The Price of Conquest

Jonathan peered out of the darkness, splitting his attention between the three guards in the room opposite him and Kressa's progress down the corridor. As she passed the door to the comm room, one of the men across the hallway stood. With a quiet word to his companions, he started toward the doorway.

Jonathan tensed and glanced at the pulse gun Kressa had given him. He tucked it under his belt and reached into his pocket. He withdrew a flat, rectangular object about half the size of his palm—a Teneian stunner, a smaller and much more discreet weapon. The guard stepped into the corridor and walked away from Kressa without so much as a glance in her direction. Jonathan breathed a relieved sigh and looked down the hallway again.

Kressa had flattened herself against the wall halfway to the meeting room, her newly acquired gun at the ready. As the guard disappeared around the corner at the far end of the hall, she relaxed and hurried toward the meeting room door.

Without warning, the door from the main chamber opened, and a balding, barrel-chested man stepped through, pulling the door shut behind him.

"What the—?" His gruff voice echoed down the hall as Kressa spun to face him.

He chopped a hand down hard on her right arm, and her gun clattered to the floor. She tried to duck away, but he grabbed both of her arms and jerked them behind her back.

Powerless to interfere without drawing attention to himself, Jonathan watched as the two guards across the corridor drew their guns and dashed into the hallway.

"Where's Howell?" Kressa's captor asked them.

The male guard thrust a thumb over his shoulder. "He just stepped out. Said he'd be right back." He gestured to Kressa with his gun. "Who's this?"

"Who's this?" the big man mimicked. "How in hell am I supposed to know who this is? It's your job to watch the back." With a scowl, he jerked Kressa around to face them. "Do something right for a change, and find out who she is."

The female guard stepped forward and began to search her. Kressa endured the rough treatment without expression. After a moment, the woman held up an ID card.

Jonathan stiffened. If they discovered who she was…

"Says her name's Tamara Carlton," the woman said.

Jonathan released a breath. Trust Kressa to carry false ID.

The big man leaned close over Kressa's shoulder. "So, Carlton, what were you doing sneaking around back here?"

Kressa said nothing.

He twisted her right arm harder against her back. She grimaced, but remained silent.

"Answer the question, miss," the big man said, his voice jovial, then he lowered it to a threatening growl, "or I'll break your fucking arm."

Jonathan ground his teeth and considered the odds. At three-to-one, they weren't bad. The two guards stood side by side; he could take them out with one sweep of the stunner. But as long as the third man held Kressa, Jonathan dared not fire at him. The stun gun's electrostatic beam did not differentiate between friend and foe.

The big man put another few degrees of twist on Kressa's arm. "So you're gonna play it stupid, eh, Carlton?"

She clenched her jaw. The man tightened his grip again.

"All right!" she cried.

"You gonna talk?"

She nodded and took a shuddering breath. "I'll talk."

The big man let up slightly on his hold. "That's a good girl. Now, who're you working for?"

She glared at the two guards standing in front of her. "No one. I work for myself."

"Is that right? What did you want back here?"

"Nothin'," she said, adopting an insolent gutter-tone. "I was just checkin' it out. Thought maybe you had somethin' hidden back here, what with all the sneaky comings and goings…"

As Kressa rambled on, her gaze shifted surreptitiously toward Jonathan. He met her wary look and held up the stunner. Aware she might not recognize the flat little package as a weapon, he made a firing motion with it. She responded with an almost imperceptible nod.

Jonathan took aim and depressed the firing stud.

With a muffled whuff, the stunner sent the female guard staggering into her companion. The two hit the wall in a tangle of limbs and collapsed in an unmoving heap at its base. Kressa brought her right leg up and kicked back hard, slamming her boot heel into her captor's knee. The man screamed, his leg buckled, and Kressa tore out of his hold.

Jonathan fired again, dropping the big man to the floor beside the two guards, and dashed into the corridor.

"That's some gun," Kressa said as he ran to join her.

"It doesn't last long, so let's—"

A blur of movement to Jonathan's right made him wheel around. The comm room door had slid aside. A man stood in the opening, laser pistol in hand.

Jonathan brought his stunner up, but the man ducked away. Kressa dove for the gun she'd dropped. The man reappeared, and the sharp sizzle of a laser split the air. Kressa fired from her prone position, and the man collapsed back into the room.

Jonathan checked the corridor for any more surprises, then turned to Kressa.

She lay on the floor, her face pale, gun clutched in both hands, its muzzle still aimed where the man had stood in the doorway. A deep score on the floor beside her marked where the laser had struck, leaving a ragged, blackened tear in her shirt.

Jonathan's breath caught in his throat. "Kressa?"

"I'm all right." She struggled to her feet.

Jonathan bent to help her, but she pulled out of his grasp.

"We've gotta get out of here before that other guard comes back with friends." She retrieved her ID card from the floor, grimacing as she straightened, and then dashed for the meeting room door.

Jonathan followed, trying to ascertain the extent of Kressa's injury and watch their backs at the same time.

As they entered the meeting room, a shout rang from the far end of the corridor. Confused calls and shouts began to echo from inside the main hall.

Jonathan closed and locked the inner meeting room door, and then followed Kressa outside.

She destroyed the exterior door controls with a shot from her gun. "That might hold them for a bit. This way." She started down the closest row of cars at a fast trot, using the vehicles for cover.

Jonathan followed. A muffled crash boomed behind them, and he glanced back in time to see the door wrenched open. A half dozen armed men and women charged out.

Kressa broke into a hard run toward the rear of the parking area. Jonathan pounded after her. She led him into a dark alley. Running footsteps and shouted directions rang behind them, and the flash of a pulse gun lit the narrow passage.

Jonathan turned and took aim with his stunner, but their pursuers were out of the gun's range. He dropped the weapon into his pocket, drew the pulse gun Kressa had given him, and ducked left down an intersecting alley behind her.

She paused at the alley's far end, her breathing fast and shallow, left hand clutching her right side.

"Kressa…?" he started to question her.

She gave a single quick shake of her head and scanned the street beyond the alley.

"There they are!" a brusque voice shouted from behind them.

Kressa ducked into the street.

A pulse blast exploded against the wall beside Jonathan, showering him with bits of sharp debris. He dashed out of the alley but nearly collided with Kressa as she turned back to help him, gun raised.

"No. Go!" He pointed down the sidewalk. "I'm right behind you." He spun back and fired at their pursuers.

The closest man stumbled and crashed to the ground, but he waved for those behind him to keep going.

Jonathan fired again and stepped back into the street. Without looking, he fired another half dozen shots into the alley, and then charged after Kressa.

His headlong dash surprised a young couple coming out of a building. The woman cried out, and the man spat a string of what Jonathan assumed were Arecian curses. He dodged past them and saw Kressa disappear into another alley across the street.

Jonathan followed her through several more cluttered alleys and narrow side streets. Slowly, the sounds of pursuit faded behind them.

Finally, at the end of a narrow passage Jonathan felt certain they had traversed at least once already, Kressa stopped. He dashed up beside her, drew in several deep lungfuls of the night's warm, moist air, and then held his breath to listen. Except for the expected sounds of city traffic and the nearby spaceport, the night was silent.

He used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his eyes. "I think we lost them."

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Kressa nodded. Her face glistened with perspiration, and her breathing was still alarmingly fast.

Jonathan reached toward her. "Let me take a look at your side."

She pushed his hand away.

"Kressa, don't—"

"Just give me a minute," she whispered, her voice rough. She bent over, hands on her knees, and took several long, deep breaths. She straightened a moment later. "Ready?" she asked. Her voice and respiration had returned to normal.

Jonathan found her sudden recovery disquieting. "What did you do?"

"Just a little mental rerouting," she said, studying the street beyond the alley. "Don't worry about it."

He frowned, unsatisfied, but knew he should wait until they reached safety before he pushed the issue.

"Ready?" she asked again.

He nodded and followed her from the alley. She stopped suddenly, and he nearly collided with her before stumbling to a halt.

"Wha—?" he started to question her.

She silenced him with an upraised hand, then motioned him frantically back into the alley and joined him in the darkness.

"Don't move," she said, her voice so low he barely caught the words.

He glanced at her, bewildered, but followed her directions.

Kressa stood beside him, unmoving, her head cocked slightly to one side as if listening for something almost too faint to sense.

Intrigued, Jonathan turned his attention to the sounds of the night, identified each, and dismissed it. After a moment, he detected the hum of an approaching vehicle. Kressa remained frozen in place as a dark blue groundcar cruised past. She moved only her eyes to watch it, and Jonathan followed her lead. After the car passed and the quiet drone of its engine faded in the distance, she relaxed against him.

"What was that about?" he asked, his voice low.

"Did you hear the whine that car made?" she asked.

He thought back and recalled a high-pitched squeal, more sensed than heard over the steady purr of the car's engine. "What was it?"

"Tracking sensors." She peered around the corner after the car. "It's the Patrol all right, and they're damned serious." She leaned against the rough alley wall and swept the sweat-soaked hair from her brow.

Jonathan put a hand on her arm but remained silent.

She gave him an appreciative smile. "Come on. Let's get to the Conquest."

Minutes later, he followed her into the shabby office of one of the private sections of the spaceport. A thick layer of grime coated the office windows, making it impossible to see in or out, but a large opening on the back wall framed the well-lit landing field beyond. Jonathan counted a dozen ships of various shapes and sizes, most of them old and battered, and saw a handful of others displaying a bit less age or a bit more care docked in some of the hangars that ringed the field.

The slender, blond man behind the counter glanced up as Jonathan and Kressa approached.

The man gave Kressa a friendly smile. "Hello, beautiful. I was wondering when you'd be stopping by to…" His eyes narrowed as they drew nearer. "What happened to you?"

"Patrol," Kressa said and leaned heavily against the counter.

"Pattys on Arecia?" The man's voice rang with doubt. "Impossible."

"They're here, Pase, and they're after us. I think we lost them, but in case they show up…" She placed several high-denomination credit chips in front of him. "I'll bring more tomorrow if you get rid of anyone who comes looking for us."

Pase's lips pinched into a thin line, but he scooped up the money. "I'll do my best. Why're they after you?"

"They didn't like us snooping around their hideout," she said.

"Shit, Bryant, you ain't workin' for the Guard again, are you?"

Jonathan sensed more than a little bitterness in the man's voice.

Kressa curled her lip in a sneer. "How'd you guess?"

Pase shook his head. "I always said they'd get us into more trouble than we need."

Jonathan glanced at him sharply. That didn't sound like a comment one of Kressa's friends would make. Apparently, she didn't think so either, he realized as she gave the man a perplexed look.

Jonathan thought of a possible explanation for the man's remark. "Have you been listening to those new priests?"

Pase looked at him. "Yeah, I've stopped by on my way in once or twice. They got good things to say."

"They're backed by the Patrol," Jonathan said. "They're the ones who are after us."

"You're crazy." He looked at Kressa. "What's he on?"

"He's telling the truth, Pase. The priests are using some kind of mental trick to make people listen to them."

Pase dragged a hand across his chin. "You sure about that?"

Kressa nodded, her expression grave. "I'm sure."

"Listen to them carefully next time," Jonathan suggested, "and then think about what they have to say."

"Yeah." Pase nodded slowly. "Yeah, I'll do that. And I'll take care of any Pattys that come sniffing around for you."

Kressa smiled warmly. "Thanks, Pase. Come on, Jonathan."

He followed her out onto the landing field.

"Why did you tell Pase to think about what the priests are saying?" Kressa asked as she led him toward one of the hangars. "It won't do any good."

"I'm not so sure about that," Jonathan said. "I think part of the priests' power comes from most people's unwillingness to bother thinking about what they're told, especially after hearing something as convincingly as those priests tell it. Whether they're willing to admit it or not, a lot of people are perfectly happy to be told what to do, and what to think."

Kressa studied him for a moment. "Maybe you're right."

"I'm right," he said with a grim look.

She withdrew a keycard from her pocket and unlocked the hangar's side door. The interior lights came on as they entered. Jonathan gazed around the unexpectedly clean interior of the building and studied the squat form of the Conquest.

From what little he knew about such ships, the freighter was at least thirty years old, probably older, but it looked good for its age, especially compared to the vessels docked nearby. After his first encounter with Kressa, he'd asked some of his people to look into the freighter's history, but locating information about the ship had proven even more difficult than locating information about its owner. Apparently, the records did not exist.

He followed Kressa up the boarding ramp and into the airlock.

"Good evening, Kressa," the ship's computer said as they entered the vessel.

"Hi, Connie," Kressa said. "You remember Captain Westlex, don't you?"

The entrance corridor's overhead turret activated, and an uncomfortable tension tightened Jonathan's shoulders.

"Code C?" the computer asked.

"Not anymore, Connie." Kressa caught his eyes and smiled. "He's a friend."

The turret returned to its neutral position. "Welcome aboard, Captain Westlex."

"Uh, thank you—Connie." He glanced at Kressa. "Interesting computer. I didn't realize that kind of AI tech survived the war."

"It made it through the war, but that was about it," Kressa said. "The Pattys experimented with it for a while, but they weren't too happy with the results. I don't think they like computers that are smarter than they are. Not to mention the fact that it violates about a dozen AI bans that go all the way back to the Alliance." She started down the corridor. "Connie, keep an eye on the port. Let me know if you notice anything out of the ordinary."

"Are you expecting trouble?" the computer asked.

"Not expecting any, but keep watch, just in case. By the way, did you get a chance to download the latest Guard comm codes?"

"All of the codes are up to date."

"Good. Call HQ, highest priority coding, and let them know they've got a nest of Pattys right under their noses." She gave a brief but concise description of what they'd discovered. "If they have any questions, have them call here."

"Sending message now."

Kressa tabbed open the door at the end of the corridor and motioned Jonathan through.

The spacious room beyond had a sizable sitting area, a large bedchamber, and a washroom. Jonathan surveyed the room appreciatively.

"This is bigger than my quarters on the Stingray," he said with a jealous lilt that was only partially feigned.

"I guess there are a few advantages to our primitive post-war technology," Kressa said with a smile and stepped past him.

He laughed. "On Teneia, it's called wasted space. Where did you… ?" He hesitated when he saw her stumble against the wall on the far side of the sitting area, head hanging. "Kressa?"

She straightened quickly at his call. "I'm all right." She turned toward the bed.

"I've heard that before." He hurried to her side. "Dammit, Kressa, drop the tough act. You're hurt."

She shot him a cold look. "I got us here alive, didn't I? I'll be fine." She sat down heavily on the bed, felt gently at her wounded side, and grimaced.

"Enough of your games," Jonathan said, tired of her continued evasion. "Let me take a look at that burn."

She rolled her eyes and turned so her right side faced him. He sat on the bed beside her and tried to ease the charred edges of her shirt away from the wound. She flinched as the roughened cloth scraped across it.

"That'll never work." She unfastened her shirt and slipped it off her shoulders.

Jonathan struggled to keep his gaze on the angry streak of burnt flesh that scored the smooth, pale skin of her side.

"How's it look?" Kressa asked.

"Ravishing."

She glowered playfully over her shoulder. "The burn, Westlex."

He smiled. "Oh. Right." He turned his full attention to the wound.

The tight beam of the laser had seared across the skin a few centimeters under her ribs, leaving a line of burnt and blistered flesh; not too serious, but he knew from experience that laser burns hurt like hell.

"It's not bad," he said. "You're lucky the bastard wasn't using a bigger gun, though, or you'd have a nasty hole in your side."

"Lucky he wasn't a better shot, or I'd have a fatal hole through my insides. There's a medkit in the cabinet if you think you need it, and I've got a full med-unit in another room."

"The medkit might be a good idea." He found the kit and bathed the burn with a numbing antiseptic ointment that hardened quickly to a strong, flexible dressing. "Probably hurts a lot worse than it looks," he said as he completed his treatment.

"Probably looks a lot worse than it hurts," she countered.

Jonathan returned the tube of salve to the medkit and gave the wound a final appraising look. "Either way, I think you'll live. There may be a scar, but I can see it won't be the first." He stroked a thin white line beside her left shoulder blade.

She shivered at his touch. "That one nearly killed me."

"Oh?" He traced the scar again, sliding his fingers over her skin in a delicate caress.

"That's where a bounty hunter stuck a knife in my back."

Jonathan let his hand fall, the caress unfinished.

Kressa peered over her shoulder, brow knitted. "Jonathan?"

A bounty hunter? He stared at the bed between them. What am I getting myself into?

"Jon?" Kressa called again. She turned to face him and touched his hand where it rested on the bed.

He refocused on her and let his gaze drift up over her curved hips and flat belly, the gentle swell of her breasts under the thin cloth of her bra, the smooth skin of her throat, the teasing arc of her lips.

She leaned closer.

Jonathan stopped worrying, stopped thinking about who he was, who she was. He pulled Kressa into his arms and let the moment take him.