The Price of Conquest

Calton's sun had gone down minutes earlier, leaving the sky above the Governor's Base painted in a pageantry of colors. But now the spectacle was fading, taking color, light, and shadow, and leaving only a flat, dimensionless gray.

Standing alone at the edge of the empty landing field with the main administration building behind him, Richard Shaw turned his gaze northward, searching, waiting to see…

What? What did he really expect to find? Cars bearing more assassins? He frowned and shook his head.

Movement in front of one of the offices farther along the curved strip of buildings drew his attention. A Patrol soldier stepped through a doorway. Even from this distance, Shaw recognized the red-bronze hair of Commander Bruss Maeller.

The officer spotted Shaw and turned in his direction.

Shaw watched him approach, thinking how much injustice Maeller had endured without complaint since Shaw's court-martial. Many of the Esprit's personnel had been reassigned as a result of what happened at Arecia, but Shaw's best officers, the men and women who served closest to him, had been transferred to dangerous or tedious positions in out-of-the-way places where they would have little chance of promotion and even less chance to cause trouble by continuing to support their former commander. Maeller had been the captain in charge of security aboard the Esprit; after Shaw's court-martial, Gaunis ordered Maeller demoted as well as reassigned.

Later, Terling covertly arranged to have Maeller transferred to Calton where he eagerly returned to his position as Shaw's chief of security, but Maeller expected his captaincy back, and Shaw wanted dearly to return it to him. Yet so long as Gaunis retained his hold on Calton, such a move would serve only to call attention to Maeller's presence, and that could very easily prove fatal. Maeller claimed he understood the reasons, but that did not make it any easier for Shaw to accept.

Maeller halted before him and gave a brisk salute. "Good evening, sir."

Shaw returned the salute, noting how Maeller avoided the use of either of Shaw's titles, governor or sector commander. He knew that Maeller, along with many of his other people, still referred to him as "the Admiral" when speaking about him privately. It was that kind of loyalty that had made the past six months tolerable.

"Good evening, Maeller." Shaw avoided the use of the man's title in deference to that loyalty. "Why haven't you gone home yet?"

"I was just leaving, sir."

Shaw nodded and returned to his former contemplation of the empty field.

Maeller's gray-green eyes followed Shaw's gaze. "You shouldn't be out here like this, sir. After what happened the other night…"

"No, Maeller," Shaw said in a quiet voice. "No, you're right. I shouldn't be out here." But he did not move.

After a long moment, the commander nodded. "Uh, right, sir. Good night." He entered the administration building behind Shaw.

Shaw continued to stare across the field, waiting, thinking.

Maeller was right. He shouldn't be out here, alone, vulnerable, but he had come to stand on the edge of the field at this time each night since Emre's murder. And he would continue to do so. Continue until his enemies caught onto this new dangerous habit and decided to take advantage of it. Then the pain and guilt of Emre's sacrifice would be gone.

But it would not be this night, Shaw realized as he continued to strain his eyes past the brightening splashes of light cast by the field beacons. His enemies would not try anything tonight, and probably not for many nights to come. The High Admiral would want him to live with his pain for a while, as payment for the information—and the children—Shaw had kept from him.

With a final glance at the empty field, Shaw turned and strode into the building behind him, headed for his office to finish the day's work with his traditional evening drink. That, at least, was a harmless habit, for there was no place on Calton safer than his office deep in the administration center; Terling and Maeller had seen to that. Simply to get there, one had to pass a half dozen manned checkpoints and twice that number of passive defenses. Only the huge, lonely Governor's Residence in town had as much protection, but Shaw avoided the house, finding it too full of the ghosts of other men Gaunis had sent to Calton to die.

Shaw passed the last of the checkpoints and moved through his empty administrative office and the final dark security corridor into the large room where his aides worked during the day. He made his way between the two short rows of silent workstations, pressed his hand to the scanplate beside his office door, and stepped into the bright room.

The door slid shut behind him, and Shaw froze for an instant. His right hand dropped to his side where his pulse gun normally rested, but there was no weapon there, not even an empty holster. He spied the gun and holster lying on the desk to his right, exactly where he left them before he went outside.

Had his desire to die become so strong that he allowed himself to go out unarmed?

The truth of that realization staggered him. And now, faced with the actuality of his death, he knew he was not ready to die.

Yet the two men who stood inside his office did not appear threatening. On the contrary, one of them, a short, burly fellow with dark hair and dusty overalls, was bent over Shaw's desk, meticulously disassembling the communication unit, while the taller of the two stood before the small bar at the rear of the office, carefully measuring four drinks into four squat glasses. In the back right corner of the room, just in front of the storage cabinet, the carpet was folded back to reveal a nearly meter-wide hole in the floor, its edges littered with rubble.

The drink-mixer looked up from his work as Shaw entered the room, and then placed a silencing finger over a mouth framed by a brown mustache that grew straight down to his chin.

Shaw shifted his eyes to the other man. Neither appeared to be armed.

The short man at the desk straightened from the disemboweled communication unit, a tiny electronic device held delicately but triumphantly aloft between a stubby thumb and forefinger.

Shaw stared at the minute object. A wiretap? Impossible. Maeller checked the room regularly for such devices. He had searched it after Emre's murder and found nothing. Shaw made a mental note to get a record of everyone who'd been in the office since then.

"This is the last of 'em," the short man said in a thick accent. He used his free hand to flick a switch on a small, obviously handcrafted instrument attached to his wide belt. "It's safe ta talk now." He held the tiny object out.

The mustached man came forward to receive the minuscule listening device, and Shaw noted two similar objects already in his hand. The man returned to the drinks. He gave one glass to Shaw, passed a second to the man at the desk, and raised a third in toast. "To the beginnings of a successful partnership."

Shaw stared at him for a moment, shifted his gaze to the other man, to his own drink, and then to the unclaimed glass sitting undisturbed on the bar.

"Who's that for?" Shaw heard himself asking.

"Ahhh!" The taller man smiled and held the fist that enclosed the three electronic taps over the extra drink. "This is for Gaunis." He let the bugs drop one at a time into the drink. "Cheers!"

The man at the desk raised his drink and downed it in a single swallow. He set the empty glass aside and took a step toward Shaw, one thick hand outstretched in greeting.

"'ello, sir, my name's Torch, and this is me partner, Max." He took Shaw's hand and pumped it vigorously. "We're here ta make ya a deal we don't think you'll wanna refuse."

Dumbfounded, Shaw retrieved his hand, took a step sideways, and tried to get a better look at the hole in the corner of his office floor.

Torch followed his gaze, and then glanced back at Shaw with a sheepish expression. "Sorry 'bout the mess, Gov'ner. We meant to make just a little 'ole in the cabinet, but the plans for this place are all wrong. According to them, this whole buildin' shoulda been built sixty-three centimeters farther north." He pantomimed picking up the structure and moving it the stated distance. "And the construction materials were s'posed to be a bit stronger than they are." He ambled over to the hole and toed some of the rubble into it. "The 'ole shoulda been just big enough ta squeeze through." He looked at Shaw again. "No one knows how to build nothin' right anymore."

Shaw nodded, although he could not say why, and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He gazed around his office again, feeling distinctly ill at ease.

Torch darted to Shaw's desk and scooped up the gun lying there. Shaw started to react, but before he could do so much as take a step toward the door, Torch was standing in front of him, the gunbelt and weapon held out.

"Here ya go, sir, I b'lieve this'll make ya feel better."

Mute, Shaw took the gun, checked the charge, and then stepped to the row of chairs positioned along the wall opposite his desk. He collapsed into one of them and continued to stare at the two men, the gunbelt held loosely in his hand. The men watched him.

Shaw remembered the drink he held and brought it to his lips. He tasted it, then downed half of it in a swallow. The potent beverage warmed the chill of impending death from him, and he glared at the two men. "Who are you people?"

Max leaned against the bar and took a casual sip of his drink. "You know, that's exactly what Kressa asked us. In about the same tone, too."

"Kressa? What the devil does she have to do with this?"

"We're… friends," Max said.

"Did she send you here?" Shaw asked.

Max raised a hand to scrub at his mustache, and then glanced to where Torch sat propped against the front of the desk.

"Not exactly, sir." Max returned his gaze to Shaw. "She's had kind of a rough time here on Calton, and we thought that while she slept it off, we'd drop by to see you. But it was her idea to—uh…"

Shaw raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Well, sir, ya see, it's like this…" Torch straightened and began to pace across the room. "It's come to our attention that you need some sort o' control over the Calton Houses so you can turn your efforts to dealin' with Gaunis. Now, we have it on good authority that Salkair House, which jus' happens to be the most powerful House here on Calton, is run by Gaunis. It seems to us that takin' charge of that House just might let you take care of Calton and Gaunis all at once."

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Shaw stared at the man. "What are you talking about?"

Max waved Torch back to his perch in front of the desk, "What he's trying to say, sir, is that Kressa needs something House Moorlan has, but the Salkairs, working for Gaunis, know she's here on Confederate business, and Gaunis is determined to find out what she's after. We—"

"You don't think I'd be interested in why she's here?" Shaw asked, one part of his mind participating in the conversation, while another raced through his memory in an attempt to determine who these men were and who they might be working for.

Max smiled. "Well, sir, we happen to know that you promised to buy Kressa time to complete her assignment here. That doesn't sound like the actions of a man bent on getting information."

"No," Shaw said slowly. "No, I suppose it doesn't. But what's this about Gaunis and the Salkairs?"

Max reached into a trouser pocket and extracted a data card. He held it up. "It's all here, sir. Financial records proving Gaunis's control of Salkair funds. Evidence supporting ties between Gaunis, the Salkairs, and the black diamonds. Proof that Gaunis ordered the Salkairs to assassinate at least a dozen Patrol officers, including what happened two nights ago. Payoffs to people on nearly every United Galaxy world. You name it, sir, it's in here."

Shaw set aside his drink and gun and leaned forward to take the card. "Where'd you get this?"

"From the Salkair computer."

"And what do you expect me to do once I've gone over this… information?" He glanced at the card and then returned his gaze to his two visitors. Who the hell are these people? "Assuming I believe what's in it, of course."

"We kinda hoped you'd be willin' to move on the Salkair Residence, sir," Torch said. "And their other holdin's, as well. You know, sorta take over the House. We got it all worked out, the attack, that is. We got plans o' the Residence—accurate plans. And that card's got information on all their other holdin's. The way we figure it—"

"Who's 'we'?!" Shaw dropped the data card on the table beside his chair, swept to his feet, and gave the two men piercing looks. "You two manage to get around my defenses, break into my office, help yourself to my bar, and then try to tell me how to run my affairs on Calton and…"

He paused and looked closer at the men as old reports, names, and faces came together in his mind. "Wait a minute." He stepped closer to Max. Take away the mustache, the sideburns, the long hair, add a few kilos…

"Professor Jacob Maxfield," Shaw said, and then smiled as Max's face fell. "From one of the Terran colonies, right? Professor of… cultural psychology and socio-economics. You disappeared—what? A year ago? Two? A while before I came here, that's for sure." He glanced at Torch. "And you must be Jan Sarlas. There can't be two like you on Calton."

He shook his head and gazed at the men. "I've read about you. You work with the Guard, right? You've been smuggling people off Calton. I know about your attempts to rescue those th'Maran a few months back. You'll be happy to know there are five others safely holed up around the planet, with plans in the works to get them out of here as soon as possible."

The two fugitives stared at him in shock.

"You don't think Confederates are the only people who care about th'Maran, do you?" Shaw asked.

"No, sir," Max said. "We, uh… Kressa told us about… Emre."

Shaw glanced away and fought to keep his expression calm. "Yes, well, this war has cost us all."

"Yes, sir," Max agreed with surprising sincerity. "And that's why we're here, sir. The war, that is. We're all fighting the same thing: Gaunis. If we work together—"

The door chime interrupted Max. He glanced at the barrier, and then looked back at Shaw.

Shaw knew of no one who might be calling at this late hour. He moved to his desk to activate the viewer, but the circuit was tied into the communication unit that now lay in several pieces on the desktop.

Torch gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry, Gov'ner, but the unit was set up with a two-way transmitter an'—"

Shaw waved him to silence, retrieved his gun, and stepped toward the door. The chime sounded again, this time accompanied by heavy pounding and a muffled shout.

"Wait," Max hissed under his breath.

Shaw glanced back at him.

"Whoever it is, stall them." Max set aside his half-finished drink, signaled to Torch, and disappeared down the hole in the floor.

Torch followed him, but an instant later, one of his hands appeared above the edge of the hole, grasped a corner of the folded-back carpet, and pulled it haphazardly back into place.

Shaw shook his head in bemusement, and returned to the door, his gun held at the ready.

"Who is it?" he called through the barrier. "The communicator's broken and—"

The door slid aside.

"Aidan!" Shaw gasped as he found himself face to face with his friend.

Terling held a sophisticated electronic lockpick in one hand, a small pulse gun in the other. A sullen look darkened his rugged features.

Shaw lowered his gun. "What are you doing here? And what happened to your rule about never coming to the base?"

"I changed it." Terling pushed past Shaw and scanned the office. "And I'm here to make sure you're staying out of trouble. Which you aren't."

Shaw closed the door and followed Terling's gaze around the room.

Terling spun on him. "Damn it, Richard! I barely have time to touch down on this mud ball when Maeller tells me you've been moping over that goddamned th'Maran woman of yours, and pulling some damned stupid antics to boot."

He jammed his gun into its holster and gazed around the room again, running a hand through his thick iron-gray hair. "Do you think I've spent the past half year of my life trying to keep you alive, only to have you go out and offer yourself up as a goddamned sacrifice?! What the hell's gotten into you, anyway? That th'Maran's got you more messed up than Katy ever did."

Shaw frowned at the mention of his former wife, Kaitryen, Tara's mother. "Leave Katy out of this, Aidan. And Emre. This isn't about them. I…" He realized he had no excuses. He had been behaving like a fool. He drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Aidan, it won't happen again."

"You're damned right it won't happen again!" Terling continued to sweep the room with his eyes. His gaze paused on the half-finished drinks, the disassembled communication unit, the swatch of carpet doing little to hide the hole beneath it.

"If I have to move onto Calton and stay with you every goddamned minute of every day, it won't happen again!" He stepped toward the bar. "Damn you, Richard! After all we've worked for."

He picked up the glass with the bugs, stared into it, and then reached one finger into the drink and extracted one of the tiny bundles of electronic circuitry.

"I am sorry about what happened," he went on, his tone calm. "I liked Emre, you know that. I heard she was carrying your child."

"Children. Twin girls."

Terling looked up from his inspection of the bug with an expression bordering on amusement. "More daughters, eh, Rich? Bryant hasn't caused you enough trouble?"

Shaw gave him a weak smile.

"You think Gaunis did it?" Terling pocketed the bug and set the glass back on the bar. He drew his gun and headed toward the ill-disguised hole.

"I know Gaunis did it." Shaw considered calling Terling off his examination of the hole, but decided against it. "Both of the assassins were rogue Corpsmen, and the others were Salkair men who'd been bought by Gaunis…"

He paused as he realized what he'd just said. Salkairs bought by Gaunis. He glanced to where the data card Max had given him sat on the small table, and then looked back at Terling.

"Unfortunately, we only got one man alive, and he died before we could question him. But the shot was meant for me, Aidan, not Emre. Gaunis wanted the children. They were… special."

"I'll assume you're not saying that only because they were yours." Terling used a booted toe to flip the loose carpet back from the hole. "How did Gaunis know anything about them?"

"Apparently, Devin Tyler escaped from Marasyn and told him."

Terling glanced up, his expression darkening at the mention of Tyler, the man who had tried to assassinate him on Gaunis's orders. "Tyler, huh?" He bent forward to get a better look at the hole, his gun held ready. "That bastard is making it easy for me to justify hunting him down and killing him for the sheer pleasure of the act." He glanced at Shaw. "Do you know there's a large hole in the corner of your office, Rich? With two men hiding in it?"

Shaw sighed. Why hadn't they left when they had the chance?

"Tell 'im we're friends, Gov'ner," Torch called from inside the hole. "Please?"

Terling glanced toward the source of the voice and then looked at Shaw again, one eyebrow raised.

Shaw sighed again. "Go on, Aidan, let them up."

Terling shrugged and backed away, but he kept his weapon trained on the two men as they emerged.

"Thanks, Gov'ner." Torch held out a hand and stepped toward Terling, apparently unfazed by the gun he held. "An' you must be Captain Terling. Heard a lot about you, sir, and I am pleased to make yer acquaintance. My name's Torch."

Terling looked at Shaw again, this time with a measure of uncertainty.

"Put the gun away. They're harmless. I think."

Terling holstered his weapon and shook Torch's outstretched hand. "It's Mister Terling."

"Ah, right, Mister Terling, sir. This is me partner, Max." Torch stepped aside to allow Max to come forward and shake Terling's hand.

Shaw glared at them. "Why are you two still here?"

Torch looked at him. "We 'adn't finished our proposal now 'ad we, sir?"

Terling gave the two a bewildered look, and then glanced at Shaw. "Are you going to tell me what this is about, Richard?"

"I'm not sure myself. My, uh… visitors are none other than Jacob Maxfield and Jan Sarlas. I believe you've heard of them?"

Terling pursed his lips and then nodded. "I remember reading about some trouble Gaunis had with them awhile back."

"They claim to have evidence that Gaunis runs Salkair House. They think I should move in and take over."

Terling looked at the two fugitives, eyebrows raised.

"Right, sir," Torch said. "We got a plan for the Gov'ner to take the Salkair 'ouse away from Gaunis. Ya see, that's where the High Admiral's power on Calton comes from and where he gets a lot o' his other power as well. If the Gov'ner could get the Salkairs out o' the way, then Kressa could get what she came for and—"

Terling snapped his gaze to Shaw. "Did he say 'Kressa'?"

Shaw nodded miserably as what little remained of his control of his little corner of the universe slipped hopelessly out of reach. "Bryant and I have come to a sort of… understanding. She saved my life, Aidan. Besides," he added with a bit more enthusiasm, "we're fighting a common enemy."

Terling closed his eyes and shook his head. "This is a dream, right? I'm still on board that rat-infested transport, I ate some of their lousy food too close to bedtime, and now I'm paying for it." He gave Shaw a pleading look. "Please, Richard, tell me it's just a dream."

"I'm afraid it isn't. But this could be just what we've been looking for, Aidan! If what these two say about Gaunis and Salkair is true…"

"How do you plan to justify a raid on one of Calton's most powerful Houses?" Terling asked.

"They tried to kill me, Aidan. Me! The Governor of Calton. And they did kill Emre. According to these two, I've got all the evidence necessary to prove Salkair involvement. What other justification do I need?"

Terling looked at Max and Torch. "Have you two got solid evidence against Gaunis? Because I'm not going to risk a lot of good men if it doesn't hit Gaunis hard where it's going to hurt."

"All the evidence you need is right there, sir." Max pointed to where Shaw had abandoned the data card.

Terling strode across the room and picked up the card. "And just when did you plan for this raid to take place, Jan Sarlas?" he asked Torch.

"Soon as possible, sir. That is, soon as we can work out the details. But we can't wait too long, 'cause Kressa needs—"

"Don't talk to me about Kressa Bryant," Terling said. "I've had years of complaints about that brat from Richard. I don't need to be reminded that he's suddenly willing to be friendly with her. Got that?"

"Yes, sir," Torch said.

"And remember," Terling continued, "I'm only helping you because it's what the governor wants, not because I have any faith in your Confederacy."

"Right, sir."

"And you'd better be damned straight with me about this evidence you've got," he shook the data card, "because if I find out you've rigged any of this information…" He gave the two men menacing looks.

"O' course, sir," Torch said. "Damned straight."

"And fix that hole!" With that, he turned and strode from the room.

Shaw tried not to smile at his friend's outburst. Max and Torch exchanged worried glances.

"Well?" Shaw said, his voice stern. "You two got what you came for, didn't you?"

They looked at him and nodded.

Shaw fought down a smile and glanced at the door through which Terling had disappeared. And you got the best man in the galaxy to help you.