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  She propped her elbows on the table, buried her face in the soft fabric and allowed the soothing motion to distract her.

  Alerik tapped her nape. "You're not going to avoid my question, are you? At this rate, I'm going to have to start keeping a list."

  For some reason, that struck her as funny. It might have been the exaggerated note of plaintiveness in his voice. It might have been the vision of his scowling discontent as he contemplated a scrolling vid screen of multiple questions with missing answers. A snicker erupted from her before she could suppress it.

  Beside her, Alerik grunted. Now his hand rubbed vertically up and down her back. Prickling tentacles of bliss crept from where he touched her to every extremity.

  "On the other hand, I can just extract the answers with drugs."

  He sounded half-serious.

  "That's illegal," she mumbled into her hands.

  "Not if you're the governor of the Grogon Asteroid Belt. We governors have the ability to employ certain little known emergency powers as we see fit."

  Maegan gave in to the mesmerizing pleasure of his touch. She laid her forehead on her arms on the table. "Obtaining information from your bonded mate could hardly qualify as an emergency."

  "You'd be surprised what could be made to qualify as an emergency."

  His hand moved to the tight muscles of her neck and she shuddered as the bones in her limbs dissolved. "Someone taught me," she offered him as a reward.

  "That, believe it or not, I figured out for myself. Who?"

  "Classified," she muttered.

  He sighed. "And we were doing so well. Would you prefer the needle or gun?"

  She snickered again. "What time dimension are you living in? And are you really the governor or are you just delusional?"

  "Well, now," he said softly. "I am whatever you want me to be."

  His hand, firm on her nape, forced her head up until she looked directly at him. The expression in his eyes as he first studied her face, then focused on her lips, was unmistakable, and a complete contradiction to her conviction that he found her unattractive. Her mouth went dry and her full stomach sprang to life with a dozen little bedring creatures.

  "Who taught you, Maegan?" he murmured.

  Later, when she had worked up a fury at herself for giving in so easily, she blamed it on the certainty that he had hypnotized her with that liquid sapphire gaze. His warm breath touched, stroked, caressed her lips. They parted. She couldn't help herself. Willpower seemed to have been sucked into the oblivion of a collapsing nebula.

  "M...Makiee," she whispered.

  "Ah." The caress of his breath was flavored with the intoxicating scent of Mariltar ale. "Tell Makiee," he said, his lips a finger's width from hers, "to expect a visit."

  Chapter 9

  Margaine Confluence:/Fourth Rising

  Pallas Four

  Blazing super-fried starpits! Maegan shoved her hand against the ID pad in Morgon's hidden habitat. A whole section of the wall panel slid aside soundlessly. What had she expected? That he would kiss her? And then what would she have done?

  She stomped into the narrow vault. Bright lumens automatically flickered on with her entrance. A kiss from her bonded mate was to be avoided at all costs. So what had he slieking done to her that she would just sit there, incapable of twitching a muscle, and gaze helplessly into the devious depths of his beautiful eyes as he prepared to deliver it?

  Except he hadn't.

  She stalked farther into the vault, past Morgon's impressive--and illegal--collection of weapons collected from across the Crestar System, past the prototypes he had created himself.

  Not that she wasn't relieved that Alerik hadn't kissed her. It just reinforced that he found her too skinny and unattractive. So why had he slieking bonded with her?

  She stopped suddenly and spun on her heel. Pormiam's breath, where had that come from? She'd seen images, but had never seen a real one. She was positive the stun blaster hadn't been there the last time she had been in the vault.

  The lumen halos shone on the dull metal and deadly disrupters of the massive blaster, which hung between a Mogton pike and a Bogasill bortax. It was Soron in origin, an ancient assault weapon, intended to be carried by two men, and designed to vaporize any barrier and painfully annihilate anyone unlucky enough to be caught in its sound waves without protection.

  "Morgon," she shouted in a fit of frustration into the dead quiet of the underground habitat, "what are you up to? Why haven't you contacted me?" Her shout was sucked into the thick walls and only a deafening silence answered her.

  "I need you," she whispered, and leaned forward to touch the cold, unforgiving metal of the death weapon.

  Morgon, with his ever-practical outlook on life and deep sense of justice, would help her make order out of the complete chaos her life had become. More than anyone else, even her parents, he would champion her. Alerik Mariltar wouldn't stand a chance.

  The thought provided a modicum of comfort. She continued on her way to the other mostly illegal arsenal Morgon kept in his vault. Behavior altering substances. Liquids, powders, sprays and even a few solid chunks of rare carmonil, which dispersed an airborne residue that induced a deep sleep for several cycles until the substance completely evaporated.

  She didn't need something that strong for Alerik. She just needed to be sure he remained comatose for the night without a clue that something had aided his sleep.

  Mistrani should do it. And there was the small clear pouch bearing the leaves which, when squeezed, sprayed a mist that didn't actually induce a reaction until touched by heat. Body heat was enough.

  She snatched up the pouch and hurried out of the vault. If Morgon had been here to add to his collection, maybe he had stayed. Sure enough, there were the tiny signs that only she would notice--a wrinkle in the sleeping platform cover, a pillow out of position on the couch. She opened storage cabinets where it became even more obvious. Different clothing, different foodstuffs. It was quite possible he might have been here for cycles. Quite possible that he was still here.

  She turned from the last cabinet. "Morgon?" she yelled, even though instinct told her the habitat was empty.

  She glanced at the pouch in her hand and for an instant was tempted. There were two others just like it in the vault. But Morgon, canny and ever alert, would never be caught by one of his own substances, and she couldn't do that to him anyway. If he chose not to be in contact with her, he must have good reason. She would have to be patient.

  She didn't doubt that if he was on Pallas Four, he was probably in the city at that moment, disguised and unrecognizable, fraternizing with the tourists, possibly even with Mariltar warriors, some of whom might know him. Yet unbelievable as it was, she had other things to worry about right then. Morgon would have to wait.

  Alerik had been easier to get rid of than she had thought it would be. In fact, she hadn't had to do anything. After he had pried Makiee's name out of her on the pretext he was about to kiss her, he had immediately drawn back, his face an expressionless mask, all heat and sensual promise vanished, and declared he had to go inspect the progress of the governor's office.

  She had no idea how long he would be gone, and she had lingered here too much time as it was. Back aboveground in the main habitat, she headed to deploy the drug on the ID pad at the front entrance, the first thing Alerik would be forced to touch when he returned. Her personal comm trilled. The communication's origin was Janas Corporation.

  "Yes?" she responded without breaking stride.

  "Maegan, I'm having one of those alternate universe kind of days." Makiee sounded quite cheerful.

  "Not now, Makiee. I'm in the middle of something." She reached the entrance panel of the habitat.

  "Can't wait. See, I'm just here in the building doing my job, trying to stay focused and only being slightly distracted because those ninco's, Shal-el and Bortock, are having a totally lunar day, and have everyone going a little crazy, when I get this call."

  Ab
out to open the door, Maegan froze. Sliek! Alerik had gotten to him already. She hadn't expected it to happen so quickly.

  "Maegan? Are you there?" Makiee no longer sounded quite so cheerful. "I've been summoned... Summoned to Pallas Five, to an inquisition by the governor's council. I haven't done anything." His voice rose in pitch to rival the siren going off in her head.

  "It's all right, Makiee. I'm sorry, I should have told you. I--"

  "You knew about this?"

  "Yes, I just didn't think it would happen so quickly. They just want to ask a question or two about your expertise in...something."

  "My expertise in what?" Makiee had gone from panicked to belligerent. "This doesn't sound like a friendly chat. Crying Creds, these are Mariltar warriors. I don't tolerate excruciating pain well."

  "Makiee, they don't torture people. They--"

  "We were on opposite sides during the Great Conflict, you know. I bet they still have a score or two to settle against us Bogasills."

  Maegan leaned her head against the cool wall and took a deep breath. "You weren't even born during the Great Conflict. Nor were most of them. Why would they have a score to settle? And I'm Mariltar too, you realize."

  "Half, half. You've got some of that weird, alien Earth blood in you that makes you human and not so...scary."

  "Oh, Makiee." He was so young, so very young and had grown up on the bloody tales and lore of the Great Conflict. "I'm so sorry. All they want is to ask you about disabling security systems."

  "Heh? Why?"

  "Because I sort of...disabled one of theirs."

  "Outstanding! You've always been my hero."

  In her mind's eye, Maegan could see Makiee strutting around Research and Development, all concern erased.

  "Here's an opportunity for Janas Corporation. This could be really big, Maegan, huge in fact. Most of their technology is so old and ineffective, we could--"

  Maegan laughed. "Makiee, you're such a mercenary. Just don't let them hire you away as a security consultant or you will see the Mariltar side of me. When do you have to go?"

  "Tomorrow, first thing."

  "Do you want me to go with you?" She didn't want to. Sleep held much more appeal, but she had to make the offer. She was also beginning to wonder if the drug she held in her hand was necessary after all. Perhaps Alerik would return to Pallas Five and not to the habitat. He hadn't exactly informed her of his schedule.

  "Nah. I can handle it. Should be fun." Youth's confidence had returned together with its sense of indestructibility. And Makiee could handle it, Maegan had no doubt.

  As she stepped outside the entrance to the habitat, she pictured Makiee rambling utter nonsense about the latest in communication technology to the glaze-eyed security team. She almost pitied them.

  A chuckle, about to erupt from her lips, died a sudden death as she stared at the small ID pad hidden in the outer wall. Chills chased down her spine. Morgon's habitat was the most secure building on Pallas Four. Only she and Morgon had access, and only she and Morgon could authorize others to access the building.

  How then had Alerik Mariltar gained entrance? Who had authorized his access? And why hadn't the questions even crossed her mind until now?

  Chapter 10

  Margaine Confluence:/Fifth Rising

  Eighth Sector near Achien

  "There are six?"

  "Six," the gray-haired relay runner confirmed. "The youngest I've ever seen. Something's going on. The number of shipments is increasing. There are more packages and they're younger than ever."

  "What's our salvage rate?"

  "Can't keep up." The man's voice was heavy with gloom. "We're only capturing one in seven shipments or so. And those are the ones we know about."

  "Do all their shipments still have the same destination?" Maegan accepted the manifest from the runner and punched in her identification before giving it back.

  "Same planet; two different locations. They're splitting the younger ones off."

  "Blazing starpits!" Maegan muttered. "How do we get this stopped?"

  "Politicos don't seem to care worth a shartung, or believe their precious Treaty could be in jeopardy. It's easier to preserve an illusion. Doesn't seem to matter it's the children who suffer."

  Rage burned a sour hole in Maegan's stomach as she watched the transfer between star vessels. "They're building a slieking army again, aren't they?"

  "Appears so."

  "How can the Coalition be so blind?"

  "Tell you what I think." The runner hawked and spat. "Taragon sends puppets, who have political savvy, to the Council and to Treaine, but who don't have a clue what's really going on with their own home world. It's those blood-hungry priests who are the real power. Annihilate them and that'll take care of the problem."

  The hair rose on her nape and the last of the small bundles disappeared inside her vessel.

  "But what do they want? Surely they don't think they can take on a unified galaxy?"

  The runner spat again. "Freak fanatics every last one of them. The Coalition was right to outlaw them. It's not religion they practice, it's genocide. Blood builds their power base. Doesn't really matter where it comes from either."

  "How--" Maegan stopped herself. Runners didn't ask personal questions. They were anonymous to each other--no names, lower faces obscured by masks. This man's race was difficult to determine, but he spoke as if he'd had experience with the once-powerful, and feared, clan of Taragon priests. Eight times she had met with him to transfer Taragon children, and this was the most he'd ever spoken.

  "Time to move on," the man said abruptly. He turned to his vessel, then swung back. "Won't be here next time. Was tagged by a Mariltar patrol at Achien. Have to lie low for a while and get some repairs done. Someone will take my place."

  It took Maegan several moments to recover from her shock. "Wait!" she called after him. "Are you sure it was a Mariltar patrol?"

  "No doubt." The man didn't pause and his voice was muffled as he made his way up the ramp to his ship. "They transmitted the code of the Seventh Fleet. Watch yourself!"

  Starpits! What was Alerik's command doing this far out from the Grogon Asteroid Belt? There had been no sign of them whatsoever on the way here.

  Time for her to leave too. The barren landing pad, on an equally barren planetoid, afforded no cover. Achien wasn't that far away. She had suspected for some time that the relay runner had been a fighter pilot in his younger days, for which faction during the Great Conflict, she had no idea, and didn't want to know. At this moment, she would have been far more interested in the knowledge of how he'd evaded an elite warrior team.

  If he had.

  Starpits! She hurried up the ramp of the Lady Melia. If she got caught, Alerik Mariltar would... What would he do to his bonded mate? She shuddered. It didn't bear thinking about.

  Inside the vessel's entry compartment, six small faces, one slightly older than the rest, turned to her. Terror and grief lurked in stifled sobs and huddled forms.

  The older child was different. He or she stood straight, swathed in a cloak that covered him from head to toe as the others were, and slightly in front of them as if protecting them.

  Her heart contracted painfully. They should be with loving parents in the safety and security of their own homes, not on a strange star vessel, half a galaxy away, on the last leg of a journey to a future with strangers. The worst part was, it was often those loving parents who had given them up to a far worse future than they now faced.

  "Welcome," she said in the universal language, as she secured the door. "No one will harm you here."

  There was not a flicker of reaction. It was always the same. Another Treaty condition broken. Another piece of the dream lost to the arrogance of nationalistic purity. If Taragon didn't teach its children to communicate with the rest of the galaxy, how could true unification ever be achieved?

  She swung her arm toward the passenger compartment, visible through one of two inner doors. "Come," she said. "We m
ust leave. You must put on safety harnesses." Her sense of urgency was growing. The runner's disclosure had truly disturbed her and the hair on her nape still hadn't subsided.

  She had three of the children, trembling and shrinking away from her, strapped in, when a small voice said, "Where do you take us?"

  She straightened and turned. The older child had helped the other two and now stood, cloak hood thrown back, small arms folded in a strangely adult gesture of defiance. The long braided hair was a dead giveaway. Boy, then. Taragon females kept their heads bald.

  "How do you know this language?"

  "My parents taught it to me. Where do you take us?"

  "To safety. To people who will care for you."

  Something was definitely not right. Internal alarms were raising a furious clamor in her head.

  The small features twisted. "My parents gave me to a man who would care for me and teach me important things. His ship was attacked. We were taken from him. You are not Taragon."

  How did she explain to an amazingly articulate and observant child that she was trying to give him his childhood back, a childhood his parents and his nation were only too willing to sacrifice? She went on her knees before him, so her face was on a level with his, but didn't try to touch him.

  "I promise you," she said, as she gazed into his amber eyes that seemed strangely independent of one another and unfocused, "that I will deliver you to a safe place, to people who will care for you, who will teach you many good things."

  He was unconvinced and, for a moment, it looked as if he might argue. He opened his mouth, but then he glanced at the others who watched with anxious expressions. "May I sit with you in the front?"

  It was an unexpected and surprising request, one she badly wanted to refuse. But what could it hurt? He was too young to understand the nav charts, and she was too experienced to be distracted. So she agreed.

  She was the third in a relay of four runners. She had a relatively short, but obstacle-filled stretch between the barren planetoid and Ochmantin, a lightly populated, heavily forested much larger planet surrounded by quarks, where she would deliver the children to the last runner. The route was familiar, the obstacles well-known. She had never had to worry about patrols in the area before. This time she checked her instruments frequently.