The Price of Conquest

Seated in his command chair on the Esprit's bridge, Admiral Richard Shaw stared at the empty patch of space the black ship had occupied an instant before, and bit back a highly unprofessional string of epithets. Where had the vessel gone this time? Who did it belong to? And why had it taken Bryant? He took a firm control of his expression, and surveyed the room.

Except for the hum of the ship's systems and the background comm traffic dominated by messages from the dreadnought's damage control teams as they continued working to minimize the effects of the black ship's unprovoked attack, the bridge was silent.

Shaw turned toward the communications post. "Lieutenant Teague, have my senior officers report to the bridge conference room. I want them here in fifteen minutes. Tell the fleet to continue searching for the black ship." He stood and smoothed the creases from his white uniform jacket. "Have the Esprit readied for a trip to Eminence. We're going to need a space dock to get some of this damage repaired."

Teague nodded. "Aye, sir."

Shaw strode toward the conference room door at the rear of the bridge, mind churning, his previous questions joined by a dozen more.

"Admiral?" Teague called.

He paused and looked back at the comm station.

"Message from our forces on Terra, sir. They've taken several prisoners at the pick-up site in London."

Shaw gave a brisk nod. At least that had gone right. "Have them brought aboard. We'll take them to Eminence with us and let the Triad have a peek at them."

Captain Aidan Terling, Shaw's tactical officer, was waiting for him when he reached the conference room door. Terling's hooded expression told Shaw he was already working on the problems presented by the black ship.

Shaw gave him a tight smile and motioned him into the empty conference chamber. The door closed behind them, cutting off the murmur of renewed bridge activity, and Shaw took his seat at the head of the table.

"Rich, we both know the fleet's not going to find that ship," Terling said as he settled into the chair to Shaw's right.

Shaw nodded. "You're probably right. I saw the way the ship moved within the system. There's no reason to believe it can't travel the same way between them. Still, it's worth a try." He sighed. "I read a report not long ago that proposed a stardrive with similar capabilities based on our new th'Maran drive. Unfortunately, it was strictly theoretical."

"For now," Terling said, his steel-gray eyes steady on Shaw's.

"Now is all we have time to deal with," Shaw said. "And now we have that black devil to worry about, on top of everything else." He let out a slow breath. "That's got to be a Guard ship. I don't know where they got it, but I'm certain we'll have to face it again if we're going to take the Free Worlds."

"If that's true, it could present some difficulties."

Difficulties. Shaw smirked at his friend's talent for understatement. "I'm counting on you to find a way around them."

"With luck, one of the prisoners will give us something I can use to do that."

Shaw rubbed a hand across the back of his neck in a futile attempt to ease some of the day's tension. "I'm feeling a bit short on luck right now. If only we'd been able to get our hands on Bryant."

Terling leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms with a lighthearted scowl. "That sounds like Richard talking, not the admiral."

"Don't start on me, Aidan. Getting Bryant isn't personal."

Terling raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it?"

Shaw glared for a moment and then gave in to another wan smile. "You know me too well. Maybe it's a little personal, but you have to admit that having Bryant would be one hell of an asset."

Terling gave a slight nod. "But we can only use the assets we have, and right now, Bryant isn't one of them."

Shaw gave him a confident look. "Give me time."

* * *

Two hours later, Shaw made his way to his office with a headache throbbing behind his eyes. The meeting with his senior officers had raised more questions than it answered and provided little insight into the black ship's abilities or origin. He paused outside his office door, pushed a hand through his silver-gray hair, and stepped inside.

As the hatch sealed behind him, the familiar sounds of the Esprit disappeared, deadened by the room's elegant furnishings and thick burgundy carpet. Artwork and awards dotted the dark, wood-paneled walls, and golden fibers traced the Esprit's insignia on the carpeting in front of the massive wooden desk that stood as the room's focal point.

Shaw scowled at the excessive display of luxury expected of an admiral, more repulsed by it than usual, but his disgust faded as his eyes fell on the one spot of elegance for which he was truly grateful.

A beautiful, pale-skinned th'Maran woman sat at his desk, her silver eyes studying a holographic image projected in the air before her. She switched off the holo-viewer and stood to greet him with a tender smile.

He forced a return smile. "Hello, Emre."

Her smile faded to a worried frown as he approached. "Richard, you are troubled." She stepped toward him, her long, pewter-colored hair swaying with her movement, the pale ends lost in her shimmering silver th'Maran uniform. The delicate floral scent of her perfume preceded her. "The meeting did not go well?"

Shaw gave an indifferent shrug and then sighed, aware that no outward show of bravado would fool her. "According to our sensor logs, that black ship was nothing more than a visual anomaly, and weapon control had to aim manually because they couldn't get a lock from the targeting systems. Not that shooting at it did any good."

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Emre met his eyes and took his hand in hers, her skin cool and smooth, her grip firm.

Gentle fingers caressed deep inside his mind, offering relaxation, an end to his worries, solace. Reluctantly, he dropped his eyes from her beguiling quicksilver gaze and pulled his hand away.

"Not yet," he whispered. He gave her a gentle kiss and stepped past her to his desk.

She followed close behind him.

Shaw settled into his chair and queried the computer. According to the readout, Kressa Bryant's bio-profile card was still in the reader where he had left it earlier in the day; several of the images on it had been accessed recently.

"Emre, why were you looking at this?" he asked curiously.

"I have heard you and Captain Terling talk about this woman." She pushed a stack of flexprints and other items awaiting Shaw's attention away from the edge of his desk and rested her hip against it.

A fist-sized red box slid off the top of the pile.

Shaw picked it up. Almost against his will, his gaze drifted to the emblem on the container's lid: the seal of Admiral Gaunis's fleet.

Shaw scowled. According to doctrine, the twelve admirals who ruled the United Galaxy held equal authority, yet throughout Shaw's career, he had watched Colliard Gaunis win over or intimidate the others into giving him most of the power. Shaw snarled silently at the thought. He would break that power! Soon he would capture the Free Worlds and bring them and their sorely needed resources under his control. After that, he would win the other admirals' support—or buy it, if that's what it took—and return the Patrol to the peacekeeping path its Alliance creators intended. He and Terling had been working toward that goal for years. Plans for their first major action, the capture of Arecia, were well underway. Once he controlled Arecia, he felt confident the other Free Worlds would fall quickly in its wake.

He spent another brief moment contemplating that gratifying thought, then set the box on the corner of his desk farthest from Emre.

She brushed a hand through his hair. "You should not let Gaunis worry you," she said quietly.

"It's not Gaunis," he said. "It's that black ship."

"It is both." She spoke with assurance. Her hand settled on his shoulder, and her silver eyes locked on his.

A familiar, soothing web began to envelop his mind, relaxing him and drawing him to her. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head of all thought, allowing Emre's reassuring mental caress to enclose him in its intimate, calming embrace, but her gentle ministrations could not completely quell his concerns.

"You are still worried," she whispered.

"Too damn many unanswered questions." He opened his eyes, and his gaze fell on the holo-viewer. "And Bryant."

Emre cocked her head, her pale brows drawn together. "But you have prisoners in custody."

Shaw switched on the viewer and studied the familiar image that appeared in the air above his desk: Kressa Bryant—Tara Shaw—at age nineteen. He met the image's dark eyes, so like his own, and felt long years of careful emotional control begin to crumble beneath the onslaught of the day's troubles.

Emre switched off the viewer. "You have prisoners," she repeated. Her voice held a rare severity.

"Yes, I have prisoners," he said quietly, continuing to stare at the empty patch of air Tara's—Bryant's projection had occupied, "but they're not Bryant." He lost himself in memories three decades old.

A short while later, he shook himself out of his reverie. Emre was gone. Snarling with equal parts frustration and anger, he ejected Bryant's data card from the viewer and cast it across his desktop.

Emre was right. He had prisoners in custody. They should be able to provide the intelligence he needed to move forward with his plans. Why then these feelings of anger and frustration? He frowned. Perhaps Aidan was right; perhaps he had allowed the issue to become too personal.

The intercom trilled, startling him from his thoughts. He cleared his throat to test the steadiness of his voice, then responded. "What is it, Teague?"

"Sir, there's a civilian ship approaching, an old-style hopper. The pilot insists he be allowed to board and speak with you."

"Did you get a name?"

"He wouldn't tell me, sir. Says he's just arrived from Arecia, and you'll know who it is. He's very insistent, Admiral."

Shaw sighed in annoyance. Just what he needed. "All right, Teague. Allow him to board, then have him escorted to my office under guard."

"Aye, sir."

Less than fifteen minutes later, Shaw's office door opened. A tall, well-dressed man stood in the opening. He had short brown hair, striking Terran features, and a trim, athletic build. Two guards flanked him, their hands resting on the pulse guns at their sides.

"Come in," Shaw said to the man and then glanced at the guards. "You two wait out there."

Shaw's visitor entered the room, and the door slid shut behind him. He crossed the office to Shaw's desk, a self-assured expression on his face.

Shaw gave him an appraising glance, then settled back in his chair, arms crossed. This was going to be interesting. "What can I do for you, Mister Tyler?"

Devin Tyler's mahogany eyes met Shaw's in a brazen look. "You got my message about Bryant?"

Shaw nodded. "I did."

"Good." Tyler almost smiled. "I've come for my reward."

Shaw raised an eyebrow. "What reward is that?"

Tyler withdrew a flexprint from his pocket, expanded it, and tossed it on the desk.

Shaw glanced at it. A copy of Bryant's capture warrant.

"I brought you Bryant." Tyler tapped the printout. "The bounty's mine."

Shaw pushed the warrant back across his desk. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. The warrant clearly states the reward is for information leading to Bryant's capture and arrest, neither of which has occurred."

Tyler gawked at him. "You let her get away?!"

"Hardly." Shaw sneered. "She had help."

"Who—?!" Tyler halted his outburst, and his features returned to their former mask of calm confidence. "That is not my problem, Admiral. I helped you set up that job—"

"And you were well paid for your assistance," Shaw reminded him.

"—and I made sure Bryant took it. That brought her to Terra. All you had to do was catch her. It's not my fault you couldn't manage that."

"It wasn't your responsibility to get her here," Shaw said. "If you've done more to aid our cause, I'm grateful, but I can't pay you for assignments you take on voluntarily. Assignments that come to nothing."

Tyler snarled. "We had a deal, Shaw."

"Yes, we did." Shaw kept his tone light. "And that deal was carried out and concluded some time ago. As I said, I appreciate your help. If something else comes up in which I can use your… talents, I'll contact you. In the meantime," he glowered at the younger man, "I want you off my ship."

Tyler leaned forward, eyes locked on Shaw's, hands flat on the desktop. "You'll regret this," he growled.

Shaw scoffed and waved a hand casually toward the door. "Do I need to call the guards?"

Tyler held his eyes a moment longer and then lowered his gaze. With a final indignant glare, he scooped up the flexprint, turned, and swept from the room.

Shaw fought the urge to roll his eyes, then he commed his security chief. "Captain Maeller, Devin Tyler just left my office. He's being escorted back to his ship by two of your men. Have your people keep track of him. Discreetly. Keep me apprised of his movements. I'll let you know when to back off."

"Aye, sir."

Shaw switched off the comm and shook his head in disgust. Bounty hunters.

Several hours later, he discovered Kressa Bryant's bio-profile card missing from his desk.