The Price of Conquest

Kressa led Jamie south through another series of subway tubes and service corridors, away from the scene of the battle between the Wolfpack and the Patrol soldiers. At last they came to a metal door at the end of a dark passage to the surface.

Jamie leaned against the barrier, his hand on the latch. He listened for a moment, and then switched off the handlight and eased the door open a crack. Dim evening light showed through the opening.

Something moved beyond the door, and Jamie pulled back.

"What's out there?" Kressa asked once the sound of passing footsteps faded.

"An alley. It's clear now." He pushed the door open wide enough to slip through, and then closed it behind Kressa. There was no handle on the outside.

Kressa leaned back against the barrier, now lying flush with the stone side of a tall building. They stood in a narrow alley; the darkening sky showed far above. Ten meters to either side, the lights and sounds of vehicle traffic issued from the ends of the alley. Kressa's gaze swept from one opening to the other, watching the north city's sparse pedestrian traffic.

Jamie headed for the west end of the alley, and Kressa followed close behind him. As they peered through the opening, she spotted the telltale white uniforms of a pair of Patrolmen standing across the street. They kept an alert watch on the surrounding walkways and pedestrian traffic. She drew back and accompanied Jamie to the alley's other end. Only a single Patrolman waited there.

Jamie led Kressa several meters back into the alley.

"The Pattys must know one of the tunnels surfaces around here," he said. "I'll leave first and draw away the single soldier. You slip out and get to the th'Maran. A guy named Scott Warren is staying with them. He's Terran, about my age. If he asks, tell him I've gone back to headquarters to report what's happened."

"Get to the Conquest as soon as you can," Kressa said. "I've got her docked at Delmore's, hangar twelve."

Jamie shook his head.

"You're not going to stay on Terra, are you?"

"Why not? If the Pattys know as much about me as I think they do, they'll expect me to run. Who's always told me to do the unexpected whenever the Patrol's involved?" He looked pointedly at her.

"I can't argue with logic like that. Will I see you again before I leave?"

"I'll try to get out to the port before you go, but I'm not making any promises. Good luck." He crept to the end of the alley, peered out, and stepped confidently into the street.

The lone Patrolman pocketed the commlink he'd been speaking into and started after Jamie at a brisk walk.

Kressa watched the two out of sight, and then scanned the street a final time, slipped out of the alley, and headed for the nearest of the two addresses Jamie had given her, wondering how much more the Patrol had managed to learn about the Terran Guard operatives and whether they knew about the th'Maran. The timing of the raid on Jamie's apartment suggested they did.

With a worried shudder, she picked up her pace.

As she neared the block of buildings where the th'Maran were staying, she noticed a number of bright lights ahead and heard the rumble of vehicles and voices shouting commands. She opened her mind and scanned ahead of her. If the th'Maran were in trouble, they might call out mentally, but she sensed nothing, suggesting that the th'Maran were safe—or she was too late.

She headed for the corner of an old building that concealed the source of the light and noise, and then thought better of coming on the scene from that angle. She turned around to circle the block, hoping to locate an alley through which she could approach unnoticed. But the block was solid buildings, and she ended up at the corner on the far side. She peered around it, dreading what she would find.

Halfway down the block, the street was closed off by a double ring of Patrol ground vehicles. Spotlights illuminated a three-storey structure. Kressa counted a dozen Patrol soldiers in the street. Four of them worked to hold back a small crowd of curious onlookers.

For a moment, she considered joining the crowd to get a better view of what was happening, but decided that being that close to so many Patrolmen would be foolhardy, if not outright suicidal. Best just to watch from her present location and hope the worst was not happening.

But it was.

Two Patrol soldiers stepped from the spotlit building. They carried a feebly struggling th'Maran between them. His pale skin looked almost white in the bright lights that flooded the area. The soldiers hauled him to the open back of a van and shoved him through the opening. He stumbled in amongst several unmoving figures and collapsed.

A second pair of Patrolmen carried a female th'Maran to the vehicle and deposited her limp form atop the others.

Kressa's hand tightened on her gun's rough grip. Startled, she looked down at the weapon, surprised to find herself holding it. Another quick glance at the scene in the street assured her she had no chance to affect what was happening. She took a step back from the corner and slid her gun into its holster.

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"No, I don't suppose that gun'd do you a helluva lot of good against those odds," a quiet voice said from almost immediately behind her.

Her hand returned to her gun, and she spun around, cursing herself for her carelessness.

Behind her stood a man in his mid-twenties, full-Terran by the looks of his plain features, short brown hair, and blue eyes. He was her height—a little below standard for a Terran male—with an average build, dressed in a casual but neat work shirt and pants. The only remarkable thing about him was the ornate laser pistol he held in his left hand aimed carefully away from her, yet at an angle that would make it the work of an instant to bring it to bear.

He smiled reassuringly, but his furrowed brow indicated his concern. "What's happening out there?"

Kressa shrugged and kept a careful eye on his pistol. "I just got here," she replied, not wanting to say too much until she figured out who the man was and what he was doing here. "The Patrol's got a building surrounded. They're taking some people out. They look like… th'Maran."

The young man studied her for a moment. His worried expression grew thoughtful. He lowered his gun slightly, but continued to watch her with an air of suspicion. "Who are you?"

Kressa hesitated. Should she answer him? And if she did, how much should she say?

As if sensing her unease, the stranger lowered his gun to his side. It wasn't exactly a declaration of trust, but it let Kressa know he understood her indecision. Still she hesitated, trying to determine the reason for the man's presence and his apparent concern about the Patrol's operation in the street beyond.

Was this the man Jamie said would be staying with the th'Maran? He matched Jamie's sparse description well enough.

"Warren?" she asked.

He stared at her, as if shocked by her utterance of the name.

Kressa watched his eyes and imagined his mind racing to find an answer to the dilemma of her presence and her knowledge of his name.

Finally, after a long silence, he nodded. "I'm Scott Warren."

Kressa breathed a relieved sigh. "Kressa Bryant," she introduced herself. "I'm here to take the th'Maran back to Arecia, but it looks like I'm too late for this group."

Warren looked surprised for an instant longer, and then nodded. "You'll be headed for the—other group next?"

Kressa nodded. "I don't think there's much we can do here except get ourselves in trouble. Let's get going." She turned to leave, but Warren didn't move.

"I should stay here," he said. "Maybe there's something I can do."

Kressa started to protest, but he held up a silencing hand.

"I've got to tell someone what's happened," he said, meeting her eyes with a look that indicated he would not tolerate an argument. "I'll make you a deal…" He peered around the corner, the light from the Patrol vehicles illuminating his features. After a moment, he drew back and returned his gaze to Kressa. "You'll be taking the th'Maran to your ship, right? Where is it?"

"Delmore's, hangar twelve. You know the place?"

"Yeah. I'll meet you there later tonight to see how things worked out."

With a nod, Kressa turned around and headed toward a rendezvous she hoped would be better than this one.

* * *

As Kressa Bryant moved away from the site of the Patrol raid, the man she knew as Scott Warren holstered his laser pistol and stepped into the street. He moved with a self-assured stride toward the gathering of Patrol vehicles and soldiers, stepped up to the small crowd of onlookers, and pushed his way through.

One of the soldiers working to hold the civilians back moved to stop him, but after getting a good look at him, the Patrolman waved him through with an apologetic shrug. He flashed the soldier a tight, understanding smile, and then made his way to the front of the building where a Patrol captain stood, arms crossed, his rugged features expressionless as he gazed about, overseeing the action around him.

"Atkins," the captain hissed under his breath. His face creased with annoyance as he noticed the young man's approach. "I thought I told you to get out of here. If someone sees you—"

"Someone's already seen me," Atkins said. "And you'll never believe who it was."

The captain glared at the younger man, and then glanced aside as four soldiers came through the front door of the building carrying the body of another th'Maran.

"This is the last of them, Captain Ackerman. We'll be a few minutes cleaning up, then we're finished."

The captain signaled for them to proceed, and then returned his attention to Atkins. "Damn it, Garrett, I don't want to play any of your games. What are you up to?"

"I was leaving—like you ordered—when I spotted a woman watching your little operation from around the corner. She had a gun. I thought I'd better find out what she was doing, and I'll be damned if it wasn't Kressa Bryant."

Ackerman's brow furrowed. "I know that name, but…" He shook his head unsurely.

"Richard Shaw's daughter," Atkins said. "Free trader, smuggler, Guard soldier, you name it. She's the one the Confederacy sent to take the th'Maran off Terra."

Ackerman's eyebrows shot up, and a smile lit his face. "So, Gaunis's magnificent Corpsmen couldn't stop her at Elstra's, huh?"

The captain's sarcastic tone surprised Atkins, and he wondered whether it was Gaunis or the Corpsmen that triggered the reaction. The antipathy between the Admirals' Special Corps and the regular Patrol ranks was almost legendary, but Atkins had known Ackerman for years, and he could not imagine the level-headed Patrolman giving service to such a petty rivalry, which suggested it was High Admiral Gaunis who elicited the snide response.

Atkins wondered at that. Personal experience had taught Atkins—was even now teaching him—that working for Gaunis was surprisingly lucrative.

"Where is Bryant now?" The captain's question pulled Atkins from his thoughts.

"On her way to pick up another group of th'Maran."

"What?!" Ackerman almost shouted, and then lowered his voice. "You never told me about any other th'Maran. And you let her get away?" He raised a hand to beckon to a nearby group of soldiers, but Atkins took hold of his arm and forced it down.

"Would you listen to me for a minute, Mike—er, Captain Ackerman," he quickly amended as the older man glared at him again. "I didn't know there were any more th'Maran, but that doesn't matter now. This is bigger than giving Gaunis a few more th'Maran heads to hang on his wall. Bryant thinks I'm Warren."

Ackerman looked puzzled.

"You know, Scott Warren." Atkins jerked a thumb at the building beside them. "The guy who was staying with the th'Maran. You did capture him, didn't you?"

Ackerman scowled. "If you call dead 'captured.'"

"Fine, he's dead," Atkins said. "That's even better, because I'm going to become him."