The Price of Conquest

It was early evening, that shadowless time between day and night when the sunlight is too wan to provide proper illumination yet still bright enough to outshine artificial lighting. Beyond the massive windows that lined the front of the main administration building of the Calton Governor's Base, the cloudless sky formed a darkening blue dome over the vast, empty landing field.

A long stretch of low buildings curved off to the north of the main building, following the edge of the field. To the south, the base continued for half a kilometer as a great stretch of pavement before the stark line of a tall metal fence marked the end of hard, man-made ground. Beyond the fence, pavement gave way to natural grasses and shrubs and, finally, to a massive stand of ancient trees.

This was Richard Shaw's favorite time of day; a time when work was nearing completion and one could pause to reflect on the events of the past hours and take a few moments to relax. Relaxation, however brief, was a rare luxury these days.

Gaunis had sent him to Calton to die. That was no secret. But how he would die—whether by assassination from one of the dozen or so crime Houses that controlled the planet, or by one of Gaunis's own agents finally discovering a way to make his death look like an accident—had been left up to Shaw and his ability to protect himself.

Shaw had no intention of dying either of those ways, or any other, and Gaunis had made two mistakes that gave Shaw the power he needed to deny him that satisfaction.

First, Gaunis let him live. If the roles were reversed and it was Gaunis on trial with Shaw acting as senior admiral, Shaw would have pushed his advantage and found a way to completely destroy the man, not send him to rot on some backwater world where he could plot revenge. Of course, Gaunis expected him to be much too busy simply keeping order on Calton to do any serious plotting, but that was where he made his second error.

He had discharged Captain Aidan Terling from service, reputedly on the basis that the wounds Terling received during the "detestable" attempt on his life (an attempt ordered by Gaunis himself) left him physically unfit for duty, not to mention the emotional strain he had been forced to endure. In actuality, the physical wounds had healed fully, and the emotional wounds simply fed the animosity Terling already held for Gaunis.

Naturally, Gaunis ordered a small platoon of men to watch Terling's every move. But besides being a military genius and Richard Shaw's best friend, Aidan Terling had twice the street-smarts and three times the survival instinct of any gutter punk or Special Corpsman Gaunis put on his trail. And he knew how to get things done.

Shaw smiled to himself as he recalled some of the scams Aidan had pulled on the various commanding officers they shared during their rise through the ranks of the Patrol. Why, the man could sell beachwear to a Taasian. In fact, he had. Although every time he told that story, he somehow failed to mention the fact that, at the time, the Taasian had been living in the sunny seaside city of Port Orstal on Sundara.

Yes, Shaw mused, Aidan had a definite way with people; he could convince nearly anyone to trust him, and he knew how to select the right person for nearly any job. Best of all, he had always been there when Shaw needed him, including being available to dig up the all-but-forgotten rule that allowed Shaw a vote at his own court-martial, thus denying Gaunis the deadly retribution he desired.

When Shaw reported to Calton to take up his position as governor, Terling was waiting for him, sans Gaunis's hounds, ready and willing to help in any way he could.

Initially, Shaw argued against everything his friend suggested regarding the Calton situation, pointing out that Aidan had already done all he could to help and that it was time for him to get on with his own life. But Terling had already made up his mind to help Shaw and, in the process, get back at the man who ordered the attempt on his life. Nothing Shaw said could sway him.

Working under Shaw's direction, Terling spent the next several months helping locate and secure the transfer of reliable men and women to Calton, even managing to slip a few of Shaw's most trusted officers under the watchful eyes of Gaunis's forces. After that, he and Shaw set about the touchy business of setting up contacts in the various Houses that were the real power on Calton. That had been at least partially successful. But the crowning triumph of the months of work had come when one of Shaw's loyal soldiers managed to gain a post within the offices of Gaunis's forces.

That success paid off in an unexpected way, informing Shaw of the impending arrival of Emre and Kressa Bryant, and allowing him to secure the prisoners. Shaw's people were bringing them to him now.

Shaw suppressed a shudder of mixed emotion—overwhelming pleasure at the prospect of seeing Emre again and concern over her presence on Calton—and returned his gaze to the sprawling landing field beyond the windows. He looked northward in hopes of catching sight of an approaching vehicle, but the base remained still.

Tense and impatient, he leaned closer to the cool one-way glass.

The shuffle of footsteps behind him, accompanied by the sibilance of hushed conversations, reminded him that he was not alone in the large front office. Thoughts of younger days and the inspections he endured came to mind, and he straightened as he recalled the discipline he learned then, how to remain perfectly still and keep from fidgeting before the eyes of his superiors. But it was not his commanding officer watching him now; instead, it was the eyes of those younger than himself, those whose loyalty could only be hoped for, not counted on.

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He switched his focus to the reflection on the window before him and used it to study the dozen or so men and women laboring behind the counter and desks that filled the back half of the room. Among them he spotted three he could trust; they were there on his orders to guard against mishap. But how many of the others had found a reason to be here simply to watch their governor's reaction to the return of his scandalous th'Maran lover? And how many were here for less benign reasons?

He had not wanted his reunion with Emre to be like this, with curious, possibly dangerous strangers looking on. And he had not wanted the added complication of Tara's—Bryant's presence. But he refused to let Gaunis gain any ground toward his twisted vision of what the United Galaxy should be by allowing him to interrogate Bryant about the Confederacy, the only force standing between him and that vision. At least that was the reason Shaw gave his men for securing the woman from Gaunis's forces; he feared the real reason was much more complicated, and much more personal, than he wanted to admit.

He sighed. The one consolation to this whole affair was that he would get to see Emre, something he once believed he would never have the opportunity to do again.

But once they were together, how could he tell her their visit would have to be short? They would have only a few days, at most, before Terling arrived to take her off Calton to a secure hideaway until Shaw came up with some way they could remain together safely. He hoped she would understand the necessity.

Two groundcars swept around the north end of the buildings. Both vehicles bore the insignia of the local Patrol branch. Shaw watched them for a moment, stoic, unmoving, feeling the eyes of those behind him boring into his back, and then he gave in to his emotions.

He swept to the door and strode out to meet the approaching vehicles.

Emre was in one of those cars.

Heart pounding with anticipation, he watched the vehicles brake to a halt less than a dozen meters away. The front passenger door on the nearest car opened, and a single figure ducked out. His dark red hair glinted like copper in the pale evening light, and Shaw relaxed as he recognized Commander Bruss Maeller, head of security for the base, one of the trusted Esprit officers Terling managed to have transferred to Calton. Maeller turned toward the rear door of the vehicle, but before he could touch the latch, the door sprang open and Emre stepped out. Her eyes locked on Shaw.

She stood perfectly still for an instant, but it was an instant that seemed to last an eternity, giving Shaw forever to gaze upon the woman he loved, to take in her beautiful features, the sparkle of bright quicksilver eyes, the pronounced swell of her belly where she carried his children. His children! Daughters, she told him in her message. Twin daughters. And in her wonderful, naive way, she had said they wanted to meet him.

"Richard." Her lips formed his name, and time resumed its normal flow.

She ran toward him. He stood straighter as she approached, and his head lifted higher as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders. He reached for her.

Their hands met, and his mind filled with Emre's powerful mental presence as she fed him strength, friendship, love. Amazingly, two other minds joined the link, welcoming their father, rejoicing in his presence.

But, suddenly, those two new consciousnesses were shouting, screaming alarm, warning that something was terribly wrong.

* * *

Seated uncomfortably in the back of the Patrol car, the hard metal of the security cuffs grinding painfully against the bones of her wrists, her shoulders aching from being too long in one position, Kressa leaned forward to stare past the two Patrolmen in the seat before her. She watched in amazement as Emre reached out to touch Shaw's hand. The look on her father's face was open, honest, expressing only love and caring for the woman before him.

Richard Shaw loves Emre. That fact pounded through Kressa with increasing commitment, and she saw her father in an overwhelming new light.

Then there was a lightning-fast movement in the front seat, followed by a muffled groan.

Kressa tore her attention away from the scene outside the car. The driver held a bloody knife, and a red stain was spreading across the breast of his suddenly lifeless counterpart's white uniform. She gasped.

The driver glanced back at her, his thin face expressionless as he tossed the bloodied weapon onto the lap of his dead partner and reached up to unsling a laser rifle from a compartment above his head. He handled the weapon expertly, making it seem almost an extension of his body. His ability screamed Special Corps' training.

Kressa watched in stunned silence as the man opened his door and climbed out. He held the rifle hidden within the car but ready, as if awaiting some signal.

Through the open door, she heard an approaching vehicle. An instant later, a truck filled with armed plain-clothed men sped around the row of buildings and onto the landing field from the south. The door to the building behind Shaw slammed open, and a dozen soldiers charged out with pulse guns drawn.

Instantly, Kressa realized what was happening and knew she had to try to stop it.

She launched herself over the back of the driver's seat, landed on one shoulder, and then straightened.

The driver had pulled his rifle from inside the car and brought it to bear on the spot where Shaw stood, holding Emre to him. One of the passengers in the approaching truck aimed a second laser rifle at Shaw through an open window.

Kressa threw herself out the open car door and rammed her shoulder hard into the rifleman's side. The barrel of his weapon lurched skyward as the angry, whining hiss of two laser rifles sounded almost simultaneously.

The momentum of Kressa's lunge sent both her and the driver to the ground, but she rolled and scrambled to her feet. Pulse gun fire erupted around her, shots from the men in the truck being returned by soldiers on the field and by those near Shaw.

Kressa ducked behind the car door for cover.

The driver regained his feet and spun toward her, swinging his weapon like a club. The rifle's long barrel caught her square on the shoulder and drove her into the side of the car. She tried to twist to catch herself, but without the use of her arms, she overbalanced. Her head struck something hard, and the world exploded in a shower of brightly colored sparks.