The Price of Conquest

Throughout the long night spent hiding near the waterfront, Kressa entertained the idea that the Patrol's attack was an isolated incident, a play to take Cint-Istep, the Arecian capital, before proceeding with the rest of the planet.

She knew it was little more than wishful thinking, and the reports she and Halav received when they reached the new base the following evening painted a grim picture of the extent of the takeover. Admiral Shaw's fleet had arrived, every major city on Arecia contained a Patrol contingent, sunset-to-sunrise curfews existed planetwide, and many areas were off-limits to unauthorized traffic.

She and Halav had experienced additional travel restrictions earlier in the day when they tried to leave Cint-Istep only to find roadblock after roadblock manned by Patrol soldiers searching and questioning the occupants of every vehicle. Fortunately, Halav grew up in the city and knew a dozen clandestine ways out. By late afternoon, they crossed the city boundary unchallenged and made their way into the mountain range to the east. After that, it was a short drive off the main road to the series of caverns, both natural and manmade, that housed the new base.

"Aren't you worried the Patrol will notice the activity up here?" Kressa asked as she followed Halav through the administrative area of the new complex.

He flashed her a tight smile. "The Senate recently passed a bill providing funds for a new observatory and research facility located around here."

She returned the smile. "What a nice coincidence, but I didn't think the Patrol allowed independent research projects."

"It's harmless enough, at least as far as the Patrol's concerned. The charter describes it as more of a teaching facility than anything else. A place for children to go on school trips. I hope Shaw is too busy to worry about a new educational site. And if he isn't yet, he will be." They rounded a corner, and Halav motioned Kressa through an open doorway into a small office. He took a seat behind the desk. "Make yourself comfortable."

Kressa glanced around the room with its simple desk and chairs and decided she liked it much better than the elegant but impersonal downtown offices.

She took a seat in one of the chairs. "I hope we can keep this place."

"We should be able to." Halav tapped the desk computer to life. "From what the people at the entrance said, everyone who knows about it is here. The only information the Patrol can get from any prisoners are rumors. Plus we've got some Teneian gear to add to the security we've had planned since the beginning. For now, it's safe enough."

"Excuse me, General," a woman's voice said from the open doorway. Lieutenant Satra, the Stingray's tech officer, stood in the opening.

"Lieutenant, what are you doing here?" Halav asked. "Is the Stingray back?"

The Teneian shook her head. "There were a few last-minute details to take care of here, so Captain Westlex said I should stay. We received a report from him soon after the Stingray left. Gaunis's fleet was attacking Vsuna, and the captain had decided to join the battle. We got a second message several hours later. The Vsunans won, but it was a costly victory."

"Is the captain all right?" Kressa struggled to keep the worry she felt out of her voice.

Satra gave her an understanding look. "He's fine."

"Does Westlex know what's happened here?" Halav asked.

"He does. He says he'd like to come help, but the Stingray's in bad shape. He's working on something to help keep Vsuna safe in case Gaunis returns, then he's going to take the Stingray to Teneia for repairs. After that, he'll get back here as soon as he can."

"I guess we're on our own for a while, then," Halav said. "Anything else we need to know?"

"The old base was captured, but I suppose you know that."

Halav nodded. "What about the supplies? Did we get those moved before the Patrol hit us?"

"Some of them, but most of the weapons were still there."

Halav spat a curse. "Do you know what the Patrol's done with them?"

"Reports say they're moving them to an old military depot near Liaj, along with a lot of their own weapons and other supplies."

"I know the place." Halav's voice was bleak.

"Let's take them back," Kressa said.

Halav glanced at her. "What?"

"We need the guns. You know the depot. Let's take them back."

"Impossible. The place is a fortress."

"Any place can be cracked."

Halav shook his head. "Not this place. Look, Kres, if you're still feeling bad about that Terran gun shipment—"

"Any place can be cracked," she repeated.

Halav let out a long breath. "Listen to me, Kressa, don't try it, because you won't get my help. I can't afford to send anyone on a suicide mission."

"You're serious," she said, surprised by the resolve in his voice.

"Deadly," he said, then his attitude lightened. "There is something else you can do for me, though. Before we make any long-term plans, I'd like to know more about what's going on, and I don't want to depend on the comms not being compromised. Do you think you can make it to Varen to find out what B'Okhaim knows?"

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"I wouldn't want to try it tonight with the curfew."

"What about tomorrow?" he asked.

"Sure. Get me a car, and I'll leave in the morning."

* * *

Kressa arrived in Varen early the following afternoon. She parked the car at the city limits and caught a tram downtown, interested to see how the Patrol's presence affected the atmosphere of the pleasure city.

At first there seemed to be little reaction. Crowds of noisy tourists filled the game rooms, shops, and restaurants, and squeezed elbow-to-elbow into the bars to quench their thirsts. Yet when she moved in among the people, hushed snippets of worried conversation reached her ears, and people's eyes darted furtively from one Patrol soldier to the next. It felt as if the people had come to Varen to escape their troubles, only to find them waiting. Kressa found it easy to empathize with them as she pushed her way through the dismal masses toward the Cartun-al Tavern where Thellan B'Okhaim housed his offices.

Curious to learn how the th'Maran fared, Kressa selected a route that took her through the Street of Temples. As always, tourists packed the lane, the drone of their conversations nearly drowning out the priests' cries, but the crowds passed by the th'Maran temple without pause, and two Patrol soldiers stood before the sealed entrance.

A worried shudder shivered down her spine, and she moved on.

A moment later, a shot from a pulse gun rang out above the hubbub of voices that filled the area. Ahead of Kressa, the crowd surged into the center of the street, revealing a single Patrolman standing near a bright, tawdry temple ahead and to the right. A pair of garishly habited, tattoo-faced monks flanked the soldier. They gestured toward a narrow alley beside the temple with hands and arms as densely and colorfully tattooed as their faces.

Ahead of them, a lanky, dark-haired figure wearing a brown leather jacket darted into the alley.

Kressa groaned in consternation as she recognized the figure. It was Cody, the kid Tyler hired to follow her the last time she was in Varen. In his flight to avoid the Patrolman and priests, the junior bounty hunter had fled into a dead-end alley.

For an instant, Kressa wondered if leaving the boy to his fate would be appropriate, but she couldn't stand by and let the Patrol have him.

With the spectators' attention on the drama taking place in the alley beside the gaudy temple, Kressa slipped unnoticed through the front entrance. A second set of doors opened beyond the first, and she moved through them into an empty, dim-lit chapel.

Dirty sunlight filtered through a small, dark pane at the apex of the domed ceiling. The remainder of the room's shadowy illumination came from rows of guttering candles affixed to ornate sconces that lined the walls. The candles filled the air with a foul-smelling haze.

A doorway to her left led out of the chapel. She ducked through it into a plain hallway lit by glowing ceiling panels. She blinked hard in the sudden bright light, then continued along the corridor toward the rear of the building.

A moment later, she located a door into the alley.

"All right, boy, drop the gun!" a harsh voice boomed from the other side of the barrier.

Kressa unlocked the door, slid it open, and fired her stunner toward the source of the voice.

The Patrolman and one of the monks dropped from a single sweep of the weapon; the second tattooed priest succumbed to her next shot. A few foolhardy onlookers who'd followed them into the alley fled back into the street.

Cody cowered against the alley's back wall, his pulse gun on the ground at his feet.

"Fancy seeing you here," Kressa said.

The boy gawked.

"Well?" she said, brows arched. "What are you waiting for? Get your ass in here."

He hesitated for an instant, then snatched up his gun and dashed in the doorway.

She cast a glance down the alley, found it clear, and ducked back inside.

Cody watched her suspiciously, his gun still in his hand.

"Put the damn gun away," she said.

He pursed his lips and tucked the weapon into its holster under his jacket.

Kressa led him out of the temple and into the crowd on the far side of the road. Taking hold of his arm, she ushered him to a less populous area, then released her hold and waved for him to stay close as she made her way to the relative calm beyond the street.

"Cody, I…"

He was no longer behind her.

"Hey!" she called. "Get back here!"

The boy was weaving through the cross-street crowd in an obvious attempt to lose himself in the throng.

Kressa dashed after him. She caught up to him on the far side of the roadway and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. "You could've at least thanked me."

He jerked out of her grasp. "Get away! I don't want to be seen with no Shaw."

Kressa's mouth dropped open in shock, and she shoved Cody against the building beside them. A handful of people paused to stare at her rough treatment of the boy, but she sent them off with a savage look, then turned her dark gaze on Cody.

"Where'd you hear that?" she demanded.

He met her angry glare. "'Round town. Everyone knows."

"What do you mean, 'everyone'? Who started it?"

He raised a hand toward his gun. "I don't—"

Kressa grabbed his wrist. "Who started it?!"

He glanced away briefly. "Tyler, I guess. He says he knows all about you. Something about some data card he swiped from Shaw. Claims he took it right off the admiral's desk."

She scowled. "I thought I told you to stay away from Tyler."

"Yeah, but…"

"Never mind," she snapped. "I should kill you now and save Tyler the trouble."

He stared at her, eyes wide.

She snarled. How had Tyler managed to take anything from Shaw's desk? And just what did he hope to gain by spreading the news about her and the admiral? Some warped feeling of vengeance, perhaps? She ground her teeth. If she ever caught up with that son of a bitch, she'd—

"Hey…" Cody pulled at her hold on his wrist.

With a start, Kressa realized she was holding him in a cruel, twisting grip. She released him.

"Look, Cody, I'm sorry." She glanced away and took a deep, calming breath, then met his wary gaze. "You're right, Shaw is my father, but I never really knew him, and I don't like him any more than you do." She made a sour face. "You can't choose your parents."

He rubbed his wrist and continued to watch her, eyes hooded and a frown on his lips.

"Hey, I saved your skin, didn't I?" She gave him a reassuring smile.

He nodded, and his expression softened slightly.

"Okay, then, I'm on your side, right? Come with me."

"Where're we goin'?" he asked suspiciously.

"I think both of us could use a drink."