The Price of Conquest

Kressa sighed and sat back in the chair at the Conquest's navigation board. "What a rescue mission." She looked across the bridge at Jamie. "To come all the way to Terra and have only four th'Maran to show for it." She shook her head and sighed again.

Jamie picked up the drink he'd been nursing for the past twenty minutes and took a sip. "Don't you think the four are worth it?"

"They're more than worth it. I just wish we could have saved the others."

After leaving the site of the Patrol raid, Kressa had made her way to the second address where she found Jamie waiting with another Terran Guard operative and four male th'Maran. She told Jamie what happened with Warren, and then hurried them all to the Conquest. Once they got the th'Maran settled in, Jamie sent the other man to headquarters to report their progress.

"At least Scott made it," Jamie said. "I just hope he doesn't do anything stupid. He's got a stubborn heroic streak that's going to be the end of him."

"I don't think he was planning anything," Kressa said. "Although watching the way those Pattys treated the th'Maran was enough to make anyone try something stupid."

"That's exactly what I'm worried about. Are you sure he said he'd meet you here?"

"I'm sure."

"He must be in some kind of trouble, then." Jamie downed the remainder of his drink in one swallow. "I'd better get back to HQ and find out if anyone's heard from him."

He made his way down the ramp into the main body of the freighter, and Kressa followed.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

"Yeah," he turned to look at her, "get yourself and your passengers off Terra as soon as possible."

They made their way silently through the Conquest, past Kressa's quarters and the two rooms where the th'Maran were resting, and on to the airlock. Kressa stopped just inside the outer airlock door and watched Jamie descend the boarding ramp to the hangar floor.

"Be careful, Jamie. If someone volunteered your address to the Pattys, there's no telling what else they might have spilled."

He smiled back at her. "I'll do my best. See you next time you're in town."

"I don't think there's going to be a next time. Why don't you come home to Arecia? It's safer."

He shrugged and turned away with a wave. "Maybe someday," his voice echoed back through the hangar, and he stepped out into the night.

Kressa let out a long breath and palmed the switch that activated the airlock. "All right, Connie, let's get off this rock." She turned away as first the outer and then the inner airlock doors sealed shut. "Start preflight."

She alerted the th'Maran to get ready for liftoff, and then returned to the control room. As she entered, the freighter's engines began their familiar warm-up hum.

"How's it look, Connie?"

"All systems show normal operation. Ready for power-up."

Kressa crossed the bridge to the pilot's station and settled herself in. "Call control for liftoff instructions. I'll get things ready here."

"There is a single figure approaching the hangar," Connie said.

"Get me visual as soon as they're inside."

A moment later, the forward screen flickered on to reveal a dim view of the inside of the hangar. A figure stood silhouetted in the service doorway.

"Get a light on him, Connie."

A bright light shone from the freighter, spotlighting the lone figure. It was Scott Warren, looking haggard but otherwise unharmed.

"Relax, Connie. I know him." She switched on the outside speakers. "Glad to see you made it, Warren."

The man's head shot up as Kressa's voice boomed through the hangar.

"We were getting worried about you," she said. "I'll be right out." She stood up and started out of the control room. "Connie, open the airlock."

Warren was halfway up the Conquest's boarding ramp when Kressa reached the outer hatch. He smiled as she appeared, but an odd look deep in his eyes and a nervous tightness to his features and movements started alarms sounding in Kressa's head. Sweat stained his clothing and plastered his hair to his forehead in dark streaks.

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"Is everything all right?" she asked. "What happened?"

He drew a deep, unsteady breath and took another labored step up the ramp.

"Patrol." He gestured over his shoulder. "I tried to get back to HQ, but some Pattys found me and—"

"Are they still after you?" Her worry over Warren's condition flared to concern for the safety of herself, her passengers, and her ship. She tried to see past him to the hangar door, and then forced herself to relax. Connie would warn her if anyone else approached.

"I think I lost them." Warren stepped the last meter up the ramp and joined her in the airlock. He collapsed against the side wall and sleeved the sweat from his brow. "They got a good look at me, though, and I didn't know where else to go. I didn't want to lead them to headquarters." He paused and gave her an almost pleading look. "I wouldn't have come if I thought I was leading them here."

"Oh, I wasn't worried about that," she lied, "but we've got to figure out what to do with you. Jamie just left to look for you. I'm surprised you didn't see him."

"I came in one of the side gates and across the pad." He pushed himself up straight against the smooth airlock wall and drew a last deep breath that returned his rough breathing to normal.

"Is there anywhere you can go tonight?" Kressa asked.

He peered out of the airlock toward the hangar door as if to assure himself no one was coming for him. "I've got to get out of town. Those Pattys could identify me again if they saw me. They might even be able to draw up a match in their files. If that happens…" He shuddered and shook his head.

"If that happens, there won't be too many places you can hide around here," Kressa said, and then thought for a moment. "Look, Scott, I've already got four passengers on board, so I guess one more won't hurt. If you'd like, I can take you to Arecia. You should be safe there."

Warren's expression brightened for a moment, but then his shoulders slumped. "I don't know." He glanced out of the ship again. "I've never been off Terra. Everyone I know is here." He looked at Kressa. "What would I do?"

"What do you do here? Work for the Guard, if that's what you want." She gave him a reassuring smile. "It's not permanent. You can always come back when things cool down a bit."

He sighed, shot a final glance out the airlock door, and then pushed himself away from the wall.

"I guess it's for the best." He stepped through the inner hatch and into the Conquest.

"You won't mind boarding with the th'Maran, will you?" she asked as they approached the first of the two doors to the th'Maran's rooms.

Warren opened his mouth and then closed it, clearly hesitant.

"Don't you know them?" she asked.

"I—uh, I never met these th'Maran. I didn't even know where they were staying."

Kressa nodded. That was Guard SOP. If Warren only knew where one group was, he couldn't ruin the entire operation if he was captured and forced to talk. She looked at him. He was watching her with an uncomfortable expression.

"You can stay in my room," she said. He may have spent time around th'Maran, but she knew of few people who would feel comfortable rooming with them. "I can sleep on the bridge. I spend most of my time there anyway."

He smiled his thanks, and she showed him to her quarters at the end of the corridor.

"I'll let you get some sleep now," she said. "It's late for you, and you've had a rough day. I'll see you in the morning." She stepped from the room, and the door closed behind her. "Connie, keep an eye on him."

* * *

Garrett Atkins stood inside Kressa Bryant's quarters and drew a long, slow breath. He couldn't believe his luck. Bryant had gone along with everything. Hell, she'd even been the one to suggest he accompany her to Arecia! It was almost too good to be true; he was on a Guard freighter bound for the heart of the Confederacy.

He strode across the room, tossed his gun onto the dressing table, and stretched out on the bed, his head cradled in his hands. Gaunis would reward him nicely for this little trick. Of course, that was assuming Captain Ackerman managed to get word to the High Admiral and arrange for a contact on Arecia. Which he would, Atkins knew. Even if Ackerman didn't like Gaunis, he was still bound by duty to the High Admiral, and Ackerman was not so stupid as to let an opportunity like this pass by. If Atkins were successful on Arecia, Ackerman would be nicely rewarded for the part he played in getting him there and for getting him in touch with Gaunis. Ackerman had already been an indispensable ally in helping Atkins attain fake ID that would prove beyond a reasonable doubt that he was Scott Warren, a fact the Patrol's computers would soon reflect.

Satisfied that his self-appointed mission had started out well, Atkins tried to remember everything he knew about Scott Warren, the man he must become.

It was pitifully little, but he would have to make do with it. At least Warren had only recently started working with the Guard, so there wasn't much of a chance anyone on Arecia would know him. As for Warren's Terran associates, Jamie Elstra would probably decide his failure to locate Warren meant he was dead. If he later turned up alive on Arecia, who would question his decision to run?

As for Atkins himself, he knew enough about the Terran Guard forces to convince anyone on Arecia that he was one of them, and there was no one on Terra who would miss him. But just to put the Confederates at ease, he had asked Ackerman to put out the word that Garrett Atkins had been captured and executed as a Guard accomplice. Let Elstra and his friends puzzle over that one for a while.

With a contented sigh, Atkins shifted position on the bed and began a mental list of the things he must try to accomplish while on Arecia.

Discovering the strength of the Confederate forces, both in ships and manpower, would be important, as would any plans they might have, either immediate or long-range. Of course, none of that would do him any good unless he could get the information to Gaunis, so the first thing to do was locate a contact on Arecia.

He allowed himself another smile as he traced the chain of fate that had put him in the High Admiral's employ and led him here.

Years ago, his brother Garth had been killed while doing freelance work for the Patrol. Garth's best friend and business partner, Devin Tyler, tracked down his murderer and avenged his death. Eight months ago, Tyler approached Atkins about helping set up a gun shipment that would give Admiral Shaw the opportunity to capture some Guard operatives. Indebted to Tyler for what he'd done for Garth, Atkins agreed to help. He had not seen Tyler since the successful conclusion of that job, and had even heard a rumor from a normally reliable source that Tyler had been killed doing a job for Gaunis.

Despite that, Atkins vacillated only briefly when Gaunis sent a man to contact him, suggesting he turn his efforts toward aiding the High Admiral now that Shaw was out of the picture. As a boy, Atkins had watched Garth and Tyler work for their various Patrol employers, and saw the rewards available for such work.

He accepted Gaunis's offer with every intention of meeting, or beating, the older men's accomplishments. Unlike Garth and Tyler, however, Garrett Atkins intended to stay alive to enjoy those rewards.