The Price of Conquest

Night had fallen hours ago on the Arecian capital of Cint-Istep. In the darkness of an alley on the less civilized side of the city, a slender, dark-clothed youth spoke in low tones to Devin Tyler.

Tyler nodded and passed the boy his payment for the information. He watched silently as his informant scampered from the alley, and then Tyler slipped into the only slightly brighter street.

The information Tyler's informant imparted—news that Garrett Atkins was waiting at the bar where Tyler first located him four nights earlier—was heartening. If Atkins had the news Tyler needed, he would be able to step up his planned "departure" from Arecia. Not that he would actually be leaving; his plan was to plant the rumor that he left, and then lie low long enough for the story to be accepted as fact.

He had planned his mock departure after recognizing the precarious nature of Atkins' position on the Arecian base. Sooner or later, the Confederates would discover his real identity, after which he would be taken into custody and questioned. One of the things he could reveal was Tyler's decision to remain on Arecia after his escape from Marasyn. Therefore, Tyler had to convince Atkins he had moved on. The only problem was getting Atkins to give over whatever information he possessed without making it seem Tyler wanted it.

Silently going over ways to do that, Tyler crossed the street, climbed into his car, and drove to the tavern.

The bar was packed with the usual assortment of soldiers and civilians that frequented the place every evening. The thick crowds and even thicker liftstick smoke made it the work of several long minutes of discreet searching for Tyler to spot Atkins at a table against the back wall. He was talking with two other men, one wearing a Confederate uniform. Atkins sat with his back to the door.

Tyler took a seat in plain view at the bar and continued to gaze out over the room. He did not expect Atkins to notice him, but he knew that choosing a seat in a dark corner would only serve to attract the attention of anyone who was watching for suspicious behavior from anyone in the room. With luck, his seemingly unwary action, coupled with the fact that he had shaved off his beard and mustache and cut his hair militarily short, would prevent anyone who had only a description of his features and likely conduct from recognizing him.

"You lookin' for someone?"

Tyler controlled a subconscious twitch at the unexpected voice behind him and gazed casually over his shoulder at the bartender's query. "No," he said, "waiting."

"Can I get you something while you wait?"

"A glass of water."

The bartender started to comment on the order, but a single look from Tyler made him rethink his words. "Water. Right." He turned away to fill the order.

Tyler sipped the water until Atkins' two companions left. He set aside his half-empty glass, rose, and followed the two men from the tavern.

The men turned right as they stepped through the doorway. Tyler waited a moment, and then headed left around the side of the building into the well-lit parking area behind the tavern. Within minutes, he attracted the attention of another young street-tough eager to earn a few credits.

"Tell him to come out to his car," he instructed the youth after describing Atkins and telling him where he was sitting in the tavern. "Tell him there's someone who wants to talk to him. But make sure he's alone before you give him the message. Got it?"

The boy nodded eagerly and dashed off.

Tyler watched the youth as he rounded the corner in front of the bar, and then he ducked into a shadowed area near the corner of the building. He knew the boy's type well enough not to worry that he would take the money and run. The kid would be too interested in the chance of receiving a tip from Atkins for delivering the message. Moments later, Tyler's theory proved correct as Garrett Atkins made his way warily into the apparently deserted parking area.

He took a few seconds to scan his surroundings, and then headed toward the last row of cars. Tyler slipped from the shadows and stepped up behind Atkins as he reached the side of an attractive, red two-seater.

"You seem to be getting along well with the locals, Warren." Tyler put a slight emphasis on Atkins' assumed name.

Atkins wheeled in surprise and dipped his hand into his jacket.

Tyler did not move. He doubted Atkins would be foolish enough to draw a weapon on him here in the open, although it would give Tyler no end of delight to have the pretty laser pistol Atkins always carried confiscated by the local authorities. The fact that the ornate weapon had once belonged to Garth Atkins, and before that to Tyler himself, would make the pleasure of watching Atkins lose it doubly sweet.

But Atkins brought his empty hand back into view, lowered it to his side, and glared at Tyler.

"Damn it, man, don't sneak up on me like that!"

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Tyler glanced expressively around the bright parking area. "I hardly snuck up on you. You should be more careful, or you're going to get into trouble."

"I ain't got no trouble," Atkins said. "These people trust me."

Tyler said nothing. Keeping the younger Atkins alive by pointing out his enemies was no more his responsibility than doing the same thing for his brother had been years ago. But he had done it for the brother, and been doubly damned for his trouble when his Patrol employers ordered him to get a disobedient Garth Atkins out of the way. He wasn't going to risk that again. He would let this Atkins discover his mistakes for himself.

"You worry too much," Atkins said.

"Someone's been asking around town about me." Tyler decided not to mention he was well aware that "someone" was Cody. "I've got every right to be worried." He glanced down at the smart-looking vehicle beside him. "Nice car. I hope you didn't spend all the High Admiral's money on it."

Atkins followed Tyler's appreciative gaze. "It's from the vehicle pool at the base."

"They don't treat you too badly up there, do they?" He jerked his head across the parking area. "Let's take a ride in mine."

Atkins glanced around the parking area again, and then fell in beside him.

* * *

"Do you have news for the High Admiral?" Tyler asked as he guided his car on a random path through the city. He preferred not to use the nav-link to the city's traffic computer; there were records kept on who used the system, when, and where they went. Despite the fact that his car was registered under a pseudonym, he didn't like to leave such a lasting trail.

"Most of the news is for you," Atkins replied after a brief pause. "You said you wanted me to watch the th'Maran on the base."

"Yeah?" Tyler gave him a questioning glance and damned himself for having been so adamant about Atkins getting him the information. "Oh, right, I did mention something about that."

"Yeah, you did," Atkins said and looked askance at Tyler. "A th'Maran came to the base today. Her name's Saunorel. She lives here in town with one of the guys from the base. She doesn't look it, but rumor says she's pregnant."

"Saunorel, huh?" Tyler almost smiled.

"You know her?"

"I might. I met a girl on Marasyn by that name." He paused, thinking back to his first days on Marasyn. "She belonged to a guy named B'Okhaim."

"That's right," Atkins said. He seemed surprised by Tyler's knowledge. "Keth B'Okhaim. He's the guy she's living with. I've never met him, but I think he's fairly high up in the ranks. I'm not sure what he does."

"Probably intelligence work," Tyler said, and then went on to explain his suspicion. "I know his father. He's got an information brokerage in Varen. His son started working for the Guard a few months before they started the Confederacy."

"That's got to be him."

Tyler mulled over the information. At first thought, it seemed impossibly fortuitous that there would be a second th'Maran on the base carrying a human's child, but then he recalled the rules regarding reproduction that existed on Marasyn. For centuries, th'Maran breeding had been stringently monitored and controlled by the Om-Mar in an attempt to produce only the most mentally gifted individuals; few th'Maran women won the privilege to bear children. It seemed inevitable that once they were away from Marasyn and its restrictions, the women would quickly answer the motherly yearnings they had been forced to deny on their homeworld. Emre's affair with Shaw was a perfect example.

Tyler gave Atkins a vaguely sympathetic look. "Thanks for the information, Garrett. Unfortunately, it's not going to do me any good. I'm leaving Arecia."

Atkins snapped a wide-eyed look at him. "I thought you wanted me to find out about the th'Maran so you could…"

His voice trailed off uneasily, and Tyler wondered if Atkins had ever bothered to pursue the matter of what he wanted with a human-th'Maran child. He gave a mental shrug. Any conclusion Atkins came to was probably at least partially correct, for Tyler himself was not completely sure what he would do with a child if he got one, whether he would keep it for himself or sell it to Gaunis or some other interested party. But six months on Marasyn observing the abilities of the th'Maran, together with what he knew of the Om-Mar's plans, had convinced him the children would be valuable.

"After all that time on Marasyn, I've had my fill of th'Maran," he told Atkins, aware that the younger man would demand an excuse for his sudden change of plans. "Let Gaunis deal with them and their children. I've had enough of them all."

Atkins pursed his lips.

"Don't look so sour, Garrett. I'll pay you for the information. After all, I did ask for it."

Atkins brightened, as Tyler knew he would. After a moment, he asked hesitantly, "Where are you headed after Arecia?"

"Away from any Confederate worlds, that's for sure. I'm tired of watching my back all the time." He steered the car into a dark side street, and then looked at Atkins. "Have you got any new information on the Confederacy's plans? Something I can feed Lehrton to keep him off my back when I tell him I'm leaving?"

"Not much. I got lucky that first time, stumbling into the command meeting, and then later finding Emre." He paused for a moment's reflection. "I heard that one of the Stingrays—I think it's Westlex's—is out looking for Gaunis." He looked straight at Tyler. "Do you think they'll find him?"

"I doubt it. According to what I've been able to get out of Lehrton, the High Admiral's at Eminence." He did not add that his method of getting information from the Special Corps commander had involved the use of Tyler's newfound ability to loosen tongues with little more than a touch and a look that seemed to gaze into the other's soul. Desire to learn more about that ability and any other talents his stay on Marasyn had awakened was one of the points he used when debating with himself about the potential gain of remaining on Arecia to see about getting his hands on one of the children.

"Don't you think the Confederacy can get one of the Stingrays near Eminence?" Atkins' question pulled Tyler's thoughts back to the present.

"I guess they could. But what then? I doubt they'd be stupid enough to attack Gaunis there. But I'll pass the information on to Lehrton. I'm sure the High Admiral would like to know someone's looking for him and that you're keeping up the good work."