The Price of Conquest

Tyler did not know whether to be angry, upset, or to simply laugh at himself. Other than the fact that he had not been able to talk Sangrey into coming to his and Kressa's room—something he hadn't counted on anyway—everything was going as planned. Nearly everything, anyway. His sudden inexplicable reluctance to continue using Kressa without discussing it with her first had definitely not been part of the plan.

Maybe it really isn't so inexplicable, he thought, looking down at her walking beside him, his arm around her unusually rigid shoulders. Maybe it's just unlikely. Unlikely that he could be feeling this way about a woman he'd met only two days earlier; unlikely that he could be feeling this way about any woman, no matter how long he'd known her.

He was not the type of man to become infatuated with a woman, no matter how attractive, spirited, or interesting she might be—and Kressa was all of those things, and more. And he sure as hell wasn't the type of man to fall in love. Yet he feared he was beginning to experience at least one of those sensations.

He'd once overheard someone give their opinion that somewhere, on some world, there existed a perfect match for everyone, and if you got lucky enough to find that person—or unlucky enough, depending on how you chose to look at it—there would be no way to deny your feelings. At the time, he thought it was a lot of romantic crap. Now, however, he was not so sure.

One thing he was sure of, though: He had absolutely no idea what to do about how he was feeling about (for?) Kressa.

As they reached the hotel and started across the lobby to the lifts, he looked around at the overpriced façade of luxury and high-living, reminded suddenly of how much money he'd spent to build this charade. If his plan for capturing Sangrey alive did not work out, a good portion of that money would have been wasted, and—thanks to Garth—he did not have money to waste.

Of course, even if his plan failed, he still might be able to take out the pirate. If he could do that and get the body—or at least proof of his kill—to a United Galaxy world, he could still collect something for his troubles. But the bounty for taking Sangrey alive was double that for proof of his death. Tyler prided himself on his ability to bring his targets in alive, and he needed Kressa so he could get close enough to Sangrey to do so.

Thinking of the money he stood to lose and the risk to his so far unblemished reputation for bringing in his bounties still breathing, he forced away his maddening feelings for the woman. Hell, she might go along with it all anyway. Maybe if he just told her everything—

He tucked that thought away with his feelings. He could not take that chance right now, not when he was this close to success. Still, if the opportunity arose…

When they reached the room, Kressa closed the door behind them and turned to face Tyler, her eyes narrowed in anger.

"What's going on, Devin? Why the fuck won't you talk to me?"

"I'm sorry," he said, attempting to put as much emotion as he could behind the two words without actually allowing himself to feel anything. He crossed the room to where he'd left his hard-sided carry-all on the far side of the bed. "I've been thinking."

"About what?" she snapped.

He touched his thumb to the carry-all's scanplate and it popped open.

"About us," he said and glanced back at her.

Her expression softened minutely and she walked around the bed toward him. "What about us?"

A surge of confused emotions tightened his chest and he looked away again. "Nothing specific." He removed a small locked case from the carry-all and took it to the washroom. "Don't worry about it."

He closed and locked the door between them, and then leaned against the counter, eyes closed, struggling not to think about her.

She's just a distraction, he told himself, but another part of him replied unhelpfully, or a potential partner—in more ways than one.

He set the case on the counter and unlocked it.

Inside was an assortment of items, most of which were illegal to possess without special permits. He had the permits, but the fact that the documents were issued by the United Galaxy made their value on Vsuna questionable. Included inside the case was a needle gun with a number of different types of ammunition, an assortment of marble-sized gas grenades, and several varieties of drugs in liquid, pill, and pad form.

He quickly went over his plan in his head, selected one of the marble grenades and several of the drugs. One of the drug pads he chose contained a substance known on the streets as eaze. He unwrapped it, placed it in a pocket, careful not to touch the exposed pad, and dropped the rest of his selection into another pocket. He gave the case's contents a final quick glance, decided he had everything he needed, locked it, and stepped out of the washroom.

He found Kressa packing her travel case. She gave him a withering glare.

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He froze as a surge of tangled emotions flooded him. "Don't leave," he said, unsure if it was an order or a request.

"Dammit, Devin!" She stalked across the room toward him, her expression a mixture of hurt, anger, and concern. "What's gotten into you?!"

Good question. He took hold of his feelings again and crossed the room to return the case to his carry-all. "I have things I have to do, Kressa. I'm sorry."

"Like what?"

"I have to go see Sangrey again, in his room, and I need you to come with me."

"No," she said, her tone resolute. "If I see that bastard again, I'm likely to kill him."

"Really?" He tried to keep any hint of hope out of his voice.

"No, not really," she said. "But almost. Do you know what that son of a bitch has done?"

He nodded, his expression grim. He knew in far too much detail the crimes Tiode Sangrey was wanted for, including his most recent: The ruthless raping and butchering of a group of young Patrol cadets on a graduation cruise, most of whom were the children of high-ranking officers. As far as the Patrol was concerned, that crime was to be Sangrey's last, and they'd raised the price on his head high enough to make it worth the risks involved in trying to bring him in. The fact that the cadets did an admirable job of fighting back and took out a good portion of Sangrey's crew may have lowered those risks slightly, but it was also almost certainly the cause of the bloodbath that followed.

"I know exactly what he's done," he told Kressa.

"Then why would you want to have anything to do with him? You can't be getting paid that much."

"You'd be surprised," he said. "Now, are you going to come with me and be nice to the nasty old pirate?"

"No," she said firmly.

"Would you like to come with me and make him pay for what he's done?" He tried to keep his voice light.

"You mean take him out?" She scoffed. "Then I'd be as bad as he is." She paused and seemed to reconsider her statement. "Well, almost as bad."

"He's got a huge price on his head," Tyler said.

"Bounty hunter, pirate, what's the damn difference? They all prey on people."

Tyler froze. How dare she compare—? He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and forced away his anger. There was no point in trying to convince her of anything right now. He didn't have the time. He reached into his pocket for the drug pad he'd prepared.

"If you have to go see Sangrey again," she continued, "you're going to have to do it alone."

"That's fine," he said and then met her gaze. "Sorry about the attitude. Just don't leave, okay?"

Her stern expression softened.

He stepped up to her, slid his empty hand around her back, and pulled her close for a kiss.

As their lips met, he brought his other hand up and pressed the drug pad to the side of her throat.

She gasped and jerked away. "What—?" Her eyes widened and then drooped as the eaze began to take effect.

Tyler caught her as she staggered forward. "I'm sorry, love, but I really need you to come with me."

He helped her sit on the bed.

After a moment, she looked up at him dreamily, and then frowned. "Devin—?" She brought a hand to her head. "I'm dizzy."

"You should be all right in a minute." He wondered at her odd reaction to the drug. Normally eaze made its victims too malleable to question anything that was happening and relaxed them to the point that they didn't notice if they got tired or dizzy or much of anything else.

He reached into his other pocket and withdrew a packet of tiny white pills. He did a quick mental calculation, decided that eight hours ought to be enough, and picked out two of the pills. He returned the rest to his pocket.

"Here, Kressa, take these."

She looked at what he held.

"Go on," he urged.

She hesitated for only another instant before picking the pills out of his open palm and swallowing them dry. A moment later she smiled up at him, her eyes unfocused.

"Better?" she asked airily.

Tyler wasn't sure what she meant. He forced a smile, hoping it was enough to disguise his sudden anxiety. The change the eaze had wrought not only to Kressa's behavior, but to the confidence and bearing that had initially attracted him to her, was disturbing. Fortunately, although illegal, eaze was relatively harmless and should have no permanent effect on her. He was less sure about the pills.

Based on the chemical the Patrol used to mind-wipe prisoners "lucky" enough to escape execution or a sentence to a hard labor camp, the substance contained in the pills—a drug known as memblock—was both highly illegal and potentially dangerous. Each tiny pill was supposed to prevent long-term memories from forming for approximately four hours. The drug also tended to blur the memories of anything that had occurred for some time prior to taking it. Unfortunately, on rare occasions, it could wipe away random memories and knowledge, as well. Some memblock victims lost years of memories, accumulated knowledge, or skills from a single small dose. But he had little choice; the less Kressa remembered about tonight's activities, the better off they'd both be.

"Come on, Kressa." He held a hand out to her. "We have to go see Mister Sangrey. You remember Sangrey, don't you?"

Memblock tended to destroy the most accessible memories first. Tyler hoped that making Kressa think about the pirate would make those memories more vulnerable to the drug.

She took his hand and stood, weaving slightly. "I remember him. He's a bad man."

"Now, don't talk like that," he scolded her gently, feeling as if he were speaking to a child. He led her from the room. "You be nice to Mister Sangrey and his people. Let them do what they want. I won't let them hurt you."

"I'll be nice."

"That's a good girl."