The Price of Conquest

"There's an intruder on board." Connie's report interrupted Kressa's postflight tests.

"What intruder?" she asked.

"There's movement in the cargo bay."

"It's probably just a rat," Kressa said.

"Sensors detect a human-sized creature."

"Are the bays sealed?"

"Yes."

Kressa's hand drifted to her side, toward a weapon that wasn't there. "We just landed. How in hell did someone get on board?"

"The ship has been sealed since leaving Arecia, therefore—"

"Therefore we've had someone on board since we left," Kressa said.

"Correct."

"Damn. Where's the movement now?"

"Exiting the bay. Moving toward the control room."

"Code C, Connie. Keep me covered."

The overhead anti-personnel turret swung toward the bridge entrance.

Kressa waited. How did a stowaway manage to elude Connie's sensors during the two-day hyperspace journey from Arecia to Calton? Whoever it was would have had to override the computer's automatic defense program simply to get aboard the ship, let alone have even a chance at escaping detection while there.

Physical tampering with Connie's systems was all but impossible, which left only one answer: mental tampering. It had happened to the Conquest once before, when Ciroen used his mind to override Connie's defense systems and give his Patrol masters access to the ship, which suggested that a th'Maran was in on whatever was happening now.

"Emre!"

The th'Maran woman stood at the entrance to the bridge, her eyes downcast. Hazy, incoherent feelings flowed from her, causing Kressa's head to spin.

"What are you doing here?" Kressa asked, trying to shut out the random currents of emotion.

Emre took a single step onto the bridge. "I need to see Richard," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Are you mad? What are you going to do? Step out onto a United Galaxy world and demand to see the planetary governor?"

Emre looked up. The outpouring of confused feelings steadied as her silver eyes met Kressa's. "He needs me, Kressa. And I need him. He will protect me."

"Like he protected you when Gaunis ordered the th'Maran removed from Patrol ships?" Kressa asked. "Like he protected you when Gaunis ordered you returned to Marasyn?" Emre started to protest, but Kressa hurried on, "This is Gaunis's world, Emre, and Shaw is no longer an admiral. He can't protect you."

"It is a chance I must take."

"But your children…" Kressa felt a wave of confused infantile emotions stroke her mind as Emre's unborn daughters sensed her concern. "They—"

"I can protect my children!" Emre damped the flow of mental energy from herself and her children with a rigid shield.

"Can you?" Kressa asked, her voice almost menacing as she began to realize the futility of her argument.

"I cannot go on living like I have," Emre said quietly, the strong emotion of her brief outburst gone as quickly as it appeared. "I was banished from my world as a young woman. My child was taken, and I was forced to live as an exile, knowing no happiness. Then I came to your people, and I met Richard. The time I spent with him was the happiest time I have ever known. With Richard, I felt complete. Now I carry his children, and I want them to know him, or at least have the chance to know him. If I must die to give them that chance, so be it. At least I will die knowing that I tried."

"If you won't think of yourself and your children," Kressa said, "then think about the Confederacy. Think about how much you know and how much you could tell, even without meaning to."

"I would never betray you," Emre said, clearly appalled that Kressa would even suggest such a thing. "I am th'Maran; no one can force me to tell anything."

"What if they use effelin?" Kressa asked. "What then? What will you do when they take away your th'Maran abilities? Damn it, Emre, I know you want to see Shaw, and I'm sure he misses you, but you have to look at this without your feelings, or his, getting in the way."

Emre shook her head. Her white-tipped pewter hair swung back and forth in negation and tears streamed from her beautiful quicksilver eyes.

"Kressa." She stepped forward, and the barrel of the overhead defense turret followed her movement. "You must understand."

Kressa backed away, shaking her head. "No, Emre, I don't understand."

Emre halted, and Kressa felt her concentrating her psi power.

"Don't do it." Kressa kept her voice calm and concentrated on collecting her own mental energy to combat the attack she feared was coming, an attack she knew she didn't have a chance in hell of stopping. "If you hurt me, Connie will—"

Emre glanced upward. The turret retracted into its mounting. "I am going now," she said quietly and turned away. "Do not try to stop me."

"Emre." Kressa took a step toward her. "Emre, don't. Please."

"I am sorry, Kressa," she whispered and stepped toward the bridge entrance. "You have been a wonderful friend…" She paused to glance back. "And we will see each other again, I promise it."

Desperate to save her friend, Kressa gathered all of the mental energy at her command and sent a burst of psi power lancing into the th'Maran's mind. She met only sheer, impregnable shields, and then the blackness she intended for Emre swept back at her, rebounding under the th'Maran's exquisite control. It enveloped her mind almost tenderly and eased her gently toward unconsciousness.

Through her slowly fading senses, Kressa felt Emre's hands under her shoulders as she collapsed.

Emre lowered her carefully to the floor, pressed something into her hand, and whispered, "Perhaps this will help you understand."

And then the blackness was complete, and there was nothing.

* * *

Consciousness returned slowly to Kressa. She sat up and looked around, dazed, trying to recall what had happened. She felt something in her hand and glanced at it. A data card, the one Shaw had sent to Emre.

Everything came crashing back.

"Connie?" Kressa pulled herself to her feet.

"Waiting."

Kressa felt a rush of relief; she had not expected the computer to respond.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

There was a long pause, too long for the computer to be formulating an answer.

"Connie? Are you there?"

"Yes."

"What just happened?"

"You asked if I were here."

"No, before that," Kressa said. "When Emre was here."

"Emre wasn't here."

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"What about the intruder?"

"It was a false reading."

Damn. Emre must have erased all evidence of her presence from the computer's memory.

"How long ago did you discover it was a false reading?"

"Four minutes, fifty-seven seconds."

Kressa thought fast. When had Emre made the adjustments to Connie's memory—when she came onto the bridge or before she left the ship? Either way, it gave her little more than a five-minute head start. On foot, the pregnant woman could not have gone far.

"Connie, scan the port for anyone on the pad. I'm looking for… someone like Emre. A th'Maran."

"Scanning." A moment later, the forward screen switched on to reveal the bright, sunlit port. "Scan successful. Subject on main viewer."

The image on the screen swiveled, and then zoomed in on a familiar figure. Emre was moving, slow but determined, along one of the landing pad walkways that led to the glass-fronted terminal building.

"Connie, open the airlock." Kressa dashed to her room, grabbed her Teneian stunner and a pulse gun, fastened the guns' holsters to her belt, and then ran toward the airlock. "Keep an eye on me. Things might get a little rough, and I may need you to button up and get us out of here in a hurry."

"I'll be ready."

The inner and outer airlock doors stood open, the boarding ramp lowered, when Kressa reached it. Afternoon sunlight poured through the opening, reflected from the light-colored pad beyond.

She dashed through the airlock, leaped to the consteel tarmac without bothering to use the ramp, and pounded after Emre.

Kressa reached the terminal building seconds after the th'Maran woman stepped inside.

She burst through the doors into a crowd of surprised onlookers. She froze as she caught sight of the crowd's focus of attention, and her hands dropped automatically toward her weapons.

Emre stood, solemn and resolute, in the center of the huge terminal. Around her stood a dozen white-uniformed Patrol soldiers, pulse guns drawn.

And then Kressa noticed something that completely overwhelmed the horrible fact that Emre had already been found by the Patrol. The men who ringed the th'Maran were not from the local Patrol branch or members of the personal force Shaw commanded as governor of Calton. These men wore the insignia of Gaunis's fleet. Three of them stepped toward Kressa.

The doors behind her opened. She turned, and the crowd pushed away from the opening.

A small-boned female Patrol lieutenant and a ruddy-complexioned commander stepped through the doorway. Behind them, several Patrol vehicles had appeared, flanked by more soldiers, all of them wearing Gaunis's fleet emblem.

So it's a trap, Kressa thought with amazing calm as Patrolmen approached her from before and behind. Someone knew she was coming to Calton. Had they known Emre would be there, as well, or was the presence of the th'Maran simply a bonus?

She eased her hands away from her weapons. Even if she could take out one of the groups of soldiers moving toward her, the others would have no trouble making sure it was the last thing she ever did. She had to stay alive to protect Emre and devise a plan to get them both out of this.

The crowd moved farther back as the cold-eyed female lieutenant halted before Kressa, took charge of her obvious weapons, and then began callously searching her for more.

The commander stepped up beside her. "Kressa Bryant," he said with a hint of a triumphant smile, "you're under arrest."

Kressa said nothing.

The lieutenant completed her rough-handed search and passed Kressa's two guns to the commander.

He gave the stunner an inquisitive look, and then glanced at the lieutenant. "Take her to the car."

The woman grabbed Kressa's arm in a vicious grip and pulled her toward the doors.

"Bring the th'Maran," the commander ordered. "And get rid of this crowd! This isn't a spectator sport."

The wiry lieutenant led Kressa to the nearest Patrol car and eased up minutely on her grip. Kressa twisted out of her grasp and turned to face the terminal, her back to the car. A moment later, the commander stepped out of the building with one of Kressa's purloined guns in each hand. Emre walked behind him, followed at a discreet distance by three soldiers with weapons drawn but held non threateningly at their sides.

Kressa wondered at the gracious treatment they were giving Emre. Did they fear her th'Maran abilities or were they simply reacting like any decent person would to a heavily pregnant woman?

Inside the terminal building, the remaining Patrolmen moved about, waving their weapons to disperse the crowd. A few stragglers lingered near the doors, peering through the glass at the activity beyond.

One curly-haired blonde girl in her early twenties pressed a pretty, heart-shaped face to the window. Her dark eyes met Kressa's with a look of wonder, and then a Patrolman took one of the girl's arms and hauled her away from the window. She fought the man valiantly—and somewhat successfully—for a moment before giving up and disappearing into the rapidly thinning crowd.

Emre and her escorts halted before Kressa.

"You should not have followed me, Kressa," Emre said quietly.

"Not have followed you?" she asked incredulously, anger flaring at what Emre's actions had led them into. "You mean I should have just let you turn yourself over to these bastards without—" She bit back a cry as the lieutenant struck her across the face.

"Watch your mouth, Bryant," the commander said. "I've got orders to keep you alive, but not necessarily in one piece."

She flashed an angry glance in his direction, and then looked at Emre again. "Don't you realize who these people are, Emre? They're Gaunis's men. Gaunis's! Not your precious Richard's."

Emre studied the gathered soldiers, and then shook her head. "These men will not hurt me," she said with assurance. "And no harm will come to you, if you do not—"

"Damn you!" Kressa lunged for Emre, only to be shoved violently back against the car by the lieutenant. "Don't you realize—?" A second staggering blow from the silent woman forced her to swallow the remainder of her words.

"You should listen to your friend, Bryant," the commander said. "Things might go easier for you."

Kressa bit back a scornful retort and glared.

"That's better." The commander held Kressa's angry look for a moment, and then turned his gaze to his th'Maran prisoner. "Now, Emre?" he said gently, and then paused until she turned her worried gaze away from Kressa to look at him.

"Yes, Commander…" She hesitated, groping for a name.

"Ayres," he told her with a smile. "Commander Ayres. You know we won't hurt you, Emre."

She gave a solemn nod.

"And we won't hurt your friend if she behaves."

Again, the somber inclination of her head.

The commander held out Kressa's stun gun. "What is this, Emre?"

"It is a Teneian stunner," she said.

"Emre—" Kressa started, but a warning look from Commander Ayres halted her next words on her lips.

"Teneia is the world where the black ships come from, correct?" Ayres asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Emre, don't—" Kressa started.

Two sets of hard hands latched onto her arms. They dragged her back and shoved her against the front of the car.

Emre looked at her with sedate tolerance, and her mind brushed soothingly against Kressa's.

"I am only telling them things they already know, Kressa, or things they would find out anyway… by hurting you."

Kressa straightened and slammed her mental shields into place, blocking the placating touch of the th'Maran's mind on hers.

"Then let them hurt me!" She struggled against the grip of the lieutenant and the second soldier who held her.

"Kressa!" Emre gasped, her eyes wide with hurt, her mind pressing against Kressa's. "Do not do this! I—"

"Emre," Ayres said softly.

"Don't listen to him, Emre." Kressa pulled fiercely at her captors' hold. "Please."

The commander glared at Kressa and then glanced at the stunner he held. "How long does the effect from this gun last, Emre?"

"About ten minutes," Emre said distractedly, trying to touch Kressa with her eyes, her mind. "Kressa, please…"

The commander turned the gun on Kressa. "That ought to be just about right."

He pulled the trigger and a solid wall slammed into Kressa. She did not remember whether the soldiers caught her as she fell.

* * *

Despite the dull pain enveloping her body, Kressa's first thought when she regained consciousness was to hope the two soldiers holding her when Ayres shot her received a strong dose of the effects of the stun gun's beam, and then more practical thoughts took over. She sat up straight, willing away the dim ache that filled her body and limbs, and blinked groggily around.

She was alone in the back seat of one of the Patrol cruisers, her arms bound behind her by a set of security cuffs. A second Patrol groundcar sat in front of hers with Emre's silhouette plainly visible in the back seat. Her alert stance suggested she had not been harmed. Two of Gaunis's Patrolmen stood beside each of the vehicles, their gazes locked on a single-storeyed building about five meters away. There was no sign of Commander Ayres or his heavy-handed lieutenant.

Kressa focused beyond the soldiers.

The vehicles sat in what appeared to be the receiving lot of a Patrol station. A half dozen additional Patrol cars ringed them, pinning the two cruisers between themselves and the station. The six vehicles had the insignia of the local Patrol branch rather than the Admiralty seal displayed by the cars in which she and Emre sat. Did Gaunis's control of Calton extend beyond Shaw to the local forces? If so, it did not bode well for either her or Emre's chance to get out of this alive.

The station's front door opened, and almost twenty Patrolmen stepped from the building. Most of them wore local uniforms, but the handful who directed them to spread out and cover the two admiral's cars wore uniforms with the planetary seal of Calton emblazoned on the shoulder; they were Shaw's men.

Commander Ayres appeared in the doorway, scarlet-faced and scowling, escorted by two local soldiers. One of Shaw's men, a captain, beckoned him forward and spoke to him, his expression firm. Ayres seemed to balk for a moment, and then he gestured hotly to the four men guarding the cars that held Kressa and Emre. After a moment, the four soldiers moved forward to relinquish their weapons to the waiting city soldiers.

Kressa watched the interplay curiously. What was Shaw up to? By law, Gaunis's men held authority over all local and planetary forces, but right now, they did not have the ranking officer or the manpower to enforce that authority. Did Shaw believe Gaunis would let him get away with this? Or was he simply hoping to buy enough time to get Emre out of this alive?

Commander Ayres and Shaw's captain moved toward the two cars with half of the local soldiers flanking them. The others escorted the four soldiers who had been guarding the vehicles into the building. At a gesture from the captain, Ayres stepped up to the car where Kressa sat and threw open the door beside her. He seized her arm, jerked her out of the vehicle, and thrust her into the waiting arms of one of the local soldiers.

"Here she is, Captain," he said, glaring at Shaw's man. "Enjoy her while you can. You won't have her for long."

The captain did not reply, and Kressa caught only a glimpse of his expressionless face as she was unceremoniously hauled off to one of the other cars and placed in the back seat. Two local soldiers occupied the front. Beyond the car, two of Shaw's men led Emre toward another vehicle.

Kressa sighed and shifted in her seat.

The man in the passenger seat before her glanced back and quirked a smile at her. "Your father asked me to welcome you to Calton, Bryant."

She ground her teeth as the car started to move. Her father… Why hadn't Shaw just taken Emre and left her for Gaunis? And how had he found out about all of this in the first place? There were too damned many questions about this whole affair, and she did not know where to begin to look for answers.

But she did know one thing: She did not like the confident look the driver of her car gave Commander Ayres as they drove away. She did not like it one bit.