The Price of Conquest

The fightercraft lurched from the assault of enemy pulse cannon fire against its shields. At the controls, Kressa Bryant attempted to maneuver the vessel out of line of its attackers.

The three Patrol fighters had flown at her from the direction of the sun, jamming her ship's sensors as they came. She'd spotted them just in time to avoid their first barrage of fire.

How many times had Commander Alyn cautioned her about putting too much faith in her instruments? She snarled, angry at herself for her foolishness, and then cursed as another blast of enemy fire exploded against her aft shields.

She glanced at her instruments, and then scanned the blue sky. There was one fighter on her tail. The other two were coming at her from about thirty degrees broadside. Good teamwork on their part. Their positions afforded clear shots at her ship without the risk of hitting one another.

An alarm warned her she had been targeted again.

She leaned on her fighter's control stick, sending the ship into a power dive, and then rolled, belly up, turning her straight-down dive into a climb.

She almost blacked out as the maneuver overtaxed her fighter's inertial compensators, and she suffered more gees than expected. But when her vision cleared and the rushing in her head subsided, she found herself climbing straight into the belly of one of the enemy fighters.

She depressed the firing button. Her pulse cannons tore at the enemy vessel's shield, and then broke through. A brilliant flash of light blossomed before her. She banked to avoid the worst of the shrapnel from the explosion, and then drew in behind her other two opponents.

The Patrol fighters rolled away from one another as she began to fire. She followed the one to port and tried to keep a visual tag on its partner.

The ship she was following attempted to lose her with a daring evasive spiral toward the ground. She dove after it, and then cursed as its partner started a turn that would bring him in behind her ship.

One at a time, she told herself and turned her full attention to the ship she was chasing. The United Galaxy vessel was no match for her Teneian-designed fighter, and she kept on its tail, forcing it into a tight dive. She fired as it made a last-instant correction to keep from slamming into the ground.

A second fireball erupted before her.

She allowed herself a single relieved breath, and then powered her fighter into another steep climb to search for the last enemy ship. Seconds later, it flashed up behind her.

She tilted her ship's nose almost straight up, jammed it to full power, and pulled away from the enemy fighter. Once she gained enough altitude, she let her ship stall, flipped it end-for-end, and dove straight down on her opponent, pulse guns flaring.

The energy from her weapons sprayed across the Patrol ship's shield for a moment, and then cut through it to tear into the vessel's infrastructure. The ship went out of control. Kressa swung in behind it and ended its wild flight with another shot.

A moment later, the blue-sky scene before her faded, the lights in the cockpit came up, and a door popped open on her left.

Commander Reese Alyn, dressed in a tan flight suit, peered in the opening. His sea-green eyes sparkled from boyish features.

"Congratulations, Bryant," the blond man said with a smile, "you just made your first unassisted triple-kill. In atmo, no less." He extended a hand to help her from the simulator. "Let's hope you never have to do it for real."

Kressa pulled off her helmet and shook loose her short black hair. "Thank you, sir." She drew a deep breath and mentally willed her heart to ease its exhilarated pounding.

Alyn took the helmet from her and tucked it under his arm. Relieved of the burden, she sleeved the sweat from her face and arched her back to ease a crick that had developed.

"That was a sneaky trick," she said, "sending those ships out of the sun like that."

Alyn put a congenial arm around her shoulders. "Oldest trick in the book." He steered her across the training room, away from the row of simulators. "And a minor one compared to what real Patrol pilots might do." He drew to a halt in front of the shower room door and reached past her to tab it open. "When you're finished in there, Captain Westlex would like to see you. He said he'll meet you at your ship."

"Jonathan's back?" Kressa asked. "I thought Stingray One wasn't due until tomorrow."

"I guess the captain couldn't wait to see you," Alyn said. "Or maybe they just got everything finished a day early."

Kressa turned and tried to push past him toward the training room doors.

Alyn stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To see Jona— To see the captain, sir."

"Not like this." He plucked at her sweat-stained flight suit and made a sour face. "Besides, he's in a meeting with the general." He turned her to face the shower room and gave her a gentle push. "Get in there and get cleaned up."

She bounded through the door and peeled out of her flight suit as she headed for the nearest shower. Fifteen minutes later, she was on her way to where the Conquest was docked in the massive cavern that served as a hangar on the Arecian base, intent on soothing the tension of the day's training with a series of gentle yos'tanya stretches. But when she reached her room on board the freighter, all thoughts of a relaxing exercise session vanished.

The maroon-trimmed tan uniform of a Confederate Navy officer hung from a hook on her dressing room door, complete with ensign's insignia and the gold winged pin of a fighter pilot. The uniform had not been there when she left. Clearly today's performance in the simulator had gained her more than Commander Alyn's praise.

"Connie," Kressa said, "who put this uniform here?"

"Captain Westlex," the feminine voice of the ship's computer answered. "He said he wanted to surprise you."

Kressa stepped up in front of the uniform and looked at it for a long moment, allowing the significance of its presence to sink in. Finally, she lifted the outfit from its hook and turned to face the mirror.

Dark eyes returned her stare, shining from a fair-skinned face, its perfect features betraying her pedigreed Terran and Nepurhan heritage. She glowered at the aristocratic image, reminded of the high-handed United Galaxy attitudes that granted her those looks. She switched her gaze to the less elite but no less meaningful uniform, and pondered the casual comment Commander Alyn had made about her success against the simulated Patrol fightercraft.

Let's hope you never have to do it for real.

She knew how tenuous that hope was. The peace between the Free World Confederacy and the United Galaxy was precarious at best, and it was unlikely to last. And now she was in the middle of it. From free trader to Confederate fighter pilot in a little over half a year. Pretty damned amazing.

"Emre is here to see you," Connie's voice interrupted Kressa's dazed realization.

"Tell her I'm in my room." She studied the uniform for several more seconds, and then tossed it on the bed.

Emre arrived a moment later.

Kressa gave the th'Maran woman a welcoming hug, momentarily losing herself in the intimate mental communion with which Emre greeted her.

"Come in, sit down." Kressa gestured toward the sitting area.

Emre hobbled across the room, looking more cumbersome than an eight-month pregnancy could account for, even with the twins she carried.

"Congratulations, Ensign," Emre said with a smile as she settled into a chair.

Kressa glanced at the uniform, and then gave a nonchalant shrug. "Jonathan seems to be handing out commissions rather arbitrarily these days."

"I would hardly call your abilities arbitrary, Kressa," Emre said. "You have earned the commission."

Kressa shrugged again. "If you say so. How are you feeling? And how are my sisters?"

"They are well." Emre placed a hand on the swell of her belly. "And they are happy now that you are near."

Kressa shook her head in amusement. Emre insisted that her unborn twin daughters could sense Kressa's presence and were happiest when she was near, not only because the three of them shared a sire, but also because of the mental abilities Kressa had inherited from her Nepurhan mother and spent several years under the tutelage of an Ilekian psi-master learning to use. Personally, Kressa felt it was simply that their own mother enjoyed her companionship.

"A little longer and you'll be able to leave them with me," Kressa said.

"But I enjoy your company, as well," Emre said, supporting Kressa's theory.

She smiled, but the th'Maran's return smile seemed forced.

"Is something wrong, Emre?"

She shook her head and glanced away. "Not really. It's just that you remind me— That is, the way you talk and…" She looked up with a sigh. "Sometimes, you remind me so much of Richard."

Kressa sank into a chair with a stifled groan. She did not like to be reminded of her father, or compared to him, but she knew she could not blame Emre. The th'Maran woman could not have stopped herself from falling in love with Richard Shaw any more than Kressa could have stopped him from being her father.

"I'm sorry, Emre. I wish there was something I could do."

"If only I could see him again, or get a message to him," she said, her silver eyes downcast. "He doesn't even know I carry his children."

Kressa nodded unhappily, aware there was little chance of Emre getting word to Shaw, let alone seeing him. Maybe if he still had the sovereign status of admiral…

"He's under Gaunis's control now, Emre. He can't—"

"Richard will never be Gaunis's man!" Emre hissed in an unusual display of harsh emotion.

"Not by choice, no," Kressa said in a soothing tone. "But he can hardly do as he chooses. He's lucky to be alive."

Emre nodded and hung her head, her somber mood returned. "I love him, Kressa. I want to be with him, and I know he wants to be with me." She looked up, her hand again going to her swollen belly. "The nearer the time for the birth comes, the more difficult it is to be away from him."

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Kressa gave Emre a tender look, but she could think of nothing to say, no way to ease her friend's suffering.

The door opened suddenly, and Jonathan stepped through the opening.

"Congratulations, Ensign Bryant," he said with a wide grin. His bright blue-green eyes lingered briefly on Kressa before moving to where Emre sat. His expression softened. "Hello, Emre."

"Good afternoon, Captain." The th'Maran woman gave him a welcoming smile.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said.

"Not at all." Kressa rose from her seat to greet him with a restrained but affectionate hug and kiss, a much more subdued greeting than she would have preferred after his week-long absence. "How are things on Teneia?"

"Looking up. We've received positive replies from four of the admirals on our offer to trade."

"The four who supported Richard?" Emre asked.

Jonathan nodded. "But we still might win over some of the others. The admirals need what we have if they're going to continue providing for their citizens like they're used to, and the only way to get it is through trade."

"Or by taking what they want, like they always have," Kressa said, her voice bitter.

"Ah, but now they have the Confederacy and two Stingrays to contend with," Jonathan said. "That should make them think twice before they try anything."

"I hope so." Kressa started to turn away and caught sight of Emre. She glanced at Jonathan. "Jon, do you think you could get a message to Admir—to Shaw?"

He studied her for a long moment, brow furrowed, obviously surprised by the request. "On Calton?"

She nodded, glanced at Emre, and returned her gaze to Jonathan. "Can you do it?"

"I think so," he said, and then nodded. "Sure we can. With a little luck, the Confederacy's going to be doing a lot of communicating with the United Galaxy soon. But…" He gave Kressa a perplexed look. "What would you want to say to him?"

Kressa gestured to Emre. "Ask her, she's the one carrying his children."

Jonathan turned to look at the th'Maran woman, eyebrows raised. "Well?"

Emre rose to her feet with a grin, her silver eyes beaming with pleasure. "Can you really get a message to Richard?"

"I'll do my best. I might even be able to get you a reply."

"Oh, thank you, Captain!" Emre hugged Jonathan with more energy than Kressa had seen her exude in months. "I'll record the message now and send it to your office."

Jonathan gave her a gentle hug and a quick kiss on the cheek, and then sent her on her way. Once the door closed behind her, he turned to Kressa with an eager look. "Well, Ensign?"

"You're wonderful!" She threw herself into his waiting arms. "You don't know how much it means to Emre to have the chance to get word to Shaw."

Jonathan pulled her close against him. "How much does it mean to you?" he asked with a devious lilt, and then bent for a kiss.

He pulled back after a long moment.

"Are you sure you can get a message to Shaw without Gaunis knowing about it?" Kressa asked.

"We'll find a way."

She sighed. "I hope we're doing the right thing."

"What could be wrong about it?"

Kressa released him and turned away. "Shaw, for one thing." She picked up her new uniform and returned it to its hook. "What do we really know about his feelings for Emre? What if he was just using her all that time they were together? You know how naïve th'Maran can be." She turned back to him. "What if—"

"Kressa, listen to me, your father is not the selfish, cold-hearted bastard you make him out to be."

Kressa gave a derisive snort. She wanted to believe him—for Emre's sake, if no other—but found it difficult to feel anything but contempt for Richard Shaw.

"Do you know that for sure?" she asked.

"I can't know anything for sure, but I've seen the way Shaw operates and…" He shrugged. "I just have a good feeling about him. After all, he helped us take out the Kinsa."

"Only because he hates Gaunis more than he hates us," Kressa said bitterly.

"Do you really believe Shaw gave up everything he worked so long for just to get at Gaunis?"

Kressa looked away, unsure how to answer. "I don't know," she said finally, her voice low. "I wouldn't put it past him."

"You really feel that way about your own father?"

Kressa whipped her head around to glare at him. "Damn it, Jonathan, he abandoned me! He left me in that damn Patrol Academy when I was just a baby!"

Jonathan gave her a long look, a hint of a frown on his face. "Kressa, I've checked Shaw's record. Your father was the military commander of the Eiran mining colonies when you were born. From what I've read, Eira is no place to raise a child."

The information dampened the flare of Kressa's anger. "I didn't know that," she said quietly. So Shaw had not simply abandoned her at the Academy. He might even have planned to return for her once he was stationed in a more hospitable place, but her running away had put an end to any such plans.

She tried not to think about the fact that one of the reasons she ran away was to find him. She shook her head. She was Kressa Bryant now, not Tara Shaw. The past didn't matter, at least it shouldn't, and it shouldn't hurt so much.

"If he does anything to hurt Emre…" she said, her voice a low growl.

"Don't worry, Kres, we'll take care of Emre," Jonathan said. "Meanwhile, I believe I have some congratulating to do, Ensign Bryant." He took her into his arms again, and his lips brushed her neck.

"Mmmm…" Kressa purred. "Ensign Bryant. I like the sound of that."

"Yeah?" Jonathan asked, leaning back slightly to meet her eyes. "Why's that?"

"Next time you take off on Stingray One, I'll be on board."

Jonathan pursed his lips. "Maybe not."

Kressa stared at him in consternation. "Why not? I thought you said I'd be part of One's fighter wing."

"You will be," he said. "Just not quite yet. The general has something he wants you to do for him."

"What?" she asked, suspicious.

He took a seat on the bed and eased her down to sit beside him. "I wouldn't know. He told me he has 'one last assignment for his favorite soldier before delivering her into the capable hands of the Navy,'" Jonathan said as his own capable hands amused themselves with her body.

"Liar." She crossed her arms and tried to ignore his caresses. "You know exactly what he wants."

Jonathan looked insulted. "Me? Lie? Why would I do something like that?" He uncrossed her arms and began to unfasten her shirt.

She swatted at his hands. "Stop that."

"Aren't you going to try on the uniform?" he asked.

"According to the general, I haven't been delivered into the capable hands of the Navy yet."

"You've been delivered enough. Ensign."

She looked at him askance. "Are you pulling rank on me, Captain?"

He slipped the shirt off her shoulders and eased her onto her back. "I don't believe I have to."

He was right.

* * *

The next morning, following another round of Jonathan's intimate congratulations and a leisurely breakfast, Kressa headed for the office of General Halav Kamick, commander of the Arecian Guard.

No amount of threats or cajoling had won further information from Jonathan regarding the general's plans, and Kressa found herself wondering what they might be as she made her way through the maze of corridors that made up the base's administrative area.

She arrived at the outer door to the general's office and stepped into the sparsely but tastefully furnished waiting room.

The wall and door that separated the waiting area from the general's well-appointed office beyond were comprised entirely of varipaque, a material that could be adjusted from perfect clarity to total black opacity and any or all of it switched to one-way transparency depending on the general's mood and the degree of intimidation he desired for his visitors.

Now, the partition was completely clear, affording an uninterrupted view of the handsome Arecian general seated behind the desk, booted feet propped on the desktop before him, hands clasped casually behind his head.

Kressa rolled her eyes at the pretentious image. Clearly, he was expecting her.

He grinned and gestured for her to join him.

She sighed and stepped forward, remembering how much she preferred the smaller, more conservative room Halav had used as an office when the Guard first moved into the mountain base a little less than a year ago.

The office door slid open as she approached, and she entered the room wishing she could have remained in bed with Jonathan.

Apparently, something of her thoughts showed on her face.

The general gave her a lascivious look. "You're looking inordinately proud of yourself this morning." His tawny eyes made a single encompassing sweep of her body. "Could all that arrogance be for your commission, or is there someone you're not telling me about?"

"Halav," she said conversationally, "go to hell."

"Ah, well, good morning to you, too." He swung his feet down off the desk. "I trust you had a restful evening after yesterday's excitement?"

"What excitement was that?"

"Why, Ensign Bryant," he said with mock surprise, "it isn't every day you receive a commission in the Confederate Navy."

"I earned it," she said, deciding she agreed with Emre on the matter, at least as far as Halav was concerned. "Besides, Jonathan said you haven't released me from your services yet."

"Just trying to keep you alive a little while longer," Halav said.

"You think piloting a fighter is more dangerous than working with the Guard?"

"Not as long as the Patrol continues to behave," Halav said. "But once Gaunis decides to make his move…"

"Jonathan thinks the admirals might be coming around."

Halav shook his head, his expression suddenly serious. "Jonathan hopes the admirals are coming around, and so do I. But neither of us are counting on it."

Kressa shrugged. "Fine, once Gaunis starts causing trouble, I'll start worrying. Meanwhile, I believe you wanted to see me about something."

"Right." He sat up straight. "As coincidence would have it, it has something to do with the man in question."

"Gaunis?" She didn't even try to keep the distaste from her voice.

He nodded. "Gaunis and his overblown hatred of the th'Maran."

"It's fear, General," Kressa said. "Fear of their mental abilities, and fear of the unity they intend to teach us despite ourselves."

"Well, whatever you call it, it's cost a lot of th'Maran their lives. Fortunately, Gaunis's order to round them up was not very popular with either the United Galaxy citizens or the soldiers of the Patrol. A lot of them have been helping keep the th'Maran hidden until we can arrange to have them taken someplace safer than a United Galaxy world."

Kressa's eyes widened. She knew that some th'Maran had escaped Gaunis's attempted genocide, but she had not realized that the soldiers of the United Galaxy worlds had helped. She thought all of the credit for that went to the different Guard factions and their sympathizers.

"We were keeping the th'Maran hidden in the homes of anyone willing to shelter them until we could arrange to have them moved to a Confederate world," Halav went on. "The system worked well until Gaunis discovered what was going on. Since then, he's been ordering planetary sweeps for th'Maran on every United Galaxy world. He's found a few, but we've managed to get most of them to safety."

"And now you've found more and need someone who can get a ship onto a United Galaxy world, pick them up, and get out again safely, right?" Kressa easily guessed what the general wanted her to do.

"You were one of the best," he said, the honest look in his eyes indicating he had no desire to resort to sweet-talking her into taking the job.

She let the fact that he used the past tense pass without comment; she still was one of the best.

"This will be a quick operation," he continued. "Get in, get the th'Maran, and get out. I know you don't like to take passengers on board the Conquest, but with your understanding of the th'Maran, you're the perfect person for the job."

Kressa pursed her lips and considered the risks involved in smuggling anything off of a United Galaxy world under the present tight restrictions. "Where are they?"

"Terra, in San Francisco. Your old haunt."

"Terra?" She groaned unhappily. "Couldn't you have chosen a world that wasn't under Gaunis's direct control?"

Halav's tight-lipped expression indicated he did not think the question worthy of an answer.

"Remember what happened the last time I tried to pick up one of your cargoes on Terra?" she asked, determined to get some sort of a reply.

He nodded. "You didn't get it. As I recall, you didn't even make it onto the planet."

"You're damned right I didn't. Shaw was waiting for me with his dreadnought. That job was a set-up!"

"Then you'll be happy to know we cracked that set-up." He leaned back in his seat and gave her a wry smile. "And I hardly think Shaw will be waiting for you this time."

Kressa smirked. "Who's the contact?"

"Jamar Elstra."

"Jamie?" She had known the young Arecian Guard member for several years, and she liked him, but— "Wasn't he the one who sent you the tip about that set-up?"

"He did, and he wasn't involved any deeper than that. We checked. Look, Kressa, I've got it all arranged: cover ID, shipping docs, everything. You can leave as soon as the Conquest is ready."

"That is assuming I take the job."

He flashed her a winning smile. "You'll take it."

Kressa sighed. Like Jonathan, Halav was right.