palace. A number of suited figures stood waiting.

“Mister Lou?” From the data provided, Henry recognized the speaker as Ubana’s lead diplomat, Jason Highwater. He offered his hand, which Lou took. “Thank you for coming.”

“Secretary Highwater. My pleasure.”

“The Chancellor’s waiting.”

On the inside, Henry thought the National Palace about the same for any central government building he’d seen in his life. Portraiture, carpeted floors, and the suited security personnel spread out in every corridor watching the passing visitors. An elevator brought them to the second floor and another set of corridors, which ultimately led to an office door marked with the starburst national flag seal of Ubana’s Chancellor. Beyond was the outer office, with the usual waiting area and secretarial staff.

Without waiting, Highwater brought them to the inner office door. Henry recognized those inside. Lilley sat at her desk with Speaker Sanchez and a couple of other Cabinet members beside her.

She stood at their entrance. “Mister Lou, welcome to Ubana,” she said formally.

“Madame Chancellor, thank you for receiving us.” Lou bowed slightly, prompting Henry and Mei-Ling to match the gesture.

She rounded the desk while Highwater saw the three to a couch. Lilley took up the reclining chair across from them, other chairs nearby being claimed by Sanchez and the Cabinet officials.

“So, I imagine you’re here to persuade us to change our minds about our new arrangements,” Lilley said.

“Very much so, Chancellor,” Lou said. “Your split from the ISF has caught many of us by surprise.”

“Just as the ISF’s sudden decision to seek alliance with the Coalition caught us by surprise,” she answered. “You can understand our concerns there. The ISF, we were led to believe, was formed to protect the sovereignty of the worlds outside the Coalition, not join them.”

“We agreed to attend the Canaan summit, Madame Chancellor. We did not commit to an alliance,” Lou corrected gently. “And the invitation was accepted only after significant debate and with a further request by the Matrinid Association for our presence. Chairwoman Ascaro and the Council felt that the circumstances warranted attendance.”

To Henry, it appeared as if Lilley wasn’t particularly convinced. She took her time considering her reply. “I can see the reasoning, but you must understand that other factors are involved here.”

“Such as?”

“The ISF attempting to suppress a new pharmaceutical compound, for starters, and sending warships to Ubana when we refused to cooperate.”

Henry wanted to protest but stopped himself. He was here as Lou’s advisor, not a negotiator.

Lou, with practiced earnestness, nodded. “I take it you are referring to Curall. The Council was interested in learning more about the substance, yes, given its reported qualities and other less flattering reports.”

Lilley nodded. “Claims that it is addictive. I’ve heard them, too, but they sound like the sort of thing you come up with when you want to discredit a new treatment.”

“True, though in this case, we do regrettably have scientific findings indicating it is so. It is derived from an herb known as pireem, which has addictive—”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Mister Lou,” Lilley said, her voice acerbic. “I’ve heard these rumors too. And I question the data, as do many who have witnessed the effectiveness of this substance and wonder just who might be paying for these ‘scientific findings.’”

“The ISF,” Lou replied. “We paid for them. Our doctors analyzed samples of the drug and found the pireem match.”

Lilley pursed her lips. “I know for a fact the ISF does not have its own regulatory or scientific body for such things. So when you say the ISF did it, you mean your fleet personnel did it.” Her eyes turned toward Henry. “Under the command of a CDF officer.”

“Former CDF officer, Madame Chancellor.” Lou folded his hands. “Admiral Henry’s loyalty is to the ISF.”

“And yet his personnel give a finding that matches the interests of Coalition business.”

“Madame Chancellor, I’m afraid I am having difficulty on this point.” Lou leaned forward. “Do you have any issues with ISF policy that do not stem from Curall?”

Henry noted a number of the attending Cabinet ministers giving her uncomfortable looks.

Lilley frowned at Lou and clearly deliberated her next words. “I consider it part of a greater whole. The ISF is siding with Coalition interests, so my world is seeking an alternative.”

“The Jalm’tar Empire, you mean.”

“I do. They are being very generous.”

“They are? Aid to Ubana’s economy and infrastructure, then?”

“They are making it possible for us to transition to a health-care system not reliant upon Coalition imports, as overpriced as they are.”

A wan smile crossed Lou’s face. “You mean they are going to sell you Curall in excessive quantities.” He steepled his fingers. “Have your own physicians tested the drug?”

“To a degree. But their findings are inconclusive.” Lilley shook her head. “Really, Mister Lou. Why is the ISF so opposed to this? Are you really bought and paid for, even you, by Coalition pharmaceutical firms?”

“On the contrary, getting out of our reliance on them was why I once tried to import pireem myself,” he retorted. “And that was when I discovered its addictive nature. Whatever you think of the Coalition, you are risking your planet’s political and economic independence on this matter. The Jalm’tar Empire are trade exclusionists. They allow very few external exports, save pireem, or Curall now, and import only certain items. Enter their sphere, and trade with your neighboring worlds will wilt.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, it is an observation, Madame Chancellor, and one that pains me to make.” Lou shook his head. “I believe in interstellar trade, after all, and I have worked extensively to break down Jalm’tar trade barriers to no avail. It is why I am so familiar with them.”

Lilley nodded, still frowning. “What if I could lower them for you?”

“Oh?” Lou tilted his head.

“I have spoken with the Jalm’tar about this matter. They’re most interested in increasing trade with our systems, all of them,” Lilley said.

I bet they are, Henry thought ruefully, though he didn’t speak it for the sake of decorum.

Lou leaned forward slightly. “And they have empowered you to make an offer?”

“Obviously, I can’t speak for the Emperor on Jalm’kis, but I can offer my office to mediate an agreement. If the ISF withdraws from the Canaan summit and opens talks, we could have a firm agreement on trade and maybe even defense.”

“Ah.” Lou’s tone struck Henry as disappointed but unsurprised. “Why must we, though? It is not like we are joining the Coalition. Clearly, we could form a trade agreement with the Empire even if a new alliance structure forms in Sagittarius. The Empire could even gain some sort of observer status. Indeed, I believe they have delegates observing the talks.”

“No, that wouldn’t work,” Lilley insisted, shaking her head. “They don’t trust the Coalition any more than I do. They’re too strong. If you sign this alliance, you are signaling you are entering the Coalition’s sphere of influence, and the Empire sees it as hostile.”

“It does? Even with the ISF to act as a neutral party and buffer state between the Coalition and Empire?”

“You would not be neutral!”

“Not on matters of Sagittarius’s defense but on all other things?” Lou chuckled. “It’s not like we’re going to support a Coalition invasion of Centaurus, or the Orion Spur, or anywhere else. The Coalition itself couldn’t manage it, given their losses. Indeed, that is what has swayed the Council to join the summit. We have a chance to bring the Coalition into a wider alliance structure that will restrain any expansionism on their part, with the ISF forming a stable bloc to keep them from making further inroads.” He smiled and raised his steepled fingers to his chin. “Why would the Empire be opposed to such an outcome? I would think they’d welcome it, as would you.”

“Then prove your independence from their influence. Encourage Tibald and the rest of Sagittarius to legalize Curall.” Passion crept into her voice, almost desperate in its intensity.

Henry’s mind wandered back to his conversation with the Tokarevs and the possibilities they’d discussed. Oh Lord, please don’t tell me she’s giving it to her kids.

Lou, for his part, sighed. “Madame Chancellor, I do not grasp the importance you give to one drug on this issue, especially one without any studies proving its claimed worth.”

“I don’t need studies,” Lilley said. “I’ve seen it work, Mister Lou. I’ve seen people stricken to their beds by painful conditions who could stand up and dance once it was administered. I’ve seen it heal all sorts of maladies. It works. So many of my citizens enjoy relief from pain, crippling injuries, because of its effectiveness. Your refusal to support its use can only be explained as corporate greed, either your own or that of the Coalition-dominated pharmaceutical companies afraid of losing their profit margins!”

“We have seen the results of addiction to the substance, Madame Chancellor. That is our overriding concern.” Lou did not raise his voice with as much passion as she had, looking very much the veteran debater.

“It wouldn’t be the first medicine to addict those who abuse it, Mister Lou. Taken responsibly, Curall works, and I am going to employ it to end our reliance on Coalition medicine. The Jalm’tar are helping us with that, so they have our friendship. Your refusal to do the same means our involvement with the ISF is over.” Lilley made a show of checking a clock on the wall. “Now, I am afraid I have no more time today for these discussions. You may discuss matters with my Cabinet, of course, but be warned, I will not tolerate any open interference in our internal affairs. And if you want to reconsider your stance about Curall and the Jalm’tar, I am ready to listen.”

“Very well, Madame Chancellor.” Lou stood, signaling Henry and Mei-Ling to do the same. “I look forward to continuing our dialogue.”

Given the expression on her face, Henry suspected Lilley did not share his view.

It was several seconds after the door closed behind Lou before anyone spoke. “Nothing surprising in that exchange, I think,” Sanchez said.

Hightower nodded. “Except for the ISF having analyzed Curall. I was under the impression the providers had been careful about not allowing that to happen.”

“Assuming Admiral Henry didn’t perpetrate some fraud on Lou and Ascaro, I can see one of his agents managing to steal a module.” Lilley returned to her desk and directed her attention to Secretary Parcetti. “Henry is reported to have intelligence contacts in the Coalition. I want to make sure he’s not playing their agent here and promoting the opposition.”

“We already planned on keeping an eye on him, Madame Chancellor.”

“The same with Lou. I want to know if Goddard or any of his people attempt private contact with the ISF delegation.” I know you’ve been trying to push Harcourt into calling new elections on me, but I can do the same, Goddard, and I will. She lowered her eyes to the desk and the unfinished state papers. “Thank you all for attending. Mister Hightower, keep me informed of any new developments?”

“Of course, Madame Chancellor.”

“I look forward to our next meeting, then. You are all adjourned.”

Upon their return to the Vesta, Henry joined Lou and his daughter in the conference room overlooking the yacht’s recreation deck.

“So, do you think she’s been bribed?” Mei-Ling took a seat beside her father, leaving Henry to sit across from them. “Lilley dismissed the ISF’s findings without a second thought, and her reasoning sounds like mad conspiracy theorizing.”

“Or the words of the truly committed,” Lou said. “She has a personal stake in Curall being what the Jalm’tar claim.”

“After talking about her background with the Tokarevs, I’m thinking it’s her kids.” Henry couldn’t speak the words without some of the horror he felt slipping in. “They might have the same disease that killed their father.”

“That is possible.” Lou shook his head. “And it would explain the devotion she and so many others have to Curall. Whether the drug is addictive or not, the palliative effect is strong. Having the pain in their lives taken away so easily would have a profound effect upon those using the drug. They want—they need—for it to be true, for the drug to be what is claimed.”

“And they’ll never accept it’s not, yeah.” Henry sighed. “It’s not surprising. It’s how people usually react to being conned. You double down and insist you weren’t because you can’t admit otherwise.”

“Few would accept their last hope being ripped away.” Lou leaned back in his chair. For a moment, he looked his age, worn and tired. “Persuading Lilley is not likely. But her Cabinet may be swayed, as might President Harcourt.”

“I imagine she’ll take measures to keep us from supporting her opposition.”

“Or she’ll simply publicize it to tilt public sentiment in her favor,” Mei-Ling suggested.

“Either way, we must be cautious, and I would advise we say nothing to indicate we’re exerting influence on the legislature.” Lou closed his eyes. “Now, I think I shall rest before any more meetings. I will inform you if I hear anything.”

“Likewise.” Henry rose from his seat, joining Mei-Ling in departing the room.

12

The rented helicar came to a stop on the street, allowing Miri and her accompanying crew to disembark in front of the entryway to Lou Shipping’s Yan’katar office. A lined carpet of red covered in Chinese ideogram and iconography started just within the street-side gate, a pair of silent uniformed Jalm’tar flanking said gate with presented firearms.

Since it was meant to be a high-society occasion, Miri brought out her only non-spacer suit, a conservative long-sleeved blue blouse with silver trim and glitter and a navy-blue dress that flowed to her heels. Piper had a sleeveless evening gown of peach color that went down past the knees, while Markson wore what he called his “Sunday best,” a low-collared dress jacket and white vest with dress slacks. Laila had the Tal’mayan equivalent of Piper’s sort of evening gown, a colorful purple-green-and-yellow ensemble matching her own purple-blue skin tone.

At the door, Miri presented her ID through her link. The guards checked it and waved them through with a low grunt that struck Miri as universal to guards of any species.

They wound up in a line made up entirely of Jalm’tar. Their fancy clothing had a robe-like appearance, long and flowing and usually bearing what looked like depictions of various animals or concepts upon them. Some of their horns had ornate bands of gold and silver and other glittering metal or jewels affixed to them, along with tiaras or headbands of varying sorts.

Lutjens came up on Miri’s right. “This way, Captain,” he said in a low voice. “We’ll go in by the other door.”

“All right.” Miri led the others along, following Lutjens down a couple of halls, past liveried servants and servers of several different species, and ultimately to a set of double doors. On the other side was the reception hall, lined with tables bearing various foods and bottles of drink. Robed and ornamented Jalm’tar of various shapes, sizes, and colors filled the chamber with a smattering of Humans and other species.

“Excellencies and Lords, your attention,” Lutjens announced loudly. “My guests for the evening, Captain Miriam Gaon and crew, honored agents of Master Lou.”

Many tilting and nodding heads responded. Their suits were richly embroidered and sometimes framed by rare gemstones. A great many had the horn ornaments of gold and what she thought might be platinum, again bearing gemstones of varying cuts and colors. They moved in groups, entourages probably, occasionally drinking from flutes of amber-colored fluid or enjoying various finger foods.

She soon noticed those without horn ornaments tended to have robes or suits ever so less flashy than the others. High-ranking servants or members of their household? Aides? Yes, that is most likely.

Lutjens brought them to one of the better-dressed Jalm’tar, a being with a rounder head and slightly longer, thicker horns than the others. Platinum bands set with amethysts and rubies covered the upper third of each.

“Excellency,” Lutjens said in a slow, polite tone.

“Agent Lutjens.” The voice matched what Miri knew of Jalm’tar voices—thick-tongued, guttural. Like English, the language demanded firm and thorough pronunciation. “Captain Gaon.”

“This is Her Excellency Daj sep Gafren, Imperial Representative,” Lutjens said as introduction. “She represents the Emperor and Imperial Court here on Yan’katar.”

He indicated another Jalm’tar with a narrower face and shorter, sharper horns that had simpler, though obvious, adornment. That one wore more of a suit than a set of robes, the shoulders marked with golden starbursts.

A military officer, Miri realized.

“And Admiral Bel kal Rista, Commander of the Imperial Antispinward Frontier Fleet based overhead. We are fortunate to have his presence today. He is often with his fleet.”

“Duty to the Empire can be harsh.” His voice had its own pitch and tone, lighter than Daj Gafren’s, though Miri wasn’t sure how much of it was indicative of male Jalm’tar norms and how much was attributable to just individual difference. “A pleasure, Captain. I do not meet many Human voidship commanders.”

“Then the pleasure is mine, Admiral,” Miri said politely. “You speak English quite well, I note.”

“I have studied Humans for some time, thanks to the war. Linguistics is important in that research.” Rista’s ruby-colored eyes focused on her. “Though some of our differences remain beyond my understanding. I heard you have a unique view on Fortune?”

“Ah, yes.” Miri nodded. “We do not view HaShem, or Fortune, I suppose, as you do. Our faiths are more varied, and many of us believe in a supreme deity who created us and who has laid rules to govern the universe as well as rules we must follow to be moral people and worthy of Him.” She motioned to Markson. “Specific rules vary, of course. My Second Mate believes that HaShem made an offspring, both Human and divine, who sacrificed himself to cleanse Humanity of original sin.”

“Truly? How strange.” Bel Rista tilted his head slightly. It seemed to indicate deep thought. “Fortune does not play favorites in that way. Fortune simply is and grants and withdraws favor without warning. I shall have to factor this into my understanding of your species, Captain Gaon. Thank you for being candid.” He drifted away from them.

“Have you considered a cargo to bring back with you?” Gafren asked. “It is so difficult for a merchant ship to travel far with nothing to show for it.”

“Our cargo for Mister Lou was quite valuable, so we shall break ahead even if we bring nothing back. Though if you have a cargo in mind?” Miri smiled gently, letting expectation show.

“Unfortunately, the only cargo we export right now is, by law, restricted to Imperial vessels,” Gafren said. “Other worlds near here have goods, however, that I believe Master Lou would be most interested in furthering the sale of.”

“Of course.”

“It is a shame,” Lutjens cut in. “I would very much like more opportunities to export Jalm’tar goods to Sagittarius. Have you made any more progress with the Court, Your Excellency?”

“I have not.” Gafren didn’t turn her head to look at him, though she did tilt it slightly to the right.

Miri wondered if some of the head tilts were the equivalent of a yes or a no, or if tilting the head was a way to add meaning to words.

“The Court is still fiercely protective of our external trade. I do hope, in time, Humans will be permitted to join our exporters, however. New developments are still possible.”

“Indeed. Until then.”

Gafren and her followers slipped away, presumably to mingle with others.

Lutjens brought them to a corner to speak softly. “Do not let the pleasantries fool you. Gafren is an expansionist, very ambitious,” he warned.

“Explains why I felt like I was near a crocodile,” Markson murmured.

Lutjens grinned at the allusion before speaking. “Gafren is a pireem exporter and producer. Odds are she is up to her neck in this Curall business.”

“And Rista?” Miri asked.

“I can’t say for sure, though he is being facetious about his current command. Technically, yes, he is overseeing the frontier forces while here, but I have long known he is of greater import. He commands the Emperor’s personal fleet, the central fighting power of the Jalm’tar Empire. He is the strongest military commander in power and, by all reports, is completely loyal to the Emperor and his expansionism. Though he does not seem to support Gafren, from what I’ve learned.”

“Might be he doesn’t support the quiet kind of expansionism,” Piper observed. “I mean, his job is shooting stuff, not conquering by addicting people.”

“A possibility. Anyway, before we move on, some food and drink to fortify ourselves for the evening sounds wise.” With that, he led them to one of the tables.

Given their captain and comrades would be dining, Vidia and the others opted to try the local cuisine. Yan’katar had only a small GalNet presence, reliant entirely on QET-based connections through Lou Shipping, but it permitted them to get information on what was safe for Human digestion. They picked an eatery fairly close to the Lou Shipping offices and settled into a table.

The drinks offered varied. After a careful interrogation of the waiter, a simply attired male Human, they picked an assortment of fruit-based beverages.

Brigitte noted Cristina’s uncertain look. “Something up?”

“We might have a tail,” Cristina murmured just audibly enough for those at the table to hear. “But I can’t be certain.”

“We just have ta make sure we watch one another’s backs,” Vidia assured them. “It’ll be fine.”

“Maybe. I just wish we knew why.”

The conversation ended with the return of their waiter and drinks. Once he set them down, the waiter said, “May I interest you in the special? It’s a sort of cheese and meat casserole with herbal additives, including pireem to aid the day’s aches.”

The moment she heard him mention pireem, Brigitte glared at the man. “No thank you,” she snapped forcefully. Seeing the waiter’s befuddled expression, she added, “Why would you add that stuff to food?”

“It’s a special we add to trademark dishes, by request usually.” The man shrugged. “It eases the aches of everyday life, helps get you through illnesses. Just about everyone ends up trying it.”

“An’ do any ever quit usin’ it?” Vidia asked.

The waiter frowned and shrugged. “Well, sometimes people talk about cutting it out of their life, especially if they’re planning to leave Yan’katar. A few manage it, I’ve heard it said, but most decide to try sticking out life here. Nobody really wants to give up pireem. It makes life worth living.”

“What do you mean it makes life worth living?” Brigitte’s voice rose through the whole establishment, buoyed by the fury and disgust roiling within her. “What makes life worth living is being able to do what you want and make your own decisions, not have someone tell you how to live or what to do. This pireem stuff sounds just as controlling, and I can’t believe you’d give up your independence for some bloody herb!”

“Brigitte, calm down.” He didn’t shout. Of course, Vidia never shouted. But the edge in his voice stopped Brigitte.

“My apologies for our friend.” Khalid folded his hands. “An old trauma.”

Brigitte snorted but said nothing. She could see what they were doing and why.

The waiter, evidently wanting out of the conversation, politely nodded. “Then is there anything else…?”

“It’s best we go.” Cristina stood. “Let’s pay for our drinks and leave these people to their meals.”

Brigitte almost asked why when she noted the stern and angry looks from around the restaurant. Her heated words had carried much farther than she’d intended. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. She stood quietly and brought up her link. A swipe of her finger set it to transmit payment. The waiter held up another device and accepted the payment. She didn’t like how much was charged, but arguing the point would only make things worse.

“You do tips here?” she asked.

“No, against policy and the ways here,” he replied. “We are paid well enough.” He gestured to the table. “Do you wish me to bring disposable containers for your drinks?”

Cristina spoke up again. “That’s fine. We’ll make other arrangements.” She went for the door.

“Have a good evening,” Vidia added for politeness before stepping away from the table as well.

That left Khalid and Brigitte, who quickly followed, their every moment caught under the wilting gaze of various patrons.

Once outside, Brigitte spoke. “Listen, I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

“And may have saved us from accidentally ingesting pireem,” Cristina said. “I can’t help but wonder if it gets put into all the food around here, whatever Lutjens says. And I’m not sure about relying on scanners yet. We shouldn’t order food and drink unless we know the source.”

“So much for a meal, then,” Khalid said. “Shall we take a walk? Clear our heads?”

And see if we can spot a tail, Brigitte thought, certain the others had the same idea.

“It would be best, ya, then we go back ta the ship,” Vidia agreed.

Brigitte imagined the unspoken line there was When the Captain and others are out of that party.

“It can’t hurt to take in more of the city.” Cristina motioned down the road. “I think I saw a nature park down this way. It would be a nice place to calm down.”

Brigitte nodded. “I’m game.”

The others quickly agreed, and they set off.

Lutjens’s dinner party showed little sign of abatement by the time Miri and the others settled their appetites. Fortified by the tasty food and a little of the wine, they followed Lutjens into the crowd.

After a brief and blunt meeting with one of the attending nobles, who refused to use English even if it was clear he understood them, Lutjens brought them to a pair of ostentatiously dressed Jalm’tar, likely male. They each had platinum and gold bands on their horns set with diamonds and other gemstones, and similar gems were embedded in their clothing.

“A pair of my business partners,” Lutjens said. “Lord Pas res Ya’tek and his merchant factor, Uk’sel gam Farfim.”

“Captain Gaon.” Ya’tek spoke English less thickly than the others. His eyes had a rich-pink hue, while his friend’s eyes were more of a peach color. “I am quite delighted in your cargo. Master Lou’s goods will make a considerable profit when I have them shipped to Jalm’kis.”

“A shame I can’t compete for that contract.” Miri grinned.

“Very much a shame, yes!” Farfim agreed, his English even better. “To be honest, the Empire is in dire need of reconsidering its priorities. Trade will make us stronger and wealthier, especially if it’s in more goods than just pireem.”

“I have often encouraged the Court to relax the laws but to no avail,” Ya’tek lamented. “The Emperor, in His wisdom, believes such premature. Regrettably.”

“If only his nephew—”

A hot look passed from Ya’tek to Farfim. “You speak too loosely,” he hissed.

Miri noted the way Farfim’s face relaxed utterly, as if he were forcing himself to show no expression at all. “You are true. As always, you keep me from a mistake.”

“Someone has to, given your last one. Learn more discretion. Anyway…”

Ya’tek launched into a dialogue about how much stood to be made from exporting the Empire’s finest delicacies. Miri reacted as appropriate to reflect interest, but her mind was already focusing on Farfim’s words and what they might mean. He is out of favor. And this mention of a nephew of the current Emperor… could there have been a succession dispute of some sort? He was on the wrong side? Maybe this is why the Jalm’tar Empire is pursuing this new course?

“You met Lord Kel’ta?” Farfim asked once Ya’tek finished. “He knows English quite well. He simply refuses to speak it, you know.”

“I got that feeling,” Miri said.

“He’s an isolationist, so the Empire’s current course has him angry as well, and to make things worse, his son is embarrassing him again.”

“Oh?” Markson’s voice was mirthful. “Got caught with the wrong lady?”

“Oh, if only!” Farfim laughed. “If you must know, the young fool got hooked on pireem again. It’s the third time. I can only imagine Lord Kel’ta is ready to disown him for this disgrace.”

A flicker of agitation showed on Ya’tek’s face. For good reason, Miri thought, noting the expressions on her own compatriots’ faces. They all understood precisely what the merchant’s words meant.

For someone to get addicted “a third time” meant they’d stopped being addicted. And given all the warnings they’d received about the way pireem worked, only one likely explanation remained.

The Jalm’tar Empire had a cure for pireem addiction.

13

A ringing bell brought an end to the reception. The attendees saw themselves out, with Lutjens personally thanking them for attending while Miri and her crew watched quietly. Farfim was the last to go and cast in her general direction what Miri couldn’t help but think of as a conspiratorial smile on his way.

It took half an hour for the procession to end, after which Lutjens saw the four into his office, where he again activated his anti-spying equipment. “As you can see, there are differences among them,” he said. “Gafren and Rista represent the factions strongest in the Empire, being generally aligned with the Emperor. Ya’tek and Farfim are not part of that faction, and neither is Kel’ta, though they do not cooperate with one another either.”

“Farfim all but admitted they can cure the pireem addiction,” Piper pointed out. “You all heard that, right?”

To Miri’s surprise, Lutjens sighed and looked very upset. “I did, yes. I cannot believe he would play such a dangerous game. You will have to be careful around him.”

“Oh?”

“Clearly he has some scheme or intrigue in mind.” Lutjens reached into one of his drawers and pulled out a bottle of dark fluid with a label identifying it as schnapps. “If such a cure truly existed, it would be a high secret of the Empire, one that most would never share with outsiders. This may be bait laid to entrap all of us, Captain.”

“Or Farfim may be opposed to the current policies and be looking to undermine them.”

“Perhaps. But I would not want to be caught in a trap either way.” Lutjens sighed again. “And even if it exists, it will be under heavy guard, wherever it is. Getting to it will not be easy.”

“Just confirming it exists is progress.” Laila pressed her hands together in thought. “It confirms there is a biochemical way to undo the effects of pireem on the body.”

“Not sure it’ll be so easy getting ahold of a sample,” Markson said.

“Most likely not,” said Lutjens. “Nor can I suggest trying. It would jeopardize everything we had here on Yan’katar if you were found engaging in hostile actions toward the Emperor’s interests.”

“Then we will be very cautious, whatever we end up doing.” Miri stood from the chair. “It is best we call it a night. I’m certain you are tired, and I know my day is coming to its natural end.”

Lutjens sipped at his remaining drink before nodding. “That sounds wise. Thank you for your company, and I wish you well on your endeavors. Call me if there is anything you need, within certain guidelines.”

“You mean give you plausible deniability.” Markson snorted.

Lutjens’s smile turned fragile. “Something like that. Good evening, everyone. Have a safe trip back to your ship.”

Dasar waited on the other side of the door.

Miri thought something in his body language felt different, as if he were tipsy. Did he try to listen in on our conversation? Lutjens’s device may have left him disoriented.

The three-legged alien said nothing of note on the trip to the door, where a rented helicar slid up to let them in. Once they were secure in their seats, Miri gave it the order to go to the spaceport. It obeyed, and they lifted into the air.

“Quite the evening,” Miri said.

“Yeah, it was something. Not sure I liked the food, though.” Piper laid her head back.

“Wonder if we’ll ever get cargo runs into the Empire.” Markson, seated behind Piper, chuckled quietly. “I mean, they’re opening up, right?”

“We’ll have to see.” Miri glanced back to where Laila sat behind her, staring out the window. “Everything all right, Laila?”

“I am finding this planet frustrating,” she said. “I do not like how the Jalm’tar present themselves, and the other species here seem to be little more than their pets and servants. I get the feeling they’d make all of us the same.”

“Gafren, definitely.” Miri considered the others they’d met. “I’m still not sure about Rista. Fafrim seems more interested in change and open trade. Kel’ta doesn’t want aliens, period.”

“A lovely bunch, weren’t they?” Markson’s words were less a question and more a grumble.

“It’s a start, at least.” Piper let out a small yawn. “Also, I think we’re being tailed again.”

Miri nodded. She’d noted the same set of helicar flight lights behind them the whole way. “So it seems.”

“Want me to call the others and arrange another distraction?”

“No. Just have them meet us at the spaceport.” Miri glanced back briefly. “We’re a known quantity now anyway, and trying to dodge a tail might cause more trouble.”

“Makes about as much sense as anything else we could do.” Markson lay back. “Might as well enjoy the ride, then.”

The two groups met at the spaceport and took a transport back to their ship. No immediate sign of the tail that either group had suspected of following them appeared, and no problems came up in the trip.

Once they were back in the hangar and aboard the Venture Star, Miri gathered everyone in the galley and briefed them on how the night had gone. The news of the cure raised spirits.

“So, is it realistic?” Pieter asked. “That this might exist? You didn’t mishear what was said?”

Miri turned her head toward Laila.

“Doctor Kiderlein already proposed how cures could work,” Laila said. “Most likely, it is a counteragent that clears the blockers that impede neuro-transmitters, and it may be easily used or adapted for use by other species. It would not resolve psychological addiction, of course.”

“Explaining how someone might end up back on the substance, as our new friend brought up.” Markson set his arms on the table before him. “So, now that we know it can be cured, is that enough? Mission complete?”

“Yes and no.” Miri shook her head. “We’ve confirmed it exists, but we’ve made no effort to get a sample or more information the ISF can use.”

“A sample would be best,” Laila said. “I can analyze it and transmit the information to Doctor Kiderlein.”

Piper answered that with a shrug. “That’s the rub. We’ve got no way of knowing where one is.”

“It certainly isn’t known ta the public,” added Vidia. “Not by what we heard. Nobody knows of any way ta beat the addiction. Most people refuse ta even call it that.”

“Maybe this Jalm’tar merchant can help more?” Samina looked up from her late dinner. “He may know.”

“He might also want something we can’t give,” Markson pointed out.

“Or it may be a trap approved by the authorities.” While saying those words, Miri found herself considering trying anyway. It was clear Farfim had something in mind with how he’d leaked that information. If it wasn’t a trap, she could lose an opportunity to make progress if she didn’t pursue it. “Still, unless we can find a way to quietly—”

A sharp tone emitted from her link and those of several others.

“Someone’s in the hangar!” Markson called out. “Unauthorized opening!”

The room emptied, most of the crew rushing down to the holds and the docks to exit the ship, while Stepan and others took up other positions. Markson and Khalid reached the nearest ramp first.

“Just one,” Stepan said from the bridge. “No other threats visible.”

Brigitte hit the button for the airlock, and both doors cycled open, allowing Miri to exit with the others, weapons still readied.

The new arrival was a Jalm’tar, female given the face shape and relative body width. Her robes were plainer than the ones seen earlier that evening, though they had some adornment, with two small silver caps on her horns. The Jalm’tar woman bowed her head. “I am Tasan Nikrios, in the service of Uk’sel gam Farfim. My lord requests a chance to discuss trade opportunities with you. Privately.”

Miri exchanged glances with the others. Well, either the trap is set, or we have a shot at more information. Time to take the plunge. “I am interested.”

“Excellent. He is ready to receive you tomorrow. Be at this location.” Nikrios handed them a printed copy of the city map, with a specific portion enlarged in the upper right-hand side to show greater street definition and a single blue point. “We will be ready for you when the sun sets.”

“We’ll be there.”

Nikrios bowed her head once more before walking away.

After Nikrios left the hangar, Cristina warned, “This could be a trap.”

“It’s why we’ll have backup in the area,” Miri said. “But if we’re to make progress, we have to try.”

14

The Vesta’s communication room was toward the stern of the pleasure vessel. When told of it, Henry assumed it would be a relatively simple chamber, maybe at most having a boardroom environment for remote meetings.

What he found could have, with a few changes, fit as a fleet-level CIC like the one he had on the Liberator. Banks of displays and controls allowed hired analysts to sort through incoming data from across the known galaxy. Their findings moved onto the large holotank in the center. Henry watched said holotank display the map of ISF systems and a wide swath of the region known as Independent Space, from the relatively near Trifid Nebula region to the Omega Nebula and Trans-Omega sectors at the farthest extent of Human-explored space.

Most of the systems were green. Some were blue, corresponding to the ISF’s member systems or those with membership proposals made and affirmed but not yet ratified. In the far corner, orange marked the spinward sections of the Coalition, and a hint of deep ocean blue marked a sliver of Matrinid-held systems. Toward the other side, across an expanse of gray unknown or “unclaimed” systems, the Jalm’tar Empire was lit with aggressive crimson, including the Yan’katar system, a dot of red that looked like it’d been ejected from the greater whole.

A handful of the green and blue systems flashed amber. Ubana flashed red outright. Henry swallowed at the sight. Those were the systems most widely distributing and using Curall and whose governments were coming under the Jalm’tar Empire’s sway. The number was higher than before. Despite their warnings, the substance continued its insidious spread.

“Ubana is the tipping point,” Mei-Ling suggested quietly, standing at his side. She traced a finger through the area, showing all the systems linked by trade to Ubana. “If it goes to the Empire, their economic links and position will draw other systems in that direction. Especially if the Empire insists on supporting further spread of the Curall.”

“If not outright forcing systems to take it.” Henry crossed his arms. “We’ve got to lever this system away.”

“Lilley makes that impossible for now.”

“Did you find out anything?”

Mei-Ling checked her tablet. “We’ve confirmed some particulars of her history. Her husband’s death from Richter’s syndrome was a major local news story. It may have even contributed to her winning the Chancellorship. She also had a reputation for widely showing her children to the public, typically when she was on outings with her family, but as noted, they have not made a public appearance in years. No reason has been given.”

“So it might just be her decision, or her kids are too sick to appear in public.” Henry thought about that. “Can you get with Oskar or our other medical advisors? Find out if treatments for Richter’s exist and what they cost.”

“Yes, Admiral.” Mei-Ling made a note on the tablet. “We have no new fleet updates for you, I will add, or updates from the talks on Canaan.”

“Any progress?”

“No final deal, merely that ‘the matter is proceeding.’”

“So, little progress.” Henry sighed. “At this rate, Lusitania will be filled with Curall before they get anywhere.”

“Do you think an alliance would keep the Jalm’tar out?”

“I think it’d give them some thought. A lot of this is probably seeing opportunity with the war over and everyone weaker.” Henry’s eyes kept to Ubana’s place on the starmap, which helped keep them from drifting to Yan’katar, where his old crew were exposing themselves for his sake. “I just hope Lou has a good idea how to sway minds here.”

“My father can be a very persuasive man.”

“If he’s up against a desperate mother… he’ll need to be.”

The Presidential Office always struck Lilley as one of the better designed spaces for Ubana’s leadership. Proper space, decent room for meeting with guests, ceremonial, and conscious of the Presidency’s role in world affairs. The President was ostensibly above party, typically arising from the civil service or older politicians running for the office as a final cap to their careers. The people expected the President, whatever their party, to govern fairly and maintain a certain distance from the partisan politicking of the legislature. They were the referee in the game of politics, in short, or at least, that was the theory.

“I can’t help but wonder about the speed of all this.” President Harcourt, amiable as ever, leaned back in his chair. “It feels like this association matter is being rushed.”

“The summit at Canaan leads to a certain urgency,” Lilley answered. “The ISF selling out to the Coalition leaves us in a vulnerable position the Empire can fill.”

“So, what guarantees do we have beyond this offer of sufficient quantities of their curative drug? They have all but asked for extraterritoriality and exemption from our laws on a number of things.”

“Minor quibbles, certainly? In practice, they’ve pledged to stay to themselves. It’s not like they’re going to storm around making demands of the citizenry, whatever Goddard says.” Lilley crossed her arms. Do not tell me he’s having second thoughts now. If I lose his support… no, I mustn’t think that way. I’ll just get angry.

“Pledges, Madame Chancellor, are not always kept,” Harcourt said in a subdued tone. “You would be wise not to trust them blindly.”

“I trust them to be as concerned as we are about the Coalition’s power remaining unchecked by the League.” She kept her voice cool, putting an edge into her next words. “If you are so concerned about this, Mister President, you need only speak out against the treaty publicly. I would be compelled to put the treaty—and our withdrawal from the ISF—to an election.” You wouldn’t dare that, would you? Presidents do not meddle in foreign policy.

Harcourt grinned. She did not like the way he did so, as if privy to a secret she did not know.

“Now, that would not be wise of me. The Presidency is for maintaining the machinery of the state and heeding the will of the elected government, after all. Our society is already on edge, given the passion and energy of those who believe in the potential of Curall.”

“If you’re talking about my esteemed colleague Mister Goddard’s claims of death threats and attacks on his party’s supporters, that is all overblown nonsense anyway, and I can’t honestly believe you’d consider it worth attention.” Lilley frowned. “Honestly, Mister President, I must know. Do you oppose the treaty? Will you? Do I need to call an election?”

Harcourt stared at her for a moment before letting a quiet sigh escape his lips. “No, Madame Chancellor. As you pointed out, it is not my role to comment on foreign policy, short of preserving the integrity of our government. The legislature must decide for itself. I only wish you to be more circumspect on matters before making any incontrovertible decisions.”

“I have been as circumspect as the matter demands. This is our best course. Now, do you wish to discuss anything else, Mister President?”

“Nothing, Madame Chancellor.” He made a show of checking his watch. “I have an incoming appointment soon. I hope you’ll forgive me for seeing you out.”

“Of course.” Lilley stood as he did. “A pleasure as always, Mister President.”

Harcourt was deeply thankful Lilley left when she did. The first spasm of pain came to him as he returned to his desk. Damn. They come too quickly. I won’t be able to hide this much longer if the injections don’t last long enough. Seated at his desk, he quickly brought out his Curall injector and dose and applied it—none too soon, since a spasm filled him at the same time as the drug relieved the symptom, sparing him further agony.

Relieved of that, he glanced at his supply and frowned. Only one more injection. Then I must get more. Or… no, can’t think of it. I can feel that pain even now.

He put everything away and sat for a time, contemplating his situation.

The intercom squawked to life. “Mister President? Your appointment is here.”

“Send him in.” Harcourt drew in a breath to steel himself.

The double doors opened. Harcourt stood at the sight of Hrik’ma wearing a fine set of robes and gem-encrusted platinum bands on his horns. “Excellency,” Harcourt said by way of greeting.

“President.” Hrik’ma stepped up to the desk, one hand reaching into his voluminous blue-and-green robes. When the gloved appendage came out, its three fingers and opposable thumb were clasped around a box about ten centimeters long, five centimeters wide, and two or three centimeters high. He set it on the desk. “My usual gift.”

Harcourt’s hands shook as he gripped the box and removed the lid. Two rows of Curall injection vials remained secure in their cradles. He let out a breath of relief and put the lid back on. “My thanks,” he breathed while placing the drug with his injector and last dose.

“It relieves your condition still, does it not?”

“Yes. It manages that.” Harcourt sat in his chair.

Hrik’ma did the same, taking the chair vacated by Lilley.

“I’m glad the arrangement is still to our mutual pleasure, then. Rumors that you oppose the treaty we arranged made me wonder if you reconsidered.”

“No. No, I haven’t.” Harcourt cursed himself for letting the desperation, real as it was, seep into his voice. “But for appearances’ sake, I must be the elder statesman, you understand. I have to question things. Otherwise, people may wonder.”

“Of course. I understand completely.”

“I admit I am concerned on one matter.”

“Oh?”

Harcourt swallowed. “The ISF is on to you far quicker than I imagined they would. They are pushing the matter now, here and elsewhere. You saw that at Tibald. They may resort to force if your ships challenge the Tibaldians or other worlds, or make any other attempts to expand Curall’s acceptance.”

“A reasonable concern,” Hrik’ma granted. “But they are too late. Curall has reached peak saturation on many worlds in this sector, including Tibald. Those who rely on it are compelling their governments to take measures to secure the imports they need. The treaties are all in progress. The ISF cannot hold us back, not for long.”

“And if they make it illegal on their worlds and cause the same on others? Or the fact they now know how it works?”

“Let them do as they wish. With Ubana, Tibald, and the other worlds we are set to secure in the coming weeks and months, we will already be a force in Sagittarius.” Hrik’ma’s lips twitched into what passed for a light grin among Jalm’tar, the edges of the mouth cavity straightening. “There are other means as well. Those willing to hide the substance among other cargos for the profits of its sale.”

“Smugglers, you mean? You will rely on the black market?”

“Of course. And on worlds where the lower class lack the means to treat their illnesses and injuries, the Curall will beckon with its relief. It may take more time or less time, but gradually, the demand for its legalization will be made. Those reliant on it will threaten violence, and governments will bend or be broken. Such is as it has always been, President Harcourt. The Empire is built on pireem. Many have resisted its spread, but none succeeded. Your species’ fate will be no different in the end.”

“And if the ISF, with the Coalition at their back, choose war to resist you?” Harcourt’s voice chilled. “Am I going to see their armies tromping through our streets, burning our stores of Curall, condemning us to death to stop you?”

“I would not worry about that possibility, President Harcourt. If they take such measures, they will find we are not unprepared for war.” Hrik’ma stood from the chair. “I will return in a week’s time with your next allotment of doses. Until then, may Fortune smile upon you.”

“Take care, Emissary.” Harcourt watched him go. Damn them all. They will conquer us at this rate, and I… what can I do? He swallowed. I could reveal this, come clean, provide the recordings and transcripts of these meetings, warn the people.

A treacherous voice in Hrik’ma’s thick-tongued alien tone rose within his heart. If you do that, you will have no more Curall, and you will die in agony.

My world or my life. He knew he should pick his world. He should call Goddard and Lilley and reveal all. But his mind kept flashing back to those spasms of pain and what they would herald without Curall and to all the terrible things that might happen to the other ensnared people on his world if it were denied.

It was wrong of him not to act, but the fear was too much. A sob erupted unexpectedly from his chest. God, help me here. Get Goddard to stop Lilley some way. Get Lilley to see what’s going on. Please, don’t do this to me… I can’t bear it. I’m not strong enough. I’m just not strong enough…

15

The two helicars came to a soft landing in the outer commercial district of Yan’katar’s capital city. Their location put them just a few degrees off from the space elevator’s shadow splitting the light-blue sky above. The nearby buildings were a combination of warehouses and office structures with a few parks and sites.

“Not sure we should be splitting up,” Markson said, exiting the lead helicar.

“We can’t bring everyone, and I want the backup,” Miri replied.

She nodded to Piper and Vidia, also stepping out of her car, while the helicar behind settled into place to allow Brigitte, Janet, Cristina, and Laila to emerge.

Leaving just four to watch the ship again. At least the spaceport seems rather secure. “Brigitte, you’ll join us.” Miri nodded to Markson. “The rest are yours.”

Markson sighed. “Your funeral.”

“It would be unrealistic to expect them to let us all in,” said Cristina. “Besides, we might pick up gossip at the local shops.”

“Just be careful about agreeing to eat anything. Use your canteens first,” Piper reminded everyone. “Nobody wants to turn into an addict.”

The remark brought a sarcastic snort from Markson. “I think we can handle that part, Lopez.” He nodded to Miri. “Good luck and Godspeed.”

She nodded. While Markson’s group started one way, hers walked from the curb to a squat, boxlike, faded-blue-gray structure marked with Jalm’tar language characters and wide windowpanes. Not too different from other buildings I’ve seen of the type. Not the same type as the buildings in the city center either. Maybe our species default to the same kind of boxy utilitarian buildings when aesthetics don’t matter.

At the door, they were met by armed guards, all Jalm’tar of both sexes, who ran scanners over them one by one. Despite Miri’s expectations, they were not disarmed. Four of the guards fell in with them, while a fifth directed them toward the building center.

Little color filled the inside either, which contained flat plastic doors marked with Jalm’tar characters, presumably offices. Some had more elaborate designs than others.

“And here I was starting to worry this looked too much like office buildings back on Human worlds,” Piper said. “I guess the doors get decorations based on the rank of the occupants?”

“That seems likely with the Jalm’tar,” Vidia said. “An’ I suppose there’s only so many ways ya can build offices.”

“Pretty fitting if you ask me. Bureaucrats aren’t very imaginative.” Brigitte chuckled at her own remark. “They’re too busy trying to run everyone’s lives.”

Miri gave no answer to that. Her thoughts were on their surroundings—no defenses near the doors, and the way they were made precluded using the doorway as shelter except from the inside. In the back of her head, a mental map of the building remained, ready for use if they needed it. Still hoping this isn’t a trap of sorts.

They were brought to one of the least adorned doors so far. Inside were very plain furnishings, very plain wall coloring, very plain carpeting. It was the epitome of plainness, which seemed almost out of character given what they’d seen of the Jalm’tar so far.

Yet Miri wasn’t surprised to see Farfim at the far end of the room. “Captain, thank you for accepting my hospitality. I hoped to converse about your business arrangements. I imagine you would very much like cargo to bring back with you.”

“Empty cargo holds represent lost money,” she replied. “Of course, there’s not much to ship from here, given your export laws.”

“Regrettably not,” he agreed. “Such is the Court’s stance on the matter. Still, I suppose there are ways to arrange something.” He motioned to his security. “Go secure the hall, please.”

The guards departed, leaving them alone. “The room has a one-way sonic shield embedded in the walls. I trust my guards with my life, but I’d be a fool to trust them with my secrets.” Farfim motioned to a table with basic seats. “I’ve studied Master Lou for some time. He seemed the proper Human to open trade links to, especially should my efforts at Court prevail. That is, unfortunately, not due to happen.”

“A shame, as there’s nothing in worthwhile cargos going out,” Miri said.

“No. But you expected such, I imagine. Master Lou knows how things work here.”

Miri wondered if the expression on his face, with his lips curled downward and his eyes slightly narrowed, was meant to evoke humor.

“Then I consider word of the ISF worlds outlawing our lovely pireem herb, which is now spreading so widely, and it occurs to me you did come here to export something.”

The crew exchanged glances but said nothing.

“Cautious. Good.” Farfim nodded. “One must always be cautious in the Empire. Especially when you do not agree with the Imperial Court.”

“So, what don’t you agree with?” asked Piper.

“Trade policy, mostly. And related policies.” Farfim gestured toward them. “I am a merchant, and I know when to take risks and when not to. With you, I think the risk is worth the reward. The Emperor Hem’tan is, to put it bluntly, a usurper. He led a challenge against the rightful heir and won, but his challenge was irregular, and the circumstances indicate that Fortune’s Favor may have been… forced, you might say.”

“In what way?” asked Vidia. “Ya believe Fortune ta be like God, yes?”

“Right, you Humans believe in… well, not Fortune.” Farfim released a low grumbling noise from his chest that made Miri think it might be the Jalm’tar equivalent of chuckling. “Fortune’s Favor is determined in many disputes we have with one another, none more important than the Imperial Throne. Hem’tan and Prince Kanar rolled the Iron Dice. Hem’tan won. But the circumstances were suspect, the venue inappropriate.”

“The dice were rigged, in short.”

“There are ways to do it, it is whispered.” Farfim’s eyes hardened. “If it was widely known, it would enrage the Empire, but the powerful always find ways to keep such things secret.”

“They do that everywhere,” Brigitte grumbled.

Farfim tilted his head slightly and nodded once at her. “I explain this to you so you understand my position. Even before the great war with the outsider Humans, the Empire debated on how to approach your systems. The traditionalists, like Lord Kel’ta, wish to have nothing of aliens. They don’t even like alien subjects. They believe ruling over non-Jalm’tar degrades the purity of Jalm’tar society. The expansionists, however, are the strongest, and they wish to rule over all they find.”

“And you’d be neither?” Miri asked.

“I belong to a third group, yes, the… traders, you might call us. We believe the Empire best served by trade with other species, not mere domination. Unfortunately, our hope of finally winning an advocate on the throne ended when Kanar was usurped by Hem’tan. Hem’tan embraced the expansionists, the most militant of them, and they now bring years of planning to fruition. But the fools are arrogant. They are used to subverting and conquering by the herb but do not realize Humanity is stronger than the Groslan or any other species we have subverted so far. Your people will react with force eventually, and the Empire will be drawn into an interstellar war—one I and my fellow traders feel will be ruinous. We have worked with the traditionalists to restrain them but to no success.”

“And so you’ve come to us,” said Miri. “You think we can help?”

“I do not fancy myself a fool. You’ve come to seek information on pireem, if not a cure for the compound.”

Miri nodded. “We’d certainly be in interested in it. And you were kind enough to confirm it exists.”

“Yes. Getting it, however, will be trickier.”

“Well, how does it work?” Piper asked.

“I am no biochemist or doctor,” Farfim remarked dismissively. “I know only that it ends the addictive craving for pireem and spares the user from agony. It would likely require a stronger dose to eliminate the impact of Curall, but it should be effective. Getting it, however, is where you will have difficulty.”

“Ah, right, of course.” Brigitte laughed and leaned back in her seat, smirking at Farfim. “So, what do you get out of it, then? Giving us all this information, telling us this?”

Piper flashed her an uneasy look while Miri frowned at her. A good question but not the right way to put it. Maybe I should have brought Cristina instead…

Farfim seemed more amused than offended, to Miri’s relief. “Wealth. And the preservation of what I do have. If the expansionists prevail, they will gain even greater influence on Jalm’kis. My family—and those allied to us—will find our share of power in the Empire dwindling, and our chance at restoring the true ruler will slip away. And should war break out, our fleets will suffer in the conflict as well. Meanwhile, I expect Master Lou’s gratitude will be great, should my assistance bring what he desires.”

Brigitte nodded. “Well, sounds good to me.”

“Reasonable,” Miri agreed. “So you say it will be difficult? I imagine the cure is not easily accessed?”

“It is tightly guarded. It is manufactured only on Jalm’kis itself, and the formula is known only to a handful of selected scientists,” Farfim explained. “Even I do not know whom. It is an Imperial secret. Production and distribution are tightly controlled.”

Piper frowned at hearing that. “So it’s not even here?”

Farfim tilted his head to the right slightly. “Not in massive quantities, but there is some. The cure is only for nobility and esteemed houses as well as trusted retainers of sufficient rank. Even before the Empire found aliens, pireem became a preferred method of social control for our lower classes. If they become addicted, it just ensures they will not revolt. Nor will their families.”

“Ah, sounds like home.” Brigitte snorted. “The higher-ups get all the perks. Everyone else deals with the crap.”

“Such is the way with most societies, I’ve heard,” Farfim replied. “There are a number of nobles who live and work on Yan’katar, given its importance to our trade missions, so the cure is kept here. But it is under guard in a controlled facility near the center of the city, and only a ranking Jalm’tar is allowed to take it.”

“Could you order some, then?” Miri asked. “And then just give it to us?”

“No. As a security measure, we are required to take the cure then and there.” Farfim folded his hands on the table.

“So it’s a heist, then?” Brigitte asked. “Always wanted to pull a heist, like in those holos Felix used to watch.”

“I am unfamiliar with that word, but if you mean theft, I cannot recommend it,” said Farfim. “The building is too close to the space elevator base and to Imperial military assets, and government troops maintain security on the premises. Any attempt to break in and steal the cure would most likely fail. It is far too great a gamble.”

Not unexpected. Miri heard Piper sigh and felt like doing the same. “Do you have an idea, then?”

“I do. My proposal is to have one of my subordinates of sufficient rank take the cure, and then, once he is away, you can take blood samples. Your scientists may be able to acquire fragments of the cure formula.”

“I would have to check with our surgeon and see if that would actually work,” Miri said. “But it’s a start. And safer than—”

The entire room vibrated, and a distant thunder echoed through the walls. The four exchanged bewildered looks while Farfim’s confused eyes glanced around. A tone came from his waist, prompting him to pull out a circular device, one Miri imagined to be the Jalm’tar equivalent of a link. He barked harshly in a Jalm’tar language. A reply came in the same, and his eyes widened in shock and fear.

“What just happened?” Piper shouted.

“It’s an explosion,” Miri said. “Take cover, now!”

16

Farfim gave a surprised guttural yowl as Miri suddenly stood, pushing over the table.

“Turn it to the door!” she shouted.

Vidia and Piper did so while Brigitte went to a side table and took cover there.

“What is this? What are you doing?”

“Someone’s breached the building,” Miri said. “They may come this way.”

“That’s—”

A series of loud cries and explosive roars through the wall drowned out his protest.

When it was over, he gasped, “Impossible!” before rushing to his desk and taking cover.

The door flew open. Armed beings, more Jalm’tar, given their horns, stormed in with raised weapons. A volley of fire from Miri and her crew struck the interlopers, bringing them down, despite their body armor. Enemies behind the fallen foes returned fire with fully automatic ballistic rifles.

“Stay down!” Miri shouted, keeping low behind the table. I hope their rounds aren’t high caliber, or we’re not getting out of this place. Peering as much as she dared over the edge of the table, Miri squeezed off a shot that felled another of the attackers.

“Brig!” Piper fired blindly over the table’s edge. “Tell me you’ve found cover!”

“I’m doing what I—”

A shot cut off her words. Given the noise, Miri couldn’t hear anything else, save the vibration of a thump on the floor not far from them but definitely not in the direction of the door.

“Brig!” shouted Piper, though the gunfire made it unlikely she was heard.

“Stay down!” Vidia urged, popping a shot off with his xaser pistol.

Miri pulled the link from her belt. “Markson! We have a situation!”

“We’re already on the way. Hold tight,” he answered, his voice barely audible through the thunder and shouts.

Markson had slipped his link back onto his belt by the time his feet hit the crumpled remains of the street-side wall of Farfim’s building. Cristina was behind him, and Janet behind her, Laila taking up the rear. All were armed, though, by Markson’s reckoning, only Cristina really knew what to do with her weapon.

Once in the building, they followed the direction of shouting and shooting. For Markson, the old training kicked in without a hitch—the way to hold his gun, the way to move, and his quick open hand signals that the others obeyed, spreading behind him as they came up on a pair of armed figures. Markson couldn’t see their front side, but their posture and movement hinted at military training, making them more than typical thugs or guards.

Local guards? No time to check, and not like they’d hold fire on us anyway. He raised his weapon and fired, sending a solid particle bolt into the back of the nearest threat. Cristina and Janet fired in tandem and brought the other one down.

From the front, they were likely Jalm’tar, going by the shape of their helmets, with the faces also completely covered. That confirmed their identity for Markson. Security officers wouldn’t have that kind of look. It was a hit team of some sort. Laila knelt beside one as if to check on them.

“No time, Doctor. Let’s get to our people first.”

For a moment, she looked ready to argue but got back to her feet regardless.

Following the sounds of combat, they moved farther into the building. Markson wished he had a proper tactical unit to clear all the doors he passed, but the fight was ahead, and he would have to risk it if they were to get to Miri and the others in time.

He stopped short of a new corridor opening to the left and slipped up to the edge. He had only enough time to peek around before he had to pull it back to avoid the gunfire coming their way. “Looks like they’ve got a prepared position here.”

Before he could say anything else, Janet rushed ahead, crouching low and sprinting along the floor. It was an acrobatic move, similar to her movements during the fighting at Sophia’s Hollow on Starfall, and it also kept her profile small and a harder target. The gunfire missed her in the second she gave them before she was through. She crouched low and fired blind shots around the edge, avoiding return fire. Markson squeezed off a few of his own before the volume of fire forced him back into cover.

Cristina crouched beside him and fired as well, to no avail, before she had to slip back out of sight. “They have heavier weapons than we do. We can’t push them.”

“We’ve got to try.” He took a few more shots and thought he got one of the shooters on the shoulder.

“Markson, what’s your status?” Miri asked over the link, the urgency in her voice palpable.

“Pinned down by suppressive fire. We’re stuck here for the moment,” he replied. “What’s your status?”

At first, there was no reply, just the crackle of weapons fire. “Not good. We’re trapped here. No escape, and we can’t hold for much longer.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Markson promised, though he wasn’t sure precisely what they could do that they hadn’t already. “Just hold on!”

The shouts and cries and gunfire echoed in Brigitte’s ears, the only things she was aware of for a time besides the splitting pain in her chest and ribs. Her hands, clasped to the source of the pain, were slick with blood. I’ve been shot went through her mind repeatedly. I’ve been bloody shot.

Faintly, she thought she heard Piper and the others calling to her over the din of the fight, but she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t be sure of anything except the intensity of the pain. Not until it faded slightly could she get her head together and register her surroundings.

The table she’d picked as cover was already chipped and worn by other hits, but for the moment, the enemy ignored her. A few of them were on the ground, taken out by her crewmates, who kept firing as openings allowed, while huddling behind the decaying, splintered mess that had once been a table. Holes pockmarked the far wall.

I have to get it together. They need me. Brigitte pulled a hand away and reached for her gun. When she brought it up, she found she couldn’t keep it steady enough to fire, much less hit anything. Every moment sent pain shooting through her chest and side, emanating from the bleeding wounds. She would never make it work.

A flash of violet light led to a guttural cry. Another attacker went down, hit by Vidia’s xaser, but it was not a direct hit. After flailing a moment, the shooter pulled something from their belt. Brigitte watched them rip the tip off, presenting the glint of a needle, which they plunged into their body. They faltered a moment, falling back into cover and almost out of sight. Brigitte watched them rise regardless and lift their weapon, joining the fire keeping her friends pinned in place.

Whatever that stuff is… it must help. If I could get some… A desperate thought came to her. Under ordinary circumstances, she would not consider it, but her crew was in trouble, she had to help.

While the others kept the enemy’s attention, Brigitte remained low, creeping toward the nearest fallen attacker. She half expected one of the shooters to target her, to shoot her again, but her luck held. None diverted their attention toward her. She crawled forward until she was close enough to search the shooter. She checked along the belt. Ammo, don’t know what this is… come on… there! Her hand gripped an object, and she quickly confirmed it looked much like the same thing she’d seen used. It was dark and gray and fit into her hand with plenty of room. What is this stuff? she wondered, unable to make out the contents.

Oh well, no time. She pulled off the cap, baring the needle, and jabbed it into her arm. It hurt terribly to force it in, but she didn’t have a choice. She depressed the opposite end from the needle and felt the surge of cold as whatever it was filled the injection area and moved beyond. Once she’d completed the injection, Brigitte crawled back for cover. Need to help the others. We need to make it out of this!

The pain was already receding by the time Brigitte got back to her table. When she leveled her gun that time, her hand didn’t shake. She fired and caught one of their attackers in the side of the neck, just below their helmet’s protection. The hit from her plasma gun was an instant kill shot. She got back into cover just before the bullets started flying her way again. A sting of pain at the top of her head and a brief warm wetness told her she’d been grazed. But I don’t feel like it.

The gunfire slackened, and a thud echoed beneath its roar, indicating another fallen foe from her comrades. When the fire in her direction slackened, she leaned slightly and fired more shots in her foes’ direction. She hit one in the leg. The figure staggered and fell to their knees while one at the door turned their gun toward Brigitte, compelling her back into cover before more fire came her way.

She drew in a breath and waited for her next opportunity. When it came, she took another shot. That time, she hit her foe on their way to the door. She returned to cover, but no further fire came her way. Seconds passed, and she waited to see what would happen.

“They’re retreating.” Miri rose cautiously from behind the main table, joined by the others. It was a mess, barely intact. A few more volleys, and it would have splintered completely and left Miri and the others exposed.

The office was a ruin. Bullet holes covered most of the far wall and parts of the wall behind Brigitte. The main desk was wrecked, and not a single furnishing went untouched from the barrage.

“Inconceivable!” Farfim finally lifted himself up as well. “Egregious! They will pay!”

The door opened fully again. Weapons came up and went back down at the sight of Farfim’s security people. Markson came up with them. “Everyone okay?”

“Brig!” Piper’s eyes widened. “You’re…”

Brigitte looked down. The first hit was still bleeding, and she had a couple of other small graze wounds she hadn’t noticed. I don’t even feel the pain anymore.

“Surgeon, Laila, get in here!” Markson shouted. “Sit down, Tam’si. You’ll make it worse.”

She almost fired back a retort but didn’t. This is a serious one, even if it doesn’t feel like it anymore.

As Brigitte sat, Laila came through the door and headed for her immediately, bringing out her first aid pack.

Farfim’s security were already checking the remains of the attackers. Farfim took in the sight of them. His lips curled into something that looked like a smile, though the ferocity of his barking Jalm’tar made it clear it wasn’t.

“Recognize them?” Miri asked.

“This gear is common among many private security outfits among my people,” he replied. “But they have no markings.”

“And why the old chemical firearms?” Markson turned his head around the room and focused on the table. “Wouldn’t energy weapons be better? They’d have made short work of your cover.”

“They are also too easily traced forensically. This sort of attack is unheard of. It is too open.”

“Someone must not want us to meet.” Miri’s eyes met Brigitte’s. “You don’t look like you’re in as much pain as you should be. Doctor, how does it look?”

“Lucky. The round seems to have lodged in a rib. Broke it to pieces, but nothing came loose enough to puncture her lung.” Laila glanced up from her scanner. Confusion showed on her face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem unresponsive to a wound like this.”

“Probably that combat drug they’ve got,” she said.

“What?” Laila’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do, Brigitte?”

“Saw one of them take some after getting hit, got right back up,” she answered. “So I crawled over and got one from another of the bastards and took it.”

“Brigitte, no!” Piper looked horrified. “You don’t know what was in that!”

“I knew we were all getting bloody shot at!” Her words aside, Brigitte felt a cold tremor within. What did I take? It could have killed me! She glanced Miri’s way. “Sorry, I was just trying to help.”

“This is very bad.” Farfim stepped over. He reached down and picked up an injector. “Was this it?”

“Yeah.”

He twisted the opposite end from the needle until it came free. From within, he removed a vial. The clear tube was empty of whatever contents it had held before, save a very small droplet of blue visible against the glass. “As I thought.” Farfim lowered the vial. “It is too late.”

“What’s too late?” Brigitte grimaced. The pain was coming back, mostly given Laila was busy working in the wound to remove the bullet.

“Only one substance is likely used in this manner.” Even with the alien voice, there was no mistaking the gravity.

“Wait.” Brigitte swallowed. “You don’t mean I…?”

He nodded once, slightly tilting his head toward the right. “Yes. You injected yourself with a large dose of Curall.”

17

Upon their return to the Venture Star, Laila demanded Brigitte’s immediate confinement to the infirmary, and with her wounds still open, though covered, she was in no condition to refuse. Miri and Piper followed after Miri gave Markson quiet instructions to have the others rest.

I need to lie down as well. Brigitte’s body felt heavy with the adrenaline gone and the mental load of nearly getting killed again making itself known.

“Neither of you can stay for long,” Laila said. “I must prep the surgical unit to treat her wounds.”

“I understand,” said Miri, while Piper looked ready to burst, either into tears or fury. “Can we confirm…?”

“Let me finish getting this done.” Laila continued running the dermal knitter over the graze on Brigitte’s head, working the tool through the tightly formed cornrows caked in blood from the wound.

Brigitte winced. “Careful, it’s pulling my hair… ow!”

“Perhaps you should not tie the strands so tight here, then,” Lalia said impatiently. “Why do you tie your hair like this anyway? It seems very involved.”

“Because it, ow, it looks more interesting that way.”

Brigitte frowned at her while Laila pulled the tool away, that job done. Laila set it down and picked up another device with a thin needle at the end.

“What’s that for?”

“Where did you inject that drug?” Laila asked. “I’m going to take a sample from the injection site.”

Brigitte quietly pointed at herself, and Laila quickly pressed the needle into Brigitte’s skin and pulled it out a few seconds later.

“All right, wait here.” She walked across the infirmary to her shelf of scanning equipment and loaded the device into one. “It will be a minute or two.” She glanced back at Brigitte. “I would have you in the unit by now, but I need to know what’s in your system. If anything in this has a long-term effect, I’ll have to try to chelate your blood.”

“That sounds lovely,” Brigitte grumbled.

“What were you thinking?” Piper finally blurted with some heat. “Taking that injection without knowing what was in it. It could have killed you on the spot!”

“It didn’t, and we were about to die anyway.” Brigitte met Piper’s eyes. “I wasn’t any good in the fight until I had that stuff. It made me able to help push them off.”

“And if it’s Curall, then you’re probably addicted to the crap and… and we can’t cure that!”

“Not yet anyway,” Miri said. “We have a lot to talk about. That’s for certain.”

Brigitte shook her head. “What is it with this bloody planet and us getting shot at?” For all the ferocity in her words, Miri thought her voice sounded a little hollow. “Well, whatever it is, I’m ready for my part.”

“You’ll have no part,” Laila snapped. “You’re wounded, for one.” She looked back from the scanner once more. “And it’s confirmed. There’s Curall in your injection site. Given the dose size, it’s already suppressing neurotransmitter production.”

The confirmation took some of the energy out of Brigitte’s posture. Her shoulders slumped. “Dammit” was all she managed to say.

“I need to get working on the wound now.” Laila gave Miri an intent look. “Captain, I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Please do. Miss Lopez, let’s go see the others.”

“It’ll be all right, Brig,” Piper assured Brigitte before stepping away. “You’ll beat this.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we will.” Brigitte’s voice lacked its usual will and assertiveness. “Yeah.”

The word of Lutjens’s arrival caught Miri just as she and Piper made it to the galley. She sent Piper on to give the others word while Miri headed down to the hold through which their guest was entering the ship. Lutjens showed a certain anxiety upon her arrival.

“Captain,” he said, “I came as soon as I heard the news. Were any of the crew hurt?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Miri replied. “Thank you for that. We’re doing what we can for our wounded now. Is there any more news about the attack? Are we going to have trouble with the local authorities?”

“Oh, they’re enraged but not at you. No, I’ve been assured they regard your behavior as self-defense. It is your attackers whom they would love to punish. Conflict between Jalm’tar factions happens all the time but never like this and certainly not in the capital itself.”

Miri wondered about that. “So they might deal with the attackers themselves?”

“Oh, if they find them.” Lutjens shook his head. “But I doubt the paymasters will be punished. At last report, the Yan’katar Council had already called this a ‘pirate strike,’ regardless of the attackers’ skill and gear. Someone with a great deal of authority is keeping this matter from going further. That much is certain.”

“Someone like Gafren or Admiral Rista?” Miri ventured.

The functionary nodded politely in that way functionaries always seemed to. “They’d have the pull. But even Farfim has motivation to go along with the lie. He might look weak if more facts come to light.”

“So we’ll get nothing from pushing further for an investigation. That brings me to another matter.” Miri frowned openly. “We have wounded, as I said. One of my crew, because of her wound, took a shot of what she thought was a painkilling combat drug off one of the attackers. The shot was a large dose of Curall.”

“Ah.” Lutjens sighed. “She is addicted, then. That much is certain. And you want to know how to get access to the drug to treat her?”

“I’d rather have a cure, but in the meantime, I don’t want her to suffer.”

“Well, we can arrange Curall purchases freely now. And there’s always pireem instead. It might alleviate her symptoms if you can’t get Curall.”

“But we can’t just wean her off?”

“I’ve never heard of it. They quit, how did I hear it put… ‘cold turkey.’ Yes. That is the only way to break an addiction, and it is rarely followed through or survived.”

Miri nodded in reply. Poor Brigitte. We have to do something now. One of our own got ensnared in this. Maybe we shouldn’t have come out here.

“I need to be leaving. We’re having security checks back at the offices,” Lutjens said. “Please keep in touch. I’m trying to find a cargo that will buy you time to stick around.”

“Thank you. We still have unfinished business.”

“That you do. Lord Farfim, by the way, wished me to convey his thanks for your efforts. He said that for the time being, he can’t be seen with you again. He will arrange a quiet communication channel while operating under close guard at his estate.”

“Good, because we’re going to need him for that unfinished business. We’ll make our own preparations in case someone decides to try a direct attack on us.”

“That would be a very wise precaution, Captain. Good luck with your endeavors.” Lutjens nodded politely once more before heading out the airlock.

Miri secured the airlock manually before heading back up to the main deck. She found the crew assembled in the galley. Laila was present as well but without Brigitte. Someone had wisely set up a portable projector to show the ship’s exterior cameras, ensuring they would have warning if something else happened.

“How’s our patient?” Miri asked Laila.

“Tired. I gave her a sleep aid and firm instructions to rest, which she was following when I left,” Laila replied.

“So, Piper says the news isn’t good,” Pieter’s words were more statement than question.

“Brigitte took a full dose. It’s confirmed.” Miri nodded.

“Then she has a day or two before the withdrawal kicks in,” Cristina said. “Going by the experience of my last crew.”

“So what can we do about it?” Piper asked. “Other than try to get her more of the drug to buy time?”

“We don’t have much time as it is.” Miri pulled a precooked meal container out of the pantry, grabbed a packet of utensils, and sat down in an open chair. “We’re a cargo ship that’s not picking up cargo, after all.” She pulled off the activation strip at the bottom, freeing chemicals within a pocket between the strip and the food compartment to mix and heat the food for her. By the time she pulled off the cover, revealing she’d picked a chicken stir-fry, the heat was sending thin streams of steam from the dish. “The longer we linger, the more suspicious it is.”

“There’s no cargo to load,” Piper complained. “Vidia and I looked into it. The Jalm’tar have the export business locked down, and aside from their damn herb or that Curall stuff, they don’t export anything beyond the Empire’s periphery. Whatever other goods are brought through here are immediately scooped up by the Jalm’tar merchants.”

“Lutjens is trying to find something, but he’s not confident.” Miri took a bite and enjoyed the taste, or at least, the sensation of it. As hungry as she was, even the precooked stuff was good.

“So whatever we do, we’ve got to do it soon.” Markson looked up from his own plate and his mostly consumed corned beef sandwich.

Miri nodded while some of the others got their dinners for the day. I need to plan more crew meals together, when we can. When this is over. “Before the attack, Farfim proposed that he, or one of his retainers, could get a cure dose, and maybe we could analyze the results to find the cure.” She glanced toward Laila. “What do you think?”

“I can’t say for sure. I wouldn’t stake everything on it.” Laila took a sip from a drink pouch before continuing. “It’s one thing to look for a compound I know, but the cure may be multiple compounds working in tandem, and their quantities may be an important part of how the cure functions. Even if a primary compound is suspended among others for stability, we need to know the exact proportions. Once the dose is administered into the body, this balance starts degrading. Different chemicals might disperse or break up within someone’s blood. At best, we’ll know some of the compounds, but the longer we wait to get the reading, the less likely we’ll have an accurate understanding of the contents. We might still find the readings useful to make a cure, but we’d need more time for study and experimentation.”

“That does not surprise me,” said Khalid. “Otherwise, I can’t imagine the government here would allow someone to leave after an injection. They would force them to stay for observation and to ensure no samples get taken until well after the cure has dispersed and is uncollectable.”

“So it’s safe to presume Farfim’s plan won’t get what we need, especially not in a timeframe to help Brigitte.” Miri gathered another bite with her plastic fork. “Either way, we should take this as our opportunity to collect some samples directly if we can get access.”

“Whoa, Captain.” Markson sat up. “You’re talking about a heist or something?”

“Or something, I suppose. But ‘heist’ works.” She took another bite.

“Well, that’s going to be a tough pain to deal with,” he said. “With the military breathing down our necks, timing will be tight if we want to get away.”

“And we’ll need Farfim’s cooperation, most likely,” Piper added. “If he’s willing. But this way, we can get enough doses to send information to Henry and cure Brigitte.”

Miri swallowed. “If we can avoid a dangerous move, I’d prefer it. We just need one sample, at least, though more if we can get it.”

“And Brigitte gets it? Once we’re done scanning it and send it on.”

“Maybe. If we need the sample—if Henry does, I mean—in order to finish formulating a cure, then Brigitte might have to wait.”

“But Brig can’t wait that long,” Piper protested. “I mean, you’re talking weeks before she could get the cure, and this thing hits people after just a day or so!”

“I know.” Miri felt a sudden tremor in her belly that made taking another bite unappetizing. “And I hope it doesn’t come to that. But if we don’t get a cure back to Henry, the Jalm’tar will keep spreading this thing from world to world, taking over everyone. We’ll all end up like those subject aliens we’ve been seeing planetside. Servants to the Jalm’tar.” HaShem, please, do not force me to sacrifice another for a greater good, she pleaded in her heart while the faces of those she’d betrayed to the League on Lowery kept appearing in her mind.

“Before we start arguing about what ta do with th’ cure, we need ta actually have it,” Vidia pointed out.

“Yes.” Laila bowed her head once, her equivalent of a nod. “We will worry about the rest when we actually have the cure.”

Piper glowered but said nothing to further express her evident unhappiness.

“Well. Looks like we’re going desperado,” Markson said. “And here I thought I was going to be an upstanding citizen of the spaceways when I signed on with this crew.”

For the first time since the meeting started, Stepan and Janet reacted, the former snorting with amusement and the latter openly giggling.

“I don’t think anyone would ever accuse independent spacers of being devoted to the law.” Miri grinned despite herself. This is so very dangerous and also very much not what Jim had in mind when he sent us. He is not going to like hearing this. “So get what bunk time you need. We have a heist to see to.”

18

A common tradition found on many worlds settled by Humanity was the establishment of a nature park at the spot where the first colony ship, or ships, had landed. The settlers of Ubana had followed that tradition, with First Landing Park adjacent to both the commercial district, where Lou Shipping’s main planetary office was located, and the National Palace and the rest of the government buildings.

Mei-Ling Lou thought this park was one of the better ones, with the colorful flower beds set beside the winding paths and tall native trees of vivid grape purple and violet hues. Ponds of crystal blue reflected the boughs, with foot bridges of fine-hewn mortared stone crossing over them. She walked across one, wearing her ISF uniform with the cap off, her tablet in both hands. The handheld computer and net-access device was active, using the GalNet transceivers in her father’s office building to connect her across hundreds of light-years to Hestia. On the other end, her children, Francois and Kanda, smiled at her, the image so sharp they might just be meters away. Her husband, Kamon, had Kanda balanced on his knee while Francois stood in front of him. The sight made her heart ache with the desire to be there with them.

“You have all settled in well? The house is nice?”

“It is.”

“I would hope so, given how long we had to wait for it. Sometimes, I think Prime Minister Nguyen made sure we got a lower number in the lottery because of Father.”

“We could have been lower.” He grinned. “I can’t wait for you to come back. We have a nice view of the river here and the city. I, we, want to show it to you.”

“And I wish to see it,” she said, unable to hide the ache.

Kamon’s pained smile told her he knew that ache too.

“I want to take Má to my new school,” Francois said. “They have a big playground, and my teacher is nice.”

“And I want to see it all,” she insisted in a gentle tone. “I want to meet your teacher and your classmates.”

Not to be left out, Kanda pleaded, “Má, come home, come home!” arms pumping enough that Kamon had to put a hand on her to keep her from tipping off his knee.

“I want to. I do,” she insisted. “I just… I want to do my part. I want to make things better.”

“We know,” Kamon reassured her. “You’re doing important work with Admiral Henry and your father. Right, everyone?”

The children responded as expected, but it didn’t stop Mei-Ling from feeling guilty for being away from them.

Kamon smiled at her and spoke in kind, yet firm, tones. “Please, whatever happens, stay alive. We’re waiting for you to come home.”

“I will,” she promised, giving a small kiss to the screen in place of the ones she would have given them were they present. “I’ll talk to you again soon.”

“We look forward to it.”

She couldn’t bring herself to end the call. Kamon did it from the far end, leaving the screen blank. She sighed and slipped the tablet back into the inner pocket of her jacket. How long will I keep this up? she wondered. Father will need people to manage affairs on Hestia. I could find a position there. Or maybe an ISF posting. Admiral Henry could recommend me to become the fleet attaché to Prime Minister Nguyen. They’re friends. She’ll accept me, whatever she thinks of Father’s wealth.

“It’s not easy, is it?”

The voice surprised Mei-Ling. She almost thought she’d imagined it before turning and verifying that Chancellor Lilley, flanked by her suited security people, was walking down the bridge.

“Madame Chancellor,” Mei-Ling said respectfully. “I didn’t imagine I would be meeting you here.”

“I sometimes go on my own walks in the park. It’s a lovely place.” Lilley stopped about four meters away. Her security people were quiet, dour, but she seemed warm and sympathetic. “Your children are back on your homeworld?”

“Yes. They’re back on Hestia. We just secured our first house in Wen Hao.”

“You’re a native Hestian, right?”

“I am. As is my husband.” Mei-Ling nodded.

“I hear it used to be impossible for native Hestians to get nice homes in their own cities. Glad to hear that’s changed.”

“One of many things changing for the better, yes.”

“How many children do you have?”

“Two. Francois and Kanda.”

Lilley smiled at that. “A boy and a girl? Just like mine. Sam and Rosa.” She leaned against the bridge rail. “I’ve never had to live away from them. I can’t imagine not being able to tuck them into bed every night.”

“It’s been an adjustment,” Mei-Ling admitted. “Not an easy one. Having to be away from them is the hardest part of my life right now.”

“Then, why are you here and not with them?” Lilley asked gently, but it didn’t change how sharp the question was to Mei-Ling’s heart. “You’re clearly capable. Why not find work on Hestia? Your father certainly could have arranged it.”

“My father might have, yes. But…” Mei-Ling drew in a breath, taking in the scent from the water and the adjoining plants and flowers. “I’m doing this for them. For my family. I want to help make this a better galaxy for them.”

“I know the feeling.” Lilley looked out over the water. “It’s what we all want for our babies. We want them to be healthy and happy, now and forever. We’ll do anything for them.”

“How are your children?” Mei-Ling turned her head toward Lilley. “I hope they’re as well as mine.”

Their eyes made contact, and as they did, Mei-Ling saw fear and pain plain on the other mother’s face, in the tightness around Lilley’s eyes and the way her jaw clenched briefly. After a moment, Lilley gained self-control, returning her expression to something neutral, but a small frown formed on her face because Mei-Ling had clearly noticed her response.

“They’re ill, but they’re doing better now,” Lilley said, her voice carrying an edge.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mei-Ling said. “I hope it’s not serious.”

Lilley’s hands clenched on the rail. “It is. But it’s being controlled now.”

“By Curall.”

After she said those words, Mei-Ling regretted them, worried she’d unnecessarily provoked Lilley.

No anger showed in the Chancellor’s face, however. “If you think your father can use that against me, it would be taken as a mere foreign accusation. I’d deny it.”

“I’ve no doubt about it,” Mei-Ling said. “But I’m not speaking as an ISF officer or my father’s daughter.”

“Fair enough.” Lilley looked away for a moment, deep in thought. “It’s helped.”

“It makes them feel better?”

“It’s curing them.”

“You had it tested? The doctors say it’s truly—”

“I didn’t say a word about doctors.” Lilley’s tone turned harsh. “They just say the same things, call it untreatable, prescribe tranquilizers and painkillers, and leave my little ones bedridden. Just like…” Her voice caught in her throat. “Just like their father. But Curall actually helps them. It ends the pain. It lets them live. They can be children and play!”

Mei-Ling swallowed, wondering if she should press on, if it would be worth the trouble, or even be the right thing. She spoke softly when she did finally speak, as she might if she were speaking to the bereaved. “It’s not curing them, though. It just keeps the body from registering pain. The disease is still there.”

“Oh, I’ve heard that,” Lilley scoffed. “I’ve heard all that. From doctors afraid of being proven wrong, or not getting their cut of expensive medical treatments and drugs. They don’t listen. Nobody listens. Nobody cares to see how well they’re doing now, how they’re not suffering anymore. Their symptoms are waning because of the Curall. It may even cure them completely, not just control their condition.”

“But there’s no science showing that,” Mei-Ling protested.

“Don’t talk to me about science!” Lilley shouted. “The doctors and scientists don’t care. All we are to them are numbers on a chart! They don’t care about our suffering. They refuse to even consider they might be wrong, that it works. They ignore the dozens, hundreds, of people who are functional today because Curall works. It’s either pride or greed. I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve seen it work. I saw it work before I gave it to my children, and I don’t regret it, not when it saves them from that awful…”

With fists and lips trembling, Lilley visibly struggled for words. “Can you imagine it, Mrs. Lou? Your Francois and Kanda, bedridden every day, crying in agony as their nerves misfire and they feel like they’re burning alive from the inside? Just endless pain interrupted only by doping them up so much they just stare at the ceiling or sleep all the time? Not able to be children, to have a life outside their bedroom? And for hope, the doctors give nothing but more of the same painkillers and excuses. Experimental drugs and treatments being developed light-years away at costs you could never afford. Your children, condemned to suffer and die because they were born on Ubana or Hestia, not Canaan?”

The anguish in Lilley’s voice made the questions all the sharper. The counterargument that it was a false hope, that Lilley and everyone else relying on Curall were being deceived, died in Mei-Ling’s heart before it could even reach her throat. It wasn’t just the sheer passion in Lilley’s words but the images they forced Mei-Ling to confront. Imagining her children suffering from such a condition, robbed of happiness and joy, in constant pain and doomed to die of it—even such thoughts were a coal that seared white-hot agony into the depths of Mei-Ling’s soul. She didn’t want to think about it, but the sincerity, the pain, was too vivid for her to ignore.

And in that moment, as those terrible possibilities swirled through her head, Mei-Ling understood. There is no hope of talking her out of this. To spare her children, she will not relent. Just as I would not. Could not. Seeing Francois and Kanda in such pain would drive me to any lengths, and it has driven her very far…

Lilley nodded. “I see you understand. I hope you get home to your children soon, Captain. Please excuse me.” She stepped away from the rail and ventured down the bridge, her security detail again in lockstep behind her. Mei-Ling watched them go silently before moving on herself.

Inside the spare office Lou had assigned for him, Henry faced a wall monitor tied to the Vesta’s communications systems. The image on display was Oskar, back at his office on Hestia, a doctor’s white lab coat draped over his shoulders and a dour expression on his face.

“The latest results from known Curall withdrawal cases are bad news, I am afraid. The longevity of the neurotransmitter suppression is longer than we thought. In a case on Oxania, a Curall dependent has been in a medically induced coma for one week and still shows not one sign of neurotransmitter recovery, even after ten days off the drug. The doctors are monitoring the continued failure of the nervous system and organs that may leave permanent impairment if the afflicted survives.”

“So getting thousands of people to quit cold turkey isn’t an option.”

“It is not. A cure is necessary to avoid a large death toll.”

And that means it’s all on Miri and the others. I’d hoped to have an alternative. After allowing himself a small sigh of resignation, Henry nodded. “Thank you. Now we know that’s not an option. Any luck on the treatment front?”

“We’ve passed on our data to a number of agencies, but so far, basic chemical analysis is still ongoing. As things are now, every early attempt to clear the neurotransmitter-blocking agent has failed, and remaining substances in consideration from current data are dangerous because of toxicity to living tissue. Any Curall sufferer with an acute condition is untreatable, even if we do employ such means, since we would be poisoning them as well, something that would place too much strain on their bodies.” Oskar shook his head. “Given time, we could maybe develop something, but it is likely to take weeks, if not months, to have a cure ready for clinical trial. I understand this is more bad news, but I have none other to give.”

“It’s something.” It really is up to Miri and the others. “And the other thing?”

“The information on treatments for Richter’s syndrome?” Oskar retrieved a digital tablet from somewhere below the screen. “It is not a common illness, especially in the Coalition. All information is that it is an incurable degeneration of the nervous system, most likely the result of some early settlers of Sagittarius introducing minor damage to genetic structures by repeated exposure to Lawrence radiation.”

“A mutation?” Henry asked.

“Yes. It occasionally occurs in the genetic code. Richter’s results when the mutation triggers minor abnormalities in the brain that degrade the nervous system. Over ninety percent of the cases are in Independent Space.”

“And no cure.”

“None yet, no. There is an experimental treatment being tested on Canaan by the Varma College of Neurology. It has some promising signs of stopping the degeneration, but it is not widespread yet.”

“Definitely not on Ubana.” Henry rested his head against his fist, his elbow planted firmly on the desk. “And it’s bad?”

“By the literature, yes.” Oskar nodded grimly. “The nervous system becomes sensitive and causes phantom pain, usually likened to an intense burning sensation. In the final stages, spasms and misfires can cause the sufferer to lose motor control in addition to continued pain. The common treatment consists solely of hospice care and pain prevention by pharmaceutical means, typically by high-potency painkillers with the usual attendant side effects.”

No wonder Lilley’s desperate if her kids are suffering from this thing. No cure, watching them agonize unless she dopes them up. Good Lord, I don’t know if anyone could turn down Curall if it gave them hope for dealing with this evil disease. “Thanks again, Oskar. Let me know of any future developments?”

“I will. Tia sends her best, by the way. She’s confident you’ll help find a way around this.”

I hope I live up to that. “Remind her I think she’s doing great. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up. Godspeed.”

Oskar nodded before ending the call on his end.

Before Henry could stand, another tone brought him back into a sitting position. It was audio that time, a transmission by standard GalNet secure protocol, and he noted the channel was Captain Trang’s line to him. He tapped a key on the desk’s built-in hardlight keyboard to accept the call. “Henry here.”

“Admiral.” Trang’s voice was calm, but Henry could hear tension in it. “I wanted to let you know, sir, that the Ubanans are back. They’re trying to bring Curall to Tibald again.”

“Do what you have to, Captain. Just make sure Tibald’s protected and their rights enforced.”

“Of course, Admiral. Liberator Actual out.”

This situation just gets better and better, Henry grumbled.

For hours, the crew of the Liberator remained near or at stations while the ship burned out in the company of the Tibaldian defense forces and the Morozova. From her chair, Trang watched the holotank display beside her, a smaller-scale one from Henry’s vacant post behind and to her left. They were drawing rather close. Within ten minutes, the incoming ships would be in combat-effective range.

Fleet Captain Tobay’s voice crackled over the fleet comm. “Ubanan vessel Tyemore Comet, we have reason to believe you are carrying contraband. Heave to and prepare for inspection.”

Several moments passed before an angry soprano voice barked, “Captain Jessie Valmont here. I’m carrying legitimate cargo contracted under Tibaltian law and approved by customs. You’ve no right to demand anything.”

“We are aware you are hauling the illegal drug Curall. You can either allow its confiscation as contraband or withdraw from the system, but you are not landing.”

“Hell’s bells, man, I’m delivering a cure for all sorts of illnesses your world can’t touch. Stop thinking about your rich paymasters, and start thinking about your poor folk! Like I said, your own customs approved this. I’m transmitting my permission now!”

This is going to get ugly. Trang wondered how Valmont got such a permission. Bribery? Or a customs agent with family addicted to the drug?

When Tobay’s voice came back, it was harsher. “Tyemore Comet, your customs permission was illegally obtained. That’s another charge against your vessel. Heave to and prepare for seizure.”

The reply was a bitter, angry curse word followed by yet more equally colorful language.

At the sensor station, Lieutenant Fernando Valdez glanced up from his screens. “Sir, incoming vessels are raising deflectors. I’m picking up charges in their weapon systems.”

Another voice joined, thick-tongued and alien. “I am Ship Master Hrag Tesh’ra, commanding the Imperial Splendor. We will not permit any seizure of the Tyemore Comet. It is a vessel of a planet under the Emperor’s protection. Any attempt to interfere with its lawful commerce will be met with force.”

“Sound General Quarters. Set Condition Zulu throughout the ship!” Trang ordered.

While the Liberator and her crew readied for battle, yet another voice crackled in. “This is Commodore Piotr Tokarev of Independent Systems, flagship Morozova. Tibald is a member of the Independent Systems Federation, and we will defend it with force. You will obey Tibaldian law!”

“We have rights! Your people have rights! They have a right to real medical care, not your overpriced corporate drugs!” Valmont’s fury was clear through the speaker. “Now, let us by so we can get your people well!”

“I say again, Tyemore Comet, you are carrying contraband and have knowingly engaged in bribery of a Tibaldian official. Stand down and prepare for boarding. Ship Master Tesh’ra, we will fire upon you if you attempt to further impede our lawful rights.”

“And I will protect the Emperor’s honor, Human. Your old vessels are no match for my warships.”

“But Morozova and Liberator are, Ship Master,” Piotr retorted. “More ISF vessels are en route as we speak. If you fight, it will mean war.”

Nothing more was said. Tense minutes passed while Trang watched the incoming ships draw closer to combat range. Our velocity is up. They can’t think we’ll back down, can they? Nor can they want this fight. It’d tip their hand way too early and be a shot in the arm to the Canaan summit talks.

“Looks like we’re goin’ t’ have a fight on our hands,” Cera mumbled from the helm. “Evasive speed at yer order, Captain.”

“Steady, Commander McGinty.” And maybe, later, a talk in private about unnecessary speech in an imminent combat situation.

The range continued to close. As it ticked down to the final minute, Trang became convinced they weren’t bluffing. The Jalm’tar thought they could force the issue in their favor, maybe even provoke a political crisis on Tibald. They must think we won’t fight, that they can raise these worlds against us. They would be wrong.

At forty-five seconds, the icons of the incoming ships shifted. The display showed them make hundred-and-eighty-degree turns, with concentrated deceleration fields, after which their engines lit up, and they started burning away from the approaching defense fleet.

“Fine. Bloody corpo mercs, the lot of you. Killin’ your own people so the fat-cat pharma corps can line their pockets. This isn’t the end, though. Your own people are going to make you open your ports to the cure—if they don’t drag you to a damned guillotine first!” Valmont’s final words led to the common channel cutting off on her end.

“Still getting transmissions from the Tyemore Comet,” Petty Officer Reynolds said from his comm station. “They’re directed toward the planet.”

“Oh?” Trang looked back at him. His screen lit up, showing a vid of what looked like a family being interviewed.

“It works,” a female voice said cheerfully. “Every day, I’m thankful for the Curall. My leg is healing better than ever. And they don’t demand half as much as the painkillers cost.”

“Propaganda,” Trang huffed dismissively. And likely to be effective. “Can we jam it?”

“No need. The Montague is already doing that, from what I can tell. Though it looks like Tyemore Comet’s trying to get around it by switching frequencies.”

“Do what you can to support the Tibaldians.”

The fleet comm came alive again. “Thank you, Commodore Tokarev, Captain Trang. I think you made the difference.”

“How did Valmont get customs permission?” Trang asked.

“According to the report I just got, one of our customs officials was just arrested for handing out customs exception forms. He’s been facilitating Curall supplies onto Tibald for a while now. He didn’t expect us to start challenging Ubanan ships automatically.”

“Bribery?”

“No. His father was given Curall to treat terminal cancer. It was claimed as a cure. He’s been gleaning doses in exchange for exception forms for over a month now.”

Trang let out a pained breath. They strike at us through our families, through our desire to end their pain, make them better. To the deepest hell with them all.

“Thank you again for your assistance. Montague Actual out.”

“Stand down, set Condition X-ray throughout the ship,” Trang ordered. “No war today, everyone.”

“Th’ way things are goin’, that’s not goin’ t’ hold,” Cera said from the helm. “I hope we find a cure for this stuff, stop these sassenach deceivers in their bloody tracks.”

“You and I both, Commander McGinty. You and I both…”

19

Nikrios waited at the hangar door when Miri opened it.

“Come in.” Miri stepped to the side and let in the functionary. “Any news?”

“Lord Farfim continues an investigation. Lady Gafren has expressed her concern about the lawlessness in such ways that put the blame on him.”

“She’s a leading suspect, I imagine?”

While they spoke, Miri led Nikrios to the interior of the hangar, giving them some distance from the door, just in case they had unexpected visitors. Nikrios seemed displeased or bewildered, though Miri couldn’t quite tell which. She was still getting used to Jalm’tar body language.

“It would be grossly inappropriate. Especially for the Imperial Representative. If found out, the scandal would…” Nikrios swallowed. “Why, I think the Emperor would have her executed for bringing disrepute on him. If Lady Gafren did it, she must consider herself fully in Fortune’s Favor.”

Hubris, in other words. “There have been no more attacks?”

“None. Meanwhile, Lord Farfim is continuing efforts. He has identified a peer of mine who would be of rank to qualify for the pireem cure. We will let you know when details are arranged.”

“We need more help on that regard, actually. For starters, I need to know where the cure is administered. The building.”

“You would only be allowed in if you were retainers,” Nikrios said. “Otherwise, I do not see why you would need such information. It is not like…” Her voice trailed for a moment. Her eyes narrowed and blinked. “I see. Fortune would have to favor you greatly if you tried anything yourself.”

“Sometimes, you do what you have to,” Miri said. “Getting the cure itself is necessary. We can’t simply extract it from someone after it’s been injected. Either we take a sample ourselves, or there’s no point risking anything on your plan.”

“You would be hunted across space,” Nikrios warned. “You will not even escape this system. And if you are caught alive and interrogated, if Lord Farfim’s role is discovered…” She stopped speaking, as if she didn’t dare continue that line of thought.

Miri merely smiled as a reply. “Maybe, maybe not. That’s my problem.” When silence answered her, Miri drew closer. Nikrios actually backed away a little. “I have another problem. One of my crew accidentally took a dose of Curall while trying to save our lives, including Lord Farfim’s. I fully expect that if he wants to get in our good graces, he’s going to repay that by helping us cure her, or by God, I’ll find another way, and I’m pretty sure he’ll still end up on the chopping block for it. And speaking of… you forgot one other possibility for Gafren being behind the attack.”

“I did?”

“Yes.” Miri frowned. “Maybe the Imperial Representative, personal envoy of the Emperor, is carrying out his orders.”

Nikrios swallowed again, or rather, gulped. Good to see we have some similarities in body language, Miri observed.

“A very disturbing possibility,” Nikrios murmured, her voice low, as if afraid another might hear her. “Lord Farfim’s allegiance to Prince Kanar is known. He would be seen as an enemy of the Emperor. But for the Emperor to condone such a thing, if it were widely known, would enrage many.”

“All the better to ensure Gafren isn’t found out, then?” Miri speculated. “Farfim needs to take a chance, the same we’re taking, if we’re to get out of this. If we get that cure, the Empire’s ability to expand by addiction is over, and maybe he can make something of the resulting politics back home?”

“Yes. Perhaps.” Nikrios appeared to think it over. “I will relay the quest to Lord Farfim.”

“Please do. My shipmate is running out of time.” With that reminder, Miri led Nikrios back to the door.

The galley was empty when Cristina arrived for her early lunch. She took a meal from the pantry and a drink from the fridge unit, then sat to enjoy both. She’d just started the meal, a warm stew, when Vidia entered.

“Ah, gettin’ an early meal, are we? Or a late one. Didn’t see ya for breakfast.”

“I got an early breakfast too,” she replied.

“Didn’t sleep much, did ya?” Vidia went to the pantry as well. As Cristina had expected, he pulled out a container of Antillan jerk patties, pulled the heating strip from the bottom, and took out a drink as well. “Been a hard few days.”

“Not just that.” Cristina set her plastic spoon down on the paper napkin at her side. “Brigitte.”

“She’s tough. Don’t count her out.”

“It’s not about being tough. Being tough won’t stop her from collapsing where she stands.” Cristina shook her head. “We never had a chance. They know how to prey upon desperation. Then we’re ensnared, and there’s nothing to do about it. We either obey their whims, or we suffer and eventually die.”

“Sounds about right. It’s why I’m fine with doin’ this. Peace is good but not if it means givin’ in ta somethin’ like this.” Vidia sat across from her and set his platter and drink down before opening both. Steam rose from his meal, as it did from hers.

“It’s always about domination. Take what you wish, demand what you want, and crush those who defy you.” She spoke the words with increasing disgust, much of it turned inward. “I was not any better. I spread my own drug among the Lusitanian people, all in the name of my personal crusade.”

“Not quite th’ same thing.”

“No? Ideology can be addictive in its own way,” Cristina pointed out. “It preys on the despairing and the desperate. They need to believe in it, need to experience the feelings it gives to deal with the pain, and once they embrace it, they can’t turn away. They can’t recognize the lies, can’t accept being tricked.” She clenched her fists in response to the growing frustration, the anger inside her heart. “I convinced myself I was saving my world. That the only way to stop the fascists was to escalate their behavior and destroy them from within. But I hurt so many—not just the victims of the beatings and attacks my words provoked but the people who bought what I was selling. The ones who sold their souls to the vision I was pretending to uphold. How many might have become something better if I hadn’t sold them the drug of fascist ideology?”

It was almost refreshing to say the words aloud. To express the guilt. But the guilt didn’t go away. The pressure didn’t let up. Her past sins defied her justifications and haunted her still.

“Ya carried a heavy burden those years. Becomin’ somethin’ ya hated, all ta save your world.” Vidia’s voice remained gentle. “I wish I could take that burden from ya. Only God can, though.”

“God.” Cristina let the word hang in the air. “Deus. I remember Mass when I was young. It awed me. Now, I wonder if I could even dare step into a church without combusting on the spot.”

“Worse have,” Vidia said. “An’ they didn’t feel the remorse like ya, Cristina.”

“True.” She took up the spoon again. “I’m letting our food grow cold, very inconsiderate of me. Thank you, Vidia, for your time. It helps.”

“It always helps ta have someone ta talk with,” he replied before taking up his own utensils to dig into his lunch.

There was no quiet in the infirmary. Not with Brigitte sitting at the edge of a bed, kicking her feet against the frame and thumping her fingers upon it. She eyed the door like she used to eye the cell doors back in the camps, longing to get out, to go stimulate her mind. Back then, it would have meant labor periods or “resocialization sessions” designed to harangue her into understanding her “Social duties,” which were quite boring as well but could at least give her something to do by coming up with new and more interesting insults to throw at the instructors.

But here, she had nothing. No duties to keep her mind occupied and active, nothing to think about other than the Curall she’d injected. I shouldn’t think about it, she admonished. We were going to get gunned down. I had to use it to save everyone.

Laila walked over with her portable scanner and waved it at Brigitte. “Well, your vitals are stable. But I need to go get a neuro-scanner to make sure there’s no change yet. Do you feel anything?”

“Impatience and a desire to go bloody do something,” Brigitte growled. “Can’t you at least let me stay in my quarters or something?”

“I can get you a tablet from the rec room, but I cannot leave you unsupervised,” Laila insisted, putting the scanner back in her coat. “Your wound is still healing, and we don’t know how you’ll react to no new dosages of Curall as time passes.”

The door slid open. Piper walked in, looking almost normal, save for her gait being a bit too hurried, too rushed, in Brigitte’s eyes. She was worried. “Everything still okay?”

“No, it bloody isn’t,” Brigitte hissed. “I’m stuck here, and it’s going to make me completely batty. I’d rather be crawling through the hull access system.”

“She is irritable and annoying,” Laila added. “And not caring at all about her health.”

“I hate being stuck in one place.” Brigitte turned her eyes toward Laila. “Pardon me if I like being free. It’s not like I had to grow up in the bloody League, being tightly controlled, told where to sit and what to do, to make me hate it.”

Laila blinked and touched her forehead with her left hand. “This is about your health. You can’t be free if you’re dead.”

“Ha. It was the only way to be free in the League.”

“I’m sorry, Brig. It’s just… what if you collapse or something? And if you were alone, nobody would find you until it was too late.” Piper drew up a chair. “I’ll sit here and watch things with you.” She held up a digital tablet from the rec room. “GalNet might be light-years away, but I loaded some stuff before we left Sagittarius.”

“Sorry, Piper, not in the mood.” And now the wound aches. Wonderful. Bloody wonderful.

Piper’s hand touched her shoulder. “Miri’s coming up with something, Brig. We’re going to get you help.”

“Or you’re all going to get bloody killed, and I can’t do a damn thing for it,” Brigitte said. “Getting shot’s bad enough, but knowing that stuff’s in me, already probably messed me up…” She tried to find words but couldn’t. She couldn’t admit the full range of her fears. How bad will it hurt? Will I end up like those poor bastards back on Starfall, the ones fighting for that warlord because they needed more?

“I get it. You want to be active, to do something. It must be driving you crazy.” Piper grinned knowingly at her. “Well, crazier than usual. Just have faith in us, okay? We’ll get that cure for you.”

Brigitte lowered her eyes. Her first reaction was to demand a promise that she wouldn’t be given the cure if it meant being unable to make more of it. It won’t do any good to be cured if these horned bastards just keep on using it. I want them stopped. But she couldn’t say the words aloud. The fear choked the selfless thought before it reached her throat. She wanted the cure too much to be willing to give it away. At least, she couldn’t admit to being willing. Miri won’t give it to me if it means Henry can’t make more. She won’t like me suffering, but the job is the job. The cure goes to Captain Henry. She chuckled at that. She still thought of Jim Henry as her independent captain, not an admiral.

“What’s so funny?”

She grinned at Piper. “Just a random thought. I still—”

In a single moment, vertigo overwhelmed her. Her head didn’t just go light but felt like it was detached from her body. Piper’s face tilted back and forth wildly. Brigitte tried to put a hand on her head, but her arm refused to move before spasming in place, her elbow curling inward and one of her fingers clenching until the nail dug into her palm. She gasped for air and found it, but the rest of the world refused to right.

“Brig? Brig! What is it?” Piper’s voice, distorted in her ears, still sounded frantic.

Brigitte laid her head back onto the bed, though the sensation didn’t go away. Not for several more seconds. Nor did she return to normal. She merely adjusted to the new sensation. “Something’s wrong,” she murmured.

Laila appeared in her vision. For a moment, pressure tightened over her head, like a helmet of some sort. Laila’s eyes turned to the tablet in her hands.

“What’s wrong?” Piper directed the question at Laila more than Brigitte.

“It’s what I feared,” Laila said. “Neurotransmitter levels are already below normal, and it looks like the nerves are reacting.”

Piper frowned. Her hand gripped Brigitte’s, either to support herself or Brigitte. “How do we stop it?”

“Going by what we know, there is just one way.” Laila shook her head. “She needs another dose of Curall.”

“No!” Brigitte shouted. “Keep that stuff away from me!”

“Without it, your condition will only grow worse.”

“I don’t care.” Despite her discomfort, despite everything, she felt one overriding determination. “I won’t take that stuff. I don’t need it. I pushed through everything the League threw at me. I’ll push through this too. I’m not giving up my freedom to anyone!” She turned her eyes to Piper. “Promise me, Piper. Promise me, keep that garbage away. Don’t try to give it to me. Don’t even think to ask. I’m not letting these wankers control me with it.”

“You’re being stubborn,” Piper retorted, frowning. “Don’t do this to yourself. It’s just until we find a cure!”

You don’t understand. Brigitte shook her head. “It’s the first step on the road, and I won’t take it. Promise me!” I always said no to them. You had to say no to the re-socialization specialists. Otherwise they’d net you, get you on the path to just one more little concession, just one, make it a little easier, until you were used to being a drone again just to make your life softer, and they’d have you. I’m not falling into it! “Promise me, Piper, please.”

“I… I promise,” Piper murmured, though she wasn’t pleased. That was clear. “I promise we won’t use it on you.”

“That’s good. Well, guess I’m stuck here.” She let out a sigh. “And I think I’ll take you up on that tablet. Got to be something in the library we’ve not watched.”

Laila released an exasperated little noise from her throat and walked away.

20

The center of Jalm’mat was dominated by a view of the space elevator base. A couple of kilometers high and four kilometers in diameter, it was a structure in and of itself, a network of connecting tunnels, bays, and facilities to promote moving people and cargo to and from the elevator cars whenever they arrived.

Its central location guaranteed a regular level of helicar traffic, vehicles coming and going or having to route around the elevator traffic. One such helicar, one of the larger models, weaved gently through the lines, very much looking like they were trying to find a place to park on the ground below—just one of a number of models looking to do the same.

The driver was there for other reasons, however, and soon protested. “We cannot keep this up much longer,” Nikrios said. “Security will become suspicious.”

From the seats around her, Miri, Janet, and Cristina all looked around, taking in the adjacent buildings at various angles, particularly the nondescript structure that had a very detailed security layout, including a walled entrance on the street level.

“This is the last run we need,” Miri assured Nikrios. “Take us down. Make it look like we’ve lost patience finding a desired spot and you’re dropping us off.”

The Jalm’tar woman was quick to follow through, landing them on the street and taking off once they were out. The group started walking back toward the target building, taking a turn near it and stopping to window browse a shop offering an assortment of what Miri guessed were collectibles.

Miri spoke first, keeping her voice low enough not to carry beyond earshot of the others. “The direct approach wouldn’t give us much time to blast through and get to the cure storage before we’re overwhelmed.”

“So we need to slip in,” Cristina said.

“I can think of a way.” Miri brought her link up. “Still there, Nikrios?”

“I am. Do you wish me to come back for you already?”

“No. Keep that vehicle away from here for a while. We’ll walk to another rendezvous. I want you to find out if you can arrange for our crewmate, Brigitte, to receive the treatment.”

“Out of the question. It is only for Jalm’tar, not aliens.”

“Even though she only took the dose because of the attack?”

“No exceptions. It is not the Empire’s policy to grant such to aliens, even valued ones. It is a right for Jalm’tar alone.”

“All right. We’ll talk later.” Miri put the link back on her belt. “Well, that means we need a local.”

“And what, try to get samples during the treatment?” Cristina shook her head. “I’m not convinced Farfim, or any of his, will agree to that, since it would be impossible to hide their involvement.”

“But it’s our best chance. A direct entry won’t work.” Aware of the third person not participating in the conversation, Miri turned her head. “And what do you think, Jan—”

Janet was gone. Miri and Cristina exchanged glances then turned away from their window-shopping.

“Why would she walk off?” Cristina asked. “She knows how dangerous that can be.”

“I have my suspicions.” Miri increased her walk to a rushed gait, almost a jog. Anything faster would draw too much attention.

They turned a corner, bringing them to the street facing the Curall cure-distribution site. As Miri had expected, Janet was far ahead of them, almost to the gate. They continued, trying to intercept her, but slowed when she stopped and loitered for a moment.

What is she…? Miri wondered.

The gate to the distribution center opened, and several guards emerged, all Jalm’tar. They turned in various directions, two going toward Janet. She seemed to pay them no heed until she moved at just the wrong time and collided with one. He shouted angrily at her and gave her a hard enough shove to send her into the wall. Janet slid to a sitting position and remained there, curling up as if to repel blows, but the two moved on. Miri and Cristina stayed out of their way before approaching Janet.

“You shouldn’t run off like that,” Miri scolded. “Are you hurt?”

“Not really. Aches a little.” Janet pulled herself to her feet and clasped Miri’s hand.

Miri felt the plastic and glanced down to see an identification card or badge of some kind with a likeness of the guard on it. “Here. Access badge. Whichever way we go in, we’ve got something to start with.”

“At least until they find out it’s missing.” Miri pulled back her hand. “And assuming they don’t have biometric systems.”

Cristina shook her head, continuing to speak in a low tone. “Probably inside, but during our circling, I noticed non-Jalm’tar going in. Probably service personnel. Honestly, I can see biometrics farther within for secure areas, but that card would at least get us inside, if they don’t realize it’s lost.”

“Well, that doesn’t give us much time,” Miri noted. “But it’s something to start with. And now, we should go.”

“Agreed.” Cristina nodded.

The infirmary was quiet when Vidia stepped in. “Ya free ta get a meal, Doctor.” He looked about for Laila.

Nearby, Brigitte sat on a bed watching a program on one of the tablets brought from the rec room.

Laila emerged from her small office at the far side of the infirmary. Given the months they’d spent as crewmates, Vidia felt he had enough experience with her mannerisms and body language to see she was stressed and tired.

“If she presents any new symptoms, call me,” Laila insisted.

“I will.”

With a final nod, Laila moved to the door.

Vidia drew up a chair and sat beside Brigitte, giving himself a view of the bioscanner display showing her vital signs. “So, how ya holdin’ up?”

For a moment, Brigitte was quiet. She moved to tap the screen of her tablet, wincing a little as she did, and set it beside her. “Hands don’t quite want to work. And I got a bit of a headache, too, and this… this feeling like I’m not in my own body anymore. Like nothing’s quite right inside.”

Vidia nodded. “We could get ya some of that pireem. See if it eases the pain.”

Her reply was a furious shake of the head. “No. No, I won’t. I’m not taking that stuff. I’ve worked too hard to be free of the League. I won’t let the Jalm’tar control me.”

“It’s not about that. The crew, we’re worried for ya, especially Piper.” Vidia leaned forward in the chair. “It’s just until we get th’ cure.”

“Assuming we do. If we don’t, it’s just prolonging the inevitable. And it’ll… dammit, Vidia, the answer is no, and I mean it!” Brigitte’s voice grew heated. “Whenever someone tries to take control of you, you’ve got to say no, every time, no matter how much it hurts, no matter what it costs! Because once you knuckle under, the first time, it’s over. They’ve got you. It becomes easier and easier to just give in until you’re the pawn they want. I saw it in the camps, and I’ll damn not give in now.”

Given the ferocity in her voice, Vidia was almost surprised to see fear in her eyes. The fear of what’s coming, how much it’ll hurt? Or is she afraid she’ll break, like she’s talking about now? But despite it, she gave no sign of reconsidering what she’d just said, simply the determined expression on her face.

“Ever consider ya might be selfish about this?” he asked. “That ya be causin’ pain ta the rest of us? We’ll have ta watch you suffer this. Ya might even be throwin’ your life away and all for pride.”

She lowered her eyes and drew in a breath. “I know what you’re saying. And I don’t want to cause you or the others any grief or worry. Believe me. But I can’t do this. I can’t give up my independence like that, not ever again. I will never allow anyone or anything to take what I am, my ability to be what I want to be, ever, ever again. Not even for you or Piper or Captain Henry or any other. I just can’t, Vidia. I’ve worked too hard to get away from the League. I can’t accept being trapped again.” She shook her head repeatedly. “I can’t let this thing control me, not now. Not when I’m finally free. Please, you and the others have to understand that! It’s why I can’t give in and take the pireem. I just have to wait and hope we get a cure.”

Vidia almost asked about the alternative, about what she would do if they couldn’t get her one. But he couldn’t. It would be cruel and inappropriate and, in its own way, a betrayal. She’s being true to herself. I have to respect that.

Her right arm spasmed slightly, a jerk that shifted it. She brought the other arm over and laid her hand on the offending arm, as if to steady it. “Got anything new?”

“Captain Gaon’s still out. She’s makin’ plans. Nothin’ else.”

“Well, just have to keep hoping, then.” Brigitte picked up the tablet again. “All I can do.”

“Hope an’ prayer, yes. In the end, that’s all any of us can do, sometimes.”

Farfim’s safe house was an urban fortress that was in no way hidden, given the walls, the armed guards manning them, and the heavy security gate. Miri imagined that hidden generators powered deflectors to protect against helicar assault.

Nikrios led her, along with Cristina and Janet, through the security checkpoints and to Farfim’s inner office. He wasn’t wearing horn ornamentation, just a simple robe-like jacket-and-shirt combination.

“Captain,” Farfim said upon their entry. “You have seen what I mean? A direct ‘heist,’ as you call it, would be impossible.”

“Certainly very difficult—and impossible without the right preparation,” Miri agreed. “It’s why we need to discuss a strategy.”

“I maintain my offer. I can provide a member of my entourage who would convincingly need a dose and is willing to work with us.”

“That’s one half of what I’m thinking, yes. But to maximize our chances, I have two things in mind.”

“Yes?” Regardless of his inhuman voice, Farfim’s tone suggested apprehension.

“First, I need a couple of my people in with your subordinate.”

“Difficult, but they can be presented as Human servitors,” Farfim said. “There are a few. What is the other?”

“That’s our main play, but as a backup, we’re going in ourselves.”

Farfim’s eyes narrowed, and a frown crossed his face as his head tilted slightly to the right.

“If we’re lucky, we can get to their repository and access the cure directly then get out. But even if we can’t, it will create a distraction for your agent and our team, who can make a grab for the cure at the distribution point itself.”

By the time she finished the sentence, Farfim was almost hissing. “You cannot be serious. Even if you fight your way out and your ship defies traffic control to pick you up, Rista’s ships will intercept and destroy you before you can jump out safely.”

“We can handle those ships. Venture Star’s not an average transport, Lord Farfim,” Miri said. “She’s better able to survive a run-in with military vessels than you think.”

“Even if you do get away, the investigation will certainly implicate my allies and me,” Farfim said. “You are asking me to risk everything for a matter in which I will gain nothing.”

Cristina glanced toward Miri. She returned the look. Yes, and if you continue that chain of thought, you may even decide that betraying us is more useful.

Before Miri could speak, Cristina joined the conversation. “Consider, though, Lord Farfim, that the Empire is already hostile to you. The attack on your life has gone unpunished, hasn’t it?”

He nodded once. “It has, yes. And I have no reason to expect a true culprit to be found.” He turned his eyes to Miri. “Nikrios informed me of your suspicions. Emperor Hem’tan would be quite bold to authorize something like that. Bolder than I expected.”

Now I have an opening. “It sounds, Lord Farfim, like your survival may hinge upon our success and a repudiation of the expansionist policies. And this is our best chance, even with the risks. So please, help us, and we can help you.”

“Risks are always part of business, My Lord,” Cristina added. “What we bring you is a risk well worth the prize, and you will certainly benefit if the Emperor is forced to back down.”

Farfim thought deeply for several moments. Miri wished she knew how to read Jalm’tar better, to get a glimpse of whether he accepted her argument or would continue to resist.

He folded his arms on the table, lowered his eyes for a time, and finally brought them back up. “Very well. I shall support you on the condition that Master Lou supports me in establishing exclusive trading rights to Sagittarius.”

Lou will find a way to profit, I imagine, and has other motives too. “I believe I can persuade him to accept your terms, Lord Farfim. We have your cooperation?”

Farfim nodded. “You do. May Fortune’s Favor be on our side.”

Everyone met in the galley that time. Even Brigitte, though Laila protested with a continued glare as Brigitte hobbled to the chair nearest the door, slid into it, and sat in place, twitching here and there from her body’s continued degeneration. Piper sat to one side, Laila to the other, both ready to intervene if the need arose.

“So, how’s this going to go, Captain?” Markson asked from his seat at a table he shared with Stepan, Pieter, and Samina. “We’re really doing this?”

Miri, the only one standing, leaned against the pantry counter. She nodded, putting every iota of confidence she could into the gesture. “It’s not what Henry would like us to do, given how risky it is, but it’s our best shot to heal Brigitte and get the cure.”

Markson chuckled. “Well, I admit I didn’t sign up to become a thief and pull off heists, but no harm in doing one for the right cause, I guess. God’ll forgive. So, what are the specifics?”

“Farfim’s got a higher-ranked subordinate, a Ship Lord named Hangas, who is requesting a dose of the cure,” Miri explained. “He’ll let us know the time and place. He’s allowed to bring retainers and has agreed to bring three of us. It’s the most someone of his rank can take along. I was thinking that team will be Cristina, Janet, and Laila.”

Janet looked up. “Why me?” she asked in a quiet voice, almost a squeak, as if she wasn’t sure she should speak at all.

“Your special skills,” Miri replied. “It might come down to you being able to palm vials of the dosage just as you palmed that security card. Cristina, meanwhile, knows how to read the situation and can cover for you, and even if she can’t hide a scanner with Hangas, Laila will have an idea of what we’re looking for.”

Cristina nodded. “It makes sense. We will have to act a certain way to pass as retainers. We may even need to appear addicted to Curall ourselves.”

“And I trust you can do that better than most. As for the rest of us…” Miri grinned at Markson. “We get to be the loud distraction.”

“You mean we get to be shot at.” Markson guffawed.

“That, yes. You, Vidia, Khalid, and me.” Miri nodded in their directions as well. “We’ll use that card Janet swiped and gain entry then try to find the storage center for the cure ourselves. We’ll use translation apps on our links to read any internal signage. If we can find the cure, it’ll be great, but our big concern is being a distraction so our infiltration people can get a shot at the cure at the distribution point. We’ll stay in touch by link if at all possible, but whatever else, we’ll have a firm withdrawal time for everyone to be at the extraction site. That’s where Piper and the others come in.” She nodded to Piper next. “You, Stepan, Pieter, and Samina are staying behind to see to the ship. When the time comes, you launch and pick us up, then we burn hard for the limit and don’t look back.”

“I would like course possibilities ready before then,” Stepan said. “We’ll determine course when leaving atmosphere.”

“You’ll have them,” Miri promised. “Anything else?”

“Can we trust this Hangas?” Cristina asked. “I am not at all sure Farfim’s people are as loyal as he hopes. The Jalm’tar factions spy on one another heavily here.”

“If he does anything suspicious, do what you must, but Farfim knows the stakes. I can’t imagine he’ll be careless about his agent.”

“The best we can hope to do,” Cristina conceded.

“So what do we do if we only get one sample?” Piper asked. “Brigitte needs it, and soon.”

You know full well the answer. Miri didn’t put it that way. “That depends on if we need to hold onto the cure until meeting with Henry. If we do, I’m afraid Brigitte will have to go without.” Miri drew in a breath. She couldn’t take her eyes from Brigitte, who merely stared ahead and said nothing. “But we’ll do everything in our power to make sure we walk away with enough for her.”

“You’d be killing her,” Piper charged.

Miri couldn’t say anything about Piper’s angry words. They were true. If they had only one sample and it had to go physically to ISF labs, then that was that. She could not sacrifice their chance to break the Jalm’tar Empire’s offensive against Sagittarian worlds for one spacer.

“With everything going on, we will need arrangements for Brigitte when this happens,” Laila said. “If everyone’s at their station or on this heist, nobody will be here to monitor her condition. Knowing what it might do to her, I have to make arrangements.”

“Knock me out,” Brigitte suggested. Her arm shuddered—another nerve spasm.

It hurt Miri to see it.

“Sedate me and tie me down. That way you can focus on getting this damn cure and getting us the hell off this world.”

“I can give a sedative, yes,” Laila said. “But your condition might complicate it.”

“It’s complicated things enough already,” Brigitte said, her voice sullen and distant. “Just get the damn mess bloody over with so you can cure me.”

“Very well. I’ll have it ready when it’s time to start.” Laila turned to Miri. “When will that be?”

“Tomorrow or the day after,” Miri said. “Hangas is making his petition now for the cure. We’ll go in at his set time. So the rest of you, take the day to relax. Do what you wish. This is a no-work day. We’ll need you fresh when things go down.”

“It’ll keep the hurry-up-and-wait part of our minds busy, anyway,” Markson noted, standing. “Let’s fall out and get some rest. We need it.”

21

The news shot like a thunderbolt through the Lou Shipping offices, coming to Henry and Lou while they were just completing a briefing with the ISF Council still on Canaan. Lou got to the door first, Henry following him out and to the conference room, where a flustered secretary had placed their unexpected guest after his surreptitious arrival by the parking garage entrance.

Though they’d not met yet, Henry recognized President Harcourt the moment he laid eyes on the man. Ubana’s head of state held a steaming mug, quietly enjoying the coffee undoubtedly given to him by the staff during his wait. “Please, gentlemen, no need for formality,” he said, remaining in the chair. “This is hardly a state occasion after all.”

Henry glanced over and noted Lou’s surprise and bewilderment. It didn’t last, however, with Lou smiling thinly and taking the nearest chair. Henry walked around the table to do likewise while Lou spoke.

“Well, President Harcourt, I have no objections to honoring your request for informality. That said, this is a highly irregular situation.”

“Indeed. And the Chancellor will be most displeased with me, but I felt it appropriate to approach you myself,” Harcourt said.

Though Harcourt made it sound like he was simply going through the motions, Henry thought he heard a bit of fear in the President’s voice.

“I have heard distressing news of military standoffs between the Independent Systems and our imminent associates, the Jalm’tar Empire. Surely the young ISF cannot be seeking conflict, can they?”

“Hardly, Mister President. Regretfully, the Empire… insistently pressing the Curall drug—in support of similar actions by some of your civilian shipping captains—has forced ISF member worlds to become very defensive about their territorial integrity.” Lou used a gentle, diplomatic tone. Whether this meeting was informal or not, he behaved more like a diplomat than anything.

“Many on our world regard Curall as something of a godsend,” Harcourt said. “A cure for diseases and ailments that would otherwise torment and kill hundreds. This does lead to some passion on the matter, I’m afraid.”

“Unfortunately, our science shows it is anything but. It is an addictive drug given to create the illusion of treating illness. But the underlying condition remains and may even grow worse.”

Harcourt nodded stiffly. “I have heard such, too, yes. It is simply hard to know whom to trust on that, though. Against the proof of personal experience, what meaning do the words of scientists a hundred parsecs away hold? Especially since everyone knows the medicinal manufacturing companies fear lost profits.”

Henry answered first. “ISF doctors independent of any company have all verified the findings. Curall is a fraud. Believe me, Mister President.”

“Unfortunately, you are a Coalition-born man, and that alone makes you suspect to many. You are easily someone who will behave in support of Coalition interests.”

“The Coalition and I don’t always see eye to eye, Mister President,” Henry replied. Just what is his game here? “Though I don’t suppose that will stop people who want to believe in Curall—who maybe need to. Otherwise, they feel they have no hope.”

For a moment, Harcourt winced intensely. He covered it quickly, but Henry knew he’d scored a point, though he did not know why.

“Many of my countrymen may just be such people,” President Harcourt said. “I know Chancellor Lilley feels that way, as do many in her party. She’s been very assertive on the matter.”

“So we have noticed. Yet the science says she is wrong, and her passion on the matter is suspect,” Lou said. “Surely, there must be someone who can intervene?”

“Unless her party is swayed, there are none, and she works very diligently to keep them on her side. Short of a major event proving her position in error, I do not believe she will lose the vote for the affiliation treaty. Though it may help if there is a way to eliminate the reliance Curall users develop for the drug.”

“We have scientists investigating the possibility now.” Henry set his hands on the table. “Mister President, with all due respect, the Jalm’tar are manipulators and liars when it comes to this substance. They tried to pass it off before as a medical treatment when they were going to ship it openly. They changed to Curall, a concentrated form, when that didn’t work. This isn’t just a matter of conning people for money either. This is about power. The Empire wants to expand into our worlds and take us over, and this is how they’re doing it.”

Harcourt’s eyes met his. Henry noted the intensity in them. As if, for one moment, the President threw off the facade of a quiet, informal visit and had more serious reasons for their meeting. More than that, Henry thought he saw something like fear behind Harcourt’s eyes, though he could not know where the fear came from.

“If this is true, we need a cure more than anything,” Harcourt said. “If people are forced to choose between subservience that keeps their families alive or watching their loved ones die from withdrawal, many will accept subservience. Too many.” He made a show of checking his private link before standing. “Thank you for the hospitality, Mister Lou, Admiral Henry, especially for how unexpected I was. I must go now.”

“It was our pleasure,” Lou said. “Have a good day, Mister President.”

Harcourt nodded and left.

After several moments of quiet consideration, Henry spoke. “Well, that was interesting. He’s got something on his mind.”

“Yes, I would almost think him opposed to Lilley now.” Lou folded his arms on the table. “But he is being remarkably passive if so. As President, he could insist on an election to approve such a wide-ranging new diplomatic arrangement, but he doesn’t.”

“Might be he doesn’t think he can, safely, until we have a cure.” After some thought, Henry leaned over the table. “Maybe he’s worried about civil violence, or maybe he’s worried about not having access to more for himself.”

“He could be on Curall, yes,” Lou agreed. “And perhaps desperate for a cure if he has any understanding of the Empire’s goals.”

“Ideally, Miri and the others—”

The door opened. Mei-Ling entered with a frown. “Admiral, Mister Lou.” Her formality drew their attention. “We have a new report from Tibald. There’s street fighting in the capital.”

“What?” Lou asked, incredulous. “Why?”

“An Ubanan ship smuggled Curall on-planet, past customs, according to Captain Trang’s report,” she said. “When they started openly distributing the drug in Suffrenbourgh, the Tibaldian government sent police to arrest them and confiscate the Curall. Local supporters started fighting back. It’s becoming a riot.”

“We can’t do anything about that,” Henry grumbled. “Local police affairs are outside ISF purview right now. To be on the safe side, make sure Commodore Tokarev pulls in what he can. Just in case the Jalm’tar try to take advantage of this.”

“Yes, sir.” Mei-Ling walked out.

“It appears, Admiral, that a lot will be riding upon your old crew’s progress on Yan’katar,” Lou said, his voice sour with frustration. “As things stand, the Empire is likely to completely suborn this entire sector, and they will continue pouring the drug into the rest of our worlds from here. We may have no choice but to preemptively strike their ships and blockade Ubana.”

“No telling how that’ll go among other worlds, especially those that haven’t signed up yet,” Henry said.

“Quite. But we may have little choice. The Empire cannot be permitted to take over these worlds indefinitely, or to spread their vile drug.” Lou stood. “I will go inform the Council. I leave you to continue monitoring the situation.”

“I’ll let you know if anything develops.” Henry left his seat and joined Lou in departing the conference room.

After a day of work shoring up the wavering members of her party on the association treaty then preparing a press statement condemning Tibald’s refusal to legalize Curall, Lilley returned home hoping for a quiet dinner and time with her kids. Kaylee didn’t meet her in the parlor, telling Lilley the nurse was probably with her children. She stepped toward the hall leading to the bedrooms.

That was when she heard the crying.

It was almost screaming, really, but she could tell it was Rosa, and it sent Lilley dashing to her children’s bedroom door. Inside, Kaylee was at their bedsides, one hand on Rosa and the other trying to sort through medical gear. Samuel, likewise in bed, had his face scrunched in agony, tears flowing freely as he, too, wailed, but Rosa’s tortured crying rang ever more loudly, each second piercing Lilley’s heart further.

In her mind, they echoed with the grunts and groans Greg made trying to restrain his own urge to scream during those final horrible months. She could see his agony on their children’s faces. God, no, no no no no. It already wore off. Why? They were doing so much better!

Kaylee looked back at her, fearful and clearly perplexed. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. I’ve done everything I can, but—”

“Go, just go. I’ll deal with this!” At that command, Kaylee left the room.

“Mommy! Mommy, it burns!” Rosa screamed.

“I know! I know, darlings. I’m going to help you!” Frantically, she went for the closet, dug out the box, and brought her injector out of it. Precariously few bottles remained, and given their situation, she felt the need to use more and hope it stopped the Richter’s. She grabbed an extra pair of bottles and went back to the beds.

She had to hold Rosa down to stop her from thrashing about while she injected the Curall, one dose then a second, and did the same to her little boy. She collected Rosa and brought her to Sam’s bed. Lilley lay beside both, taking up the entirety of the small mattress. She had a child in each arm and stroked their heads and faces. “It’s okay, little ones. Mommy is here. Mommy gave you the medicine. It’ll take the pain away.”

“Mommy it burns. It still burns,” Rosa whimpered.

“It’ll go away soon, I promise. Let the medicine work.” She tightened her hold on them. “Mommy’s here. It’s going to be all better.”

The whimpering and complaints died down over the following minutes. But their ordeal left the two drained, so drained they refused to rise with her. She slid off the foot of the bed and looked at them sharing Sammy’s bed, utterly exhausted from the pain brought by their sickness.

A choked sob came from her throat. Greg was like that in the final months. Oh no, my babies… no no no… While tears rolled down her face, Lilley put the injector away and confirmed that she had only a couple of days’ supply left. Even less if she had to double their dosage again. If I run out… no, I can’t. I can’t think it! Without it, they’ll… She left the room with that horrible thought in her head and went for her home commlink. I’ll just have to get more, earlier this time.

The commlink connected her to the clinic she typically employed. The receptionist who answered directed her to a handling assistant then on to one of the deputy directors, a former doctor she knew as Harold Quentin.

The moment the screen came up, he shook his head. “Sorry, Chancellor, but our stock’s too low, and I’ve got patients who need it. You’ll have to wait for resupply.”

“But I need it soon,” she protested. “I’m running out, and I had to double the dosage. It’s wearing off too quickly!”

“We’re having a few others like that, and our resupply is late. I can’t help you. Sorry.” With that, he reached forward and off-screen.

“Wait, don’t—”

The call cut mid-protest.

Running low? How? She thought about it and recalled a second clinic distributing the cure. Someone will have it. I’ll call Hrik’ma himself if I must…

The Jalm’tar Empire’s embassy projected the appropriate image to the people of Tyemore, glittering with color and speaking of the Empire’s wealth and opulence. Hrik’ma appreciated the work that had gone into raising the toroidal structure and the beauty of the open courtyard in the middle with all sorts of fine flowers and plants providing soft, delectable scents. He turned away from his window view of the garden and toward the table ringed with fleet Ship Masters.

Ship Master Tesh’ra of the Imperial Splendor gestured once more to a holo-display of an ISF ship, the one called Liberator. “The analysis indicates our early reports were accurate. The armament is a combination of sources, including Matrinid muon cannons and Coalition neutron cannons. It is easily the equivalent of an Imperial Standard-class cruiser, and they have four in operation.”

“And we have ten times that many Imperial Standards.” Ship Master Senrat grinned ferociously. “This ISF fleet is weak. We could easily crush them with a campaign. I submit we should cease holding back. We take the fleet to Tibald and compel them to open their ports to Curall.”

“No, that will not do,” Hrik’ma replied sharply. “Aggression will serve their arguments. We will remain perfectly defensive and let the Curall do its work.”

“They have a sample, probably more now. The drug has done all it can,” Tesh’ra said. His peers all mumbled agreement. “They are not a small species that lacks the means to analyze it. Given time, they will discover how to treat the effects, and the drug will be meaningless. We should strike now, while they’re still reacting to our expansion.”

“We can easily smash these Humans and their ships, even their best vessels,” another of the captains chimed in.

“Do not underestimate them,” Hrik’ma insisted. “And again, there is no need to divert from our plan. No, we will continue as we have been. Escort Ubana’s ships carrying our Curall, but do not fire unless forced to by aggression.” Noting that Senrat in particular looked defiant, he added, “I speak with the Emperor’s authority.”

Senrat settled into her seat, hissing but saying no words. The others relaxed as well.

“If there is nothing further, I shall discuss matters with you again soon. You may return to your ships.”

The ship masters grudgingly filed out. Hrik’ma returned to his preferred chair and went over some of the briefing materials offered. They weren’t wrong that an immediate military victory would be easy, but they underestimated the foe. Hrik’ma wouldn’t rush matters.

With the meeting over, he turned to his reports. His attention quickly focused on news from Yan’katar of an attempt on Lord Farfim’s life. An addendum reflected he was in the company of armed Humans said to be hired by Master Francois Lou, the Human merchant prince. He considered that news carefully. Lou is playing a deeper game than trying to stop us at Ubana, perhaps. I will have to alert Gafren and Rista to monitor the situation.

His link chimed. “My Lord, Chancellor Lilley wishes to speak with you. She insists.”

I wonder what has brought this on. New developments about the ISF’s efforts? “Very well. I shall see her.” He directed his attention to the holo-screen.

The moment Hrik’ma’s face appeared on her screen, Lilley breathed a small sigh of relief. “Thank you for speaking with me on such short notice.”

“You are a valued associate, Chancellor. What is the matter?”

“I’ve found out that the supply of Curall in Tyemore is nearly exhausted. Many of our clinics have already run out or are rationing their supplies. Given the amount of Curall moving through our ports, I was wondering if you might arrange some to be distributed here instead? We can pay the proper rate.”

Hrik’ma seemed to consult something outside the camera’s range. “Ah. My apologies. Unfortunately, Madame Chancellor, Curall supplies in Sagittarius are dwindling as of late. Many of our merchants are waiting to see the outcome of our negotiations and the drive for legalization on other worlds before committing to a full delivery schedule. Too many have endured losses from cargo confiscated to overzealous local authorities or pirates, I am afraid. I can do little except assure the merchants when the market’s stable.”

As he spoke the words Lilley’s despair hit full force. “We have cooperated extensively with the Empire, Lord Hrik’ma. Certainly you can make some arrangements for us? Ubana is your friend.”

“Until such a time as the treaty is formally ratified, our merchants do not believe so.”

“But if we run out—!” My babies will die. My babies! She fought and only partly succeeded in keeping the fury and worry off her face. “My people, Lord Hrik’ma! The Curall is their only hope!” My only hope!

He seemed to again consider something off-screen. “I believe I can arrange a delivery scheduled for Sutter,” he finally said. “They tried to seize another shipment, so I see little point in risking more. And I will speak frankly with our merchants, but I know they will tell me the risk is too great until we have guarantees. The association treaty should satisfy them, I hope.”

“It’s coming on the agenda within the week,” Lilley insisted. “I’ll see to it. And I thank you for any deliveries you can arrange. It’ll help my people immensely.” It will save my children.

“I look forward to its ratification and Ubana’s formal association with the Empire. And I will see to that delivery immediately. May Fortune favor you, Madame Chancellor.” Hrik’ma ended the call.

Lilley went over and sank into her recliner. Her box of hard-copy-only state papers remained nearby on the table, where she’d left them upon arriving home, but she couldn’t bring herself to go to them. It was going wrong. It was all going wrong. It’s supposed to be curing them. It… Tears formed in her eyes at the memories of Gregory, of how the disease turned his final months into agony or drugged stupor. And now her children were going the same way, even with the Curall, the only thing that had made them able to function.

A horrible, nasty thought worked into her mind, fueled by political logic. He’s manipulated you. Hrik’ma has played you, Olivia. This whole shortage is pressure to ensure you go through with the treaty. She hated the idea, tried to push it away, but it refused to go. He was dangling the Curall like a carrot, pushing her into that association treaty. A treaty that, she reminded herself bitterly, did have a number of provisions proving controversial even with her Cabinet. They grew less and less enthusiastic over the arrangement as days passed and no Coalition-empowering alliance emerged from the Canaan talks. She would have to bring it to a vote soon. Otherwise, all the careful wheeling and dealing she’d done to keep her party on agenda would come apart, and it would fail.

Which explains this shortage. It’s pressure, just like on Tibald.

But what else can I do? If she changed her mind, if she insisted on renegotiation or delayed or the treaty died, the “shortage” would continue. Her people would suffer again. Especially if those rumors about the intense addiction, about withdrawal usually being fatal, proved true. Rioting in the streets could compel the government to get more Curall by any means necessary.

All those thoughts were political calculations, but a larger one loomed in her mind. Whether or not the Curall was a trick, whether or not it was a genuine cure or the Jalm’tar were everything Goddard and Lou and others claimed, it didn’t change one key fact. Her children would suffer without it. Sam and Rosa needed the Curall to stop the Richter’s symptoms. Whether or not it was addictive, if she couldn’t get more they would die like their father. They would die in agony, just like Gregory, and once again, she would be utterly helpless to stop it.

And she couldn’t let that happen. Not again. Not to her babies.

22

Under direct computer control, the rented helicar came to a stop in front of a walled, gated house in the merchants’ residential district of the city. Miri stepped out with the others and took in the sight of Master Hangas’s house. It was not as spacious as the other houses around, nor even Farfim’s safe house, but it was still a large home by their standards. Within the walls, blossoms and other fragrant plants abounded, following the pathway to the front door.

“I would greatly prefer knowing more about this Master Hangas,” Cristina said. “Given how much trust we must put in him.”

“As would I. But Farfim knows the stakes, and we have to trust he knows his people to believe this will work.”

“And if Farfim betrays us? Decides to give up his ambitions and side with his opponents?”

“From my world’s history, he would simply be putting off the day of his death,” Laila observed. “Defectors aren’t trusted that highly, and his foes may want to see him dead anyway.”

Miri approached what looked like a link station built into the main gate’s frame. She tapped at the largest and most obvious button on the silver box, a prominent red circle. After several moments, an alien voice uttered a demand.

“Miri Gaon here to see Master Hangas. Lord Farfim sent us.”

“Lord Farfim hakna. Sis goz vi,” the voice crackled in reply.

Miri had a moment to wonder what that meant before the gates opened. Taking it as an invitation, she led the other women to the front door. A servant, one of the Groslans, opened the door and showed them in, closing the door behind them.

They were brought to a visiting parlor of sorts. Long cushioned couches sat in the middle of the room, facing one another, with some plush chairs to either side. Though the curves and edges were not regular to their eyes, made in different angles and profiles than they were used to, it was clear the furnishings were, in spirit, the same as they would find in any number of wealthy homes among Humanity.

“Captain Gaon.”

The voice came from the far end of the room. A single male Jalm’tar stepped through the doorway, wearing a jade-and-gold-colored robe matching the bands on his horns. Violet eyes were set into a light-gray face, which matched his visible head, neck, hands, and wrist. “Master Kasras bav Hangas, at your service.” His English, while thick tongued like other Jalm’tar, was clearer than even Farfim’s. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Master Hangas.” Miri nodded. “A pleasure. These are my ship’s surgeon, Doctor Laila Opema, and two of my crewhands, Cristina Rodrigues e Silva and Janet White.”

“Ah. And they are to be my ‘retainers’ for our escapade?” He grinned in more of a Human way than a Jalm’tar way and took a seat on one of the couches. Miri and the others sat across from him. “Lord Farfim’s explained the situation. But I imagine there are trust issues, yes?”

“Given what we have seen of the Empire, how could we not have any?” Cristina asked bluntly.

He gave a loud belly laugh. “Yes, and you’re quite right. If Farfim was more like the others, he would indeed betray you to save what he could, not realizing there was no saving it. Hem’tan does not like the people who backed Prince Kanar. He will come for us all in time.”

Cristina wasn’t satisfied. “So you are willing to do this? Even if it’s impossible to escape the blame?”

“I am. Fortune has favored Hem’tan greatly as of late, but I can see it turning already, and it will turn further,” Hangas said. “He has what you Humans call ‘hubris.’ He takes Fortune’s Favor for granted when he should remember Fortune never lingers over one favorite for too long, especially not with the indolent. He has relied too much on the likes of Rista, Gafren, and Hrik’ma.” Hangas chuckled. “Besides, sometimes you must take risks if you are to draw the Fortune’s attention. Favor does not go to the passive.”

“And what do you expect out of success?” Miri asked.

“A part, a great part, in the expanded trade between the Empire and Sagittarius,” he answered. “Plus an end to the entire scam with pireem. Detestable stuff. Hooking aliens with it has only kept our empire back economically.”

“I can’t imagine you’ll get to keep this house and these things,” Cristina pointed out. “The Empire will seize them.”

“I’ll get them back if we win. If we don’t, I’ll be killed.”

Really? Miri considered his logic. It made sense, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he was too nonchalant about it.

“I see I am making you more suspicious.” Hangas chuckled. “Everything is ephemeral, Captain. Temporary. The only thing permanent is the chaos of chance and how Fortune sometimes provides favor to those willing to ride the storm. I will not be a passive observer. Better to risk all and gain everything than to risk nothing and gain little.”

Cristina glanced at Miri, who could see a remnant of uncertainty in her eyes. But when Cristina spoke, her voice showed none. “All right. How will this work?”

“I had retainer gowns prepared for each of you. The time is booked for later today. We’ll have the cover of nightfall for the extraction, should the timing work out.”

“Then I will go join the others.” Miri reached into a pocket and pulled out an earlink. She offered it to Hangas, who slipped it into one of his ears. “Cristina will brief you on our planned signals. Let us know if anything happens. We can start early or hold off as necessary.”

“Of course. Your people will be safe with me, or at least as safe as I might manage. That I promise,” Hanas pledged.

“I’ll hold you to it.” After a final exchange of eye contact with the others, Miri left the house.

Her team would be waiting. One way or the other, it ends tonight.

The Venture Star was down to five souls aboard. Stepan was taking a last-minute nap, though he would be at the helm when the go hour came, and Pieter and Samina were, likewise, resting in anticipation of an engine watch together. That left Piper alone with the crushing weight of responsibility. Everyone’s survival might hinge on her giving the right order at the right time, or failing to do so.

The hard part was that she could talk only to one person aboard without interrupting their rest, and yet, it would be a trial in and of itself. Despite that, she went to the infirmary.

Brigitte sprawled on one of the beds. A thin layer of sweat reflected light off her dark skin where it was not covered by the medical gown she wore. On her left arm, an IV dispenser was already in place, linked to a container of anesthetic that would put her to sleep when the time came. One of her legs jerked slightly from a nerve and muscle spasm. “Everything ready, Piper?” Brigitte’s voice was weaker than usual, as if she required more effort to speak clearly and was barely summoning it.

“Almost.” Piper brought up a chair. “Are you… no… you’re not okay, sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Bring our people home, and get us the hell out of here. That’s about it.” Brigitte glanced uneasily at her. “Ugh, I haven’t been this miserable since we had that Oxanian flu spread around.”

“We were all pretty miserable. But you’ll make it.” Piper forced assurance into her voice. “You’re strong like that. If anyone can beat this thing, it’s you.”

“Thanks for the… unh… vote of confidence.” Brigitte winced from pain. “I’m not letting this thing beat me. The camps didn’t. This won’t. Miri and the others, they’ll pull this off. Just like we’ve pulled off everything else.”

“Right.” Piper nodded. I hope I’m up to my part.

It might have been her voice or the look in her eyes, but Brigitte seemed to notice that thought, or the gist of it. “You’ll do fine,” she croaked. “You’ve gotten good at his.”

“I haven’t, not really,” Piper protested. “Compared to the others, to Henry and Tia and Miri and Yanik, I’m not… I’m not a leader, Brig.”

“Bollocks. You’ve got the stuff. You’ve shown it already. Just have to see it in yourself, Piper.” Her arm jerked out, her right hand taking Piper’s wrist. “I know you’ve got it.”

I hope you’re right.

Brigitte’s whole body shook. She let out a short cry before catching herself. “Oh, that one was tough!”

“What was?” asked Piper.

“Spasm. Been having a few, but that was all over, and it hurt.” Brigitte grimaced. “Still hurts, like someone set a fire inside my bones.”

“Then it’s time, I guess.” Piper swallowed then let out a breath. “When you wake up, we’ll have the cure.”

“Counting on it…”

Remembering Laila’s instructions, Piper opened the IV valve. No warning came, indicating the seal was secure, and the clear substance in the bag began to slowly enter Brigitte’s bloodstream. Piper remained for the next minute, watching Brigitte’s eyes grow distant then droop closed. She was finally asleep.

The door to the infirmary opened. Stepan stood there. “Thought I would find you here. It’s almost time. Everything is ready.”

“Then let’s get into position.” She walked up to him. “After you, Stepan.”

He grunted noncommittally and waked on toward the front of the ship, Piper following.

I’ll do this. Even if I don’t think I can, I have to try. For Brig, for Miri, for everyone poisoned by this stuff.

Janet didn’t like the helicar Hangas chose. It was too small in the rear seat. She was squished between Laila and Cristina, wearing long robes that felt heavy on her even if they were colorful reds and greens, and her hair was pulled painfully tight into horn-shaped buns formed by sticks pressed against her head, as if she were emulating a Jalm’tar’s actual horns. It was supposed to be a regular behavior for Human retainers of Jalm’tar, which made her wonder why people would agree to be such a thing.

He sat across from them, his back to the rear of the car, facing the car’s front compartment, where a driver guided them through the air. “They may question your coming, but I will insist upon it. I am of rank to warrant servitors attending me, and they will not want to risk insult.”

“Unless they’re suspicious of you already,” Cristina said. “They might then.”

“No, they would play along anyway, at least in public. We’ll know if things are going wrong once we’re inside.” Hangas glanced back out the door window. “And here we are.”

The helicar lowered to the ground and came to a stop in front of the unmarked dispensary office’s main gate. Hangas waited patiently in his seat until the driver got to the door and pulled it open. “You go first,” he reminded them in a whisper.

Cristina sighed and slid out of the chair, making Janet very pleased to finally have some space. She followed and stretched as much as she dared, stepping aside for Laila, who looked even more uncomfortable in hair horns than she did. Once they were lined up, Hangas emerged.

Jalm’tar guards stepped through the gate. They eyed the three women with suspicion. One spoke in their language, sounding harsh, and Hangas replied in a direct, almost frustrated tone. The exchange lasted for about a minute until the guard, fuming, stepped to the side.

“Attend me,” Hangas barked at them, looking flustered as they went through the gate. The walkway to the front door was open and unmanned, though Janet thought she noticed more figures in a couple of corners in the shadows.

At the door, Hangas stopped and glanced back at them. “They were quite adamant about refusing you, but I threatened to protest officially. Still, be cautious. They may be suspicious.”

Not what I wanted to hear, Janet thought.

Still, there was nothing for it. The doors opened and they entered. The heist was on.

23

The inside of the complex employed green and blue coloration, reminding Cristina of Hangas’s home or the interior of the building where they met Farfim. Is it a cultural choice? Do the colors present an image or encourage calm? Cristina wondered about it while they were led to a lift. She deeply wished she knew how to speak Jalm’tar so she could understand the occasional exchanges between Hangas and their escorts.

One of the escorts pressed a key and held a device up to a pad at the lift door. A yellow light appeared, and the door slid open. Hangas stepped in, so Cristina and the others followed, as did the escorts, who took up each corner of the car in readiness.

We’re a potential threat. Of course they’re treating us like it. We can’t do anything to raise their suspicions.

The lift stopped a couple of floors up. They emerged into a checkpoint, where for several moments, they were carefully scanned. Cristina held her composure, calling upon her years of experience dealing with Lusitania’s fascists as if she were one of them, and kept the facade of being a meek retainer as best she could. To her side, Janet was her usual withdrawn self, which served them well. Laila, on the other hand, seemed pensive and frustrated. That would draw attention. Cristina reached over and set a hand on Laila’s shoulder, as if to calm her. Laila turned her head and flashed something of a glare at Cristina.

The guards said some words. Hangas responded, and the answer was laughter.

“What did he say?” Laila whispered.

“I don’t think we want to know,” Cristina replied.

Cleared through the checkpoint, they moved on to a waiting area with semi-comfortable chairs. Hangas had a final exchange with the escorts before taking a seat. Two of them filed out while the remaining kept their places.

“Come, sit,” he instructed Cristina. “Standing around will only make it worse.”

“Do they understand us?” Laila asked.

“I do not think so,” he replied. “Human English is limited to merchants. But they may have been taught.”

Don’t take it for granted they can’t understand us, in other words. Cristina settled into a seat beside Hangas. “It won’t be long?”

“They indicated not.”

“All right.” After settling in, Cristina placed her hands in her pockets and coiled her fingers around the fabric, as if clenching them in anticipation or out of boredom.

What she hoped the guards would not realize was that she was pinching the micro-QET dot hidden in the robe’s inner pockets before they left, which activated the transmitter. We’re in position. Now to see how things go for Miri and the others.

Among the vehicles moving through the air above, a single rented helicar made a lazy midair turn. In its front seat, Miri sat on the passenger side while Vidia drove. She glanced back at Markson and Khalid in the back seat. They each carried a combat rifle from the armory on the Venture Star, just like the ones leaning against her legs, their belts carrying spare ammunition.

“You look nervous, Khalid,” Miri said.

“I am not a man of violence,” he admitted. “Not customarily.”

“Didn’t stop you back at the Hollow,” Markson pointed out.

“I spent most of my time tending to the wounded, not fighting,” Khalid reminded them. He sighed. “It is for a good cause. I will pray for forgiveness and do what I must.”

A tone filled the air. Miri brought out her link. “They’re in position. Take us down.”

“We’ll probably only have ten seconds or so, even if they don’t see us,” Markson remarked. “Get ready for shooting.”

Vidia was already bringing the helicar in. With the sun down, he killed the lights on the final approach, a dangerous gamble to reduce their chance of being detected. He came in high and lowered the helicar vertically, winding the engines down almost to a stop and making Miri feel just a little sick as her stomach—and the rest of her—rushed upward by the movement of the card. The controlled fall came to an abrupt, jarring end with a last-second application of the engines, just enough to slow their descent from becoming a crash. Vidia gave her a forced smile, pale from his own fear of the reckless maneuver.

Miri nodded and, with her focus back, opened her door. She lifted the rifles, bringing them with her while swinging her legs out the door, and stood quickly, handing one weapon to Vidia over the top of the dark-blue helicar before slinging the other one onto her shoulder. Markson and Khalid exited and fell in with them. Their landing point was the rear docks, currently inactive, though likely under some observation. Miri led the team in, rushing up the ramp to the dock platform and on to one of the entrance doors. She palmed the ID card Janet had swiped and pressed it to the scanner by the door, which gave off a tone, changed colors, and provided an audible mechanical click. The door opened successfully.

Inside was blue and white. The dock had some equipment but no visible signs of containers with the cure or any other substance. Miri consulted her link and the map Farfim had provided of the building interior.

“The receiving station for drug shipments isn’t far from here,” she murmured. “This way.” Using the map, she led them from the dock into the adjoining corridors.

They managed ten meters toward the building core before Miri heard movement ahead. She lifted the rifle and dashed to the next doorway just in time for armed Jalm’tar guards to round the corner. Her weapon readied, she stroked the trigger, hitting one before they could do anything. As the guard fell, her mind registered that they’d not just been patrolling but moving with guns at the ready. They already knew we were here.

The second guard fired in her direction. Beams of violet light scorched the doorframe, barely missing the top of her head. More rifle fire put the guard down as they, presumably he, barked something incomprehensible.

“No surprise now,” Markson said.

None could argue. They already heard the rush of footsteps to both sides. A loud warble filled the air, pulsing in intensity every few seconds.

“They raised an alarm!” Vidia shouted. “We need to keep going.”

“This way!” Miri yelled, rushing forward and firing from the hip as another guard rounded the corridor ahead. The rounds hit the Jalm’tar just before he could fire. I hope we’re going to get the others the opportunity they need…

Quiet, agonizing minutes passed in the waiting room. Cristina spent the time cursing that she didn’t know more about Jalm’tar body language and mannerisms, not to mention their language, so she couldn’t tell if Hangas’s relaxed posture was appropriate to the situation or not. The guards still present certainly looked alert and suspicious, which was not going to be of help for their mission in the slightest.

“Don’t know if I like this,” Janet muttered to her. “Don’t like how they’re watching us.”

“Nor do I.” Cristina shifted in her chair. Jalm’tar and Humans were close enough the seats weren’t inherently uncomfortable, but those particular chairs had too much of a dip in the middle. It slightly threw off her sense of balance.

The door started to slide open. Cristina almost felt relief until it froze in place. No attendant brought a cart or a tray or whatever case the cure would be kept in. It was another trio of Jalm’tar, two armed and one in elaborate, if functional, robes, richer looking than Hangas’s. Cristina noted the flicker of recognition on Laila’s face before she turned her head away. Not good. She might be recognized.

Hangas’s posture didn’t stiffen, but he did stand and perform a slight bow with his shoulders and neck. “Jalm’res Gafren, fa mir ta?”

“Tel’res Hangas. fa nol da,” the central figure responded, with what Cristina thought was a female Jalm’tar pitch. The woman’s eyes scanned the room, and a slightly pleased expression formed on her face. She spoke again in Jalm’tar, making Cristina bitterly regret not finding a way to bring a translator.

Hangas responded promptly and without apparent worry. The conversation continued for a few moments before Gafren suddenly spoke in thick-tongued English. “Doctor Opema, wasn’t it?” Her eyes focused on Laila, who did not look her way.

Cristina frowned and looked at Hangas again. Has he betrayed us? He didn’t seem to have any change in posture, though the grin on his face was turning forced.

“And you.” Gafren turned her eyes toward Cristina and Janet, though they focused on the younger woman. “A thief of some sort? Not that it matters. We are not fooled. I know why you are here.”

“For the benefit of my retainers, still struggling to speak our tongue, I will ask just what you think you recognize, Lord Gafren?” Hangas’s voice had an edge to it, though not as blatant as it could have been. He is quite in control. Cristina tensed, readying for what was to come.

“Farfim’s escape was unfortunately, but we will have him eventually. As for why you are here, it is patently obvious,” Gafren said. “Admiral Henry or Master Lou sent you to steal a sample of our cure for pireem addiction. We anticipated such might happen and that the traitorous elements would aid you. A very good reason not to simply forbid your arrival.” Her smile was identifiable to about every species that could smile—smug satisfaction by one who thought themselves above all others finding those expectations fulfilled yet again.

Cristina pondered a response other than to fight, but before she could react, a loud, angry electronic trill filled the air.

“Ah, there, your captain and crew, I assume,” Gafren said, her eyes directed at Laila, who finally deigned to look at her. “A bold move to invade our facility. But it will be of use once they are taken into custody, as you all—”

Before she could finish, Hangas was in motion, moving forward and slamming his fist into the visible throat of one of Gafren’s guards. Cristina, not to miss the chance, dove for the other, grabbing his weapon with one hand while her elbow struck his throat. Her foe wheezed and collapsed, so she wrapped her arm around her opponent to hold him up. He convulsed, nearly coming out of her grip, as a shot landed dead center on his chest from a guard at the door. Said guard’s compatriot was not firing. He had Janet to contend with as she hit low, using leverage to keep the guard’s weapon away.

Holding the shot guard’s dead weight kept Cristina from getting his rifle into position to shoot the uninvolved alien. She pushed the injured Jalm’tar forward, sending him crashing into the guard near the door trying to shoot her again. She covered the distance in a couple of strides and decked the door guard before he could get his rifle back up. That gave her a moment to bring the weapon into position and shoot him in the chest and throat. Bright coppery blood issued from the wound, and the guard gagged before convulsing and growing still.

Him or me. That’s what it boils down to every time. She turned the gun on Janet’s foe just as he finally caught Janet with the stock of his rifle, sending her to the ground.

Cristina fired before he could get his weapon in position to do the same against either of them. She pivoted on her foot, as she’d trained to do decades ago in the Lustianian army, and delivered another shot into the back of Hangas’s opponent. Then she turned the weapon on Gafren, who stared at it, wide-eyed, for a moment before regaining her haughty poise.

Janet got back to her feet. Nearby, Laila, overcoming her surprise at the violence, checked the guards.

“I should probably shoot her,” Cristina said.

“No, she may be of use.”

“You will all die here,” Gafren announced. “More guards are coming!”

Cristina went up to Gafren and smashed her face with the rifle’s stock. The Jalm’tar noblewoman stumbled backward and hit the floor.

“I doubt they will let you die,” Cristina said. “So, Lady Gafren, you’re now our hostage.”

Hangas laughed beside her. “I think I like you. Fortune often favors the bold.”

I hope so. Cristina reached to her ear and gently put pressure on the small link pod within, activating it. “Captain, this is Silva. We were made before the cure was delivered, falling back on Plan B.”

For too long, no response came, and when it did, weapons fire roared in the background. “We’re a little busy down here,” Miri said. “Do what you can to find any cure doses up there. We’ll do what we can down here.”

“Understood.” Cristina frowned and nudged Gafren with the barrel of the Jalm’tar rifle. “Come, Lady Gafren. Give us the tour. Or I’ll just shoot you.”

A protest seemed to form but died in Gafren’s throat.

Yes. I care nothing for your empire’s rules on these matters. I will kill you, and you know it. And like many people, you don’t want to die.

After a moment, Gafren hissed, “This way. It does not matter. You will not leave this solar system alive.”

“Perhaps not, but you won’t, either, if you don’t obey. Now move.” Cristina shoved her toward the door. “Janet, Hangas, please watch behind us, and Doctor, there’s nothing you can do for them. We have a mission to complete.”

24

The warbling alarm was an unwelcome distraction for Khalid, its disjointed shriek blotting out the short silences between gunfire. His grip on the firearm tightened, old training kicking in despite his loathing for it. Allah has put me on this path. I must dismiss all doubt, he reminded himself before pulling the trigger. A brief burst of fire narrowly missed one of the guards, forcing them back into cover. He held the weapon steady and paused his fire. Beside him, Vidia’s weapon barked briefly, another burst to keep the enemy down. He seemed to be handling the violence quite well, but it was fitting. The confident Baháʼí man’s faith was enviable, if one were willing to feel envy for such things. For Khalid, it was inspiring.

Guide my hand, Allah, that we might triumph without unnecessary bloodshed. He fired another burst and felt a surge of relief at it tearing through the hip and leg of one of the guards, hobbling them but leaving them alive. There were other Jalm’tar, though, and gunfire ahead.

“We can’t stay here forever!” Vidia called out.

“No kidding,” Markson growled. “With me!” The CDF veteran plunged forward, shooting as he went.

“Follow them. Help!” Vidia urged Khalid. “I will keep the rear.”

Khalid nodded and turned, falling in with Miri as she, in turn, followed Markson. He brought the rifle up and fired again, keeping the heads of those enemies before them down so Markson could get close. The increase in volume of fire brought down their foes one by one. Their return fire became sporadic, though still dangerous. Khalid felt a sting on his neck and knew, even without touching it, that he’d been grazed. An impact on his belly failed to get through his body armor, though it still felt like he’d been punched hard.

More gunshots were joined by alien cries of surprise and pain. The gunfire ahead of Khalid ended, leaving only that from behind, where Vidia was falling back, still facing the opposite side of the corridor.

“I’ll cover Vidia. You go with the Captain!” Markson ordered, coming about.

Khalid nodded and followed Miri around the corner, carefully stepping over one of the dead guards. Allah, grant their souls peace.

Miri came up to a door, opened it, then closed it by the time he came up. “Small supply room, not what we’re looking for.” Miri brought out her link and triggered the holoprojector. It showed a preloaded floor plan. Khalid tried to imagine where they were, but Miri was too quick. “Okay, this storage area up ahead looks right. Follow me.” Her voice echoed slightly through the earlink secure in his left ear. “Team B, what’s your status?”

Over ten meters above, Janet heard Miri’s request. Ahead, another set of guards fell back at the sight of Cristina holding a gun to Lady Gafren. Janet was busy keeping an eye on their rear. The Jalm’tar rifle she carried was heavier than she liked, but it was all they had to work with.

“We’re still looking up here. We’ll let you know when we find something.” Cristina nudged the barrel against Gafren’s back again. “Keep going.”

Gafren did so, but she also let out a thick-tongued cackle. “There will be no mercy for you. Especially if you kill me. The killing of a noble by a lesser means death by microwave field. Your insides will slowly cook until they melt. Or your body explodes. And do not think you will be spared this, Hangas. You are barely one of the Favored. Casting you and your family from the list will bring no qualms to the Emperor for this treachery.”

Hangas laughed and replied in Jalm’tar.

Or whatever the language is called. I wish they’d just speak English.

Gafren hissed in reply, after which Hangas switched to English. “I have angered her. I just called Hem’tan a murdering coward who’s afraid of risking Fortune’s disfavor.”

“Has she said where the doses are?”

“No, but we don’t need her to.” Hangas lifted a data tablet. “Her guards had access to that data, so we do now. This way.”

Janet kept glancing behind them to see if they were being followed. She thought she saw some figures briefly glance down the hall, just to stop and pull back behind the doors into connecting corridors. “They’re behind us,” she murmured. “Following. Not attacking.”

“Nobody wants to hit a noble by accident,” Hangas said. “Even if they’re not killed, the shooter is guaranteed punishment.”

Gafren said nothing. Cristina continued nudging her onward.

But they won’t just let us keep going without trying something, Janet thought. They’ll get in trouble. She felt her body easily settle back into the old instincts from the streets of Lowery. When she had to keep eyes out for Juvies because they might come from anywhere.

She heard the footsteps but did not act, not right away. That would just delay the inevitable. She wanted to catch them, to at least see what they might be doing.

“How do we know they even have the cure stored up here if they suspected us?” Laila asked.

“They would have had other clients, right, Lady Gafren?” Hangas answered. “Pireem abuse is a known vice with many nobles. It does hide pain, after all. It’s an excellent way to tend to injuries or wounds while other methods heal them, or just to enjoy having the body not react to aching limbs or the lazy hurts. Those things the nobles suffer from because we eat and drink too much and don’t work out often enough.”

Gafren hissed in their language, but Janet didn’t care. She could hear the footsteps again. They weren’t stopping that time. No, the hall provided no cover at that point, no doors or adjoining halls. Closer… closer… She turned and leveled her gun.

It wasn’t a guard. It was a short, two-legged drone of some kind, presumably made to be stealthier than whining servos in wheels or the like. In its clawed, three-fingered hands, it held an orb. For a moment, it did nothing, just stared at her with its one electronic eye.

Her finger squeezed the trigger just as the arms twitched. Weapons fire hit the drone and the orb in question, which erupted in sparks along with the drone before dropping to the ground.

The noise drew the others to turn.

Hangas growled something in Jalm’tar before adding, “Stunners! They’re trying to use stunners!”

At that point, more drones appeared from farther down the hall, each bearing the orbs in question. Janet lifted her weapon and opened fire, holding the trigger down and filling the hall with violet pulses. Drones fell to the barrage, but more came, undaunted, even as Hangas added the volume of his firepower. After several seconds, Janet’s gun went silent. A yellow light flashed on one end.

“The charge is depleted. Get a spare!” Hangas shouted.

A good thing I checked the guards. Janet reached into her jumpsuit waist pocket and pulled out what had looked like part of the gun. She checked the rifle and spotted the similar part and, more importantly, the nearby lever built into the frame. With a strong pull, she ejected the dead power cell, noted how the connectors lined up compared to the replacement, and pushed in the fresh one. She started firing again, just in time for Hangas to load a fresh cell himself.

“Keep going!” Cristina barked at Gafren, who hissed again before they moved on.

“What are stunners?” Laila asked. “Are they like stunner pistols?”

“They cause a shock to your nerves, knock you unconscious, but otherwise, you’re alive.” Hangas forced a fresh magazine into his gun and opened fire. More drones arrived, and his weapon helped take out a few drawing perilously close. “It’s a field-of-effect range, though it can be absorbed by enough matter.”

“Faster!” Cristina demanded, likely of Gafren.

Janet’s second power cell ran out, and she forced another in, but that allowed the drones to draw closer. They must have dozens, or maybe the damaged ones can repair a little and keep coming.

“You didn’t think we were unprepared, did you?” Gafren chuckled. “Arrogant as always, Humans.”

Janet got her gun working again, but Hangas’s was out of power. He forced another cell in while Janet kept her weapon firing, taking down one, two, three more.

…and a fourth threw its sphere into the air the second she could get a shot at it.

“Watch out!” Janet shouted.

She didn’t look to see what happened, but she could hear. There was a gasp, an alien cry of surprise and outrage, and Cristina shouting, “Out of the way!” Janet instinctively obeyed, pressing herself against the nearest wall, and Hangas went opposite her while Laila, in the corner of her vision, ducked.

Cristina moved past them, Gafren in her iron grip, and with one heave, she shoved the Jalm’tar noblewoman toward the incoming sphere. “Run!” Cristina shouted, pulling Laila to her feet.

Janet and Hangas fell in with her, dashing to get as many meters as they could away from the stunner and oncoming drones.

A loud buzz, a scream, and a thud followed. Janet whirled to see Gafren laid out on the floor, not far from the dormant sphere. Several drones were, likewise, down beyond Gafren, a few more still coming. Janet brought her rifle back up and picked them off quickly.

Cristina and Hangas fired in the other direction, where more cries and shouts echoed. With Gafren out of the way, they had no hostage to hold the guards off, and when those that had been falling back saw the way was clear, they approached with weapons readied.

With the last drones down, Janet turned to check on the others. They kept up a barrage of fire.

A bolt clipped Cristina’s hip, and she faltered slightly, though her weapon didn’t come down. “How much further?” she demanded of Hangas.

“Here!” Hangas turned to a door and waved the tablet over it.

The door slid open, and he entered. Gunfire sounded within, coupled with several cries, and a return shot singed the doorframe just to the side of Hangas’s head. Laila came behind him, and Janet followed, quickly identifying the three fallen occupants near emptied chairs, clearly caught by surprise that the door had opened. Janet swept around as Cristina backed in, giving cover for Cristina and forcing one of the Jalm’tar from the door with a burst of fire. Hangas went to the side of the door and hit a large yellow square on the controls. The door slammed shut rapidly just as a guard appeared ready to come through.

“Emergency seal. In case this needs to be made a panic room,” he advised them. “It’ll give us some time.”

Janet immediately examined the chamber. It was reasonably large, with only the wall to her immediate left bare. Oval-shaped cabinets lined the wall to her right and the opposite wall, with the far wall covered in monitors and a desk facing the door, one of the fallen Jalm’tar propped against it.

“Why would they use this as a panic room? Surely the complex has other security centers?” asked Laila.

“Because of this.” Hangas walked over to a set of what Janet considered cabinets, though the openings were all oval for some reason. He reached within and brought out the only contents she could see—a brown box. He opened the lid and presented them a view of five or six oblong capsules of bright-turquoise solution held within a tray that had room for another ten of the same. “The cure,” he said, noting the inscription on the box. “Just enough for a busy day, I imagine.”

“Is it genuine?” Cristina asked Laila.

Laila reached within her robes and brought out a scanner. “It appears so,” she confirmed. “Personally, I’m not familiar with enough of the chemicals involved, but everything is consistent with an agent made to chemically bond with other compounds, preferentially. This is what a cure would have to do in order to restore nerve function.”

“I understand your caution, but please, trust me on this,” Hangas said. “This is what we need.”

“I want to trust you, but I don’t trust that Gafren wouldn’t have had the actual cure removed just in case.” Cristina reached for her earlink. “We think we have the cure, but we’re boxed in. We’re at least two stories up from the ground level.”

Miri’s response crackled over Janet’s link too. “We’re almost to what we think is the main storage center. Once we check that—”

The line cut abruptly.

“Captain Gaon? Captain?” Cristina tapped at her ear again, her voice picking up in pitch and energy.

“They must have detected our links,” Hangas said. “They may have put jammers into effect.”

“These links are CDF-made tac-links. They should be altering frequencies to counter jamming.”

“And if everything gets jammed?”

“They’d do that.” Cristina stared at Hangas. “You think they’d cut their own comms?”

“They know their orders. Denying you coordination is worth losing their own if they feel they can overwhelm us without it,” Hangas pointed out. “But we have an escape plan, too, yes?”

“Get to the roof, yes.” Cristina motioned to the door. “But there’s no other way out. They’ll swarm us if we try to leave.”

“Maybe. Or maybe we can catch them by surprise. Let’s see… Ah!” Hangas opened another oval compartment. Janet recognized the spheres the moment she saw one in his hand. “If we slip this through the door, the door should hold the stun effect enough.”

“Can you just crack the door, though, or would they force it open?”

“They would, if we gave them time.”

“Still…” Cristina’s eyes scanned the room. “Janet, Laila, get to the other side of the room. Hide behind the desk. It may be enough.”

Janet understood immediately. Cristina was preparing for the stunner to hit her and Hangas as well. Janet grabbed Laila’s hand and pulled her back to the desk then ducked low, bringing Laila with her as she held the rifle close, waiting to see how it would work.

“Opening… now!”

The door whirred. There was a slight thud followed by shouts, and just as she thought she heard another whir, a loud buzz sounded, along with cries of pain. Janet tensed, wondering if it would hurt should the stunner field hit her. Or would I just go to sleep? When there were no other sounds, she brought the rifle up and slowly raised her head just enough to peep over the desk.

Cristina and Hangas sat against the wall, weapons in their arms. They didn’t seem to be moving. Janet stood, her mind racing. We can’t carry them. What are we going to do? “Doctor! Doctor, I think—”

“It worked,” Cristina groaned. “Mostly. We caught a bit of it. Everything hurts.”

“Fortune’s Favor hurts sometimes,” Hangas said. “But it is still a good thing to have, and it seems we continue to enjoy it.”

“It won’t take long for another team to come pin us in,” said Cristina. “Let’s make for the roof. We’ll just have to hope the Captain and her team are doing as well as we are.”

25

Miri went through the door in a half crouch as a precaution. It proved unnecessary, since no shots came her way. She straightened and surveyed the room. It was a collection of shelving frames and boxes with computerized stations at each row. Were it larger, she would have thought it a warehouse, but the room was barely five meters across.

Khalid entered behind her and Markson and Vidia behind him. Markson and Vidia quickly grabbed a loose table and pressed it against the door to slow any entering guards.

“Makes me miss swinging doors,” Markson muttered.

Miri went to work checking the boxes on the shelves. A handheld scanner, one of the devices Henry had lent them, confirmed the boxes were empty, one by one. “Looks like they either have used up most of their stock or moved them off-site. This place is empty.”

“So all this trouble for nothing,” Markson grumbled. “Isn’t this a SNAFU and a half?”

“The others have the cure. We just need to get them out.” Seized by a thought, Miri picked up one of the boxes. “Might be useful as a decoy,” she said, noting Markson’s curiosity.

“There’s another door over here!” Khalid called out.

They joined him as he opened it, revealing a lift.

“We should not risk it, I imagine?” he asked.

“No. They could cut power easily, and we don’t have the gear to climb the shaft.” Consulting the plans Farfim had provided, Miri walked to the side of the lift entry and found another door. Beyond was a metal staircase. “This should do. We head upward.”

“Think we should link up with them?” Markson asked. “They might be in trouble, and with comms out, we would never know.”

It was a tempting thought. Unify the groups. Work together to fight their way out. But Miri shook her head. “No. We can’t guarantee we’d find them. Stick to the plan. We go for the roof. HaShem willing, we’ll meet them on the way.”

By then, Vidia had joined them. “They’re at the other door.”

In the distance, something thudded against the floor.

“Use your xaser on the door here. We’re going up.” I’m going to regret missing my last leg day, she thought with bemusement. She checked the link, but as she suspected, the jamming kept her from calling the Venture Star. The time’s near, and the plan’s clear. They’ll be on the way. She looked up at the flights of stairs above and swallowed. Trust Piper. She’s scared, but she’ll see this through.

The minutes ticked away in silence on the Venture Star bridge. Piper stood from the command chair and started pacing, glancing at the clock repeatedly as she rounded the chamber.

“Pacing will not make time go faster,” Stepan admonished her. “Sit down.”

“It makes me feel better, at least.” Piper rounded the chair once more, glancing at the various boards as she did. Something may have gone wrong. Shouldn’t we have heard from then by now?

“Give it more time. If they do not call in ten minutes, then maybe we launch.”

He’s right. It’s not been long enough. Be patient. Give them time.

“Hm. Odd.” Stepan’s words drew her attention. “Hangar doors just flashed a lockdown alert. System is cutting us off from control.”

“What?” Piper turned toward him before moving to her usual station. She tapped a couple of keys and confirmed they were being locked out of hangar control. Can’t call them up, not without admitting we’re planning on launching. Could this just be some kind of system test? Odds are of that pretty low, though. And since this means we can’t use the hangar’s external cameras… She brought up the sensors on passive and relayed them to the main screen.

The heat, X-ray, and other systems quickly confirmed multiple figures and objects coalescing outside the hangar. Security personnel or soldiers… Could they be on to us? She tapped at the comms and received no reply from the other group. No, this is bad. Could they have been killed? Or are we being jammed?

She noted an incoming call and patched it in. A thick-tongued voice barked orders. “Vessel Venture Star, you are ordered to surrender to the Yan’katar authorities immediately on suspicion of piracy. We are preparing to take your vessel and crew into custody. Do not resist, or you will be fired upon. I repeat, we are preparing to take you into custody…”

Piper swallowed. They definitely know something is up.

“They are probably waiting for heavy weapons,” Stepan suggested. “We need to act now if we are to escape.”

But if we do, we might lose our shot to get the others. “Standby,” she said, using her controls to route cannon control to her station. “I’ll blast us free but not until it’s time.”

If Stepan disagreed, she couldn’t tell from his tone. “Understood. I will fire engines when ready.”

Piper opened the internal channel to Engineering. “Pieter, Samina, we’ve got trouble, and we’ll be launching soon. Make sure the deflectors and the fusion drive are ready.”

“Ah, time for things to go wrong again, is it?” A certain cheeriness tinged Pieter’s voice despite the situation. “You’ll have what you need, Piper.”

What I need is to know just how things are going! she mentally protested, though she didn’t dare say so aloud. If I leave too early, we stand a greater chance of getting shot down—but too late and they’ll get killed or captured. She glanced again at the clock. It was almost time for the rendezvous window. Almost there.

With the link still down from jamming, Cristina felt only one route was reasonable for her and the others to take. They were fortunate in that they met no opposition until they got to the stairwell, where a pair of guards held the door. She and Janet nearly ran into their first volley, falling back at the last moment. Hangas came up and rolled another of the spheres in that direction before taking cover. Shouts of what Cristina imagined was surprise preceded that loud buzz, joined by a pair of thuds.

“Here.” Hangas headed to the door. He took his confiscated tablet and tried to open it, but a harsh tone answered him. “They know which tablet I took.” He reached down to the stunned guards and pulled out one of theirs. Another harsh tone answered him. “This one is locked down.”

“Step away,” Cristina instructed, at which point she leveled her rifle at the door and blasted it along the control side. Sparks and burning metal were the immediate result, but she kept up the fire for several more seconds, moving toward the door. Then she ceased fire and lowered her weapon. “We open it the hard way.” She pressed her hands to the edge at the frame, got what purchase she could, and pulled.

The door’s material was not light. But it did budge after a moment, and with her muscles screaming, Cristina felt it give, bit by bit. Laila joined her, straining to push from the opened edge.

“They’re coming!” Janet called out, joined by the sizzling sound of more xaser fire.

“Almost have it.” Laila grimaced as her body tensed, her effort increasing.

Cristina snarled and groaned aloud as she put everything she had into making those final centimeters.

Finally, they opened the door enough. Cristina went through first and swept her gaze up and down. Below were guards, but they weren’t looking upward. “In, quickly.” She raised her rifle over the stairwell rail before opening fire.

One guard then a second fell to her barrage. Shouts came from below, and she was glad to recognize some of them.

“Cristina!” Miri called out. “Janet! Laila!”

“We’re here!” Cristina called back. “Hurry!” She turned and found Janet slipping through, the last of the four.

Cristina and Hangas immediately put everything into sliding the door closed. One of the Jalm’tar security guards poked his weapon through to shoot, but Cristina fired first. Her shot was slightly off because of the angle, but it did scare their pursuer out of the gap and allowed the two, joined by Laila, to get the door closed.

The clattering footsteps from below reached a crescendo. Cristina turned to face Miri and the others.

“You have them?” Miri asked.

Cristina nodded to Laila, who produced the case with the remaining vials.

Miri nodded. “Then we’re done here. We keep going.” She looked up the stairwell as she spoke. “They’re marshalling below us, and they’ll have the streets blocked.”

“No luck raising the ship?” Cristina asked.

Miri shook her head. “The jamming’s taking up all the spectrums we could think of. I wish we’d been able to get a set of QET links.”

Markson chuckled. “Maybe next time. For now, let’s hoof it!”

They ascended swiftly. The building was not too tall, after all, and after four floors, they came to an exit door. It was locked as well. Cristina raised her rifle just for Vidia to gently push her barrel away.

Miri reached into her pack, withdrew a cylindrical object attached to what looked like a plunger, and pressed it against the door. “Everyone, back down half a flight. I’m blowing the door!”

They shuffled back to the next landing, where Miri pulled a detonator and hit its bright-red key. The blast wasn’t as loud as Cristina had imagined it would be, though she felt the vibration through the air and below her feet. They scrambled back up to see the door blown clean through, allowing them onto the roof. Climate-control vents and motors were laid out here and there as well as a small beacon light for warning away helicar traffic.

Cristina waited for the others to go first, which was why she was the first to hear the hard, rapid footfalls below. “They’re coming up!”

Hangas returned to her side and removed the remaining stunner spheres from his robes, three in all. He activated one and dropped it two landings down, sending it bouncing farther down the stairs. An assortment of warning shouts rose, followed by the stunner’s activation buzz and a couple of thuds. “They’ll have to be more cautious,” he said. “That will buy us a brief time, I think.”

“Let’s join the others outside,” Cristina advised.

They came to the blown door before the bright glare showed from the nearby night sky. Cristina, recognizing the danger, pulled Hangas back a moment before energy fire rippled through the door’s remains and the space he’d just occupied.

“Stay behind cover!” Markson shouted from outside. “They’ve got helicar support!”

It was not welcome news, especially since she could again hear the pounding feet below. We’re trapped, Cristina thought. We only get out of this if the Venture Star arrives.

And yet, there was no sign of her.

The clock on Venture Star refused to move faster. At least that was how it felt to Piper, who wanted it to be go time, who wanted to be sure she didn’t launch too early and kill them all because she messed up. If we leave too early, then they have more time to get ships launched to attack us, but what if I’m too late? What if the others need me right now?

She glanced at the scanners. More police or soldiers or whatever stood outside the hangar with a couple more vehicles. No signs yet of heavy weapons, but they would be coming soon.

“This is your last warning, Venture Star. Power down, and open your hatches, or we will seize you by force.”

“Time is almost out,” Stepan said. “We should go.”

“It’s still too early,” she mumbled, glancing at the clock again. Five minutes from rendezvous. How fast will their ships react? Would five minutes close our window of escape? Would one? What if I get there and the others aren’t outside yet? What if I’m too early?

What if I’m already too late?

Piper drew in a breath. I hate being here. I hate doing this. But I am, so just… just do it already! Her hand moved to the firing controls. “I’m going to blow our way out. Fire the engines once we’re clear to launch.”

As always, his response was quick and to the point. “Ready.” His hands seemed calm and steady over the controls. Strangely enough, so were hers, even with the tumult and doubt roiling within her. She pressed a finger against the firing key with no issue.

The twin plasma cannons built onto the Venture Star as defensive mounts swiveled toward the door. Reserve tanks of karnon, a particular blend of plasma-producing gas made by the Tal’mayan, circulated into firing chambers before being energized to produce plasma. The resulting violet bolts bore into the hangar door, sending bright-white rivulets of molten metal flying from the impact point. The structure fell apart within seconds.

Stepan hit the engines and sent them forward. Visual sensors confirmed the armed Jalm’tar and other aliens were outside with a prisoner wagon and some vehicles but no heavy weapons visible. Most of the soldiers scattered in surprise at the hangar door blasting open. Without any harassment from them, Stepan keyed the engines and sent the Venture Star skyward.

“Taking us toward the building. Trying not to hit helicar traffic—would scratch the paint,” Stepan reported, sounding far too matter-of-fact for what they’d just pulled.

Does he ever get passionate or upset or something?

Such pondering had to wait, though, as Piper kept her eyes on the scanners. As they drew toward the building, she confirmed life signs on the roof and the less welcoming presence of multiple helicars surrounding it with flashing strobe lights.

“They’re in trouble. Bring us in.”

“Yes,” he answered.

Weapons fire blew gouges from the climate-control unit Miri had for cover. A quick turn of her head confirmed how much trouble they were in as a group. Everyone was pinned down by fire from the police helicars surrounding the rooftop. Hangas and Cristina were still in the rooftop access, but she didn’t need to hear their warnings to know that more enemies approached up the stairs. She glanced at her link and noted the time. Three minutes until the rendezvous. Unless Piper launched early, we’ve got to hold out that long, maybe longer.

“I’m starting to think this is one of the bad-ending heist vids,” Markson remarked from his hiding place, voice thick with sarcasm. “You know, the one where everyone gets killed trying to get away.”

“Not something I want to think about!” Laila protested.

“Still nothin’ on the links!” Vidia lowered his. “The jammin’ is still up!”

“Then we need to hold.” Miri got a slight opening and poured fire into one of the helicars, but its protection held, and she was forced back. “Piper will be on her way soon.”

“Probably not soon enough.” Markson tried his own volley but had to withdraw right back into cover. “Good Lord, this is not how I expected to go out!”

Miri noted one of the cars changing angle. “Laila! Watch it!”

Laila noticed as well and moved, keeping to cover to avoid the oncoming fire. But the helicar angle shifted too rapidly. The fire from the side door tracked with her and finally intersected with her position. She cried out and toppled.

From the folds of her garb, a handful of containers spilled, most of them broken. One rolled into the confines of the climate unit. The others scattered over the roof, spilling their contents. Miri’s gut twisted at the sight, not just that Laila might be hurt but that they were losing the cure they’d risked everything to get hold of.

A roar filled the air, followed by a repeated high-pitched whine. Sparks formed over one of the helicars, torn metal spraying from the surface until its anti-gravs blazed with fire, and the vehicle dipped below the rooftop. The other helicars maneuvered before they, too, became the subject of weapons fire.

From the freshly dark sky above, the Venture Star swooped down, turning in the air and coming to a stop at the end of the rooftop nearest them. The hold doors opened, and the ramp extended until it touched the roof, granting them an entrance.

“Help Laila!” Miri called out, rushing for the nearest of the fallen capsules just to confirm it was smashed and empty.

“I’m okay!” Laila stood, holding open the robe. The case was open, its latch broken by the shot that had struck her, as was the frame that held the containers in place. One intact container sat in a corner slot, not yet jostled free, but the other capsule was broken and its contents already gone. Underneath, the body armor she’d worn had a burn mark but otherwise showed no signs of damage. “We’ve still got a sample.”

But only one. Miri shook her head. They didn’t have time to dawdle. The Jalm’tar military was directly overhead and had to have been alerted. “Into the ship, now! Go!”

She held the rifle toward the rooftop access, where Cristina and Hangas emerged, firing behind them. Within, a loud buzz briefly erupted.

“Hurry! Double-time it, people. We’ve got to move!” Markson added, voice booming as if he were back as a CDF sergeant. “White!”

Janet leaned near one of the climate units. She looked up and shook her head. “Almost got it!”

“They’re broken. We’ve got no time! Move it!”

By that point, guards appeared at the rooftop access door, leaning out to fire before the turrets on the Venture Star sent them back into cover.

Miri went to Janet and grabbed her by the arm. “We have the cure. We have to go!” I’m sorry, Brigitte.

She expected a protest, but after a moment of extra effort, Janet gave up and removed her arm from the unit. Without another word, she ran for the ship. Miri followed, joining Markson as the last to get aboard. The ramp lifted under her feet. Once they were through, she felt the ship move, burning out.

“How many did we get?” Vidia asked. “How many did we save?”

“One.” Laila held up the capsule.

The liquid within settled with the movement. It was about the same dosage as Miri remembered Cristina’s recovered vial of Curall having, so it would be a proper effective dose, at least.

Laila winced and favored her side. “The armor didn’t stop everything. I’ll need to check myself for a xaser burn. But I need to get to the infirmary and secure the sample immediately.”

“Go, get it done.”

“What about Brigitte?” Vidia asked. “Is there enough to cure her?”

Laila shook her head. “I don’t know. If we need to keep a sample… no.”

“What about this?”

Everyone turned to Janet.

She held up her right hand. In her palm was another capsule, the liquid within likewise gently sloshing from her movements. “It’ll help Brigitte, right?” Janet asked eagerly.

Miri looked expectantly at Laila, who nodded despite her continued grimace. “It just might.”

“Then see to it,” Miri said. “Everyone, get to stations. This isn’t over yet!”

Piper glanced yet again at the sensor readings to confirm what she’d seen. The confirmation that everybody was aboard and moving brought an involuntary sigh of relief. “Stepan, get us to orbit, best course, and ready the fusion drive to fire the moment it’s safe!”

“Yes.” Stepan’s hands went into motion. The altitude thrusters fired to change their heading and clear the space elevator base. He brought the engines to escape velocity and beyond, sending them skyward.

Piper glanced at the clock. It’s only been five minutes since we broke free of the hangar. How has it only been five minutes? Still, that’s good. Less time for them to react. She brought up the sensor feed to replace the ship’s operational information and made sure the deflectors were up. Station’s still there. No sign of tracking… wait. Contacts! She focused the sensors on them and confirmed the incoming craft were too small to be regular ships. Must be fighters. “We’ve got incoming fighters.” She brought the point-defense guns back online as well as the ship’s quad turrets. At least they’re computer controlled now.

The distance in kilometers closed as they rose through the atmosphere. The fighter courses changed as well. The pilots maintained an intercept course. The closing distance allowed Piper to get a more refined scanner image of the fighters. They were like a cross between a spearhead and an arrowhead, the end quite pointed, and along the body were cylinders that she assumed were mounted torpedoes or missiles.

That suspicion was confirmed when several of the cylinders broke free and came apart, revealing missiles that streaked toward them. Without input, the point-defense weapons engaged. The missiles responded by varying course and approach.

Smart missiles, then. I wonder if they’re as good as Coalition AI missiles. That meant several of the weapons stayed on approach and loomed dangerously close. “Fusion drive, Stepan.”

“Not yet, still in thermosphere, too much friction,” Stepan replied. “Leave evasives to me.”

She did, and he didn’t disappoint. Stepan didn’t jink and spin wildly like Cera might have. His course changes were precise, small, but always enough to throw off the missiles and make them adjust course, which left them vulnerable to the point-defense fire. One by one, the warheads blew apart from direct hits.

More icons showed on the display. “More incoming! Are we there yet?”

“Almost,” Stepan snapped. “Stop worrying! Missiles not hitting us!”

Easy for you to say! she almost barked but didn’t. She swallowed, tried to get her heart to stop pounding, and kept her eyes on the automated firing systems. So far, their point defense was working, but if more missiles came their way…

The rear door opened. Miri, Markson, and Vidia filed in. With relief, Piper released sensor and firing controls to their proper stations while Miri secured herself.

“Status?”

“Enemy fighters are firing missiles, evading,” Stepan said, beating Piper to a reply. “Almost to safe point for fusion drive operation.”

“Fighters still out of firing range on cannons,” Vidia added, checking the auxiliary and gunnery station readouts. “Don’t think I can get a good shot at the missiles with the big cannons anyway.”

“Just keep the point defense on them. Markson, get the sensors tracking all enemy ships in this system. Find Stepan a hole to get us to the limit.”

She does it so calmly. I thought I would throw up. Piper felt a little awed—and even a bit envious—at Miri’s poise. She just got out of a raid too. How do they do it? Her, Admiral Henry, the Tokarevs, and Mad Jack? She checked the status screens. The ship was performing well, all things considered. An icon showed an incoming transmission. She checked it without relaying audio. “The fleet base is demanding we surrender, or they’ll open fire immediately.”

“No point in answering. Stepan? Those missiles are getting awfully close.”

Indeed, they were. Some were destroyed, but even more approached, corkscrewing to evade point-defense fire and getting ever close to an effective detonation range.

“Yes, yes, missiles are close, but fusion drive in atmosphere too early will tear us apart. Cutting it close as it is. Hold on ten more seconds.”

If we have ten more seconds, Piper thought as the first detonation sent a vibration through the ship. “Deflectors reduced on ventral stern from direct hit,” she warned, trying to keep her breaths going as those final ten seconds passed. The clock was not moving fast enough.

“Switching to fusion drives.”

Within the ship’s rear holds, fuel tanks went active, funneling helium-3 and deuterium slush into the reactor vessel that fused the fuel into a miniature star. Plasma byproduct of the creation followed magnetic fields through the manifolds leading to the ship’s main engine nozzles. Piper could imagine the intensity of their glare as the increased thrust pushed the ship to ever greater speeds, indeed, pushing the Venture Star so greatly that the inertia compensators were overwhelmed, subjecting everyone to intense g-forces.

Compared to their prior acceleration, the Venture Star shot forward, rapidly extending the distance from the incoming missiles and throwing off the Jalm’tar fighters’ interception vectors. Said fighters struggled to adjust, but it was soon plain they could not, not before running out of fuel.

After two minutes, Stepan brought the electro-plasma drives back online and let the fusion systems shut off. “Outside of engagement range for fighters, taking our bearings now for a course out of the system.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be an issue,” said Markson. “Here, look at this.” With a key press, he relayed data to the holotank between Miri and Piper. Multiple icons flashed around the solar system and the bright-blue wall that represented the Lawrence limit, the point where their Lawrence drives could safely engage. Lines appeared, showing all the ships approaching their position. “Looks like they’ve called in all their system patrols, and they were pretty spread out.”

“So we’ll have to slip past in order to make the limit?”

“Looks like it, but given these acceleration profiles, I’m not liking our options. A lot of these things have high-quality plasma drives at least, if not fusion drives, and they’ve got great positions to cut us off.”

Stepan looked over the data himself. “Yes. Not liking our chances. We may wish to consider another course.”

“What other course?” Piper asked.

“Somewhere ta lie low,” Vidia suggested. “Maybe make for an inner planet an’ see if it can shield us from detection for a while?”

“That won’t work forever,” Miri said. “They’d track us down. But it could buy us some time. It might even open windows if we move quickly enough. Stepan, go ahead and get us burning for the inner system.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The situation dealt with, Piper let out a breath she’d been holding almost the whole time. As the relief washed over her, she remembered the one thing she’d not asked. “Oh, Captain, the cure! Did… did we get enough?”

“Maybe,” Miri said. “Laila will have to verify, but I’m hoping we have enough for Brigitte. Speaking of which, I need to inform Admiral Henry of what’s happened.” She stood and nodded to Piper. “You did well, Piper. Keep an eye on things, and call me if anything else turns up.”

It was gentle praise and not what Piper was particularly interested in, given how much she hated the situation, but she accepted it with a relieved smile all the same. “Of course, Captain.” Well, we survived that. Now we just need a way out of this system in one piece.

26

Henry’s return to President Harcourt’s office lacked the pleasantries seen before. Harcourt, at his desk, seemed like he was just plain tired, which Henry could sympathize with, given the logjam of Ubanan politics.

“Mister Lou, I can do nothing about policy. It is not our way constitutionally,” Harcourt said before Lou could even speak.

“Ubana is quickly becoming a source of hostility toward other ISF member worlds and their laws,” Lou said. “Your ship captains smuggled Curall under Jalm’tar guns and have nearly brought us to the brink of war. I would expect, Mister President, that the emergency provisions of your world’s constitution, which I have extensively studied with legal scholars, would more than suffice for you to take action against Chancellor Lilley’s dangerous actions.”

“Constitutional provisions like that are for domestic problems, and we have not yet reached that point,” Harcourt said. “I cannot act against Lilley unless she loses a vote in the legislature on her policies, and so far, she has not. Nor will she. No number of threats from the ISF can change my constitutional duty.”

“I threaten nothing, Mister President. I am merely making an observation. The Jalm’tar have threatened to fire to protect Ubanan ships from search and seizure, even when they defy the local laws of ISF worlds. We would be constrained to return fire, and once fighting started, a war could be impossible to avoid.” Lou’s voice hardened. “You do no service to your people by refusing to stand up for their sovereignty and interests, and we both know the Jalm’tar Empire is a threat to both.”

Something in Harcourt’s expression told Henry he agreed but felt constrained from acting. Maybe even utterly unwilling to consider it. Could they have a hold on him too? Henry wondered.

The door opened. Harcourt looked up and barked, “This is a private meeting!”

By the time Henry’s head turned, he could see the intruder was Chancellor Lilley escorted by a phalanx of dour, suited individuals, some with identification badges and the others plainly part of a security detail. A few of the Cabinet were behind her, beyond the security personnel.

“I am aware, and I am disappointed, Mister President, that you would have such a meeting without my approval. Nor is this going to continue.” Lilley cast a furious look at Henry and Lou. “I signed the formal order before coming over. Mister Lou, Admiral Henry, and their entire entourage are hereby ejected from Ubana. Get on your ship and leave.”

“Madame Chancellor!” Lou stood and glowered at her. “This is inappropriate!”

Henry noted the sheer shock on Harcourt’s face. She’s caught him flat-footed.

“No, Mister Lou, it is entirely appropriate because it is clear now that the ISF is fully in bed with Coalition interests, given your people have committed an act of violence in Jalm’tar territory at the Empire, our associate!” Lilley thrust a tablet at him. “I just received word from Emissary Hrik’ma that a ship associated with your company—and the ISF military—has been involved with an attack on an Imperial facility on Yan’katar. I don’t know the details of this act of aggression yet, but it matters little. Ubana’s choice is made. We side with the Jalm’tar. Our floor vote for official withdrawal from the ISF is tomorrow, and you won’t be here to sway anyone against it.”

“No ISF military forces are anywhere near Yan’katar,” Lou retorted.

She shook her head, grinning. “No. Just Admiral Henry’s agents. His old crew, I’m led to believe.” She turned her eyes to him. “You sent your people to their deaths. The Empire’s fleet is never going to let them get away.”

Henry’s jaw clenched. Did something go wrong with the cure recovery? Or is this just their reaction?

“I’m also serving formal notice that we are protesting your continued threats on our shipping,” she added. “And the Jalm’tar will no longer hold back if you threaten us again.”

“We have made no threats,” Henry answered, putting steel in his voice. “My ships are helping ISF member worlds uphold their laws against your ships trying to break the law. And we’re not going to stop.” He rose from his seat. “This could lead to a war, Madame Chancellor, and Ubana will be right in the middle of it. Are you willing to go that far for this false hope you keep peddling as a miracle cure?”

Lilley rolled her eyes and set her jaw. “Your unreasonable skepticism is unconvincing, just like all your massaged data about addictions and ‘palliative effects.’ Are you willing to start a war with the Empire for Coalition pharmaceutical companies and their profit margins?”

Henry bit back his first reaction. There was little reason to defend the studies. They weren’t the point. “I’m sorry about your children, Madame Chancellor. But the Curall isn’t going to save them. It was never going to.”

For a moment, she looked like she’d been slapped. Her lips pursed, and her face reddened. Her voice rose like a thunderclap. “Who are you to judge that? Who are you to say that? You don’t have children, and you haven’t seen mine suffering, day after day after day! The Curall changed that, you damned Coalition busybody!”

Her outburst left everyone, even her entourage, in shock.

Lilley drew in a breath, swallowed, and continued, “We have the testimonials of thousands on Curall’s effects on their diseases, their injuries. It works. It works far better than the overpriced drugs your worlds peddle on us, and we are going to get all we need with this treaty.”

“You’re leading your people into servitude for a false hope,” Henry shot back. “We can find ways to improve your access to better treatments. We can exert diplomatic pressure on Canaan. That was the entire reason the ISF went there. And your children don’t have to be left as addicts when real medications can help them.”

“There are none!” Lilley shouted. “What are they supposed to do? Live doped up on painkillers, trapped in their beds until the Richter’s kills them anyway? Every dose carefully measured so they don’t die from too much or be left in pain for hours from too little? The Curall ended that for them, just as it would end suffering on so many other worlds if you’d just let it! Now, get them out of here!”

“No.”

Though he didn’t shout, Harcourt’s voice boomed authority through the room.

Lilley stared at him with wide eyes. “You don’t have that authority.”

“I do if you’re incapable, and I’m starting to see the justice in that.” Harcourt looked on to Sanchez and the other present members of Lilley’s Cabinet. “Gentlemen, ladies, do you stand with your Chancellor on this matter? Do you agree with this expulsion and rushing the vote?”

A couple nodded, but none raised their voices in support, and Sanchez bit his lip.

“The Chancellor is leader of the Government,” Sanchez finally said.

“But do you support her policy?”

“I think it has some merit, and I would urge you, Mister President, not to complicate this situation with a constitutional crisis.”

“Damn you, man, answer me directly. Speaker Sanchez, do you support Chancellor Lilley’s policy decisions?”

Lilley stared daggers at Harcourt before turning her eyes to Sanchez. Henry thought he looked ready to burst. He grimaced, bit into his lip, and clearly weighed his response. That in and of itself is going to cause him trouble with his boss later.

Before he could answer, Harcourt spoke again. “I think your silence is answer enough, Mister Speaker. I commend you for your political discipline and loyalty, if not your honesty.” Harcourt turned his eyes back to Lilley. “Madame Chancellor, it’s abundantly clear to me that you are not an unbiased advocate of Curall. Nor are your policies based solely on planetary interest. You are rushing this solely to secure access to this drug for your children. Ubana is still a part of the ISF, however, and throwing their representative out because you’ve been told they took action against a perceived threat is the height of recklessness.”

“You have no authority here, Mister President,” Lilley shot back. “Government policy is my prerogative. Your role is to sign the papers!”

“And to be the final arbiter of planetary interest if your office is ever shown to be compromised, as it now is,” Harcourt said.

Henry noted he was starting to sweat heavily.

“I can’t stop you from holding the vote tomorrow, but if you push this expulsion, I will demand your resignation on grounds of unsuitability and insist a new election be held. You won’t act on any of this for weeks then, Madame Chancellor, and the people might just turn on you.”

“They’ll turn on you first for this betrayal, this… usurpation!”

“Unfortunately, Madame Chancellor, he is right about his authority,” Sanchez said. “He can, right now, sign an order claiming you unfit and requiring new elections. You’d have to take it to the legislature and maybe the courts, but it would delay the vote you’re looking for.” He focused on Harcourt. “Of course, he most likely signs his political death warrant if he does this, and I can’t say he won’t face violence by some of our more committed Curall supporters.”

To that, Harcourt laughed. “I am but a patriot trying to do what’s best for my world, Speaker Sanchez. If that’s the cost, oh well. But you do concur that the order would be genuine and the Cabinet would be required to resign should I sign it?”

Sanchez nodded stiffly. “That is the law, yes.”

“Then I see no purpose for this conversation to continue. Chancellor Lilley rescinds the expulsion, and I will perform my constitutional duties of leaving policy to her and the Cabinet. Agreed?”

“When this is over, I’ll have your resignation, Harcourt.” With those words, Lilley stormed from the room.

“I will take that as a yes,” Harcourt said.

The security men plainly agreed. They departed with Sanchez. Harcourt’s secretary closed the door. Harcourt sank into his chair. What little energy he’d had seemed spent.

No. More than that. He looks like he’s in pain.

“I have nothing much to say to you gentlemen, save that I have done all I could,” Harcourt said. “Well, no, I am being dishonest. I am doing all I am willing to. But I want you to understand our situation. The Jalm’tar have made it clear. They get the association treaty, or they cut off all Curall imports. I needn’t point out we have thousands of people using it right now who will die once they can’t have any more. And I am of the view, as are many in the security establishment, that such a crisis will lead to civic unrest. People believe in the Curall, you see, and seeing their hopes crushed and their loved ones dying from withdrawal will turn them against the government. If the military joins them in any number, it will mean civil war.”

“We understand,” said Henry.

“Then understand this. I will not let that happen. I can’t block the treaty and cause my world such pain. So you either give me a means to acquire Curall without Jalm’tar involvement, or a cure for the addiction, or tomorrow, Ubana will change sides to the Jalm’tar, with all that entails.” He shuddered in his chair, and his hand twitched.

The expression on his face made Henry realize Harcourt was in real agony at the moment. His logic is the same as Moran’s. It’s wrong, but I can sympathize. I wouldn’t want to see thousands of civilians die that badly either. “There is a cure. My people were trying to find it. I’m guessing they succeeded.”

“Then show it to me. Tell me my people will be spared,” Harcourt said, his voice hoarse. “Only then will I openly oppose Chancellor Lilley. Now, gentlemen, I must ask you to leave. I have other matters to see to.”

“Of course, Mister President. Thank you for your time and your faith.” Lou nodded at Henry and turned toward the door.

Henry followed, though he took one last look at Harcourt before the secretary closed the doors once more. There’s something more there, he thought. Could he be addicted to it too?

“Admiral, we have a call to make when we get back,” Lou said sharply. “Let’s be on our way.”

“Right behind you, sir,” Henry replied. Doesn’t matter. Everything relies on Miri and her people getting the cure. God, what I would give to be there helping them.

The moment Lou and Henry were gone, Harcourt’s trembling hands went for the locked drawer. His fingers shook so badly he feared he would drop the key, but he found enough focus to ensure the key slipped into the lock. A twist later, the drawer was open. He grabbed the injector and the Curall doses and immediately loaded one. His leg spasmed painfully as he did so, a particularly bad spasm. It lasts less and less, it seems. I have to start taking more. He chuckled bitterly at that thought while pressing the injector to his arm and triggering it. The bright-blue fluid surged through his pores and into his body. He managed just enough energy to get the drawer closed and locked before he slumped against his desk, barely able to move for the pain. It took over a minute for the feeling to subside. Hrik’ma might cut me off over this. I’m going out on a limb here.

The thought came to him again. Come clean. Give a public address. Present the evidence, the recordings, and reveal Hrik’ma and the Jalm’tar for what they are. But despite everything, he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Not until he knew of a cure, a chance to save his people and save himself.

I’m a coward, he thought, recognizing the sentiment. I don’t want to suffer and die, not even for my world. I’ll let them win if I get to live a little longer. The self-loathing festered within, but it could not drive him to action. Not with his terror at the pain he’d just sent away still so strong. Cure us. Please, Admiral Henry. Get us that cure so I can do the right thing.

Upon returning to Lou Shipping, Henry’s first thought was to get to the nearest private conference room, where he could call Miri and get news.

But he barely had time to approach the office desk when one of the assistants came for him and Lou. “Sir, a visitor is here for Admiral Henry. They said something about discussing the fate of your old crew.”

Henry exchanged a somber look with Lou.

“I will make preparations for the call and inform the Council of today’s meetings,” Lou said. “You go see what this is about.”

“Right. See you when I’m done.” Henry went off in another direction, following the assistant into the ground floor’s office space. She brought him to an interior conference room and held the door open for him. He looked toward the sole occupant and felt his jaw tighten.

It’d been several years since he’d last seen those neon-pink eyes with blue irises or the particular features of Emissary Hrik’ma’s face and horns. He wore gold bands on said horns, a change from the last time they’d met. His robes were quite finely made. “Admiral Henry.” The Jalm’tar diplomat shifted his head forward and toward his left. “I see you have done well since our last meeting.”

“In some ways.” Henry wondered just what Hrik’ma was up to. “So, what can I do for you, Emissary?”

“A short talk and maybe a chance to understand perspectives.” Hrik’ma spread his hands to his sides. “For one, you are not the man I met before. Fortune’s Favor leaves marks on all, but you… you have been touched by it more than many.”

“God’s been good to me, yes,” Henry answered. “Though I think you and I have different views on the divine.”

“So I have read.” Hrik’ma inclined his head again and gave a half nod. “As cultures, we do have very different views of such things. You have a more ordered view of the universe, with a divinity who actively shapes everything and gives structure. Our people see no structure and only the whims of a power within the chaos.”

“Sounds about right.” What is he here for? I don’t have time for this. “I guess this is where you were leading us, back when I came to Yan’katar for that shipment. You wanted the pireem herbs sold as beneficial medicine, all to get us addicted to it.”

“Yes. That was the goal. I was disappointed when Lou never asked for more and took so long to send a replacement representative.”

“Well, given you tried to have the first one killed to cover up what pireem was, I can see why he held off for so long.”

Hrik’ma made a low noise, a rhythmic “Hrm hrm hrm” that Henry guessed was chuckling. “Representative Sharma’s survival was surprising. But it mattered little in the end. We found alternatives over time.”

“Just what are you doing this for, anyway?” asked Henry. “All this suffering and misery your drug’s caused. The people getting addicted to it, the violence it’s causing, the warlord on Starfall you were backing, using it as a weapon to subjugate frontier worlds. Why this and not just honest trade?”

Those twin dots of pink and blue studied him intensely for a moment. “An odd question. Why wouldn’t we? Like in any other endeavor, we seek advantage. Pireem, in normal or concentrated form, provides us with the means to gain more worlds and resources for the Empire. A race reliant on the pireem is a race that cannot act against us. Your race is of particular concern, given your numbers and power. So you, too, must be brought under control before the danger is too great. Only the Jalm’tar can lead.”

“Because you say so?” Henry challenged.

“Such is the way of things. But there is no need for hostility, Admiral. We are not unreasonable overlords, like the humans of the League. We have no demands that you tear down your temples to your God or to suborn everything you are to our whims. Obey the Emperor’s laws and provide your tributes to Him as loyal subjects, and under his protection, you will enjoy a quiet, beautiful existence. Just like the Groslan, the Votar, and a half dozen other species that serve the Emperor.”

Well, that’s the pitch, then. “We won’t throw you into camps. Just do as we ask and live how you want.” “That’s not enough for some people. Especially those of us who value our freedoms. What happens to us? I’m guessing prisons.”

“There are some but only rarely employed. That is the beauty of pireem, Admiral. Once it’s in your system, you need it to function.”

“Well, there’s my answer, then,” Henry said. “Obey or get forcibly addicted and kept in line by access to the drug.”

“Rather gentler than, what were they called again, re-socialization camps? ‘Re-education camps’? There were far too many stories from the League for us to make sense out of.” Hrik’ma held his hands together in a gesture. “Bloody revolt serves neither subject or ruler. Nor does such repression. The pireem allows for the Empire to keep the peace.”

“It’s still a tyranny,” Henry retorted. “Maybe not as absolute as the League’s, but you’re still forcing people into subordination. I’d rather be free to make my own path, not have to get permission from the Empire first.”

Hrik’ma studied him for a moment before continuing. “Your people have known war for half a lifetime, Admiral Henry. They’ve suffered so greatly. Are you so quick to commit them to another one?”

“We’d have to in order to keep you out, then?” Henry asked. “You can’t just live in peace with us?”

“As I said, the Empire will not accept being second. We will rule you, just as you would rule us if we did not act.”

“You don’t have to. We could be neighbors. Peaceful neighbors.”

“Just as you were with the Saurians? No. We are not foolish. It will be you or us, Admiral, whomever Fortune favors with success.”

“We’re not just going to let this happen, you know,” Henry said. “Even if you get Ubana on your side. The ISF, the Coalition, the Saurians, we’re going to fight this.”

Henry thought he would get anger, the kind of frustration he’d gotten from the likes of Chantavit Li and Yvette Aristide, who had no patience for people who didn’t accept their ideology.

But Hrik’ma’s response was to fold his hands before him and act like Henry had just remarked on the weather. “I was expecting such from you, Admiral. Preferably, you will live through whatever comes. The Emperor’s service can always use those like you.”

“You seem awfully convinced your side will win.”

“Fortune has favored us greatly thus far. Your efforts to sway Ubana failed. Tibald and other worlds are on the verge of falling to us. Curall flows like wine through the slums of Galt, and your megacorporations are beings of business. Legally trading within Imperial space will make their new subject status palatable, and with their support, yet more worlds will come under our sway. And with every step, the Curall will spread farther, securing our grip. I share this with you because I know your worlds well enough now. They fear domination by the Coalition you were born within, and should you share this conversation, they will dismiss it as a sign of your personal loyalty, if only because their beliefs about the Curall are too sweet to abandon for truth.” Hrik’ma shrugged. “That is the blessing of the pireem. The strongest delusions are those that carry a partial truth. The pireem does ease pains and hurts, so it is accepted, whereas other substances would be found out and shunned. It has built our empire, and your people will succumb to it as any other has.”

“We’ll fight back. Even if we have to fight the worlds you turn against us, we won’t let you conquer us.”

“You will try. We will yet see whom Fortune favors, Admiral.” Hrik’ma stood from the chair and walked up to Henry. His hand gripped the door and opened it. As he stepped through, he turned back. “I have received word from my associate, Lady Gafren, at Yan’katar. Your crew are trapped in the inner system, and our fleet is hunting them down. Within hours, they will be dead.”

Henry set his jaw. “Underestimate them, if you like. We’ve gotten out of worse.”

“You’ve never faced us before. I think you’ll find, Admiral Henry, that Fortune does not always favor such boldness.” With those words, he walked away. “I shall see myself out.”

Henry watched the Jalm’tar diplomat disappear around a corner, an assistant noticing and coming up to escort him. Henry scowled. He had to come and gloat, didn’t he? To mock our efforts. I wish I’d had a recorder ready. He shook his head. First things first. I need to contact Miri and see just how bad things are. He left the room for his temporary office, or wherever Lou would be waiting for him.

27

Miri was ready when the light flashed on her desk, her hand darting forth for her finger to strike the key with unnecessary force. The computer display built into the desk came to life and showed Henry in a sunlit office. “Admiral, there you are.”

“Sorry, your first message came while I was in meetings. I got back as soon as I could. What’s your status?”

“We didn’t lose anyone, just took a few minor hits and scrapes, but our getaway window was already closed,” she answered. “The Jalm’tar were suspicious of us and had ships ready to intercept any vectors out to the system’s limit. Our only course was to flee in-system and wait for an opening.”

Henry frowned at that. “You’re secure for now, though?”

“For a while yet. We’ve found a hiding spot where proximity to the star and local emissions will hide us from scanners until they get close. Once they’re in range, well…” Miri shook her head. “We’ll see what we can do. The important thing is that we got samples of the cure. Laila’s studying them now with the equipment you provided. As soon as she’s got results, we’re sending them through the QET.”

Henry’s expression was half worry and half relief. Their success was everything he might have hoped for, but she could see he didn’t like that they were still in danger. “All right. Any luck with Brigitte?”

“She’s still under sedation,” Miri said. “Until Laila knows we won’t need everything we recovered for the scans, she’s not going to risk it.” Brigitte’s dead without that cure. But if we don’t get the scans we need, this was all for nothing. “Anything new on your end?”

“They were really quick to get word to their people here. We almost got expelled from the planet. But if we can get that cure formula and it works, it may just be enough.”

“I hope so.” Because then this will have been worth it. “We’ll get you those results as soon as possible, Admiral.”

“Just get out of there when you can. I want to see you all back here when this is over, you hear?”

She forced a smile, if just to make him feel better. He’s upset he’s put us into this situation. I don’t want to make it worse. “I do, sir. We intend to come home and spend every cent of that bonus Lou’s promising.”

Henry grinned. “Always a good feeling, getting those kinds of bonuses. Godspeed, Captain Gaon.”

“Godspeed,” she replied before ending the call. Now it’s all up to Laila.

With Khalid’s help, all of Laila’s normal gear was stowed and the testing equipment Henry provided them set up. It was top-of-the-line biochemical analysis instruments, the sort used in forensics investigations or for examining native compounds on newly discovered planets.

With both capsules of the recovered cure ready, Laila glanced back at Brigitte. She was still sedated and quiet, but the occasional spasm or twitch made it clear that the Curall’s effects still killed her slowly. Her body’s nervous system was misfiring, unable to function. She needed the antidote, too, and ethically speaking, Laila wondered if she should’ve already provided it, testing be damned.

The issue with testing was that it could degrade or destroy a compound. Radiation, heat, centrifugal force—everything the systems used to analyze a drug and its constituent elements could make the cure inert. She could use samples only once in most cases. She needed every drop for the testing, and only when she was sure she had a positive result could any go to Brigitte’s care.

I must begin. We need the information. Laila carefully picked up one of the capsules, pressed it into an injector, and dispensed the contents into a testing beaker—about half the capsule’s volume, she would guess. She fed the container into a machine and activated its scan cycle. She took another quarter from the capsule and added it to a second machine then the remaining quarter to a third.

Khalid looked up from Brigitte’s sleeping form. “Do you still have need of me?”

“I am fine.” Laila dropped into her chair and willed her hand to stop shaking. “Well, no, I am still rattled by the gunfire and almost dying and everything else and now having Brigitte’s life on the line if I waste any of this cure in testing.”

“Yes, I can understand.” Khalid’s voice was more somber than usual, at least by Laila’s experience. “It was not easy for either of us.”

“You looked better holding a gun than I would have,” Laila said.

“I was a conscript for the Zanzibar Civil Guard,” he answered. “Before I committed myself to the life and path of a dervish. Allah did not grant me the disposition to ignore violence.”

“I am not a fan of it myself. I didn’t get into this line of work for these crazy conflicts we keep getting pulled into. That’s for certain.” She brought up her tablet and the processing results from the cure samples.

I’m pretty sure at least one of these is a preferential binding agent. Probably to strip the pireem’s binding agent from neurons and restart neurotransmitter production. She used the tablet to tie the devices into the communications system and the QET attached to the ship. With a final keystroke, she set up the system to transmit the results as they were processed, straight back to Admiral Henry’s people.

“How are you feeling, Khalid?”

“The injuries are minor. I will be fine,” he assured her. “I’m just here to assist you, given your wound. And to provide support if the worst comes.”

“I am grateful,” she said politely. “It’s nice to—”

The ship’s alert klaxon blared over the speakers.

“Jalm’tar ship on approach,” Markson said over the PA. “All hands to combat stations!”

When Miri got to her seat, the holoviewer already had a visual on the approaching ship. It was a small vessel, about the same size as their own, with the sharklike build of most the Jalm’tar fleet. Weapon emplacements were visible on the body and pointing their way.

“Came in from sensor shadow of planet,” Stepan said. “Didn’t see them until they emerged. Don’t think they quite see us yet but will soon.”

“Yeah, the interference from solar proximity and the composition of the moon we’re over will keep us off scanners for a bit longer,” Markson agreed. “But they’ll pick us up any moment.”

Miri consulted the holotank. The Jalm’tar fleet still burned inward from multiple vectors, above and below and along the orbital planes of the system’s planets. Given their speeds, we can’t be sure we’ll have the velocity to get past them to the limit. We can’t run on fusion drives forever.

“Well, we’ve got to think of something,” said Piper. “The moment they see us, they’re going to call in their friends.”

“A shame we don’t have a full military e-warfare set, or jamming would be possible.” Markson bent closer to his screen. “All right, their scanners just lit us up. They’ve got us now. Deflectors are going up.”

“Raise ours. Go to full burn on the fusion drives. Get the deflectors up to fully augmented power.”

“Raising deflectors,” Vidia said from the auxiliary station. “Lockin’ on weapons.”

“Full burn, now.”

Stepan’s warning gave Miri a moment to steel herself before the Gs kicked in, the fusion drive sending the ship past the limits of its inertial compensators. The Venture Star bolted toward her pursuer.

Vidia fired a few shots from the plasma cannons, hitting a couple of times before the Jalm’tar ship started maneuvering and evading him. “Little progress on their deflector. Still tryin’ ta get a clear hit.”

“Those things won’t cut it against military-grade deflectors,” Markson said. “And we’ve got incoming fire!”

Concentrated X-ray radiation from the Jalm’tar ships’ xaser batteries struck their augmented deflectors.

“No effect,” Piper said. “They can’t penetrate our deflectors with the fusion drive powering them.”

“We’ve only got so much fuel for the thing, though, and they could outlast us.”

Miri nodded grimly at Markson’s assessment. We’ve got only one weapon that can reliably take out small military-grade ships. “Stepan, get Vidia a shot with the neutron cannon. Piper, have power set to divert to the cannon when they’re ready.”

“On it,” Piper replied while Stepan grunted acknowledgement.

Missiles came their way, which the point-defense swatted out of the void before they could hit. The xaser fire was not so easily stopped, and while Stepan kept a number of hits from landing, enough did that the deflectors showed it.

“Deflectors going into yellow on three fronts,” Piper warned. “Their power level’s going down from the transfer.”

“They’re drawing closer on us.” Markson shook his head. “Must be planning to grapple once our deflectors are degraded.”

“Let’s not give them the chance. Stepan?”

“Aiming now. Have to match maneuvers. Gunner, fire soon.”

“I’m ready when you are,” Vidia said.

Miri felt her body press against the seat from multiple angles as Stepan sought to keep up with the Jalm’tar corvette, both ships pouring fire into one another without effect. But it was the Venture Star’s shields that degraded more than the corvette’s.

“Steady. Here we go… now.”

At Stepan’s cue, Vidia’s finger stabbed the firing key. On the underbelly, the neutron cannon came to life, discharging a solid lance of pale-white-blue energy into the Jalm’tar ship. Stepan’s maneuvering put them dead center, sweeping the lance from bow to stern. The corvette’s deflectors failed under the pure power of the blast, letting the weapon cut through hull and bulkhead until the shot nearly cut the Jalm’tar ship in half. Explosions flowered from damaged capacitors, leaving a burnt, bisected craft drifting toward the nearby moon.

“Target destroyed,” Vidia said. “God save their souls.”

Markson nodded. “Amen, Brother Andrews.”

Miri allowed herself a small grin at the show of religious solidarity before turning her focus back to the holotank. The other contacts were in motion, their engines running hotter than before as they maxed thrust for combat velocity. They still had time before they first made contact, but she could see no escape route to get away without running into more Jalm’tar, most of which were larger ships than the one they’d just dispatched. Our fusion fuel was topped off, but I’m not sure we can run the drive enough to escape, not with their acceleration profiles and positions.

“Well, we pissed them off,” Piper said. “Now what?”

A good question, thought Miri. I wish I knew…

28

The star that brought life to Yan’katar glared brightly on the holovid screen on the Venture Star’s bridge. With their proximity, the gravitational pull of the star was a greater influence than usual. The gravity wells of the second planet and its moon were closer and of greater influence, requiring Stepan’s attention on the thrusters to keep their relative position stable.

“Well, I’m open to ideas,” Miri said. “We’re not getting out without a fight.”

Markson spoke first. “We took out that corvette easily enough.”

Stepan hid his smile. The CDF man wants to fight, of course.

Piper’s response was immediate. “And they know it, so they’ll be more careful, and the more time we spend fighting them, the more time their bigger friends can catch up.”

Typical. She doesn’t want to fight at all, if it can be prevented. It cannot.

It was an interesting problem. The courses and positions of the incoming Jalm’tar ships had them boxed in-system. No course they could take would avoid interception—not with their feasible velocities. Fusion drive doesn’t have enough fuel for prolonged thrust, even if the ship could take it. We need another solution, a way to build up velocity and change the numbers. He started doing those numbers in his head while going over his instruments.

“Well, we can’t stay an’ fight. They’ll overwhelm us,” Vidia pointed out.

Good observation. We do need to go.

“So we should just pick a course an’ burn for all we’re worth.”

What course is best? What course…? An idea came to mind as he verified the incoming ships’ approach vectors. Could work. Could work very well. “Captain, I have an idea,” Stepan said.

“Go ahead, Stepan,” Miri answered.

“We burn for the star.”

Everyone gave him a surprised look. He found that annoying, but he found many things annoying, so he didn’t speak on it.

“But that’ll just slow us down,” Piper protested. “The star’s gravity well will require more thrust to pull free from the closer we get to it.”

“Yes. That is why course must be carefully kept to stay in corona,” Stepan said. “Unfortunately, scan of the star shows we will have to go through an active section to maintain best course, so it will be dangerous.”

“You’re talking about subjecting us to an intense region of the corona, and for what, an hour? Two?” Piper asked. “If we come under fire and the deflectors are degraded—”

“We burn up, yes. We also burn up if they catch us. So odds good we burn up.” Scared, always scared. But I know you have steel, so I will forgive it. He directed his attention to Miri. “Captain, I can make the course. We approach on regular engines. Let the star’s gravity well build up our velocity. Once at edge of corona, we swap to fusion drive, empower the deflectors, and burn hard. Acceleration will be more than enough to counter gravity well, and we will have large net gain in velocity should we stick to the course.”

She glanced at the holotank. “They might try the same thing.”

“Let them. Not very impressed with their piloting so far. This is eye-of-needle flying. Needs to be steady to keep velocity up and avoid entering worst parts of corona. I can do this. Do not think they will.”

Her eyes went over the holotank display again. He appreciated that. His plan was dangerous, but she wasn’t being needlessly reckless. She was planning it out. A mark of a good captain.

“We might just be in a position to avoid further interception before we hit the limit if this works,” she said. “It’s our best shot. Stepan, take us in.”

“Aye, Captain,” he replied, turning his attention back to the helm controls. He brought the plasma drives to full thrust and started his approach on the star. They were still over an hour out, even at full plasma burn, but it gave him time to keep running the calculations. With every second, their velocity built up, aided by the star’s pull.

“One of their cruisers is burning hard for us. They’re going to intercept just before we reach the corona,” Markson warned.

“Will maneuver around fire until last possible moment,” Stepan promised. He flexed his hands to keep them from stiffening up. He’d need them limber for the actual run. Whichever saints are listening, we are on a righteous cause. Please, I pray to God, keep my hands steady and my mind sharp.

The cruiser gained the range soon enough. Xaser fire and incoming missiles lashed out at them. The deflectors took the hits while the missiles fell to their point defense, at least for the time being.

“Deflectors are already going orange,” Piper warned. “We need more deflector power soon.”

“Fusion burn now would be too early. Standby.” His hand did move toward the control for the fusion drive, but he held off. It wasn’t yet the right time. He made some lateral shifts and spins with the maneuvering drives but would not sacrifice even a moment of their forward velocity and growing speed. They needed every bit of it.

“Another hit, deflectors on dorsal facing have gone to red!”

The remaining minute ticked by.

“Standby,” Miri urged. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Yes, Captain,” he answered. “Ready for maneuver in three… two… one…”

They knew what was coming, so he gave no warning he’d keyed the fusion drive. The Venture Star’s drives switched to the output of their rigged fusion core. The g-forces that resulted pressed Stepan into his chair. It was uncomfortable, even painful, but he ignored the effect so he could focus on the flight.

The Venture Star plunged through the outer edge of the star’s corona and into one of the active regions. Its deflectors flared blue and stayed that way, enduring the constant bombardment of particles along with the incoming xaser fire from the Jalm’tar cruiser struggling to follow.

“Even with the deflectors enhanced, we’re taking some shield loss,” Piper warned. “Their weapons are hitting us almost every shot.”

“Can’t adjust course now.” Stepan kept his hands steady on the controls, maintaining the increased thrust and letting the star’s gravity pull them forward, even if they were no longer pointed at it. “Threading eye. Would lose velocity or drift us into even more active region.”

Markson spoke. “Their deflectors are flaring pretty hot as well. I think they might be losing cohesion.”

“Ship is bigger. More surface area for deflectors to cover, more particles from corona for deflectors to deal with,” Stepan kept his eyes on the projected course display and the various readouts for the engines. Their forward velocity increased, putting greater strain on the deflectors as they absorbed and sloughed away the stellar matter within the coronal loop. The same was true for the pursuing cruiser, which fell behind as their forward acceleration and the gravity effect of the star increased their velocity faster than the cruiser could match.

“Deflectors are turning orange,” Piper warned. “I’m not sure we can take this much longer!”

Another xaser beam grazed them. Stepan didn’t dare maneuver farther, though. In the eye of the needle now. Must either thread it or we die. He kept the Venture Star’s course steady in defiance of their pursuer. Pilot is trying to match my course. Foolish. Like I said, bigger ship, more coronal mass to interact with, more deflector strain. And still trying to do it at full burn. He allowed himself a low chuckle. This was not the kind of maneuver he’d been trained for in the Belgorod-Sagittarskiy defense fleet. Old Sasha would have been horrified to know I was trying this. And proud that I succeeded. I will succeed.

Minutes passed. The weapons fire from the cruiser sliced away at the deflectors while both ships were shrouded in the flaring light of their shields constantly resisting the lethal environment. The star’s gravity sucked at them greedily, with their course gradually turning the star from their side to behind and reducing their acceleration rate as more of their thrust went to countering the pull. The velocity the Venture Star had gathered on its way in remained a boon, and she ever so slowly gained distance from the other ship.

“Deflectors are in the red!” Piper shouted.

“Can’t maneuver either. Almost to exit point,” he replied. “Hold on.”

“Stepan, are you sure we can’t maneuver? We’re not going to make it!”

“Would lose our velocity. Might hit thicker pocket of coronal matter. Must stick it out.”

Piper was silent for another half minute before calling out, “We’re getting increasing particle bleedthrough of the deflectors! External hull temperature at two thousand kelvin and rising!”

Despite it all, his hands remained steady. “Leaving corona in two minutes.”

“Engineering, I want everything on the deflectors, now!” Miri ordered.

Pieter gave her a quick response.

Stepan checked the proximity sensor display again. The Jalm’tar ship was trailing farther, still trying to fire into them. Very robust ship. I could have sworn they…

“Jalm’tar cruiser’s deflectors just failed!” Markson’s shout echoed in his ears. “Weapons fire is ceasing. I think the heat is frying their scanners!” Several moments passed. “They’re changing course. Looks like they’re giving up.”

They won’t make it, Stepan predicted, maintaining his course. Loop is denser around us. They’ll be hitting the sides of the needle’s eye.

Tense seconds passed. Piper gave another report. The strain of heavy g-forces was particularly evident in her voice. “Even without the enemy fire, our deflectors are still in the red. Hull temperature now at three thousand kelvin.”

Pieter’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Bridge, coolant systems are giving warnings. Radiators aren’t dumping heat. We run the risk of reactor shutdowns soon.”

Very hot. But almost there…

“Enemy ship is losing power!” Markson cried. He put it on the holo-screen for them all to see. The lean, sharklike form was almost sideways to them, having tried to ascend out of the corona at a steeper angle. But they’d strayed into one of the more active particle flows of the loop, increasing the strain on their hull and their coolant systems. The lights on the ship started to die. The engines flared dramatically, the Jalm’tar frantically trying to get out of danger. For a minute, the ship went steady, and Stepan thought they might just get out of the danger zone.

Then the aft sections flashed. The engines died. A moment later, the rear of the ship was consumed by a second flash. The cruiser’s surviving sections disintegrated as the coronal plasma rushed to the vessel’s interior. Part by part, the vessel simply faded from view, reduced to handfuls of debris.

“God save their souls.” Vidia sighed.

Stepan nodded and breathed an agreement in his native Russian. “Fifty seconds,” he informed the others. Now to see if we suffer the same.

“Hull temperature now at four thousand kelvin.”

The seconds counted down. They were already at over twice the heat of a standard atmospheric entry and going up, the deflectors struggling to keep out the stellar matter coursing along the magnetic fields of the coronal loop. Most hulls were rated at safety margins several times that of atmospheric entry, but constant exposure beyond the relatively shorter time of atmospheric entry would further tighten the margins and, more to the point, made dumping the heat of their fusion cores harder. Added to this tension was the discomfort of almost three Gs of acceleration force on their bodies, thanks to the compensators’ struggle against the full thrust of their overpowered fusion drive, which made it all the worse. We will make it, though. We will…

The timer hit zero. The Venture Star cleared the corona’s outer range on a trail of plasma and stellar mass. Her deflectors faded from view, no longer having to resist the intense heat of the corona.

Sighs of relief came from Markson and Piper.

“Excellent flying, Mister Zakharov,” Miri said. “You are one of the best.”

Flattery. No use for it. Still, it did bring him a bit of enjoyment, and he knew Miri was sincere. “My thanks, Captain.”

“Hull’s cooling off now,” Piper confirmed. “Doesn’t look like we have any damage.”

Markson let out a chuckle. “Probably did a number on the paint job.”

Stepan had other concerns. Just to be sure, he checked the locations of all the Jalm’tar ships. They still burned in-system to make an intercept, but the velocity the Venture Star had picked up by the slingshot they’d just pulled gave them a tremendous lead. Even those ships nearest them would have trouble making the intercept, given just how much acceleration they’d built.

“Can we ease up on the fusion drive?” Miri asked. “It looks like we’ll get to the limit before any others can intercept us.”

“If we want to be sure, must continue burning fusion drive until we are farther from stellar gravity well,” he replied.

“Noted.” Miri voice sounded tight, making her discomfort clear.

Stepan was sure the rest of the crew were suffering as well. But math is absolute. The numbers are divine law. We must build more speed before we can cut down the drive, so we endure. Just like we did on the Anurchin, my fallen comrades.

His mind drifted back over half a year to that fateful day the prior July, when the frigate Anurchin and the rest of the Belgorod-Sagittarskiy Defense Fleet plunged into the League’s invasion force at the side of Admiral Henry and his Independent Systems Fleet. That glorious, happy day when the last fleet of the godless League heathens had broken, they’d been forced to surrender, and their invasion of Sagittarius had ended. And yet it was a bitter one, for the Anurchin had been a broken vessel by the end, its core splintered by League missiles, and over three-quarters of his dear comrades had been slain aboard their ship. Now, a new invader stands poised to strike at us. But on my soul, my comrades, we will hold them, and I will see my new ship to safety. On my soul.

When the g-forces ended, Laila didn’t move. Even in her secure crash couch, padded and made to cushion from the effects of high-G maneuvers, she felt worn and disoriented. The Goddess did not bless our bodies to endure gravities that intense, not like these Humans do. After a few minutes, she stood and carefully walked to Brigitte, who remained sedated. To spare any problems, she’d disconnected the IV during the burn, but with their gravity situation back to normal, Laila reconnected it and allowed the sedative to again gently flow into Brigitte, ensuring she wouldn’t awaken to the pangs and spasms of her withdrawal.

She won’t make it. Laila had no experience with losing fellow comrades and crew, but the scanner readings didn’t lie. Nervous system shutdown was on the verge of inflicting organ damage. Once organ failure set in, Brigitte would be gone. She needed to be cured. But I cannot, not until I know that second dose isn’t needed for the analysis.

She walked over to the machines next. Inside their frames, the cure was still being picked apart, spun about, and otherwise analyzed down to the molecular level for its makeup. The high gravities hadn’t caused any issues she could see. But if the results had too many questions, or uncertainties, she would need to use the other capsule, even at the cost of Brigitte’s life. Triage, Laila thought. It comes down to triage. The cure will save thousands. Brigitte is just one.

Her tablet blinked to life and displayed one set of completed results. The progress looked good. The other machines needed to verify a couple of compounds, but she had a strong idea about the cure’s composition. I just have to wait, she thought, returning to her seat. The deck plates thrummed from the fusion drive still pressing the ship’s speeds higher, even if it wasn’t at full burn as before.

Given the fatigue from the long burn, Laila felt her eyes tug closed, and since she hadn’t rested yet, she let them. Gentle sleep pulled her away to refresh and rejuvenate her mind for future trials. Dreams of the turquoise-and-violet forests of her homeworld came to her, making her wish to see home again someday.

“All hands, standby for combat.”

Miri’s words blasted through the gentle stream of images and brought Laila back to wakefulness. Again? She eyed her tablet, just out of reach, and noted the screen showed the results were ready. Have to wait until we’re safe.

On the Venture Star bridge, Miri watched the incoming contacts with trepidation. Another of the Jalm’tar cruisers, plus what looked like another corvette, loomed. And just as we’re approaching the limit.

“Captain, velocity is too high for safe jump,” Stepan warned. “We will need to decelerate.”

“They’ll intercept us if we do,” Miri replied.

“We’ll only need to decelerate a little. We can start once we hit the limit. Should be down to safe jump velocity in thirty seconds at full graviton generation.”

Ironic, we had to boost our speed to get out of the inner system, and now, hours later, that same speed’s working against us. “Fine. Get our speed down, and keep up evasive maneuvers.”

“Yes.”

“Point defense ready.” Vidia was resting, so Cristina held the auxiliary post. “Deflectors are back to regular strength.”

“If you have a shot, take it. At the very least, make them work for their shots.” Her eyes focused on the holotank and the oncoming contacts. The limit appeared as a green-tinted wall through space, representing the calculated distance where the gravitational influence of the star was low enough that their drive could safely punch a hole through space-time and form a wormhole to another star system. We just have to make it.

“Missiles incoming!” Markson called out.

“Point defense tracking and engaging.”

The Jalm’tar missiles were AI-guided, if not as lethally proficient and intelligent as Coalition Hunter missiles. They weaved and spiraled and corkscrewed around the Venture Star’s point-defense fire, violet beams slicing through space and across the Venture Star’s deflectors, making them flare bright blue.

“Deflectors holding but losing integrity,” Piper warned.

“Prepare to bring the fusion drive online to power the deflectors back up.” We don’t have a lot of fuel left, but it won’t do us any good to conserve it if they blow us up before we escape.

“Evading. Coming to the limit… now.”

As Stepan spoke, the icon on the Venture Star’s holotank breached the green wall.

“Activating deceleration. Maneuvering engines to full for evasion.” Stepan’s hands were busy at his controls, guiding their vessel through the incoming missiles and xaser fire. Some of the ship’s power went to the deceleration systems, the graviton field emitters that allowed a ship to slow its speed without the old-style method of “flip and burn,” in which the main engines had to consume more fuel to slow them and further limit their maneuvering options. The Venture Star’s velocity shifted, their movement decreasing and, in the process, throwing off a volley of xaser fire.

But the next volley didn’t miss, and the missiles came in even faster, no longer having to burn as long to catch up. The point-defense guns, the automated turrets, and their plasma cannons all returned fire, the former aiming at those missiles that got farther up toward the bow. The missiles evaded in turn, spiraling closer to try to detonate against their deflectors and coming perilously close a few times before the converging fire finally blew them apart.

“Deflectors are taking a beating.”

“Twenty seconds.”

Miri thought about changing it up, ordering Stepan to go to combat burn, to fight until they slowed. But they couldn’t let the Jalm’tar draw any closer than they already had. HaShem, we are so close…

The ship shuddered. “Ten seconds,” Stepan called out calmly while Piper was quick to add, “Bleedthrough by proximity detonation, damage to port amidships. Minor damage.”

And yet more missiles came, and more xaser beams played over the flickering defectors, missing only where Stepan successfully changed the ship’s orientation and altitude enough to throw off the Jalm’tar gunners. The Jalm’tar corvette burned ahead of its larger ally, devoted to closing the range, while both ships ripple fired a mass volley to overwhelm their point defense. The incoming missiles burned hard, reaching massive accelerations to close the distance.

“Safe speed reached. Jump course plotted and set. Engaging drive… now.”

Just as the lead missiles drew into blast range, space ahead of the Venture Star opened. The ship plunged through the resulting wormhole so quickly it shuddered. They came out the other end in an empty star system.

After a few seconds passed, to clear their sensors, Markson ran a scan. “Nothing on scope so far. We’re alone.”

“Maintain velocity just in case they get lucky on picking where we went. Everyone, back to standby.” And two weeks of elevated watches, knowing how many Jalm’tar ships are prowling the spacelanes from here to Independent Space.

The intercom crackled to life. Miri expected Pieter’s voice but got Laila’s inhuman timbre instead. “Is everything all right? Are we safe?”

“For now, yes, Doctor,” Miri answered. “What can I do for you?”

“You’ve already told me what I needed to hear. Now let me see…” A brief silence followed on the other end. “Our test results are back. We have the cure’s composition. And a quick check on our library computer… yes!”

“Doctor?” Miri felt a pang of glee. Good news, then?

“The chemical components… There’s nothing here a proper lab can’t replicate with some work. Even the organic compounds that look unique to the Jalm’tar homeworld can be chemically synthesized, at least going by this data. I’m transmitting the cure to Admiral Henry now.”

“What about Brigitte?” Piper asked. “Is there any cure left for her?”

“A capsule left. I’ll inject it as soon as this is done, and ideally, it will be enough.”

“Then we won,” Markson said. “Hallelujah.”

“It seems that way, yes.” Cristina turned in her chair. “Though I won’t feel safe until we’re back in an ISF system.”

“Same here.” And this isn’t over. Henry still has to get people to accept the cure. I hope he succeeds. I pray he succeeds…

29

Ubana’s legislature was a unicameral body, with many other newly settled worlds that grew their governing institutions out of their early days. The Assembly, with its four hundred and ten members, represented the planet’s population, sitting in an open half circle of long, curving benches. Only those members who were appointed to government positions or the Shadow Cabinet sat with desks, all at the front facing the speaker’s dais and podium as well as the Chancellor’s table, where Lilley would sit with the highest members of her Cabinet.

Henry knew the layout from holovid broadcasts of sessions, but it was the first time he’d seen the chamber in person. He followed Lou in, with Mei-Ling right behind him, flanked by aides from Harcourt’s staff. Harcourt, leading the group, stopped as every head turned toward them.

Lilley’s face paled with anger. “Mister President, you are bringing hostile foreign officials into this important meeting. Indeed, it is an insult aimed at both Ubana and our friends the Jalm’tar Empire, given Admiral Henry’s undoubted role in the attack on their people.” She turned her head to a suited woman with a charge pistol visible on her hip. “Sergeant-at-Arms, remove the ISF contingent at once.”

Before the Assembly’s security personnel could act, Harcourt spoke. “They are here at my request, as witnesses to the address I am here to give to the Ubanan people on the matter being brought to a vote.”

“The Assembly has no time for your address. The floor votes for withdrawal from the ISF and the association treaty are our first orders of business,” Lilley countered.

“Under the Constitution of the Planetary Republic of Ubana, I have the authority to address the Assembly on my own power, at a time of my choosing, on matters of vital importance to Ubana,” Harcourt responded.

Henry heard his voice hardening.

“I informed your office and Speaker Sanchez of my intention to speak before the vote and my willingness to declare a planetary state of emergency if necessary. Moreover, until you pass that vote, Mister Lou, Admiral Henry, and Captain Lou are officers of the Independent Systems Federation, which we are a member of, and so they, by definition, are not hostile foreign influences. You can kick them out when the withdrawal is a legal fact.”

The fury in Lilley’s eyes was palpable. Sanchez stepped back from his podium and leaned over the table, whispering into her ear. Nothing he said ended that fury, but it made her expression turn to something like pale rage set into stone.

“At this point, Mister President, your hostility toward the Government voted in by the Assembly is clear, and I feel confident your resignation from your office will be demanded when this is over.” Her voice was chilled and forced as she spoke. “But the Speaker has confirmed your claim, and because resisting your usurpations would delay this vital vote, I will let you speak first. Do not try the Assembly’s patience, though. Filibustering the vote will see you cut short.”

“I have no intention of doing so.” Harcourt looked back at them and gestured up to the visitor’s gallery.

A nearby flight of stairs within the assembly chamber, roped off, was opened for their benefit. They ascended to the gallery and found a few empty seats toward that end. Henry noted Hrik’ma and some uniformed Jalm’tar were present. Hrik’ma met his gaze with a quiet, pensive expression.

You’re wondering what’s up, Henry thought. Maybe it was even confirmed we captured the cure and that Miri and the others got away. Not so confident in Fortune’s Favor right now, are you?

Harcourt, meanwhile, ascended the dais and took up the speaker’s podium. His staff joined with the Assembly clerks, and Henry noticed what he thought were data discs being passed about. “My friends and colleagues,” Harcourt began. “I have a confession to make to you. I have, myself, been using Curall for the last three months.”

Muffled conversation and surprise came from the assembled. Lilley stared daggers into the back of Harcourt’s head.

“And that is how I can tell you, from my own experiences, that the advocates are wrong. It is a lie.”

Screams of “No!” and “Liar!” came from a few in the Assembly, and Henry noted Lilley’s lips form the same word, though she didn’t scream it. Her hands balled into fists.

“It is a lie. It has not cured any of the illnesses that time and age have brought me,” Harcourt continued, “as my doctors’ examinations can show.” He nodded to his staff, who, presumably, transmitted the notes to the personal tablets of the attending Assembly. “It has left me addicted, painfully, and I need to take three doses a day to stave off that pain. I tried to beat it several times. My week away from the capital two months ago, for instance, was my longest attempt, and it failed miserably. My body is racked by spasms whenever I try. My limbs stop working. My organs start to fail. I was on the verge of requiring resuscitation after thirty hours of withdrawal, and Doctor Levitz, my personal physician, administered a Curall dose to restore my vitals as the only solution to save my life.”

“What is this?” Lilley stood. “You come and make these claims but never said a word before? This sounds more like trickery, like you have come under the influence of other parties seeking to derail our new policies.” She glared toward Henry, and none could miss the implication.

Harcourt smiled bitterly and turned. “Because, Madame Chancellor, I am a coward, and I violated my oath of office to protect the people of Ubana. I refused to give warning because I did not want to die in pain, as our potential associates made clear would be my fate if I interceded against you.”

He nodded again to his staff. Over the Assembly speakers, his voice crackled to life. “So this is my only way, is it?”

“Yes, President Harcourt.”

Henry recognized the thick-tongued alien voice of Emissary Hrik’ma. He glanced back at Hrik’ma, who remained still in his chair, as if he were just another passive observer.

“The Curall has eliminated your body’s ability to produce neurotransmitters by itself. It needs the Curall now to maintain function. Without the compound in your system, you will not survive.”

“Then I am at your mercy. Is this a plan to kill me? To arrange a more pliable leader to support your conquest?”

“You need not concern yourself, President. Jalm’tar rule over your people will be gentle, so long as the Emperor’s orders are obeyed and he receives his due of your yearly incomes. As for you, you may yet live a long and prosperous life with your daily doses of Curall, provided by us, so long as you do nothing to interfere with the treaty.”

Shouts of anger rose from the Assembly.

The Opposition Leader, Representative Goddard, bolted from his chair. “You coward! How many of our people have become addicted to this lie because you wouldn’t tell us about this? And how many will die because you didn’t stop Lilley earlier?”

“It’s a forgery, a data fake,” Lilley insisted, her voice filling the chamber. “A Coalition trick!”

“No, Madame Chancellor, it comes straight from the archived recordings of my office meetings,” Harcourt replied. “Your own security services will verify its authenticity.” He turned his head to face the fuming form of Goddard. “As for your remarks, Representative, I am indeed a coward. I didn’t want to die, so I said nothing.”

“So you say, but what’s changed?” Lilley’s eyes blazed defiance. “What, other than some offer to sell us out to the Coalition, to see us conquered by them instead?”

“They have the cure.” Harcourt nodded toward Henry and Lou again. “They recovered it from the Jalm’tar. A compound they use when one of their own takes pireem, the addictive pain-suppressing herb that Curall is a concentrated form of. The ISF has the formula and is synthesizing doses as we speak. Doctor?”

A lab-coated woman, presumably Doctor Levitz, stepped up from among his staff. At his nod, she held up an injector with an attached beaker of turquoise fluid. Wealth has its privileges, like a stocked pharmaceutical lab with a full biochemical synthesizer assembly on your personal yacht, Henry thought while she injected Harcourt’s arm.

He twitched a little and rubbed the injection spot. “Thank you, Doctor. I waited until this meeting to take my dose, but it’s already been applied to a couple of victims of the Curall deception, other patients who came to my attention. It permits the body to return to normal, as the findings of the attending physicians show in the attached materials my staff is transmitting to you. Thanks to the ISF, we can save our people from Curall, as can the peoples of Tibald and other worlds this scourge was peddled on.”

“No!” Lilley stood, her whole body vibrating with passionate fury. “This is a trick, a lie, a last-ditch effort by the Coalition to stop the treaty! The Curall works! I’ve seen it work!”

“You saw only the end of pain, not a cure,” Harcourt replied. “Your children still have Richter’s. The Curall won’t change that, Madame Chancellor.”

“No! It works! It gets my children out of bed, lets them live real lives. It’s helped so many. This is a trick, and we can’t allow this! We must sign the treaty!” Lilley pressed her palms to the table. She shook with emotion, her expression twisting into disbelief and anger. “End your statement, Mister President, end this fraud, and let us get to the business of ratifying the treaty with the Jalm’tar and ending our association with these agents of Canaan’s domination!”

“Yes, let’s get to a vote!” Goddard shouted. “We’ve heard enough! Every loyal child of our world, let’s send a message to those who tried to lure us with lies and addict us with their poison! Reject the treaty. Embrace our true allies!” A roar of approving voices joined him.

“It goes without saying, I believe, that I oppose our withdrawal from the ISF,” Harcourt continued. “And I urge you to vote down our subjugation to the Jalm’tar Empire.”

Cries of “Traitor!” and “Patsy!” and “Coward!” came from below Henry, but there were even louder cheers.

Harcourt held up a hand. “And with this final statement, I end my address. I ask the Assembly to prepare new elections for the Presidency of Ubana, for I am not fit to hold this office. Thank you and God bless.” With those words, he stepped away, a man having shed a heavy burden at long last.

Lilley walked around her desk and took the podium. “This shameful display does not change the truth. He can inject himself with food coloring all he wants! I know many of you have seen Curall’s miracle, and you know it works. Don’t let this treachery stop us from securing a healthy future with our Jalm’tar friends! Place your votes now to reject the ISF, which is selling us out to Coalition business!”

Sanchez, looking very dour and tired, nodded from his place. “The vote is open. Please, let us end this drama, for the good of Ubana.”

Boos and jeers came louder than the supporting calls of Lilley’s remaining allies. Henry watched patiently while the votes were tallied and displayed on a holographic projection on the front rail of the visitor’s gallery, presumably for their benefit.

By all rights, he would have imagined the vast majority recognized what was going on. He was surprised to see that the vote for Lilley was still quite large, quickly leaping to a hundred and twenty and still sliding upward. The rejection of the withdrawal quickly caught up, though, reaching equality at about the hundred-and-fifty-vote mark and, in the final seconds, pulling away definitively.

One hundred and seventy-four votes to leave the ISF, two hundred and twenty-six against, he thought at seeing the final result. Ten people abstaining. I guess it says something about people that it still turned out this way.

His attention refocused to the center of the room. Lilley looked like she’d been punched in the gut. Her face was pearl white, and her hands tremored. A surge of sympathy filled him at the sight, even if he had every reason to be happy to see her defeat. For a moment, he wondered if she would bend over and vomit, she looked so ill.

As voices rose in celebration and anger, Sanchez called out the results. “The resolution for the withdrawal from the Independent Systems Federation is rejected. Our next order of business is the association treaty with—”

“‘Submission treaty,’ you mean!” one wit called from the Assembly.

“We must have order!” Sanchez insisted. “Order in the Assembly. We will now vote for the association treaty with the Jalm’tar Empire and its ratification.”

“A silly formality,” Lou muttered. “The treaty is incompatible with continued ISF membership.”

Yet the vote was carried, and it was a blowout. Only sixty legislators remained supportive, and while abstentions were in the forties, three-quarters of the Assembly voted to kill the treaty instead. As the vote finalized, cheers came from the Opposition and even some of the Government side of the aisles.

“The ratification is rejected,” Sanchez announced.

Henry glanced toward Hrik’ma and his entourage. Some of them muttered angrily, even outright speaking in one of their languages, while Hrik’ma might have been a statue, for all the movement he made. His eyes briefly lowered, and something like a resigned sigh came from his lips before he stood. His eyes turned to meet Henry’s.

“Looks like God had other plans,” Henry said to him.

“Fortune’s Favor changes often,” Hrik’ma replied before walking toward the far exit at a brisk pace, the other Jalm’tar falling in behind him.

From the din below, the familiar sound of flesh and bone striking flesh drew Henry’s attention. He turned in time to see Harcourt fall to the floor, blood pouring from his mouth and nose, and Lilley standing over him with her arm still pulling back from a vicious right-handed punch.

She didn’t shout so much as shriek. “You bastard! You’ve killed my babies!” With that, she turned and rushed away, the rest of the room too stunned to intervene.

Good God. Henry swallowed. That was always going to be the hard part. It was a false hope, but it was all she had. Her children are dying. And all we can do is cure the Curall addiction, not their disease.

“Admiral?”

He turned to see Mei-Ling staring at the door Lilley had stormed out of. “Yes, Captain?”

“I need to go see their security people, the people who would have access to the Chancellor’s residence,” she replied. “Now.”

For a moment, he wondered why she would ask something like that. Then he thought about it and felt the blood drain from his face. Oh God, good Lord, please… “Go. Do what you have to.”

Mei-Ling nodded and went toward the nearest guard.

Pain still throbbed through Lilley’s fist as she rushed through the front door, barely acknowledging the security detail watching it, just as she ignored her blurred vision from the tears building in her eyes. The throbbing brought her back to that moment. To her initial desire to strike Harcourt again, to throttle the man for what he’d just done to her family. But that would have seen her detained right then and there.

My political career is over. The thought went through her head. She just punched the President of Ubana in front of the Assembly for costing her a policy vote. Most of her party had defected from her over the treaty, even if some had still voted for withdrawal from the ISF. Not to mention that damned recording and those data files about the so-called “cure,” all so very convincing and making her look more and more like the fool.

Yet the prospect of her career ending didn’t quite have the power she would have imagined, not when all she could think about was her children. Her babies. Her poor babies.

She could hear the cries from the living room. Each one stabbed her in the heart, the pain magnified by what had just occurred, the future looming over her family like a tsunami. She entered the children’s bedroom and found Kaylee distraught, trying to comfort sobbing little Rosa while Sammy, ever trying to be the “big boy,” failed miserably to hide his pain.

“Mommy! The burning is back,” Sammy complained at seeing her enter.

“Mrs. Lilley, I’m sorry. They were—”

“Go, Kaylee.” Lilley couldn’t soften her voice, not with the way she felt. “Just go!”

The young nurse nodded and fled the room.

Lilley dove desperately into the closet. She reached for the box and cursed herself. Fool! Stupid bitch! You left your purse in the Assembly! Frantically, she grabbed the box and rushed to the other side of the room and the small dresser, her children’s cries assaulting her every step of the way. She reached into Sammy’s sock drawer and found the backup injector she kept for emergencies. Sighing with relief that she’d remembered to put it back, Lilley opened the box to get the doses.

Her heart plunged into her gut. Two. Only two doses. Her lip quivered in despair. This is it. The last dose for them. I… I have to get more! Hrik’ma has to give me more!

She loaded the first dose, took the second, and rushed to the sides of her poor suffering children. She gave Rosa an injection and a loving kiss on the forehead, wiping the tears off Rosa’s little face while fresh ones poured down her own. Sammy came next, trying to be brave but almost breaking into a full cry from the pain. She held him close after giving the shot. My little boy. Greg’s little boy. Her tears flowed into his hair.

“Mommy? Why are you crying?” Sammy whispered.

Across from them, Rosa was fast asleep.

“I’m just… sad. I’m very sad,” she managed. The treaty’s dead. The Jalm’tar will leave. I won’t be able to heal you, to cure you. You’re going to suffer and die like Greg if I don’t find a way!

After Sammy was fast asleep, she laid him on his bed, tucked him and his sister in, and fled the room, trying to control her sniffles. Over and over, she could see it in her mind. Her children wailing in agony, their bodies spasming and jerking as the Richter’s did its terrible work on them, until… until they were gone. My babies are going to die. No no no…

She ran to her office and activated her personal computer, bringing up the commlink and loading Hrik’ma’s link code. Talk to me, she urged. Talk to me!

After several seconds, a lone Jalm’tar appeared, lacking hood ornaments.

“Please, this is Chancellor Lilley. I need to speak to Emissary Hrik’ma!”

She couldn’t make out the conversation on the other end. After another silence, the screen shifted to show Hrik’ma in a chair on his personal shuttle, still at the spaceport.

Before he could say anything, she started her plea. “Emissary, please, I need help. I just gave my last doses to my children. I’m going to need more. I’ll pay—”

“You will not receive a single dose of Curall ever again, Chancellor.” That thick-tongued voice, which had formerly spoken with what she thought of as a warmth and friendliness, was blunt and cold. “You failed the Empire. Your treaty with us was rejected, and your people have embraced our foes.”

“No, please! I… I tried. I did everything I could, pulled every string. Harcourt betrayed us! Please, don’t hold my family responsible for him. Help us! Don’t let my babies die! I need more to save them, please!”

“I do not care.” Those words drove a fresh point through Lilley’s heart, indeed, her very soul. “To be blunt, Madame Chancellor, there is no point in helping you any longer. Your world can no longer be controlled with Curall. You are useless to me now. So I will no longer waste any of my resources on you, nor my time.” With that final line, he ended the call.

“No.” Lilley wept. “No, no no no!” She triggered the linkcode again, but that time, no one answered.

When the system terminated the unanswered call automatically, she tried a third time. Now the system informed her the connection was actively refused. Hrik’ma was no longer permitting her calls to reach him.

Harcourt was right. She hated the thought, but she couldn’t ignore it any longer. All of Hrik’ma’s charm, his concern, his apparent understanding and diligence—it’d all been an act. He was out for domination of her world, and she’d ignored it, even when she’d seen it, when she knew it could happen. I was trying to save my babies! The protest was immediate to those thoughts, but it was hard for her to put substance to it.

She’d believed in Curall because she wanted it to be real. The cure for her children. She wouldn’t have to watch them die like Greg had. She wouldn’t face that heartache ever again.

But it was coming. Even with the Curall cure, the Richter’s syndrome was still there, growing ever worse, killing her babies slowly and painfully. She wept as those images came to her, Sammy and Rosa screaming and pleading for relief that could only come from the strongest painkillers. Never getting to rise from their beds again, robbed of the energy to have any kind of life. And she would be there for every moment of it, unable to give more than hollow comfort between the druggings to ward off the agony of their nervous systems breaking down.

I can’t save them. She sucked in a breath between agonized sobs, her face wet with flowing tears. My poor babies are dying, and I can’t save them. I can only watch. No! No, it’s not right! Greg, our babies, I can’t save our babies, like I couldn’t save you! Oh God, why?

In the drowning depths of despair, a single thought came—a desperate, final outcome, the only way to spare her darlings the horrors of the disease killing them. What she’d spoken of with Greg, what he’d rejected in his determination to be there for her and the children, even when the pain was so savage he couldn’t function, until his death became a mercy to end his agony.

Her children wouldn’t understand, though. How do I explain I can’t save them? That I couldn’t keep my promise? How? How?

She walked to her bedroom with slow, pained steps, the tears blurring her vision as she continued sniffling and sobbing on the journey. Inside the confines of her room, in the things she’d shared with Greg, she found what she needed. What she’d prepared in case it was too much for him, what she’d almost used.

With her hand firmly on the grip of the charged particle pistol, an old refurbished Burleigh & Armstrong Mark V, Lilley returned to her children’s room. They remained asleep. A mercy. Let their little hearts sleep into the beyond, remembering their mother’s love. She walked between their beds and, with a shaking hand, leveled the pistol toward Rosa’s head.

Her finger tensed… and it stopped.

No. My little girl. I… I can’t do it. I can’t see her face while… Fury and anguish rose within her. She’s going to die in pain, but I can’t… I can’t pull the trigger! Wordlessly, she lowered the gun. What am I to do? I can’t pull the trigger, not when I’m looking at their faces. Not… She stopped as a thought came to her. She drew closer and gently pulled one of the pillows from Rosa’s bed. Her daughter wordlessly turned at the sudden vacancy but showed no other reaction.

Another thought came. She checked the gun. A tap of a key lit up a display showing shots and a green light. It was ready to fire. The safety was engaged. Enough rounds. I need only three. A sob formed in her throat, and she forced it back, though she couldn’t keep the tears from blurring her eyes. She wiped them with her left forearm. I need to see… enough. Just not their little faces.

Gently, she bent low, first toward Sammy. Her lips pressed against his forehead, a tender goodbye kiss. Rosa turned away, so she kissed her daughter on the back of her head, her lips brushing against the dark hair. If only I could pour my life into yours, my little ones. I would die to cure you. But this is all I can do… oh, God, this is all I can do to spare you! It’s not right!

It wasn’t right. But it was all she had. She set the pillow onto Rosa’s head and, hands trembling, brought the pistol up, pressing the barrel against the fluffy surface. Her tears flowed freely, and she fought back the sobs, turning them into little spurts of noise entirely unsuited to spilling the grief, humiliation, and fear filling her. Her soul was reduced to unending agony.

That was what it had come down to. Her family was broken. Her children were going to die. The only thing she could do was pull the trigger and spare them the terrible fate their father endured.

Her finger slipped into position within the trigger guard, and with a final, agonized sob, she pulled the trigger.

After what felt like too long a time to get the help she needed, Mei-Ling approached the Chancellor’s Residence in the company of a contingent of Ubanan security personnel. The guards at the door moved to bar her, but one of her escorts raised an ID.

“She’s with us. Direct orders from Director Ybarra.”

The guards relaxed and let them through, clearly not happy with it.

The inside of the home wasn’t luxuriously spacious, but it had a comfortable feel to it, with a nice foyer to meet arrivals.

“The Chancellor’s rooms are this way, Captain,” one of the guards said. Like the others, she seemed pensive.

They don’t like me being here. But Director Ybarra agreed with my concerns, so they’ll obey. With that in mind, Mei-Ling followed them into a kitchen and dining area, on to a living room, and beyond a hall. A slightly open door drew Mei-Ling’s attention. Low weeping came from within, and Mei-Ling felt her heart slow. Don’t tell me I’m too late! She went to the door and opened it just as a loud, heartrending sob clawed at her ears.

The moment her eyes met the sight in the room, she screamed, “Don’t!”

The distinct whump of a charged particle shot filled the air, and a single blast of energy momentarily existed until it found a target. A startled Chancellor Lilley turned as Mei-Ling dove forward, hands reaching out to grab the gun in Lilley’s hands. The room’s size worked for her, as did the desperation in her lunge, bringing her into contact before the weapon could come back around. One hand gripped the gun by the barrel, forcing it down, while her other hand grabbed Lilley’s wrist and pulled. The other woman’s grip was already weak, and after a couple of seconds, the gun dropped from Lilley’s tremoring fingers.

“No. No no no, please.” Lilley sobbed, dropping to her knees without Mei-Ling having to force her down.

The door swung open again, admitting some of the security personnel.

“I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t see them suffer!”

Mei-Ling looked toward the bed Lilley had been hovering over, dreading what she would find there.

“Mommy?” A little girl of about five sat up, ignorant of the blackened mark a centimeter from her head and the smoldering fringe of a pillow shot through by a particle bolt. “Mommy, what’s wrong?”

Another voice echoed the word. “Mommy?” From the other bed, a small boy, just a year or so older than the girl, Mei-Ling guessed, sat up.

By then, her escorts were at her side, hauling the distraught Chancellor of Ubana to her feet. Her tears still flowed freely, but no words came from her. Mei-Ling looked into the face of a woman who seemed utterly destroyed by the events of the day, her eyes red from crying and betraying someone floundering in despair. Terror froze her lips in place.

Looking to Lilley’s children, Mei-Ling swallowed and lowered herself toward the girl. “Rosa?” she asked gently.

The little girl nodded.

“Your mommy is very scared right now, okay?” Mei-Ling put a hand on Rosa’s shoulder. “I’m going to spend some time with her and help her. I need you and your brother, Sammy, to stay with these nice people. They’ll watch you while you get some rest.”

“I’m hungry,” Sammy protested, unable to take his eyes off his suffering mother.

“Then these nice people will get you something to eat, too, okay? But it’s very important I talk with your mommy right now. She needs help, and you need to rest.” Mei-Ling spoke as if she were talking to her own children, firm but reassuring and kind.

The children nodded. “Okay.”

With that seen to, Mei-Ling joined the security escort in bringing Lilley out to the living area. They put her in the recliner while Mei-Ling sat on the couch nearest her. Lilley’s eyes cautiously moved toward hers. They were streaked with red, bloodshot from crying. Low sobs still broke forth from her throat.

“Take the time you need, Chancellor… Mrs. Lilley,” Mei-Ling said.

It was another minute before Lilley found her voice. A low wail came from her throat. “They’re going to suffer. I… I can’t make them go through that. I can’t. Don’t you understand? Not like their father! I can’t see it happen again!” She broke down into agonized sobs once more.

“It’s not over for you,” Mei-Ling said. I want to reassure her, but she’s facing her worst nightmare. And I’m not sure I’d feel any different if Francois and Kanda were facing this illness. “Admiral Henry’s trying to find ways to help your children, Miss Lilley, and my father’s ready to help too. I asked him.”

Lilley shook her head. “There’s no hope. Don’t you understand? Nobody knows how to cure this, how to stop it. Curall was my only chance! It was the only thing that worked, and… My babies are going to die, the little darlings Greg and I had, and I can’t save them now. What am I supposed to do?” With that wailed question, Lilley broke into another crying fit.

“We’ll find a way to save them. We’re doing everything we can.” The reassurances came, one by one, but they didn’t work.

Lilley’s hope was gone, and nothing Mei-Ling said could rekindle it. She needs time. Time to reflect and time for us to find something. Mei-Ling stood and glanced toward the head of the security detail. “Agent…?”

“Winston, ma’am,” the older man answered.

“Agent Winston, I can’t do anything for her. She’s… she needs time. Will everything be okay here?”

“Yes, Captain Lou,” Winston replied, succinct and businesslike. “You needn’t concern yourself further.” Winston turned his head toward a pair of agents. “Smith, Rojas, take the Chancellor to her bedroom. Let her rest but keep an eye on her. We’ll wait for further instructions.”

They nodded and wordlessly collected Lilley from the chair. She moved more like a puppet than a living person, almost carried along more than escorted.

Mei-Ling turned to leave when Winston spoke again. “I do thank you for coming to us. I fear we wouldn’t have gotten here in time if you hadn’t insisted on coming, Captain Lou.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “I… I knew she was going to do something. She’s a mother facing the ultimate nightmare, and thinking of what that’d be like… I’m just glad I don’t face this with my children.”

“I feel the same way,” Winston said. “We’ll take care of the Chancellor, Captain, and make sure she and her children are okay. Take care.”

“Thank you, Agent Winston. The same to you.” With that, Mei-Ling left. I saved her and her family. They’d be dead if we’d been five minutes later. Now, I just need to hope we can find another miracle and save the children after all.

30

The infirmary’s silence was tense, anticipatory, as the seconds then minutes passed after Laila shut off Brigitte’s sedative feed. Janet stood a little closer than usual, taking a spot at Piper’s side while Vidia, Pieter, and Miri stood about, waiting for Brigitte to wake up.

Is she still hurt? Janet wondered. Did the cure heal her, or is that drug still going to hurt her?

Brigitte’s first movement was a slight shift in her arm. Several seconds passed before a low moan came from her throat.

“Brigitte?” Piper leaned forward. “Are you okay?”

“Light’s too bright” were her first words. “Don’t want to open my eyes.”

“It’s been a day since I gave you the cure dose,” said Laila. “You’ve been out for over forty hours.”

“Then why do I want to sleep more?” Brigitte mumbled, turning on her side toward Janet, her eyes still firmly closed. “Just let me rest.”

“Dammit, Brig!” Piper’s voice filled the infirmary. “I’ve been worried sick. The least you can do is let us know you’re all right!”

Brigitte’s eye snapped open. She sat up and rubbed her forehead. “I’m alive,” she said, her eyes slowly turning to Piper. The annoyed expression on her face softened. “Yeah, sorry. Don’t worry, Piper. I’m still living. It didn’t get me. Told you it wouldn’t.”

“You owe that to Janet,” Piper said. “She made sure we had enough cure to treat you.”

Brigitte’s eyes shifted to settle on Janet. The eye contact was uncomfortable but not as much as Janet thought it would be. The pride in her success helped.

“Well done, snatcher, looking out for your groupies like that.” Brigitte reached forward lazily and laid her hand on Janet’s shoulder.

Janet forced her body not to instinctively jerk back. That was an okay touch.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Janet forced energy into her voice. “You’re… really okay, right?”

“Just groggy, tired,” Brigitte answered. “Whatever it was, looks like it took a lot out of me.”

“You’ll be recovered in due time, I think,” Laila said. “And now that you’re awake, I think it’s time everyone else got back to work instead of crowding my infirmary.” Her lips widened into a sardonic grin before she walked toward her office.

“Yeah, taking the hint, Doctor.” Pieter nodded to Brigitte. “Glad to see you’re back up, Brig. We Shadow Wolf spacers have to stick together, you know.” He grinned and walked away.

“Good ta see ya back with the livin’, Brigitte.” Vidia gave her a nod. “God’s been kind.” He followed Pieter out.

“I’ll get dinner for you before I end my shift,” Piper promised. “Just don’t drive Laila crazy. I don’t think she enjoyed getting shot at, and she’s still recovering.”

“No, I didn’t, and I’ll remember that the next time you have a physical, First Mate Lopez,” Laila called out from her office.

“Thanks for putting me out gentle like that, Piper,” Brigitte said. “And look, you got everyone back safely. Don’t be too hard on yourself when you’re in charge next time.”

“I’ll try.” Piper flashed her a reassuring smile before leaving.

Janet watched the interactions. I can’t be like that, can I? I’m… not wired right? It feels awkward. But it’d be nice.

“Hey, Janet.”

Janet returned her attention to Brigitte. “It’s good you’re better,” she said softly. “I don’t think the others understand me. Not like you do.”

“Give them time. We’ve had all sorts of people on this crew,” Brigitte said. “And thanks again. For saving me.”

“I just… I wanted to make sure we had enough. So I didn’t run for the ship right away. I stayed and retrieved one of the cure capsules.” Janet shrugged. “It felt like the right thing to do.”

“To me, it was. That’s for sure.” Brigitte put a hand on her shoulder again. “Doing what you feel is right—that’s what we all should do. And if you’re still thinking about those ladies on Starfall you stole that Curall dose for, well, consider that you made sure we had enough of the cure to spread it to everyone. You’ve made good on it, Janet.”

“I guess.” Janet tried to keep her eyes on Brigitte, even with her discomfort. Normal people can meet their friends eye to eye. I want to do that. “I got to go. Training with Stepan for helm duty.” She waited for Brigitte to nod in acknowledgment before walking toward the door.

Cristina found Hangas alone in the galley, eating a warmed cup of stew. “I suppose there’s no issue with you eating our food?”

“There is none. It is nutritionally compatible, mostly.” He ate another spoonful. “I hear your crewmate is awake and well?”

“Awake at least and getting better.” Cristina slipped into the chair opposite his. “So, here we are. You’re an exile now.”

“For now, yes. The dice I cast roll still.” Hangas rested his utensil inside the container, the handle sticking out. “The work of changing the Empire has only begun, and with Fortune’s Favor, I will gain back everything I lost and more.”

“And you’ll get to go home again.” Just as I never can.

“Yes. Eventually. In truth, Jalm’kis has little appeal to me,” he confided. “The stars are so much greater, the possibilities vaster. Jalm’kis is a tired world, and our people are stuck in their ways. If I must remain an exile, I will still find ways to thrive and win Fortune’s Favor on my own. Not like that schemer Hem’tan or his poisonous followers.”

“How do you think things will go, with the cure released to the galaxy?” she asked. “Will this make the Empire change its course?”

Hangas shook his head. “They will reconsider matters, certainly, but I don’t think they will give up. The Empire’s nobles are too used to being in charge, you see, too set in their ways. We will have to deal with them, one way or another. The Empire can only be put back on a prosperous course if Prince Kanar is returned to his rightful place.”

That name has come up often enough. “Why do you say that? Who is this prince to you?”

“A man with vision. Someone who can bring our people into the future.” Hangas started running the utensil around the stew, stirring it up. He pulled a spoonful out and took another bite. Upon considering the flavor for a time and chewing, he swallowed. “This food, for instance. What is it?”

Cristina glanced at the container’s labeling. She sighed gently. “Cozido à Lusitana. It’s a meat stew popular across my homeworld. That is, I think, the last container aboard. It was supposed to be my celebration dinner when we returned to Independent Space.”

Hangas eyed the container briefly then met her gaze. “Ah. So this was to be yours. My apologies.”

“You helped save my crewmate and complete our mission, which helped my homeworld,” she replied. “I will consider it a gift of thanks. From one exile to another.”

He tilted his head slightly, which she thought was something like a shrug, then started to eat again.

Miri looked up from her estimates of their remaining fuel reserves at the green light on her desktop computer panel. She pressed it, opening the incoming commlink. An image of Henry appeared. “Admiral, how are things going?”

“Well, roughly. Some people around here are still angry, sharing conspiracy arguments about the cure, the Coalition, all the usual stuff you get when people would rather not accept they were being hoodwinked. But the Jalm’tar pulled out completely. Not another drop of Curall is coming in, and the police and security forces are seizing what they can. A few radical ship captains refuse to cooperate, running from the system and looking to jump with whatever Curall they have left. They won’t find many buyers, though.”

“Oh?”

“Harcourt’s released all his recorded messages with Hrik’ma on the GalNet. All of Sagittarius is getting treated to Hrik’ma talking about how the Curall functions and what it’s for, blackmailing Harcourt over being addicted to it… everything. And we’ve got the cure spreading. The formula’s public for other worlds to produce on their own, and for those who can’t or won’t, Lou’s arranging to have his people deliver it to them. A couple of small colony worlds refuse to give it up, but I figure give them time. Without Ubana or worlds like Tibald, the Empire’s grip here is broken.”

“Then we accomplished our mission.” Miri breathed a sigh of relief. “It wasn’t what I thought we’d end up doing when you sent us, but after Brigitte injected herself… we didn’t have a choice either way.”

“How is she, by the way?”

“Getting better. The antidote was enough to clear her system, though she’ll be weak for a while, and she admitted she’s felt odd cravings for it.”

Relief showed on his face. “Thank God she’s okay. You’ve all been in my prayers.”

“We’ve been in mine too,” Miri teased. “And you. I admit I was worried violence might break out on Ubana, given the news reports, but it looks like you’ve made it work.”

“We did.” Henry frowned and shook his head. “Though we almost had a tragedy from it all. As much as she’s been helping the Jalm’tar, ex-Chancellor Lilley’s as much their victim as she is their accomplice.”

“So she’s out?”

“Resigned, effective today. Stepped down from politics to be with her kids. I’m trying to pull some strings, and so is Lou, about getting them into a program developing new treatments for diseases like theirs. Hopefully, we’ll be able to save them.”

“Hopefully.” A false hope getting torn away like that. It’d destroy a lot of people. “So far, we’ve managed to avoid Jalm’tar patrols out here, but we might be a few days late trying to stay off the regular routes.”

“Commodore Dulaney’s moving a squadron up to meet you on the way back in, so don’t worry about going the whole way alone. I’ll see you back at Trinidad.”

“We’ll see you there. Gaon out.” Miri tapped the key again and cut the line. The Jalm’tar lost this round and their best weapon for subversion. But that doesn’t mean they’re going to just give up. I’m worried about what they’ll do next.

31

The same QET that let Henry speak in real time with his old crew provided the holographic likenesses of the entire ISF Council back in their impromptu meeting room in the Tal’mayan Embassy in Lawrence City. Mei-Ling waited patiently while Lou and Henry finished briefing them on the latest updates. “President Moran’s offered some of his fleet if we want to kick the Jalm’tar out of the few systems that already signed association treaties,” Henry informed them. “Tibald’s Congress decisively rejected the last effort to legalize Curall. Outside of a few hardcore supporters, news of the cure and Harcourt’s recordings on GalNet have deflated the support the Jalm’tar had built.”

“A military campaign would be premature,” President Lewis said. “But it is good to know we have the option if the Jalm’tar attempt aggression.”

“I’m not sure what they’ll try,” Henry said. “But we’ll be ready. Though depending how strong their fleet is, we might need some help. Have the talks progressed any further?”

“They progress, and that is outside your field, Admiral,” Lewis barked. “Your interest in political affairs is unbecoming. I will ask for your censure if you continue this line of talk!”

“Apologies, I did not intend to infringe on the Council.” Henry bit back a harsher retort. I’m supposed to plan a defense against an enemy whose strength we don’t know, and you act like asking about potential allies is overstepping my bounds? One of these days, Lewis, I want a long, hard talk with you. “I’m merely concerned that they may change tracks. The Empire’s never allowed outsider ships into their systems before. We’ve little idea how prepared they are for war. I’m merely concerned that the ISF, in its state, will need allies to resist them.”

Ascaro beat Lewis to a reply. “Your concern is understood. We will let you know pertinent information as it comes. On other matters, given the situation, President Spencer asked us to pass on an invitation from the Varma College of Neurology to former Chancellor Lilley. They’ve had some success halting the effects of Richter’s syndrome, though they’ve yet to cure it. Her children would be eligible for treatment. He’s also introducing a medical aid package to the worlds afflicted by the Curall peddlers to help people who were taking it in any way possible.”

“Sounds like Spencer,” Henry said. “Politically motivated or not, he likes to help people.”

“I’ve no doubt he hopes to expand pro-Coalition sentiment as well,” Lewis groused. “But at least it’s for a good cause.”

Ascaro cast a side glance at Lewis but didn’t respond. “It’s been a long day here in Lawrence City, and the Council has a couple of business matters to see to. Thank you for your good work, Mister Lou, Admiral Henry. Keep us informed of any developments.”

“We will, Madame Chairwoman,” Lou replied. “Good day.” He cut the line. “It would appear matters are still stuck on Canaan. Months of negotiations and still no complete treaty.”

“Nothing like this has been attempted before,” Mei-Ling said, joining in finally. “With all the interests to balance, well, it’s no surprise they’re not done.”

“They may never be.” Lou shook his head. “Though the Jalm’tar may not give them the luxury of walking away.”

The computer screen lit back up, showing an incoming call to their current linkcode, though the sender wasn’t visible, Henry, curious, answered, expecting it might be Oskar using a different device or maybe one of his military intelligence subordinates.

The horned image of Hris Teshan sep Hrik’ma appeared instead. “Admiral Henry. Master Lou.”

“Your Excellency,” Lou said with chilly formality. “To what do we owe such pleasure?”

“It is best to acknowledge when one’s foes have gained Fortune’s Favor, or at least, when they appear to have enjoyed it,” he replied. “Your crew has upended centuries, millennia, of Jalm’tar power by stealing our pireem cure.”

“I’m proud to hear it,” Henry declared defiantly. Seeing the Jalm’tar noble, all he could think of was the ways the man had caused harm. Reva Sharma nearly dying from a gunshot years ago on Yan’katar, his crew being attacked, and all the victims of Curall, from Ubana to Starfall. All that blood and suffering and death was on Hrik’ma’s hands. If not for Mei-Ling, Lilley and her children would be among the dead.

“Perhaps you should not be. I admit I wonder if Fortune is truly favoring you or if you are being set up for major misfortune.”

“I don’t believe the galaxy works that way. I know God’s got my back because I’m trying to protect others from being hurt by people like you.” Henry leaned forward, thinking of all Hrik’ma’s victims and of how close he had come to losing his old crew because of the Jalm’tar. “And I still don’t get you, Hrik’ma. You’re a wealthy, strong people. You could be an honored part of galactic affairs, the bridge between the people in the Sagittarius stars and the Centaurus part of the arm. You could get rich off all the trade. But instead, all you’ll sell anyone is this false hope of a miracle cure. You offer it to the desperate and frightened so you can take over their worlds. It’s a waste.”

Hrik’ma waved a hand as if to dismiss his words as unworthy. “It is what we are, Admiral. We are the lords of Jalm’kis, the Favored. We are meant to rule, not play at false equality with lesser beings. Fortune would never grant favor to weaklings who don’t show ambition and assert their will. But while we once were as violent as your people have been when subjugating the Unfavored, we found pireem as a preferable alternative. We bring it to our subjects and make them reliant on it, and without violence, their wealth and lives enrich our Empire.”

“Not anymore. We’ve got the cure, and that’s over,” Henry declared, his voice hot with anger. Lord, please tell me you’re going to teach these people the humility they dearly need. “Anyone who wants it will get it. Your weapon is gone.”

“True. It is. And that is deeply regrettable.” Hrik’ma’s eyes hardened. “Because we have others.”

“Do enlighten us, Excellency,” Lou insisted.

“We who spread the pireem are not the only voices reaching the Emperor’s ear. There are those who believe that the galaxy is too big to secure with pireem alone, that the time has come again to win Fortune’s Favor through rolling the Iron Dice. They have built for our Empire a fleet that will blot out the stars from your worlds, and you have made sure their voices are the ones the Emperor heeds. He will not accept anything less than your subjection and fealty to him, whether he gets it by your reliance on the pireem or by brute force.” A chill, blunt tone filled his thick-tongued voice. “By stealing our cure and making the pireem useless, you’ve given up the kindness of the gentle conquest I arranged. Now you will be conquered with brutality and violence.”

“You make it sound like conquering us with Curall was a favor, but that’s a damn lie,” Henry shot back. “The Curall only made things on Starfall worse. People died by violence over it. The same on Tibald and Ubana and a bunch of other worlds. So spare me the self-righteous act. Conquest is conquest, and we’ll fight your fleet as hard as we fought your drug! We’ll fight to stay free!”

Hrik’ma laughed at that for several moments. “You have no idea of the strength of the Empire, Admiral Henry. But you will learn. When your worlds fall to our forces, when your ships burn over the blazing ruins of your cities and your people cry over the dead, you will wish you had accepted the pireem.” He nodded once and ended the call.

For a moment, the three sat in silence. “It’s not over, then,” Lou murmured. “They’re going to come for us.” He reached for the commlink control and brought up the linkcode for the Tal’mayan Embassy on Canaan. “We must show this to the Council.”

“Yeah, we should.” Henry sighed. “Because I have a feeling we’re going to need all of Sagittarius to deal with this threat.”

Epilogue

ISV Liberator

Near Trinidad Station

Magella System, Neutral Space

12 April 2464

Since it was built to be a flagship for the newly forged empire of a megacorporation tycoon, the Liberator came with an elegant dining space more akin to a corporate boardroom than a military officer’s galley. Henry’s refits to the place to tone down the look and make it more appropriate to his purposes could take only some of the gleam off, since removing the hardwood paneling and gold and silver fittings would be more expensive than just leaving them.

It left everything looking very impressive for the crew of the Venture Star when they arrived, their ship safely in the tender care of Trinidad’s Dockworkers’ Guild. A number of the Liberator command staff joined them for a meal of the best consumables the ship’s kitchen had in their stores.

“Ye flew right through an active coronal loop?” Cera’s surprise turned to laughter. She raised her glass of champagne in Stepan’s direction. He looked rather put out by his predecessor’s boisterousness. “That’s a story I’d love t’ brag about!”

“You’ll have to settle for running circles around League destroyers, unfortunately,” Piper suggested cheerfully.

“Aye, but that got old. A solar slingshot through a coronal loop? Fancy flyin’ there, Mister Zakarov. My hat’s off t’ ye!”

Stepan smiled politely enough, whatever his discomfort with Cera. “My thanks, Commander McGinty. I have heard many stories of you giving ‘heart attacks.’ Felt I should give it a try.”

Cera and several of the others laughed at that.

After one of the galley personnel seconded as waiting staff refilled his glass, Henry stood from his chair. “All right, everyone.” His voice boomed over the conversations and got the attention he desired. “I’d like to extend my thanks—and the thanks of the entire ISF—all of Sagittarius, really—for your heroism and boldness. We’d still be facing a slow Jalm’tar takeover of half the region if you hadn’t put that cure in our hands. You risked your lives to save us from that threat, and you have my thanks. Cheers.”

“Cheers!” His old crew and his new crew joined in the toast. Once everyone had imbibed, he left them to continue their dinner and conversations. He walked over to the viewing port showing the external view. The Liberator’s stationary holding pattern put Trinidad Station in sight, allowing him to watch the station’s slow rotation.

“Thank you for that.”

He turned and faced Miri at hearing her words. She stepped up next to him. Her blue spacer’s jacket over a matched green blouse and ladies’ slacks reminded him of his old wardrobe, traded in for the crisp military uniform he’d introduced for the ISF. “I know you told us not to be heroes, but events forced our hand.”

“They do that a lot.” Henry sighed. He crossed his arms. “At times, it feels like you can almost see the movements of the Lord’s hands in our lives.”

“They call it ‘Fortune’s Favor,’” Miri said. “Hangas has been quite certain of it.”

Henry nodded. “I’ve heard that’s how they see it. But I can’t say I’m a fan. It’s all random whim, not benevolence trying to keep free will intact.”

“I’m sure he’ll find that view interesting. Our new ally’s something of a religious man himself, at least as the Jalm’tar see it. He feels this is all because their Emperor is a cheater trying to force Fortune into his favor.” Miri frowned. “And if what he says is true, this isn’t over.”

“Hrik’ma insisted it wasn’t. But whatever happens next, we’ll be ready.”

Miri glanced back to where their crews were enjoying the meal. “I don’t want to put them in danger. Not like that.”

“I don’t want to either.”

“But Hangas is counting on us winning in the end. All of us. After what he’s done to help us, to save Brigitte, we owe him.”

Henry shook his head. “You don’t have to convince me, Miri. If I find a need for you, I’ll call, and it’ll be up to the rest of you if you answer. You know I’d rather not.”

“Well, you could always pay us more.” Miri grinned. “Lou’s fattened our accounts pretty well.”

“He’s good for that, yeah. But next time, well, I might just insist the ISF pay you. If we’re going to use you as our agents, you deserve the full recognition.”

Miri nodded and returned to the table, leaving Henry to his thoughts. Hrik’ma made it clear they’re coming, and they’ve got a fleet—a fleet they’ve had years to build up to deal with whoever won the war. We can’t do this alone. He shook his head quietly. No, if they come, we’ll be doing this together. The Jalm’tar Empire wants to conquer us? They’ll face what even the League of Sol didn’t—a united Sagittarius.

Keeping that thought in mind and his faith that it would come about, Henry returned to the table and the warm camaraderie awaiting him there.

Breach of Faith: Book 7 - The Iron Dice:

All wars begin with a cast of the iron dice. As Admiral Henry, the Venture Star, and humanity head toward a a final showdown with the Jalm’tar, which way will they turn?

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