The Price of Conquest

Jonathan awoke slowly, feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time, but concern about the absence of the Stingray's familiar background noises quickly eclipsed the pleasant feeling. He opened his eyes. Illumination akin to late morning sunlight filled the room.

Memory flooded back, and he smiled to himself.

He was on Arecia, aboard the Conquest, in Kressa's bed. He waited for his concern to dissolve and the relaxed feeling to return, and then rolled over.

Kressa lay beside him, one arm propped on her pillow, her head resting on her hand, watching him.

"Good morning," he said, and then scanned the room for a clock. Finding none, he met her dark eyes. "It is morning, right?"

She nodded. "Unless I tell her otherwise, Connie matches the interior lighting to the ambient light outside." She continued to watch him.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Not really. I was just thinking about what happened last night."

Jonathan gave her a worried look that was only half feigned.

She chuckled and shook her head. "No, not about that." She leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. "That was wonderful. I mean before that, when we were downtown. Why did you go to that building with the priests?"

"What do you mean?"

"We were talking, and then you just—took off. Like something called you there."

Jonathan let his thoughts drift back to the previous evening. He remembered asking Kressa how she started working with the Guard, then something about her mother and the United Galaxy's use of genetic manipulation, and then… Then they were at the building with the priests, and Jonathan felt an almost irresistible need to know what was inside.

He frowned at the memory. "I honestly have no idea why I did that. Could those priests have done something to me?"

"Maybe. Probably. They definitely did something to me the first time I saw them in Varen. Not called me to them—" She paused and glanced away, her brows drawing together thoughtfully. "Then again, maybe they did that, too. But they definitely did something to bury my memories of them in Varen, at least until I saw that one last night. And they tried their damnedest to scare me away both times." She met Jonathan's gaze. "Did you feel anything like that last night? Any urge to leave the building?"

"Not that I remember," he answered slowly, thinking through what had happened and how he'd felt at the time. "At least not until you did whatever you did to me. Even then, I didn't feel scared. Really, it just felt like I'd come to my senses."

Kressa nodded and pursed her lips. "You don't happen to have any Ilekian or Nepurhan ancestors, do you?"

"I don't think so. I'm mostly Terran on the Westlex side, with a smattering of who-knows-what from my mother. Why?"

"I was just wondering if you had some kind of hidden psi ability, but that doesn't seem likely without a large dose of the right kind of ancestry." She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

Jonathan watched her, his concern growing. The idea of anyone messing around in his head, no matter the reason, felt uncomfortably like a violation of everything that he was.

He watched her for a moment longer, then she shook her head and rolled closer to him. He put an arm around her.

"It's probably just a matter of willpower," she said, snuggling in close against him.

Jonathan chuckled. "I think my parents would agree with you about that, although they liked to call it hard-headedness. And speaking of parents," he went on, deciding to lighten the mood, "would you like to finish telling me how an admiral's daughter ended up working for the Free World Guard? It seems our gray-robed friends interrupted your story."

"Sure," she said. "Where was I?"

He thought back to what she'd told him last night. "Running away from the San Francisco Patrol Academy, I believe."

"Right. After I left, I ended up in the Territories."

"Territories?" he asked.

She looked surprised for a moment, and then nodded. "You wouldn't know about them, would you? Between earthquakes and sea-level change, the land around San Francisco has never been the most stable. Then, about sixty years ago, there was another big earthquake. It pretty much leveled the city. Those in charge decided it'd be safer to rebuild the city on slightly more stable land, then go in later and clean up what the quake knocked down. But by the time they got around to cleaning up, the clubs had moved in."

"What clubs?" Jonathan asked.

"You know, street kids, gangs. The local authorities tried to clear them out, but the clubs knew the area too well. So they decided to just leave them alone and let them kill each other off."

"I take it that didn't happen."

She shook her head. "They did fine."

"And that's where you grew up?" he asked, surprised.

"Yeah, for a few years anyway. I shipped out on a private freighter when I was sixteen, then I sort of inherited the Conquest, and started working with the Guard."

"You inherited the Conquest? From who?"

"She belonged to a friend of Halav's. He was killed, and I was the only person left alive who Connie would obey, so Halav let me have her."

"Where did Halav's friend get her?" Jonathan asked.

"A guy with way too much money had her built. He was used to living high, but he wanted to remain incognito, so he basically had a yacht built inside a common four-on freighter, and he added Connie to help him fly it. He and Halav's friend were partners."

"Partners in what?"

She shrugged. "Not much, really. They just sort of traveled around."

"Interesting." Jonathan realized he may have just solved the mystery of the Conquest's missing records. The man who built the ship must have used his money to erase all evidence of its existence.

"Kressa," Connie said into the brief silence, "there's a call from General Kamick."

Jonathan groaned and let his head fall back to the pillow. "And then reality set in."

Kressa smiled at him and sat up. "Thanks, Connie. Put him on."

A moment later, the general's voice came over the comm. "Hey, Kres."

"Good morning, Halav," Kressa said. "What can I do for you?"

"Over the comm? Not much." His voice held a devious lilt. "But if you'd like to come to my office, we could—"

"Good morning, General," Jonathan called.

"Westlex? I should've known I'd find you there. Good, I can give both of you your orders for the day. Kressa, I've got that cargo ready. Anytime you want it delivered to your ship—"

"Sure, Hal," she interrupted. "Later this morning will be fine."

"Later this morning will be this afternoon." The general sounded mildly exasperated. "It's nearly midday. What were you two doing last night?"

Kressa's brows shot up. "Didn't you hear?"

"Oh, I've heard plenty. I wasn't around when HQ got your message from Connie, but they scrambled a team to look into it. By the time they got to the building you found, it was pretty much cleaned out. It was clear someone had been there, but there wasn't any evidence who it was or where they'd gone. We've been questioning the locals, but we haven't come up with any leads."

"It was a Patrol operation," Kressa said.

"I don't doubt you," Halav said, "but I'd like to hear your full version of what happened. Westlex, if you haven't got any other plans, come to my office downtown and tell me your side of the story. Kressa, you can record your report and send it to me before you leave for Vsuna. I'll send that comm gear over now. It should be there within the hour. Be ready for it."

"Yes, sir!" She sketched a mock salute. "Conquest out. Connie, comm off." Her eyes took on a faraway look, and she remained quiet for a long time.

Jonathan watched her. "Are you okay?" he asked after several minutes.

She nodded slowly. "I was just thinking about those priests again. Where did the Pattys find people like that?" She pulled her legs up, wrapped her arms around them, and propped her chin on one knee. "And that box with Admiral Gaunis's seal…" She rolled her head to the side, resting her cheek on her knee, and looked at Jonathan. "What does Gaunis have to do with any of this?

"Those priests could be in trouble," she continued. "If the Patrol discovered their world and realized how their abilities could be used against us…" She sat up straight, frowning. "Jon, did you hear about what Gaunis did to those mercs— No, of course you didn't." She turned to face him. "About fifteen years back, Gaunis hired a group of mercenaries to help him take over the planet Sachsoen. They did it, but when they were finished, he had them tried and executed on some trumped-up charges to get rid of any witnesses to what happened. That's how Gaunis uses people. What if he tries something like that with the priests?"

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Jonathan pursed his lips. "Not to sound cold hearted, Kressa, but we have our own problems, some of them caused by the very people you're suddenly so worried about. Even if they are in trouble, we need to take care of ourselves before we can help them." He kissed her, then rolled out of the bed. "Right now, that means getting to work."

* * *

Kressa fingered the laser wound on her side, then pulled a shirt on over it.

"Are you sure that burn will be all right?" Jonathan asked. "Maybe you should see a medic."

"It's fine." She flexed her side and felt only a slight sting. "It's my shoulder that's sore. I think that bastard tore something."

"You should have it checked before you leave."

"I'll run a scan on the med-unit later." She turned to face him.

His eyes locked on hers, and he brushed a hand down her cheek. "Take care of yourself," he said quietly.

His gentleness and raw, honest emotion disarmed Kressa, and she leaned into his embrace.

He held her close. "I'm going to miss having you around."

She smiled up at him. "I'm only going to Vsuna. Two days there, two back. I'll be back here before you know it." She cocked her head. "I don't suppose you can come?"

"Sorry, I've got a ship to command, and Halav's expecting me."

She gave a nonchalant shrug. "Just thought I'd ask."

He kissed her and headed out of the room, but paused when he reached the doorway. Smiling, he dipped a hand into his pocket and tossed something to her.

Kressa caught it—his little stun gun—and arched an eyebrow. "I assume anyone can fire this?"

He nodded. "But let's hope you don't need to." With a wave, he headed down the corridor toward the airlock.

Kressa watched him leave, pondering her feelings. Last night had been wonderful, and she wouldn't mind a repeat performance, but she wasn't sure she wanted to get seriously involved with anyone right now, especially not another military leader. Halav's position in the Guard had put a lot of strain on their relationship. What would a relationship with a ship's captain be like?

She shook her head and tossed the stunner onto the bed, her thoughts returning to last night's discoveries. The priests. The odd touch on her mind. Gaunis…

She shuddered. What was Gaunis's involvement in all of this? And what would he do to the priests when it was over?

* * *

Richard Shaw stared blindly at his desktop, jaw clenched in anger and frustration. How could Gaunis do it? And just what did he expect to gain?

Following the encounter with the black ship at Terra, Shaw had taken the Esprit to Eminence, the Patrol's deep space command station. The dreadnought needed the station's facilities and the expertise of the engineers and technicians there to repair the damage sustained during the encounter, and Shaw's plans for the Free Worlds required the intelligence the resident th'Maran Triad would be able to glean from his prisoners.

The work on the Esprit took longer than expected, due not only to the extent of the damage, but also because of the need for additional components to be added to the dreadnought's th'Maran stardrive, followed by a thorough recalibration and testing of the system.

Shaw used the extra time to work with Terling and his other tac and strategy teams to refine his plans for the takeover of Arecia based on the intelligence gathered from his prisoners.

Finally, however, he was ready to leave. Yet before he could give the command to do so, orders arrived instructing that he remain at the station to attend an Admiralty Council meeting.

Surprised Gaunis had called for a full Council rather than make decisions on his own, as was his habit, Shaw had ventured onto the space station to try to discover the cause. What he learned sent him back to the Esprit, angry, frustrated, and pondering how this latest move of Gaunis's might affect him.

His office door slid open, and Emre stepped into the room. Shaw gave her a wan smile as she placed a data card on his desk. He glanced at it—an engineering report—then picked up the card and began to toy with it.

"Gaunis's people have been studying the readings we got from the black ship," he said, watching the card without really seeing it as he rolled it idly between his fingers. "Based on some vague similarities they've found between the black ship's systems and th'Maran equipment, he's decided your people are behind its appearance. He plans to make the accusation in Council."

"He does not truly believe that," Emre said quietly.

Shaw glanced up, worried by the weariness in her voice. She gave him a hesitant smile. Dark circles under her beautiful quicksilver eyes doubled his concern.

"Emre, are you ill?"

She shook her head. "No, Richard, I am only tired, and a little frightened."

Shaw started to question her, but she continued without prompting.

"Admiral Gaunis fears my people. He fears what we stand for, what we believe in. The reason we are here is a threat to his power. He is only using us."

Shaw studied her, astonished by her words. So often she claimed ignorance of the ways of humans, yet now she was seeing through Gaunis's actions with such ease.

"He means to turn the other admirals against us, so that when the time comes…" She reached out with one slender hand and picked up Gaunis's box from the desktop. "When the time comes, he will have support for what he feels he must do." Her eyes met Shaw's. "That is why he blames us for the black ship."

Shaw fought the urge to pull the deadly box from Emre's grasp, and then looked at her again. She wore a plain, functional worksuit rather than her usual silver uniform. That, at least, had an explanation he knew had nothing to do with her somber mood. She had spent the day working on the th'Maran equipment aboard the Esprit, fulfilling her duties as engineer.

Shaw marveled at how inaccurately the word "engineer" described what Emre and the others of her kind did. Selected for the acuteness of their minds rather than their technical abilities, th'Maran engineers used their mental skills to attune themselves to the equipment they cared for. There were no true th'Maran engineers, for the th'Maran did not understand the technology they possessed, a fact that made Gaunis's planned accusations even more ludicrous. Th'Maran technology and the knowledge to use and repair it were said to be a gift from their god, the Om-Mar. Patrol engineers were close to understanding the equipment well enough to maintain it themselves, but until then, th'Maran were needed on board ships outfitted with their systems.

Which is no bad thing, Shaw thought, gazing at Emre with a tiny, appreciative smile.

With a small start, as if she'd discovered herself toying with a dangerous creature, Emre set aside the box she held and pursed her lips.

Shaw watched her. Did she know what the box contained?

"Gaunis fears we will gain what we came for," she said suddenly. "Unity among the humans. He is willing to accept our help to bring the Free Worlds to your side, but he fears what might happen after that is accomplished."

"Why?" Shaw felt foolish asking a th'Maran about the reasons behind Gaunis's actions, but he wanted to hear her answer.

Emre began to pace across his office. "The L'Aron Om, our leader, strives for understanding of our technology, and yours. True understanding, Richard, not the simple rites and mendings taught by the Om-Mar. He wants to understand it, and he wants to use it. Sometimes I fear this desire has overcome his duty to fulfill the will of the Om-Mar." She stopped her distracted pacing to look at him.

He met her gaze. Not long ago, she would never have dared voice such strong opinions about Gaunis or the th'Maran leader. What had changed?

"What will the L'Aron Om do with the knowledge?" he asked.

She returned to his side and brushed a hand gently through his hair. "I do not know. Perhaps, if he has not strayed too far from our purpose, he will use it to complete the Om-Mar's plan."

"And that is what Gaunis fears?"

"Perhaps." She kissed him and turned to leave. When she reached the doorway, she paused and looked back. "Richard, I fear something terrible is about to happen." She stepped through the opening, and the door slid shut behind her.

Shaw stared at the featureless barrier, holding her image in his mind. Did all of the th'Maran recognize the danger they were in, he wondered, or did Emre's relationship with him give her a unique insight into her people's place within the United Galaxy hierarchy? He shook his head and climbed to his feet. If it came down to what she feared, he hoped his power would be enough to protect her.

* * *

The Admiralty Council chamber at Eminence had been designed to reflect the glory of the men it served. Thick ebony carpet covered the circular chamber's floor, and dark sound-muffling draperies hung from the indeterminate blackness of the high ceiling. A massive crescent-shaped table carved from a single slab of polished black granite occupied the center of the room, its twelve places marked by the inlaid silver and ivory insignia of the admirals' fleets. Within the table's curve, a podium and chair stood inside a shallow depression. From that vantage point, many had experienced their first, and often last, view of the assembled admirals. Today, however, the central chair stood empty, but the admirals' presence was plainly evident, the stark white of their uniforms shining in the indirect lighting, their voices raised in raucous argument.

The verbal battle had raged for nearly half an hour, all etiquette governed by the Council's Speaker Rules long ago forgotten as each man shouted more and more loudly to be heard above the others. Shaw stayed out of the blaze of arguing voices, aware it would accomplish nothing. He sat back, silent in his position to the left of the equally composed Admiral Colliard Gaunis.

The discord continued unabated, straining Shaw's patience. Gaunis could stop the boyish bickering with a gesture, but Shaw knew he was using the angry torrent of voices to keep tempers hot and intelligent thought to a minimum. Finally, Gaunis stood and held up a hand. His short cloak of office, balanced on his outstretched arm, billowed as he surveyed the suddenly attentive men before him. His intense gray eyes blazed from beneath a shock of white hair.

"That is enough," Gaunis said, his voice firm. "We have had more than sufficient time for discussion of the matter, and it is obvious we have come to no firm decision." He paused to lower his old but remarkably fit body into his chair, and then scanned the room again, his craggy features expressionless. He folded his hands on the table before him. "Fortunately, the question of whether or not the th'Maran have anything to do with the black ship may soon be inconsequential, although precautions will be taken." He met Shaw's gaze for an instant, and then proceeded with another visual sweep of the room.

Shaw clenched his jaw at Gaunis's look, aware that whatever the man was about to say would affect him directly, but he allowed himself no other reaction.

"All th'Maran will be recalled from Patrol vessels," Gaunis said, his voice level, emotionless. "They will be returned to work with our people on their own Enforcer ships or in ground-based installations. Monitoring and adjustment of th'Maran equipment will become the duty of human technicians."

A questioning murmur rippled through the room.

"Yes," Gaunis answered the unvoiced question, "we now know enough about th'Maran technology to handle the work ourselves. We will no longer tolerate the chance of th'Maran intrigue on our larger ships or near our top command personnel." This time, Gaunis caught Shaw's gaze and held it. "All th'Maran will be removed."

Shaw struggled to control his expression. After his fateful relationship with Kaitryen, he had promised himself he would never fall for another woman, had honestly believed he could control his heart.

It was a fool's promise, he thought, despondent, but why did I have to fall for a th'Maran?

He drew a deep breath and returned his attention to the Council chamber.

"The questions surrounding any connection between the black ship and the th'Maran may soon be academic," Gaunis was saying. "It occurs to me that removal of the ship would solve our present dilemma."

A wave of surprise washed over the assemblage.

Gaunis smiled. "We know our good Admiral Shaw would like to have the Free Worlds as his own. A noble desire. We shall assist him in attainment of that goal. I have devised a plan that will allow us to capture two of the most powerful Free Worlds and destroy the black ship at the same time." He paused and swept his gaze over the other admirals.

No one spoke.

He went on, "I know your fleets are stretched thin by the needs of your own worlds, therefore you will be asked to contribute only the vessels you can spare. If you can spare none, so be it."

Shaw bit back a bitter snarl. He knew why Gaunis hadn't insisted on help from the others. If he defeated the black ship with his fleet backed only by volunteered assistance, he could take the glory of the victory for himself; if he lost, he could blame the others for their lack of aid. But Shaw knew he had no intention of losing.

Hours later, when the meeting finally ended, Shaw returned to the Esprit, intent on making plans for Emre's departure and devising ways they could see one another in the future. But when he reached his quarters, Gaunis's men had already been there; Emre and all of her belongings were gone.

Gone. As if she had never existed.