A

Matter

of

Blood

Andi

Marquette

Far Seek Chronicles 2

Mindancer Press

Bedazzled Ink Publishing Company * Fairfield, California

© 2010 Andi Marquette

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the publisher.

978-1-934452-56-1 paperback

978-1-934452-57-8 ebook

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010917214

Cover art

by

Winona Nelson

Mindancer Press

a division of

Bedazzled Ink Publishing Company

Fairfield, California

http://www.bedazzledink.com/mindancer

Acknowledgments

Thanks to all who read this in draft format, pointing things out and suggesting fixes, changes, and re-routes. Much appreciated, gang! You know who you are, and drinks are on me next time I see you. Thanks, as well, to artist Winona Nelson, who created the cover painting. Much appreciated, Winona! Thanks, as well, to the crew at Bedazzled Ink, for all the editing, pdf’ing, and cover organization. And a shout-out to my muses, who continue to send me storylines when I least expect it (always appreciated, though), ensuring that the Far Seek Chronicles keep me wanting to see the next galaxy, and some day maybe fl y a fi ghter ship in a rebellion against the forces of darkness.

And fi nally, many thanks to you, the reader, for spending some time with me, Torri, Kai, the crew of the Far Seek, and the others who populate these pages. May you always fi nd the safest trade routes and the best spaceports in your travels.

1

Torri glared at the vidscreen and went through the data again, scanning the lines of information and Saryl’s fi ndings.

Damn. This completely ruined the original plan. There was no way they could drop the spice cargo at Burnside Holdings then conduct recon at Tinsdale without attracting Coalition attention. She looked up at Saryl, seated across from her at the same table, glad they were alone in the mess. Saryl brushed at the front of her shirt and exhaled in frustration.

“I’m always grateful for your cryptographic and hacking skills,” Torri said. “But sometimes, I hate it when you’re right.” She sighed and sat back, interlacing her fi ngers behind her head as she stared at the smooth metal panels of the ceiling. “This adds a new dimension. And not in a nice way.”

Damn again. Why can’t anything be simple? And why can’t I just let things remain as they are between me and Kai?

“We just can’t make a traditional merchant run to Vegas Sector,” Saryl said, a shrug in her voice. “So we’ll come up with a plan that either demonstrates our complete lunacy or complete brilliance.”

“The two not mutually exclusive.” Torri continued staring at the ceiling. “Why is the Coalition limiting merchant traffi c in that part of the sector?” She dropped her gaze back to Saryl.

“There are few outposts. There’s no need for a constant stream. How many merchant runs does that sector get every year?”

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“Fifty or so. Maybe four every month.”

“Exactly my point.” Torri leaned forward again and rested her hands on the table, where a map of Vegas Sector glowed from within. “Offworld merchants only?”

“No. Earthbound as well.”

Torri glared at the red-highlighted area, which encompassed the entire Tinsdale holdings north of Burnside and unclaimed territory farther north of Tinsdale, too toxic for human life. And probably most life in general. Residue of the Fortunata Wars three hundred years earlier, when the Empire came to power on the carcass of the Planetary Alliance. The Empire hadn’t been perfect—what governing body was? But even at its worst, the Empire couldn’t match the scale of brutality and scope of venality that defi ned the Coalition—barely in its infancy, snapping the Empire’s neck not ten years ago. Torri sighed.

How I dread its adolescence. “Where in Vegas Sector do the comms originate?”

“North of Tinsdale Holdings. About thirty standard Earth miles.” Saryl glided her fi ngertip over the tabletop, adding a blue tinge to an area of the map that might have been ten square Earth miles.

Torri contemplated the spot. What would the Coalition want to trace out there? Kai had said two months ago that the Coalition was mucking about on her family’s holdings, but limiting traffi c in this way indicated they were up to something more than just simple training missions. Were they beaming comm signals as locators in addition to warnings? “Run another analysis on mineral content in that area. And water sources. A full geophysical overview.”

Saryl complied, her long fi ngers barely grazing the opaque surface of the table’s control panel.

What’s there? Torri replayed her last visit to the region, two years before she graduated from the Academy. That was . . .

maybe eight years ago. Nine? Barren desert landscape broken by ragged buttes and irregular rock formations. Wind-battered and dirt-laden, valuable for few resources beyond minerals and A Matter of Blood

9

what the most intrepid settlers coaxed or forced from the soil through tech-farming. Kai had taken her all over her family’s holdings, beyond the tea fi elds, to the borders of the unclaimed territory. What does the Coalition want? She looked up as Jann entered the mess, yawning and stretching.

“We’ll be in Earth’s orbit in thirty hours,” he announced.

He scratched his abdomen through his customary black shirt, then tucked it into his trousers, also black. “Any further instructions—” He stopped tucking and stared at the map glowing from within the table. “Don’t tell me,” he said after a few moments. “Coalition trouble in Vegas Sector.”

“Are they that transparent?” Saryl fi nished running a data access code and looked up at him. “We should let them know.

Their actions aren’t secret and their code shields don’t work very well. Maybe we’ll get a reward for our efforts.”

“Good idea,” he said, fi nishing his ministrations with his shirt. “And they’ll forgive us our past transgressions against them, and we can retire to our own holdings.” He looked at Torri. “How bad is it?”

She motioned to the bench next to her for him to sit, which he did. “It’s the Coalition.” She pointed to the area in red on the map. “It’s always bad. The question is the matter of degree.”

He leaned forward, studying where she pointed. “So they’ve got . . . what there?”

“I’m guessing the beginnings of a new military base,” Saryl said. “And the comms are limiting merchant travel throughout Vegas Sector. That’s a new directive, by the way.” She glanced at Torri. “Within the last two weeks. I can’t track who ordered it.”

Torri tapped her chin, thinking. Too bad. That might tell them something more, whether it was a local Coalition order or if there were higher-ups behind it.

“Damn,” Jann muttered, voicing Torri’s thought. “Why do they always go slagging around in our schemes?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Saryl said. “A whole series of galaxies out there and they have to focus on this one, this province, this sector.”

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“Didn’t we go through this recently?” Jann sat up straight, pretending to think. “Oh, yes. I believe it was two months ago.

An opal run in Newburg, wasn’t it? Which is on the other side of Earth. Why can’t they leave this poor planet alone?” He sighed plaintively. “Or why can’t we?”

Torri grimaced, and Saryl pointed at the vidscreen. “Here’s the analysis. It’s dry in that area they’ve co-opted, dry in Vegas Sector, and dry throughout Amer Province. Consistent, this part of Earth. Groundwater is practically nonexistent and most of the mineral resources were mined before Fortunata.

That leaves whatever the settlers can produce or control. Here,”

she pointed at an area marked Tinsdale, “they’re famous for their tea crops.” She looked at Torri, the infl ection in her statement implying “but you knew that already.” Empire allowed for such nuances in its cadences, emphases, and varying accents. Which was why it had remained the dominant language of commerce and social gatherings, the Coalition’s ascent to power be damned.

“Maybe there’s a tea-addicted Coalition offi cial who wants it all,” Jann volunteered with a scowl.

“Tea is a lucrative cash crop,” Torri said, “but it’s a long-term profi t investment. Not a short-term source of quick money.”

Jann ran his hand over his bald scalp, a contrast to his thick eyebrows, two-sided triangles, each apex centered over his upper eyelids. The ends of his brows barely touched just above the bridge of his nose. “And we all know the Coalition likes short-term economic windfalls to line their pockets. Like, say, a shipment of a specifi c type of opal in a market-cornering scam. Growing tea and shipping it to various distribution points . . . that’s something the Empire, not the Coalition, would have been sniffi ng around. Deals with local farmers and all that.” He looked from Saryl to Torri. “There’s something down there they want. And if the Coalition is already limiting traffi c, then that something is valuable.”

“True. But it may not be something that has market value.”

A Matter of Blood

11

It may be something as simple as a grudge, she thought. Or perhaps a future marriage . . . “What holdings immediately border Tinsdale besides Burnside?”

Saryl tapped the tabletop, and another map appeared, overlaying the original. “Ansi to the east, Sen to the west.”

They all waited as another layer appeared. “Burnside’s to the south, as you know. Any of the other two familiar?”

Torri thought a moment, going through her memories of her last visit to Tinsdale. “I know the names, but not much about the politics. Can you intercept comms from these holdings to determine if there’s a wedding or some kind of alliance that might involve the Coalition?”

“Good angle,” Jann said. “Now I see why you’re the captain and I’m but the lowly quartermaster.”

“And Finder of Exquisite Bargains,” Saryl teased. “No one barters as well as you.”

He pretended to preen. “At last, my talents are acknowledged.

But enough about me. What sort of plan do you think is in order here?”

“A good one.” Torri raised an eyebrow at him. “But we need more information in order to make it.” She opened a commlink with a thought. “Jindor, please join us in the mess. We have need of your opinions on a matter.”

“Aye, aye,” came the response. “Five minutes. Out.”

Torri addressed Jann then. “I’ll need you on the bridge to spell Jindor.”

He pretended disappointment. “I never get to hear the girl talk.”

“I’ll make sure you know all the details,” Saryl said, making an adjustment to the map.

“In that case . . .” He grinned. “Your leave, Captain?”

“Dismissed. Run a few navscans. See if you can fi gure anything out. Confi ne them to Vegas Sector.”

“Done.” He moved to the far end of the mess to generate a meal, and Torri turned her attention back to the map.

“We need to know what’s brought the Coalition to Vegas,”

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she said to Saryl. “So we can plan around it. I don’t like engaging them if we don’t have to.”

“Unless it’s an opportunity we can’t pass up.”

“I’m not certain this is that opportunity.” She pondered the map a moment, wracking her brain for something, anything, that might provide a clue about the Coalition’s interest in the region.

The mess door slid open, and Jindor entered, passing Jann as he exited. She took a seat next to Saryl, which created a juxtaposition in size. Saryl stood almost seven feet tall. Sitting, she still dwarfed Jindor, a petite Malrusian who barely reached fi ve feet standing. The effect was almost comical because today, Jindor wore a tan shirt and dark blue trousers while Saryl was dressed in a dark blue shirt and tan trousers.

Saryl grinned down at her and offered a greeting. Jindor smiled back and nodded at Torri.

“Captain.”

“At ease.” Torri gestured with her chin at the map within the table between them. “What do you make of it?”

Jindor studied it for a long moment. “Vegas Sector. I take it you’ve discovered some unusual Coalition activity north of the Tinsdale holdings.” She arched one fuchsia eyebrow, a match to her hair color, and a contrast to the deep green of her eyes.

“We have. Saryl’s run a geoscan and found that this area has few, if any, minable resources and even fewer agricultural.”

“With the exception of tea,” Jindor replied evenly. “And grapes for vinting. But that’s a long-term investment, and the Coalition prefers short-term thievery.” In the nuances of Empire, her statement connoted not only an observation of Coalition preferences, but a personal connection to them, and not good.

Jindor had no love for the Coalition, and Torri suspected her past was riddled with scars from wounds it had infl icted, but she didn’t press, and Jindor hadn’t offered more than a few comments in crew banter. She’d only just joined the Far Seek two months earlier in Newburg, and Saryl had found nothing beyond what Jindor claimed and what she’d revealed to Torri.

A Matter of Blood

13

Secrets. Everybody had them. As long as they didn’t interfere with the Far Seek’s livelihood, Torri left them alone.

“Indeed. And whatever it is they’ve decided to exploit there is valuable enough that they’re limiting merchant traffi c.”

Jindor looked at her in surprise. “Even local Earthbound vessels?”

Torri glanced at Saryl, and Jindor looked up at her.

“That’s an affi rmative. All merchant vessels.”

“Which means our original plan—”

“Is on its way to a boneyard.” Saryl called up more data on the vidscreen but Jindor ignored it, instead directed her attention at Torri.

“Have you considered some kind of alliance in play with a local offi cial? Perhaps a marriage?”

Torri smiled, pleased that Jindor’s approach echoed hers.

“Saryl’s checking that angle.”

“No merchant traffi c,” Jindor mused aloud. “So to get into Vegas Sector, we need some kind of clearance. Something that even the Coalition won’t refuse.”

“Like what?” Saryl pulled up genealogies of the Tinsdale holdings and those that bordered it. “Medical?”

“No,” Jindor said, studying Saryl’s fi ndings on the vidscreen.

“That requires too many permits and the Coalition always targets medical transports as potential smuggling venues.”

Torri tracked Jindor’s fi nger on the vidscreen, interested to see where her thoughts would take her.

“Mercenaries.” Saryl caught Torri’s eye. “That’s my favorite.”

“Maybe,” Jindor muttered. “May I?” Her fi ngertip hovered over the screen, and Saryl got up to switch places with her.

“But if it’s a lockdown op, they’re not going to employ mercenaries for that . . .” She trailed off as she moved images and genealogy charts across the screen. She was following one of her hunches, Torri knew.

“I know.” Saryl sat up, triumphant. “Pleasure envoys.”

Jindor stopped what she was doing. She looked from Saryl to Torri, who fought a laugh.

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“Wouldn’t you pay a goodly sum to dress our fearless leader in the robes of an envoy? Bathed and perfumed? Made up like a Vaneth synthetic, perhaps.”

Torri gave her an “in your wildest dreams” look.

“I’ve heard those synthetic pleasure envoys have three breasts,” Saryl continued. “We could grow one in medical for you.”

“I’m quite happy with the two I have,” Torri shot back.

“And I’m sure many others are also happy with them, too.”

Saryl waggled her eyebrows, and Jindor was suddenly extremely interested in the vidscreen again. “But imagine how much happier you’d be with three.” Saryl made kissing noises at her.

Jindor cleared her throat before Torri could reply. “The Coalition targets pleasure envoys as smugglers, as well.” She ran her fi ngers over the vidscreen, and the image there appeared, larger, on the tabletop. “But yes, I would pay a goodly sum to see the captain in that outfi t.” She fl ashed a wicked grin at Torri, who rolled her eyes and looked down at the table.

“This is the Ansi genealogical chart,” Jindor said, putting an end to further descriptions of what Torri might look like as a pleasure envoy. “Regent Evoran is current holder. His oldest daughter is nearly twenty Earth years old.” Jindor pointed to the name on the chart. “She is not bonded.”

“Neither are a lot of us,” Saryl commented. “And?”

“According to your data, the Ansi line maintains Alliance traditions.” Jindor touched the tabletop, and an image of some kind of festival appeared.

Torri leaned forward. “It’s a Corderan,” she said, recognizing the symbols on the banners.

Saryl’s expression registered confusion.

“It’s one of many rituals that developed after the fi nal Administration collapsed on Earth,” Torri said.

“And?”

“And in the subsequent Reorganization, when the Alliance established itself across Earth and then in the other Quadrants, A Matter of Blood

15

survivors on Earth developed new customs that fused history and myth. The Alliance encouraged it—rulers thought it best that Old Earth retain a certain nostalgia, to prevent any kind of ill will and political uprisings. The Empire encouraged it, too, after replacing the Alliance.” Torri paused. From tragedy we create pleasantries that mask the past’s true meanings.

She nodded at Jindor to continue, though she knew Jindor had probably already picked up on Torri’s thought before she’d actually made the gesture. Most Malrusians were either fully telepathic or extremely intuitive. Torri hadn’t decided which best described Jindor.

“Survivors thus created new family lines,” Jindor said with a glance at Torri before she focused on Saryl. “And to create alliances with other families through mate-bonding, the rituals needed to be public. Or, barring that, a visual announcement that a family member is not bonded and thus available for potential suitors.”

“That’s what a Corderan is.” Torri pointed at an Earthman in the image who wore a red jerkin belted at his waist and red trousers tucked into black boots. He held a long, red feather.

“He’s available. This is his family’s announcement about it.”

She thought about the Corderan her father had never held for her because she’d run away to the Academy at sixteen. The decision had come with a hefty price. She hadn’t spoken to anyone in her family for over fi fteen years. At this point, it was for the best, since they believed her dead, fi ghting the Coalition in the Collapse. Torri was certain her father had been mortifi ed to hear of her activities, and no doubt relieved that she was gone.

“But sometimes, the ceremonies are just a formality,” Jindor was saying, “because a bondmate has already been chosen.”

She called up another database and read through the entries.

“And here, Regent Evoran has proudly announced the Corderan of his daughter Liyah, in two months’ time.”

Torri leaned forward, seeing where Jindor was going.

“We’re not on the guest list,” Saryl said, bemused. “And 16

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what do we do for the next two months? Though I’m sure the captain will fi nd something to keep us busy.”

“Wait, Saryl,” Torri said, still looking at the image. “Think about it. A ceremony like this requires food and liquor. And whatever else guests need to ensure they have a good time.”

She looked up then.

Saryl’s eyes widened. “And they’ll need merchant ships to bring them the goods. Of course. Evoran will have to apply to the Coalition for special exemption.” She drummed her fi ngers on the edge of the table, thinking. “How will we get on that merchant guest list?”

Torri caught Jindor’s gaze. “We need more time than just a delivery. We can’t justify staying longer than a day, even under an exemption. That’s not enough time to fi nd out what interest the Coalition has in the Tinsdale holdings.”

Jindor nodded and returned to searching databases.

“Captain, a word?” Saryl’s voice carried an edge that Torri recognized as requesting a private audience. They’d worked together too long for her to ignore it.

“My quarters.”

Saryl nodded once and stood, towering over the table.

Without another word, she turned and exited, ducking to avoid the doorjamb which hung lower than the ceiling.

“Shall I continue with this project?” Jindor inquired as Torri stood.

“Please. I’ll check in later.” Torri didn’t wait for a reply as she strode from the room. She didn’t expect one.

2

“May I speak freely?”

Torri waved her hand in a brusque, “go ahead” motion. Saryl had seated herself on the couch in Torri’s cabin, which was more a cushioned bench attached to a wall than an actual piece of furniture.

“This is slagged.” She crossed her arms and studied Torri’s face, expression hard but patient.

Torri clenched her jaw, but she remained silent, giving Saryl room to speak her mind.

“This isn’t a money-making venture. We’re going into a situation that involves huge risk and little profi t. Given the current situation, we can’t even sell and off-load the spice cargo we’ve got without losing a large piece of our collective ass.

You know the Coalition’s going to charge every merchant it grants exemptions to. And probably half the price what we’d get for any cargo.”

Torri hooked her thumbs on her belt. “Sometimes what we do involves risks we have to take.” And sometimes those risks don’t have much to do with money.

Saryl stared at her. “We? I didn’t sign with you to be a constant piss-gnat in the Coalition’s ear.”

“But you knew that was part of the deal. We can’t do what we do without expecting Coalition interference.” She kept her tone soft but fi rm.

“Nobody can, Torri.” Saryl used her given name, a liberty 18

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that she and only one other person could take with her.

It hovered between them, an unwelcome guest under these circumstances. “And that’s not the point,” Saryl continued.

“You’re deliberately taking us into a Coalition hive, and we’re getting little, if any profi t for it. We might as well walk into a High Council meeting and request that they arrest us. That would save us and them the trouble we’re taking with this mission.”

“Burnside will pay fi ve hundred thousand for the cargo,”

Torri insisted.

“And half of that will go to the Coalition, if not more, for the privilege of letting us through the restrictions. And then what? We tell the Coalition, ‘oh, by the way, we’re just going to visit the Tinsdale holdings and see what you’re doing over there. We’ll only be a day or so.’ ” Even without the linguistic nuances that Empire provided its speakers, Saryl had injected extra sarcasm into her statement, though beneath it ran a current of frustration.

“You agreed to this mission before we completed the opal contract two months ago.” Torri punctuated her remarks with her fi nger. “You agreed to the spice run to Vegas Sector and you knew that included recon at the Tinsdale holdings. Which, I recall I told you, was under Coalition watch. You knew that two months ago.” Torri held her patience tight, where it hung brittle in her throat, tasting like an old wound. “We invent reasons to deceive ourselves once emotion trumps logic.” Torri grimaced at the lesson, one she’d learned from her fi rst tutor, an ex-soldier her father thought might be a good idea. It was, but not for her father.

Saryl stared at her, an intensity in her gaze that Torri rarely saw, and never directed at her. “This isn’t just about a spice run or even recon, is it.” She didn’t phrase it as a question.

Torri clenched her teeth, the truth of Saryl’s words a harder slap than a physical action. I’m deceiving myself, at the expense of logic. She studied a spot on the smooth metal wall A Matter of Blood

19

past Saryl’s shoulder, seeing Kai in her mind’s eye. Kai, who chose duty over liberty, who thought perhaps the latter somehow sprang from the former, but whose rank in the Coalition armed forces couldn’t quite override her loyalty to a fellow Cadet. Couldn’t quite override her connection to Torri.

I can’t ignore that, no matter how illogical it is.

“No,” she admitted. “It’s not.”

“Tell me.”

Torri sighed and moved to the wall to her right and pressed a panel that slid open, revealing a compartment that held a cobalt bottle and four actual glasses, antiques she’d acquired after the Collapse. More a symbolic link to a past she’d abandoned than an affectation, Torri rarely used them. This, however, was an occasion that demanded it. She triggered the table, which slid out of the wall beneath the panel, and set two glasses on it. She poured both a quarter full from the bottle, a sharp, earthy smell accompanying the pale lavender liquor, and returned it to its spot before she closed the panel.

“In the absence of understanding, hospitality is the height of diplomacy,” she quoted as she walked a glass to Saryl.

“Better a bottle than a battle,” Saryl quoted back, her fi ngers nearly enclosing the entire glass. She lifted it to her nose and sniffed, then stared at Torri in surprise. “Granazh. I haven’t had this in years.” She sniffed it again and closed her eyes, savoring. “I won’t even ask where you got it.”

Torri shrugged. “I have some friends in high places.” She smiled and raised her glass in a toast.

“And many more in low.” Saryl raised her glass as well and sipped, an expression of delight on her features. “I had forgotten how good this is.”

Torri let the liquid sit on her tongue for a few seconds before swallowing, as she’d learned from a Cadet out of Vector Quadrant. Saliva triggered all the layers of its fl avors—

the Cadet likened it to the four ancient elements: earth, air, fi re, and water, each with a distinctive taste that evoked the 20

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characterization of those elements. As Torri swallowed, the elements and tastes blended and unwound like silk down her throat. Drinking Granazh was as much about the way it felt as about its taste.

“There must be an important reason for this venture, if you’re plying me with this,” Saryl said after she’d taken a sip.

Torri half-smiled and took a seat to Saryl’s left on the bench.

She braced her forearms on her thighs, her hands clasping her glass between her knees, watching the Granazh settle from her movements. “I’m doing the recon on Tinsdale Holdings to return a favor.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not really.”

“I thought not. So do it anyway.”

Torri nodded and took another sip from her glass, the liquor fl ooding her senses as well as her mouth, smoothing her mood and teasing the story from her memories. “I lost my Academy bunkmate to the Coalition,” she said after she swallowed. “But I never believed she’d gone completely over. I knew her too well, and she’s not Coalition. Military, yes. But not Coalition.”

She stared into the liquid. No matter how many times Kai put on the uniform, she would never be completely theirs. She’d demonstrated that in Newburg, and almost two years before that, in Hallifi n Port, on the far end of Paltor Quadrant, where Coalition offi cials sent problem soldiers or soldiers they wanted to test for loyalty. Kai was neither a problem nor disloyal. But from her actions at their last meeting, she most certainly wasn’t completely Coalition, either.

Saryl sipped, keeping silent.

“She knows I’m alive.” Torri kept staring into the glass, the liquid reminding her of bottles of Ryzin Solstice she’d shared with Kai over the years, like the ones she’d smuggle into their quarters at the Academy.

“Is that good or bad?”

Torri sat back. “Depends on the circumstances. As long as she does her job and does it well, it’s just information she A Matter of Blood

21

has. As far as the Coalition is concerned, I’m a rebel soldier killed in action at Shanlin some eight years ago over Mangone Swamp. My name is in her fi les because we were bunked at the Academy. I’m also listed as dead in her fi les. I’d like to keep it that way, for her safety and mine.”

Saryl grunted in understanding. “She’s affi liated with the Tinsdale holdings, I take it.”

“Her father is the holder.”

Saryl half-laughed. “Ah. Some things are now making sense.” She sat back as well, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Does she know what you want to do?”

“No. I won’t put her at risk like that.”

Saryl sipped again before speaking. “She was in Newburg, wasn’t she?”

Torri didn’t respond for a while, thinking instead about the contract they’d picked up in Newburg, and the forces that had brought Kai there to break smuggling rings. Like their chance meeting nearly two years before, they’d breached the boundaries that had separated them during the Collapse, and beneath Kai’s uniform, she was still Torri’s bunkmate, still a Cadet, but much more, and that link would remain between them as long as life allowed. “She was. You met her, after a fashion.”

Saryl swirled the liquid in her glass, thinking. “The captain.

When we made the opal switch at Vintooth. That’s her.” She glanced at Torri for confi rmation.

“Very good. Yes. That was her. We had a conversation prior to what happened at Vintooth, and I asked about her family, and she mentioned a bit of trouble with the Coalition at her family’s holdings.”

Saryl nodded in a way that Torri recognized as empathy.

“I don’t pretend to understand how the Academy operated, or what kinds of relationships Cadets made.” She turned her head so that she could look at Torri’s face. “But I do understand a connection. And if Pir had survived the Collapse, and I knew that the Coalition was making trouble for his family, I’d want to know what that was about, too.”

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“My apologies,” Torri said softly, thoughts of Kai wrenching her heart but her responsibility to her crew tearing at her gut. “I’ve been unfair to you and the crew and let my personal feelings interfere with my judgment.”

“It happens sometimes.” A wan smile tugged at the corner of Saryl’s mouth. “Where some people are concerned, we sometimes lose our better sense.” She shrugged. “I suppose if we didn’t, what would we fi ght for? Why would we bother?”

“No, you’re right.” Torri stood. “This is slagged. Let’s see how much we can get for the spice and fi nd another contract elsewhere.” As important as Kai was to her, she had nearly risked her entire crew in a dangerous decision because she’d allowed emotion to trump judgment. She drained the remainder of her glass and set it on the table. There had to be another way to fi nd out what the Coalition was doing at Tinsdale. “Let’s put in a comm to Burnside. See if we can get more for the shipment, given the current situation.”

Saryl shifted her weight forward, but she didn’t get up from her seat. “In some ways, we’re still fi ghting the war, aren’t we?”

Torri turned back to her, and the expression on Saryl’s face reminded her of their fi rst meeting at Magellan Port, in a bar that mercenaries and black market pilots frequented. Torri needed a crew. Saryl needed a ship and a captain. And as they came to understand about each other, they both needed to avoid the Coalition. “I’ll always be fi ghting it,” she said. “I don’t know how not to.”

“That’s what this is,” Saryl said softly. “A battle in the war.”

She drank the last bit of Granazh in her glass. “What would we be looking for at Tinsdale?”

Torri rubbed the side of her face. “I’m not sure. Kai told me the Coalition was pressuring her family to sell part of its holdings. She’s not sure why. As you’ve seen, there’s not much by way of resources in the area. I suggested rumors of a like-mind uprising. You know how the Coalition likes to put a stop to those as quickly as possible.”

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23

“Is someone in her family playing politics? Using the rumors to further ambition? And are they just rumors or is there something afoot?”

“Rumors. But she said it’s possible that someone in her family might be deal-making. I’m leaning toward her sister’s husband, though not because he sympathizes with them. He’s more the self-preservation type.” And a likable fellow. Kai’s brother, though, might want a quick power jack. She’d have to think about that. “And we don’t necessarily have to go to Tinsdale. We can probably collect enough information through Burnside and even the other holdings. We don’t need to draw attention to ourselves.”

Saryl held her empty glass in one hand and tapped it with the fingers of the other. “If you found out what’s got the Coalition skitched over these holdings, what would you do with that information?”

“Pass it to Kai. She has a personal stake in knowing what the Coalition really wants with her family’s holdings.” And I have a personal stake in Kai.

“I agree. But if you found out, say, that there’s a serious like-mind rebellion that’s got the Coalition nervous, I’m sure there are a few others who’d like to know that, as well.”

Torri crossed her arms and regarded Saryl, interested to see where she’d take this. “Go on.”

“And there are others who’d no doubt pay two to three times what Burnside’s offering for the spice shipment for that kind of information. Especially if there are specifi cs about Coalition plans and armaments.”

Spying. Of course. But was she willing to sell what she considered the fruits of a personal favor?

“You can sell anything on a black market.” Saryl stood, her spiky white hair pressed against the smooth ceiling. She set her glass on the table next to Torri’s. “And for information like that, you’d get a high price. We might pretend to think like-mind networks are nebulous, but we’ve heard enough in the past six months to know that some are well organized and 24

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spreading.” In the melodious nuances of Empire, Torri heard not only a proposal, but Saryl’s agreement to scout Tinsdale.

“There’s a market for everything,” she concurred.

“And lots of ways to acquire items.” Saryl inclined her head. “Let’s fi nd one of those ways.”

Torri nodded in dismissal, and as Saryl moved to the door, Torri spoke again. “Thanks.”

Saryl paused and caught Torri’s eye. “You’d do the same for me.” And then she was gone, and the door slid shut behind her.

Torri stared at it for a while before she vacated as well. She wanted to check in with Jindor. They had just over a day before they entered Earth’s orbit.

¸

“We could disguise ourselves as musicians.” Jann took another bite of whatever he’d ordered from the ship’s food stores.

“No musician visits outposts like this that often.” Saryl dipped her fi ngertips in her glass of hasha and fl icked some liquid at him. “That’ll look suspicious.”

“Not if we’re offering our services for a Corderan. They’ll need music.”

“But that doesn’t allow us a reason to stay beyond one day,”

Torri pointed out. “I doubt any of the other holders would be desperate to hire musicians so soon after a Corderan. Most holders have their own staff for that.” The edge of her tray had started to liquefy, so she took it to the bin and disposed of it then punched in the code for hasha. She needed an energy boost. She’d been up for nearly an entire day, and they were no closer to fi guring out how to extend their stay in Vegas Sector beyond the Burnside delivery.

“Think,” she directed Jann and Saryl as she re-seated herself at the bench on her and Jann’s side of the table. “Who would have immunity from Coalition meddling?”

“Coalition offi cials,” Jann said with a shrug.

“Or Coalition bootlickers,” Saryl offered.

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“And people who lick other things on Coalition offi cials.”

Jann grinned.

“Has anyone here licked a Coalition offi cial recently?”

Torri asked. “And would you be willing to do it again?”

Saryl laughed. “Not recently, sorry.”

“Damn. No favors you can call in?” Torri addressed Jann, trying to appear hopeful.

“Don’t look at me. It’s been so long since I’ve licked anything that I’ve considered joining one of Cyllea’s monasteries.”

“Not a bad idea.” Saryl fl icked more liquid at him. “You’d for sure get some licking in, when all those monks got a look at a strapping Artoran like you.”

“Careful,” Jann said. “You might make me think you’re interested.”

This time, Saryl fl ipped a forkful of what looked like bean paste at him. It hit him on the chest, and he used his fi nger to wipe it off.

Torri took a gulp of hasha. It tasted of cinnamon and pepper.

Not a bad version of it, for a ship’s stores. What she liked was that it worked quickly. “Are there any monasteries in Vegas Sector?” she asked after she swallowed.

“Why? You don’t seem to be lacking in the lick category.”

Jann shoulder-bumped her.

“Because maybe a monastery needs a traveling musician,”

Torri shot back. “Saryl can set that up for you.”

“No monasteries,” Jindor said as she entered the mess. “No public temples, either.” She sat down on Torri’s left and ran her fi ngers over the tabletop, calling up a database that appeared within the table. “But that’s working in our favor. I checked the comms for the past hour, and Regent Evoran has put in a request at the nearest temple—the rather distant Flori Sector—

for a blessing from the goddess, to ensure the success of his daughter’s approaching Corderan.”

“Tragic. Vegas Sector is lacking in the fruits of Cyllea,”

Saryl said as she read through the comm.

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Jindor pointed at a specifi c line of the comm. “He’d like one as soon as possible. He’s willing to pay handsomely for such short notice.”

“Defi ne ‘handsomely,’ ” Jann said.

“A million credits or more.”

Saryl let her breath out in a whistle. “What has the temple to say about this?”

“Nothing, yet.” Jindor looked hard at Torri, as if willing her to follow her train of thought. “Representatives of Cyllea often travel with merchant vessels, to save expenses and appear less elitist.”

It clicked. Torri directed her next statement at Saryl, though she kept her attention on Jindor. “Re-route Evoran’s message here. Erase it from the temple banks.” Evoran had solved the problem for them. It was almost too perfect. “And we’ll respond within three hours.”

“Respond?” Jann looked up from the tabletop.

Torri tore her gaze from Jindor’s and looked at Saryl, who was already on her way to the door.

“I’ll alert you when I’m done,” Saryl said as she passed into the corridor beyond.

Torri stood as well. “Evoran needs a blessing. I have a feeling our services are needed.” She smiled at Jindor.

“Welcome aboard, Priestess.”

“My thanks, Captain. I’ll need a bodyguard, of course.”

Torri glanced at Jann.

“No,” Jindor said. “The Flori Sector temple prefers females.

Sorry, Jann.”

He shrugged in mock disappointment.

“Saryl, then,” Torri offered. “She’s trained in that.”

Jindor shook her head. “She’s not Radij.”

“Radij?” Jann leaned forward so that he could see around Torri. “This temple prefers Radij? None of us is Radij.”

Jindor looked meaningfully at Torri. “But one of us could pass.”

Jann stared at Jindor, then Torri. And then he started laughing.

3

Torri stared out the front viewports, and she remembered how she and Kai would run training missions for Academy instructors. Kai was one of the best, they’d said. One of the best pilots they’d ever seen, a rare mixture of natural talent and superb discipline. A fine addition to any military force, they’d said. Torri clenched and unclenched her jaw. She knew the Coalition rarely let Kai use her talents as a pilot. And when Torri was battling Coalition forces in the Collapse, Kai had gone on for officers’ training in Vector Quadrant. The Resistance could’ve used talents like Kai’s. But maybe Kai saw the future and opted to bide her time, though she had seemed to waver in her opinion about that during the Newburg visit.

Lost years, Torri thought. Lost years, lost time, lost comrades. She’d settled into an existence that worked, one that came naturally in the wake of her “death” during the Collapse, one that involved networks of both black market and legitimate clients. She was adept at covering her tracks, expert at finding the right people for the work she needed done. She was a merchant, trader, sometime bandit, and thus had never done well playing by other people’s rules. She recognized rules for what they were—guideposts, not necessarily mandates—and learned back doors and loopholes.

A brilliant strategist, her Academy instructors had said of Torri. Able to assess changing situations and adjust expectations and outcomes faster than most Cadets. Excellent judgment in 28

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high-stress exercises, but does not understand and recognize the value of authority.

Torri glanced at the control panel to check their coordinates.

What the Academy Council had not understood or recognized about her was that she was all too aware of authority. She just refused to accept it. Or, alternatively, she used it to her advantage and to the advantage of allies. Saryl was right. They were all still fi ghting the Coalition.

“Captain, if I may interrupt.”

Torri turned at the sound of Jindor’s voice. “You’re not.”

She slipped into the formal shell she assumed when dealing with Jindor.

“I’m checking navpoints,” Jindor said as she moved to the control panel that faced the viewports. She sat down in the navigator’s seat and checked coordinates, as Torri had done.

Jindor was no doubt ensuring that they would follow a trajectory that indicated they’d come from Flori Sector on their way to the Ansi holdings. Torri watched Jindor work and thought—not for the fi rst time—that in different circumstances, she’d follow up with the physical relationship they’d started two months earlier, back in Newburg. Such things were all too rare in her life, but when Jindor agreed to become the Far Seek’s new navigator, she—and, by extension, Torri—also agreed to ship’s rules. No physical relationships between crew members. In Jindor’s case, Torri almost regretted that rule. Almost. Finding those she could trust on that level was diffi cult, given her past and the reach of the Coalition. Even pleasure domes, which guaranteed anonymity, were often fronts for Coalition offi cials on the take.

“Do you miss it?” Jindor asked, interrupting Torri’s thoughts.

“Miss what?”

“Life before the Collapse.” Her fi ngertips glided over the console, and she didn’t look at Torri, instead remained focused on her work.

“Some things.”

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29

Jindor nodded but didn’t respond otherwise.

“And you?”

“I miss not being defi ned by the Coalition or the Collapse.”

She fi nished and looked up at Torri. “Now, everything I do is in relation to the Coalition. Every run we make, no matter the shipment, it’s within parameters set by the Coalition.” She turned her head to stare out the viewports. “Wherever we go, we have to think about who we can and can’t speak freely with.

It tires me.”

“Some wars never end,” Torri said. And this one wouldn’t.

Not for her. Jindor was right. Everything she did since the Collapse was in relation to Coalition rules. She had to know those rules in order to break them or skirt them. She, too, stared out the viewports. Was this freedom?

“No. They don’t.” Jindor addressed Torri now. “If I may take a liberty, Captain?”

Torri considered Jindor’s request and the many layers it represented. She sat down in her seat, to the right of Jindor’s.

“You may.”

“I think perhaps you’ve worried about how to interact with me since I joined your crew.”

Torri regarded her, not surprised at the direct statement.

Jindor was good at reading situations and knowing when bluntness was called for. “Go on.”

“I understand the expectations about fraternization between crew members, and even taking into consideration the moments of our shared past, I’m comfortable interacting with you on any level. I fear, however, that you aren’t feeling that way toward me. I’m trying to put you at ease.”

Torri smiled. “Continue.”

Jindor arched an eyebrow and returned the smile. “Relax.”

“Is that an offer or a threat?”

Jindor’s smile widened.

“You’re right. I have been a bit formal with you,” Torri stated.

“I’m not going to pretend that nothing happened between us 30

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in Newburg. But it’s past, and I would hope that what might be turning into an awkward situation between us doesn’t.”

“A valid concern. And one I’m glad you brought up. My apologies, Jindor. I have been a bit uncertain how to deal with you.”

“And you don’t trust me fully.”

Torri sat back, caught off guard. Damn Malrusians. Too intuitive for their own good.

“It’s understandable. I haven’t left much of a record anywhere.” The control panel beeped a query, and Jindor turned to respond.

“Is that a decision you made before or after the Collapse?”

“Before. It was a decision that was initially made for me, and it’s a policy I’ve chosen to follow since.” She entered a few more coordinates.

Which explained why Saryl couldn’t fi nd much on Jindor, either under that name or her birth name. She’d fought the Coalition to the end, coordinating squadrons until rebel forces could no longer withstand the onslaught. Like historical locust plagues, the Coalition. It moved inexorably across planets, bought loyalty or ensured it through brutality and executions.

Through a combination of political and economic machinations, the Coalition had choked the life out of the Empire. Then stripped the corpse bare and left its head on a pole as a warning. They’d stripped trust, as well, and left her bleeding on the surface of every planet, in the streets of every settlement. Torri thought about that, and how poisonous relationships became in an absence of trust. A gambler by nature, she decided to play a hand.

“My father was a holder. Turkland Province.”

Jindor looked at her. “You’re Earthborn, then.”

“Yes. My family line has been Earthbound for generations.

Before anybody was able to go offworld.”

“Your mother?”

“Earthborn, as well. But I don’t look much like my father, so I always suspected my mother may have partnered with him A Matter of Blood

31

when she was already pregnant with me. She came from the Wanderer tribes near my father’s holdings.”

“A heterosexual joining?”

Torri knew why she asked. Some of the Wanderer tribes subscribed to ancient prohibitions that both the Alliance and the Empire had tried to discourage, but cultural traditions with deep roots were diffi cult to kill. “I don’t know. I never asked.

The tribes had access to other forms of impregnation, but my mother never told me whether my father contributed genetic material to me or not.”

“How did your mother end up a holder’s bondmate?”

“My father needed an alliance with the tribes. His holdings bordered tribal lands, and were thus subject to raids.

My mother was willing to accept his offer as a representative of the most powerful of those tribes. I think, too, that she wanted to get away from what might have been a scandal. She told me she’d been promised to another man but she didn’t care much for him. She was in love with someone else, but she never told me who it was, and the impression she gave me was that she could not have pursued a bond with this person. Her partnering with my father was a mutual agreement between them.”

Jindor attended to another beep from the console. “Have you family now?”

“I don’t know.”

Jindor fi nished and turned to Torri again. “The blood family I knew are dead, and I don’t know if there are others.” Blunt, and by her tone, it had cost Jindor to voice it.

“I’m sorry for your loss. Before or after?”

“Before and during.” She’d layered her response with levels of pain and warning.

Torri heeded the latter and didn’t delve further. “I left my family holdings at sixteen Earth years. My father did not approve of the decision. He didn’t speak to me again and only commed me once. I don’t know what happened to my mother. I’m sure she found out that I had apparently died in battle. I hope she went back to her tribe.” She stared out the viewports for a 32

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moment, lost in the memory of that last battle, and her realization that the safest thing she could do was stay dead.

“Siblings?” Jindor asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“Then we have something else in common.”

“And thus another reason to relax, I suppose.” Torri smiled.

Jindor regarded her for a long moment, and her expression held a combination of warmth and relief. “My gratitude for talking to me.” She stood. “I’m going to see how Jann’s doing with the preparation for your transformation to a Radij bodyguard.”

“My joy knows no bounds.”

“I can tell. But you’re not one to avoid a challenge.”

“So I’ve heard elsewhere. I’m putting myself in your hands with regard to this matter.”

“I know. Thank you.”

Torri nodded and watched Jindor leave the bridge. Trust wasn’t so much a matter of revelation as it was belief. For now, she would believe in Jindor’s motivations behind the plan they’d concocted. Until Jindor demonstrated otherwise, Torri owed her that much, though banking on the past was never a sure investment. She ran her hand over the commlink to page Saryl. She really needed some sleep.

¸

“One more.” Jann adjusted his grip on the scalpel’s handle, and Torri automatically closed her eyes again, though she felt nothing more than a detached pressure on her left cheek as the instrument’s beam sliced effortlessly through her skin. Pass as Radij. How had Jindor convinced her of this? How had Jann?

She kept her jaw muscles slack, though instinct begged her to do otherwise.

The pressure stopped, and Jann set the scalpel aside. He paused for a few moments, and Torri heard him moving, probably reaching for another instrument. He then adjusted his position next to her.

A Matter of Blood

33

“Closing,” he muttered, concentration evident in his voice.

Cold air blew across Torri’s face and a different kind of pressure encased her cheek, this one with an almost metallic, brittle feel. She remained still. Of all the schemes she’d concocted, this was the fi rst that involved medical procedures.

And thus, was probably one of the more insane.

“Done,” he announced, satisfaction in his voice. “Does it meet your incredibly high standards?”

Torri opened her eyes and looked up at the vidscreen positioned at an angle above her chair. Two thin horizontal reddish lines, each about two inches long, marked her left cheek just below the bone. Roughly a quarter-inch separated them from each other. She tilted her head and admired Jann’s handiwork. “It does. Is there no end to your talents?” she teased as she leaned forward so she could examine her eyes in the vidscreen. Darker than normal, almost black, with no boundary between iris and pupil. She studied them for a moment, tried to see her original eye color behind the stain. She couldn’t. Good.

Anyone who stared too long at her eyes would most likely not guess that her appearance was based on an illusion.

He grinned and set the grafter onto the lighted translucent surface of the nearby tray, then handed her shirt to her.

“Handy, that medic training before the Collapse. Another year, and I’d be lolling about as some Coalition offi cial’s private surgeon.” He sighed in an exaggerated fashion. “But no. Here I am instead, running a disguise clinic in some half-cred bandit’s cruiser to infi ltrate some third-rate holdings on Earth.”

“Your point being?” Torri asked, as she slid into her shirt and closed the fasteners, a smile on her lips as she started to get up. The door to sick bay slid open with a barely discernible whir, and she settled back into the chair for further inspection.

“We wanted to see our new crew mate, fresh from the Radij homelands,” Saryl said. She ducked slightly as she stepped through the doorway then straightened to her full height once she was within the room. Jindor followed, the top of her head barely at the level of Saryl’s chest. Both wore standard dark 34

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utility trousers and loose shirts, Saryl’s her customary blue and Jindor’s brown, in keeping with her preference for earth tones.

Jindor leaned in next to Torri and examined her cheek.

“Very nice.”

“And Jann’s handiwork is good, too,” Saryl added. He laughed but Jindor ignored the comment.

“Look to your right,” she directed Torri, who complied.

What would Kai think if she saw her with the fresh scars on her cheek? Torri almost winced, imagining Kai’s admonishments about this latest scheme. But if all went according to plan, Kai would never know, and that’s exactly how Torri wanted it. Once she knew what the Coalition was doing with Tinsdale Holdings, she’d pass the information on to her, decide whether to pass it to anyone else, and not mention how she’d gotten it.

Secrets are weapons, she heard her father say, so many years ago, when she stood trembling in his offi ce, waiting for punishment. To her child’s eyes, he was huge, a mountain of a man, and his displeasure seemed to fl ow from his eyes and down his skin like magma from a volcano. And like weapons, he had said with a growl, they require care when handling.

They can harm or protect so you must always err on the side of the latter. Torri inhaled deeply through her nose, a calming exercise. What would he think of his daughter now? She grimaced. A question easy to answer. He wouldn’t.

Jindor appraised Jann’s work from this new angle and made an appreciative noise, and Torri directed her attention at her.

“Give them a few hours. By then they’ll look like you’ve had them a while.”

“When do the Radij get their marks?” Saryl asked as she leaned in to examine Torri’s face.

“By Earth year four, which is early adolescence for them,”

Jindor responded. She moved around the chair to Torri’s right side. “Let me see your eyes.”

Torri looked up at her, and Jindor moved closer, so close A Matter of Blood

35

that Torri could see the different slivers of color that made up the deep ethereal green of Jindor’s eyes, unusual in most humans, but common for Malrusians. Both unnerving and seductive, eyes like Jindor’s.

“Excellent work,” Jindor said. “What did you end up using?” She looked away from Torri’s face toward Jann then moved completely away from her so Saryl could have a look.

“A basic pigment override solution that some enterprising soul altered to work on mammalian organisms and syns, if the syn has humanoid parts. A little something I picked up in Vector Quadrant. You can find anything at the Magellan techport.” He stood and started collecting his instruments, his large fingers, meaty hands, and blocky warrior’s build a contrast to the delicate work he could do, whether re-routing a ship’s neurotech systems or lasering Radij-like scars on human skin. He handed an eyescope to Jindor. “Have a closer look. I’m sure our esteemed captain wouldn’t mind a beautiful woman gazing into her eyes.” He fl ashed a grin at Torri as Jindor’s body heat turned the scope’s light on.

“Depends on the woman,” Saryl added.

“And the eyes,” Jindor said with a smile as she trained the scope’s light onto the iris of Torri’s left eye and activated the holographic capabilities. An image of Torri’s eyeball fl oated near her head. Jindor looked fi rst through the scope then up at the holograph. “How long does it last?”

“We’ve got fi ve days. Maybe six,” Jann said. “The solution can hold off reabsorption until then. Once that starts, it fades pretty quickly.”

“Defi ne ‘quickly,’ ” Torri said without turning toward Jann, mentally calculating how long this latest venture would take, with fl exibility for contingencies. “There is no plan that can’t be undone,” Master Forr had emphasized in a seminar over a decade ago. “That is why missions are accomplished. Because the desired outcome is achieved in spite of a failure in the original plan’s structure. There are many roads to a journey’s end. Know them all.”

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“Depends,” he replied. “Hours for some. Minutes for others.”

“Thank Cyllea for the exacting nature of medical science,”

Saryl said sardonically as she took the scope from Jindor and examined Torri’s eyes.

“For our esteemed captain here, I’m betting once it starts fading, it’ll take one hour and thirty-seven minutes. Give or take a day.” He stood and stowed his instruments in the appropriate wall unit.

Torri stayed still as her crew members continued to inspect his handiwork. Six days, Jann had said. They’d shoot for fi ve, beginning right now.

“Impressive,” Saryl muttered. “All this from a pigment override solution.” She handed the eyescope back to Jindor.

“Sometimes the most effective tools are the simplest.” Jindor gave the eyescope to Jann and moved so Torri could vacate the chair. She swung her legs over the side and opened and closed her mouth several times, testing the new scar tissue on her cheekbone. It pulled a bit, but beyond that, she felt no discomfort on her face. Hopefully, Jann could take the scars off as easily as he’d created them.

“And what might a good Radij name be?” Torri looked up at Jindor.

“I have your credentials prepared. We’ll need to discuss them before arrival.”

“Wouldn’t want to get your stories crossed, after all,” Saryl teased. “Jindor’s been grilling me for the past three hours. It’s your turn now.”

“Delightful, I’m sure.” Torri winked at Saryl. “How long before we dock?”

“Twelve hours. Our credentials have cleared. We’re offi cial guests of Ansi Holdings.”

“Well done,” Torri said with a smile. “Remind me to promote you.”

“I’m quite content as the brains behind every operation. I would like a new title, though.”

A Matter of Blood

37

“Granted. Everyone, please look with wonder upon my fi rst offi cer, Her Most Audaciously Rendered Effervescence.”

Jann snorted, and Jindor fought a grin.

“Pleased,” Jindor said. “I am indeed wondering.”

“As am I,” Jann managed. “Filled with wonderment, no less.”

“Appropriate.” Saryl drew herself up, feigning haughtiness.

“I will expect such treatment at all times.”

“Absolutely,” Jann shot back. “I wonder about you all the time.”

“You should. I know where you sleep.”

“Feel free to join me any time.” He leered at her, and Saryl made an obscene gesture with her fingers, though she snickered along with him.

Torri watched the exchange, smiling. Not for the fi rst time, she thanked whatever forces had led her to choose her crew.

She cleared her throat, and Saryl immediately stopped her clowning with Jann.

“According to the main Temple’s offi cial registries in Oiros—to which I have recently contributed an entry—” Saryl raised her eyebrows in emphasis, smiling.

Saryl’s abilities to infi ltrate any security system they faced always amazed Torri. They had yet to meet one Saryl couldn’t hack. She nodded approvingly and motioned for Saryl to continue.

“We’re on an informal good will tour of Vegas Sector, one that has traditionally been overlooked by the goddess’s faithful servants, due to its relative lack of cosmopolitan amenities.”

Saryl shook her head sadly. “As part of this tour, the temple is more than happy to bestow a blessing on Regent Evoran’s daughter, to ensure a proper bondmate presents him- or herself at an upcoming Corderan. So pleased was the Temple Recorder about this event—even the most remote of holdings should have access to the holy graciousness that is the nearest province temple—that she immediately contacted Othne, one of the senior priestesses.” Here, Saryl bowed toward Jindor.

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“The Temple Recorder promptly implored Othne to arrange such a tour and implement it.”

“I’m sure the generous payment Evoran Ansi offered had nothing to do with it,” Jann said.

“Only partially. The servants of the goddess are not so crass as to allow something like a million credits to buy a blessing.”

Saryl pretended offense.

“Oh, of course not. The money will go to feed children whose parents were killed in offworld accidents.” He grinned at her.

“Among other things. Worship requires fi nancial upkeep, after all.”

Saryl had outdone herself. Temple registries were largely free from Coalition meddling. Torri again looked at the image of her cheek on the vidscreen. “Then I’m sure Regent Evoran is looking forward to a visit from a high priestess of Cyllea,” she said. “He’ll get his blessing, and sooner than he had hoped.”

“Plus, it enhances his stature with the other holdings in Amer Province,” Saryl noted.

And gives him more leverage with Kai’s family. Torri didn’t voice the thought, but she knew that Saryl understood the undertone in her previous comment. She pursed her lips, thinking. “Has the good regent arranged for a meeting with Holder Tinsdale?” She’d gambled on that, fi guring that a visit from a high priestess would ensure some kind of formal meeting with surrounding holdings. Coalition lackeys were notorious for elaborate ceremonies and banquets, hoping to curry favor with higher offi cials. If Evoran was typical Coalition—and Torri had no doubt he was—he would want his neighbors to know that a priestess of Cyllea graced his presence. And he would want them to see her, as a guest of his holdings.

“Not yet. But he may yet be waiting for our arrival before he makes an announcement. After all, if word gets out before that, others might attempt to entice the high priestess to visit their holdings, as well.”

A Matter of Blood

39

“Appearances,” Jindor concurred, “are everything.”

“But vanity is predictable,” Torri said. “Never underestimate the advantage the hubris of another can provide. And never forget that a potential foe considers that of you, as well.”

Master Forr again, imparting words Torri had retained all these years.

“Priestess Othne was able to fi nd a merchant vessel willing to take her to Vegas Sector on such short notice.” Saryl placed a hand on her chest, as if humbled. “We, the crew of the Star Chaser—formerly the Far Seek—are ever grateful for this opportunity to serve a representative of one of Cyllea’s temples.”

“And as a result, I’m sure we will not be damned to the farthest reaches of Cyllea’s coldest galaxy.” Jann, too, placed his hand on his chest. “I only hope that the goddess has a sense of humor.”

“She does,” Jindor said. “It’s her servants who don’t.”

“Othne speaks words of wisdom,” Torri said appreciatively.

“I am thus honored to serve her.” She, too, placed her hand on her chest and looked at Jindor expectantly. “Lead on, most excellent navigator.”

Jindor swept her left arm toward the door in an exaggerated motion and half-bowed, drawing a laugh from Jann.

“Praise whatever deity you worship that you joined this motley bunch,” he said.

Torri stopped at the doorway and turned to glare at him.

“Praise your deity that I offered her the position.”

“Among other positions you offered,” Saryl said innocently as Jann bit his lip, visibly struggling not to laugh again.

Torri slowly shook her head. “None have yet refused any of my positions,” she retorted, amused, and Jann burst out laughing again.

Saryl lifted a shoulder in a shrug, lips twitching. “And on that, I’ll return to my, uh, own position, Captain.” She brushed past Torri into the corridor beyond, dipping her head beneath the doorjamb in a long-practiced motion. Torri preceded Jindor into the corridor, Jann’s laughter following them.

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“I’d like to change shirts,” Torri said once out in the corridor.

“A good idea.” Jindor followed Torri to the captain’s quarters and leaned against the wall outside the door. “I’ll wait.”

Torri nodded and pressed her thumb to the keypad. The door opened with a low swoosh, and she entered, ensuring it closed behind her before she removed her shirt and tossed it onto her bunk. She selected another—this one black—from the fi ve she kept in her small clothing storage wall unit and put it on, though she didn’t tuck it into her trousers. Instead, she made use of her toilet facilities and, once done with that, she carefully washed her face and studied the new scars in the small mirror above the sink. Her eyes were most disconcerting.

Just a big, black pupil, giving her an ethereal appearance, as if she wasn’t entirely alive. This peculiarity of Radij physiology struck her as almost synthetic, and she wasn’t entirely comfortable seeing it in her own countenance.

She ran her fi ngertips lightly over the scars, and her cheek tingled. Radij. What had ever possessed her to think a plan like this would work? Posing as a priestess’s guardian in order to find out why the Coalition was so interested in Kai’s family’s holdings? She smiled self-deprecatingly at her image in the mirror. What was this hold on her that Kai retained?

Their shared Academy days were long over. Their disparate political ideologies a gulf barely bridged with chance meetings and illicit rendezvous. Torri stared at her eyes, trying to acclimate herself to their appearance. Why could she not cut Kai out of her life? Because I don’t want to. I’ve never wanted to. And that, she knew, was a serious weakness.

She pressed a button above the sink, and water trickled out of the sleek spigot. She let it flow over her fingers until it automatically stopped. And what if she managed to fi nd out why the Coalition wanted the Tinsdale holdings? What then?

What could she do? The money garnered from their last venture in Newburg was substantial, and she did have a pure-color black opal, thanks to Jann’s handiwork. But that probably A Matter of Blood

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wasn’t enough to buy the Coalition out, which was, at the very least, carving a military base out of Kai’s family holdings.

Or was that really what they were doing? Something about this didn’t strike Torri as a typical Coalition fuck-over. Maybe that was ultimately why she was so interested. Once a rebel, always a rebel, after all.

She thought then of Kai, and of the all-too-brief time they’d shared in Newburg. Torri couldn’t go another two years without seeing her. Why wouldn’t she just leave her military command? She was wavering in her support of Coalition directives. She had nearly said as much two months ago. Torri sighed and splashed more water on her face. Kai’s sense of duty to her family overrode everything, and if she had to continue serving in Coalition military forces to ensure their well-being, she would do so.

“Damn you,” Torri muttered as she pressed the drying button, and warm air coursed gently across her face. Just as stubborn now as then. She fi nished drying off and took a few moments to focus before joining Jindor. And Torri was just as stubborn as Kai. If that weren’t the case, she certainly wouldn’t bother with Coalition affairs on Old Earth. She pressed her thumb to the keypad to open the door.

4

“Where would you have me?” Torri looked back over her shoulder and regretted the words the instant she said them, but Jindor only smiled back at her.

“The mess. I’ve already programmed the vidscreen and the table there has room to work.”

Torri nodded and motioned for Jindor to pass her, and her gaze slid appreciatively down Jindor’s back then down her thighs.

“It’s mutual,” Jindor said, without turning to look at her.

Torri rolled her eyes, exasperated and embarrassed. Damn Malrusians.

Jindor laughed softly, still walking, not looking at her.

“Humans are capable of the same intuitive capacities that we have. Most of you, however, have chosen to ignore them.”

She paused at the mess entrance and turned to address Torri directly. “Do you wish to further discuss what happened in Newburg?” Just a question. Nothing judgmental in it that Torri could discern.

“No.”

Jindor inclined her head in acknowledgement.

Torri read nothing in her eyes, except maybe a detached interest. But then, she really didn’t know much about Jindor beyond what Jindor chose to share. Saryl’s investigation into Jindor’s past confi rmed the parts of her story she had shared with Torri, but they were just glimpses of Jindor’s personal history. Pieces, jagged and fragmented, and Torri had yet to fi t A Matter of Blood

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them all together into a whole. To be fair, she thought, as she studied Jindor’s eyes, Jindor had a similar perception of Torri, as well, psychic capabilities notwithstanding.

“Not yet,” Torri amended.

Jindor nodded once in acceptance and entered the mess hall.

Torri hesitated before following, thinking of the two nights she’d shared with Jindor, and how she’d enjoyed the physical release. But each time, she’d wanted someone else to wake up with her, each time she’d craved the emotional connection to Kai that she still felt, still held close. Still allowed to govern some of her actions.

“I’m not offended.” Jindor sat down on the bench facing the mess entrance and moved her fi ngers languidly over the tabletop, triggering the vidscreen in the wall.

“You have no reason to be.” Torri joined Jindor at the table and took a seat across from her, back to the entrance.

“You feel guilty for thinking about someone else while engaged in sexual activity with me,” she said matter-of-factly as she manipulated the images on the screen via the table’s sensors.

“Which doesn’t detract from the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed the sexual activity with you.” No sense avoiding the discussion. Clearly, she wanted to have it or she wouldn’t be thinking about it. Jindor had helped clear a path earlier for it, anyway.

“I know. As did I.” Jindor made one more adjustment, and an image of a landmass crystallized on the screen. “But perhaps that’s a discussion for another time.”

“Perhaps.” Torri turned her attention to the image, and she knew that Jindor read the noncommittal undercurrent and would not be offended by it.

“Tamdahla,” Jindor said, gesturing at the screen, and the word sounded musical, the sharp guttural sound of the second syllable softened by her accent. “Not the least-known of the Radij homelands, but one that isn’t as recognizable as, say, Sahmer.”

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“Famous for its mercenaries.” Torri pursed her lips. Those that can leave, anyway. “At last check, a Varsian dynasty had established a foothold along the perimeter of the traditional homelands. Does that still hold?”

“Impressive. You’ve done your research.” Jindor smiled, and for a moment she reminded Torri of statues she had seen while training at the Academy, carved from marble long before the Empire had collapsed beneath the Coalition’s onslaught.

Long before the Empire had ever existed, and long before she had chosen the life she now led, Vector-hopping on legitimate and illegitimate missions.

“That and the imprinting you recommended,” Torri said, focusing on the screen.

“Good. Which dialect do you now speak?”

“Southern Edge, as you suggested.” Torri pursed her lips and looked at the screen. The language Radij warriors most often spoke.

Jindor made a soft noise in the affi rmative and smiled. “I think it a wise choice, given the role you’ll be playing. And you’re correct. A Varsian dynasty still controls over half of Tamdahla. A truce currently exists between the Radij there and the Varsian rulers, but I doubt it’ll hold.” She looked at Torri.

“They never do. Hence the development of a stronger Radij warrior caste in that province.”

“A state of constant war can enact irrevocable social and cultural changes that in turn feed on confl ict.” Another lesson from Torri’s Academy past fl oated in her memory. “Societies born of battle have the most to lose in a confrontation and will fi ght the longest, because the toll it takes serves only as fuel, and not as deterrent.” The lesson, Torri remembered, was to choose your battles carefully. Even a victory in such circumstances exacted a high price.

She turned her head to look at Jindor and wondered again how it was that she knew so much about the Radij world. She didn’t look Radij. Certainly wasn’t born there, since here she was, far from the homelands. Perhaps she’d had a Radij lover, A Matter of Blood

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then? For some reason, Torri guessed that Jindor’s knowledge of the Radij was a part of the puzzle of her past.

“The Radij are an ancient culture, originally organized as matrilocal and matrilineal tribes,” Jindor said, interrupting Torri’s thoughts. “If you consider the history of Earth and human cultural evolution, this is an unusual adaptation for tribal societies, which most often were androcentric on your home planet.”

“The Radij may not be the same species,” Torri pointed out.

“So perhaps it’s not necessarily a good comparison.”

“True, but genetically, it is possible for a Radij and a human to have biological offspring. And biology doesn’t necessarily determine culture.”

Torri looked at Jindor, trying to deduce the meaning beneath her statement. Interesting choice of words. If anything, Radij culture seemed to determine biology. Torri said nothing in response, waiting to see where Jindor would take the discussion.

“Radij women give birth like humans,” Jindor continued,

“though the gestation period is shorter, and children are able to care for themselves faster than human infants.”

“How much faster?” Torri offered the question, testing how much more Jindor knew about the Radij as part of her own fact-fi nding mission. Saryl had combed every database she could for every scrap of information about the planet the Empire had dubbed Sentinel, a description of its orbit in relation to the other planets in its galaxy. Remote yet precise. A metaphor that Torri could apply to the woman who haunted her thoughts more these days, the closer they got to Amer Province.

Remote, precise Kai. But underneath that, so much more.

Jindor was silent for a moment, calculating. “A Radij child is an adolescent by Earth year four, reaching full height and biological maturity by Earth year six.”

“Might that change if a Radij child was half-human?”

Jindor pursed her lips. “I assume it would. A child like that would physiologically mature slower than his or her full Radij counterparts.”

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And that could prove a diffi cult hurdle for both the child and the family. Torri frowned. “What story do you have for my past in this venture?”

Jindor responded while she still looked at the vidscreen.

“Your father was Radij but your mother was half-Malrusian and half-human. So presumably, you matured slower than full Radij children.” Jindor offered a teasing smile and tapped the tabletop and another image appeared. “Tamdahla borders Tallisto to the west, a province with a few Malrusian outposts.

Not unusual for interactions.” The word carried several connotations in Empire, from informal to trade to sexual.

Torri nodded, comprehension dawning. She’d found a reference in the geopolitical databases Saryl had hacked that discussed the arrival of Malrusian traders, who had established a few settlements in the Radij homelands fi ve decades ago, when the Empire allowed those sorts of ventures. Long before the Coalition toppled the Empire and sank its claws into its carcass.

Now, any settlement had to be approved by the Coalition High Council, and the Council generally denied the request then did it anyway, using its own companies to further Coalition interests, regardless of the outcome for the region’s residents. She turned her gaze to Jindor. “The Radij parasite cannot live in a child with Malrusian genetic material.” She paused then continued, choosing her words. “It can, however, kill a human.” Something in the way Jindor studied the screen, and the way she held her body, told Torri that the piece she suspected Jindor harbored with regard to the Radij was close to the surface.

“True.” Jindor kept her gaze on the screen, and in her body language, Torri recognized a withdrawal.

“For my own information,” Torri said, “if the child had both human and Malrusian genetic composition, the chances of surviving the parasite go up, because of Malrusian immuno-response. Am I correct?” She hung the question in the sudden vacuum between them and the ensuing silence added another piece of Jindor’s past to Torri’s collection.

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“You are,” Jindor fi nally said, distant. “The Radij parasite cannot live in children with Malrusian genetic heritage.” She turned her head back toward the screen, her tone both refl ective and wary in a way that alerted Torri to another possibility with regard to her new navigator. She thought then of Jindor’s use of the word “interactions,” and she applied that infl ection to her next statement.

“It’s not forbidden for a Radij to take a partner from among non-Radij,” she said quietly. “I found nothing in the databanks to contradict that.”

“No,” Jindor concurred, perhaps a trace of melancholy in her voice. “It’s not. But it is frowned upon, and any children of such a relationship usually end up with the non-Radij parent.”

The distance in her voice spoke of sadness and secrets.

Torri waited a few moments before asking her next question, which offered a gamble. “Which of your parents was that?”

The muscles in Jindor’s jaw clenched then released. She turned to regard Torri, gaze crystalline and dangerous, perhaps assessing the level of risk between them. Then she, too, gambled. “My mother,” she admitted. “She was Malrusian.

And no, she did not meet my father in the homelands. My parents met on Earth.”

Torri frowned. “So your father—”

“Wasn’t fully Radij,” Jindor fi nished. She continued to look at Torri, still assessing. “He was born in the homelands, but his tribe left him at one of the Malrusian settlements in Tallisto.

The parasite didn’t take. Eventually, he ended up on Earth.”

Torri sat back to create a buffer zone for Jindor in the increased physical space between them. “So he was Malrusian as well?” How was it that a man who wasn’t pure Radij was born in the homelands? She kept that question to herself.

Jindor sighed, a sound laden with frustration. “I don’t know.

It would seem logical, wouldn’t it? After all, the parasite didn’t take. It died within hours in his blood. My mother told me that his family introduced it to him three times. And I don’t look Radij or human.” She tapped the tabletop, and another image 48

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appeared on the screen, this one of the border between Tamdahla and Tallisto. “He was brought here,” she said, pointing at the southernmost settlement. “He was an adolescent by Radij standards and he didn’t speak Malrusian. So if he was part Malrusian, it wasn’t known among the Radij he was with.”

Or perhaps it was, Torri thought. But the secret was kept for whatever reasons. “A mutation, then?” she offered aloud.

Jindor shrugged. “The Radij have a limited understanding of genetics. They have remained largely a tribal people, especially in the provinces that are constantly at war. Those whose parents are not pure Radij do not receive the parasite, and thus do not receive the enhanced physical abilities that the parasite gives them.”

“Which are?”

Jindor grimaced. “It’s not proven, since the Radij are so insular and refuse outside analysis, but once the parasite is established in the body, there are claims of better eyesight and hearing, and increased physical stamina and endurance, which would be quite a benefi t in the homelands environment.”

Given the ecological pitfalls of most of Sentinel, improved senses would defi nitely prove benefi cial. But then again, the Radij might have come to believe that such things occurred after the ritual, though physically, it might not have been true. “If a parent of a Radij child is not pure Radij—even one parent—that child would not receive the parasite?” Torri asked as she studied the screen. The databases offered various responses to that question, but no consensus.

“It varies throughout the homelands. In my father’s region, if a Radij cannot trace a personal heritage fi fteen generations, then the tribal elders ultimately decide whether or not the child will receive the parasite. After all,” she tapped the table, and another image appeared of a burned-out village, “a Radij can be brought into a tribe through warfare and kidnapping. In such a way, children are assimilated into the new group.”

Which explains why some might not be fully cognizant of their true heritage. Torri tugged on her lip, thinking. “Saryl A Matter of Blood

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found no references to genetic mutations that would prevent a full Radij from accepting the parasite. Nor could she fi nd many references to the ritual itself.”

“It’s not something they choose to discuss with outsiders.”

Jindor tapped the tabletop again, and an image of a Radij man appeared, the two scars on his left cheekbone blackened with what looked like charcoal. “The Radij call the ritual in which the parasite is introduced s’la miroj n’ tilojha,” she said, the syllables languid on her tongue, like thick honey. “The dance in the blood. If the parasite does not take on the fi rst try, the elders will convene a council with the family members to determine whether the ritual was performed correctly. In most of these instances, it was not.” She tapped again, and another image appeared, this one of a black worm that Torri knew was barely a quarter-inch in length. Its tail tapered to a point.

Another image, another worm, its underside visible through magnifi cation. Hundreds of grayish cilia, like a vast seaweed forest, stretched the length of its body.

“This is an adult. The Radij call it salazh, which translates to something along the lines of ‘full-grown life form.’ This,”

she brought another image up, and a worm the color of ash fi lled the screen, “is a salevi. A juvenile. This is the form that is introduced to the bloodstream. Once it’s exposed to the nutrients carried in the blood, it will mature in three Earth days. Unless the blood is human, in which case the host will die within six hours. Often less.”

Torri stared at the image. The juvenile worm reminded her of maggots she’d seen on Earth, infesting the dead bodies of livestock on her father’s holdings and later, on corpses of rebels the Coalition had left out as deterrents to further uprisings.

“How is it introduced? That, too, seems to be something the Radij don’t share with outsiders.”

“It’s not.” The trace of a smile tugged at the corners of Jindor’s mouth. “Cultural prerogative, for the most part. But also as a form of blackmail, these days.”

Torri raised an eyebrow in a silent query.

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Jindor motioned at the screen. “Think about it. If non-Radij were somehow able to cultivate the parasite and introduce it to other non-Radij who could not survive . . .” She raised a shoulder in a shrug.

“A biological weapon.” Torri fi nished the statement, the consequences of something like that sitting like a piece of broken glass in her brain. If the Coalition fi gured out a way to harvest the Sentinel parasite and create a weapon with it . . . the possibilities were beyond frightening. But if the Radij knew this, they could conceivably use their traditions as a weapon against incursion. “What stops non-Radij from doing it anyway?”

Jindor called another image up, a huge expanse of desert the color of dried blood. “Only certain Radij are allowed knowledge of the parasite and how to find it, which is indigenous to this area of the homelands. Its physiological evolution is so tied to this particular environment that it cannot survive longer than one Earth day outside it.” She looked at Torri, expectant, the way a teacher might look at an astute pupil.

“Unless it’s in a host.” Torri sat back. “Of course.”

Biological smuggling, in a way. “But why, then, can’t the Radij leave once it’s been introduced?”

“That remains a mystery.” With two fi ngertips, Jindor created a holograph, and the desert fl oated above the table, turning slowly, bisected by grid lines representing longitude and latitude. “From what various scientifi c studies have yielded with the extremely limited information available, the current theory is that the parasite secretes some kind of hormone that, in combination with Radij biological makeup, somehow mimics the former environment for the parasite.”

“Within the host,” Torri stated fl atly.

“And creates a similar problem for the host. He or she can only go so far beyond the homelands and for a limited time.”

“The host takes on the parasite’s evolutionary imperative?”

Torri crossed her arms and leaned back, skeptical.

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“I know. It sounds irrational. But somehow, something like that is happening on Sentinel.”

And apparently has been for generations. Torri looked away from the holograph back at Jindor, who absently grasped her right shoulder with her left hand, thus protecting her chest and the lump of scar tissue beneath her clothing where her left breast had been. Torri hadn’t asked Jindor about the wound during their liaisons, and Jindor hadn’t offered an explanation, but in her body language during this discussion, Torri guessed the injury had something to do with her family.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Torri offered again.

“Many have suffered,” Jindor responded quietly, almost dismissively.

Torri nodded and turned back to the vidscreen, recognizing the end of this particular conversation. “What am I to be called, then?”

“Shar n’Morif.” Jindor held up a commdisk between her index fi nger and thumb. “This is the portfolio that Saryl and I developed for you, including information on your current post as a guardian for the priestess Othne, who only expects the fi nest security. Warriors with Radij heritage are in great demand for that role.” She quirked an eyebrow, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “The Flori Sector temple tries to hire only Radij women. They’re known for that.”

Torri took the disk, its hard surface the only connection she had to an entirely new past. Trust. Was that something she could direct at Jindor? She was still an unknown, what she’d revealed here notwithstanding. But her expertise in not only Radij culture but also the inner workings of a temple of Cyllea proved key for this particular plan. What better way to infi ltrate the holdings of a Coalition pawn than through a revered representative of a goddess? Even the Coalition power structure recognized the value of a religious hierarchy and the social and political stability and validation it could offer.

Whether one believes or not. Torri glanced back at the vidscreen, and the image of the desert that defi ned much of 52

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this part of the Radij homelands. Beneath its sands dwelled the parasite the Radij considered sacred, allegedly comporting some sort of powers to each in whose blood they swam. And on an entirely different planet, but beneath a similar swath of soil, another kind of wealth must reside. Else why would the Coalition be so interested in the holdings of some minor local offi cial engaged in trade, who managed a fair annual harvest of edible fruits, vegetables, and teas? Nothing that brought in too much more than what the labor had cost to garner those harvests.

No, Kai’s family had nothing to offer the Coalition. Nothing visible. Torri frowned, thinking. Something lurked beneath the surface here. Something that she wasn’t seeing. The Coalition wanted the Tinsdale holdings, and it was spending a lot more time and energy than it normally would in attempting to wrest a sale from Kai’s family. Why didn’t they just take them, like they did so many other things? Torri swung her left leg over the bench so that she could stand.

“My thanks to you, Jindor. Your help has been invaluable.”

She held the commdisk up and smiled.

“You’re welcome.” She brushed her fi ngertips over the tabletop, and the vidscreen’s image faded as the program shut down. The infl ection she put in the phrase told Torri that Jindor understood Torri’s hesitancy about her and whatever choice Torri made with regard to trust she would respect.

“We dock in eleven hours. I recommend you get what sleep you can.” Torri turned and left through the open doorway. She had more work to do.

5

“Commander, your presence is requested on the bridge.”

Kai turned from the viewscape to acknowledge the intrusion, though her new title still jarred. She’d gotten it two months ago, and six months early, for “fi ne service in Newburg.” Kai recognized Lieutenant Yun as her interruption, originally from Paltor Quadrant, one of the more distant from Earth. He wore his uniform like his recent promotion on his lanky frame. Stiff and uncertain, as if playing dress-up in an older sibling’s clothing. He looked past her, standing at attention with the fervor of the insecure.

“At ease, Lieutenant.” She released him from his stance, and his shoulders relaxed. Very green. Had he been in her squadron, he would still be a private. His family must have curried favor with a Coalition offi cial. The thought irritated her but there was little she could do except ensure that the soldiers under her command were ranked by tested ability and operated cohesively. Kai tolerated nothing less, and this reputation ensured that only she recommended promotions for members of her squadron. The Coalition had yet to meddle in her affairs because of her personal record and achievements. A small favor, but one for which she was grateful. “Under whose orders?”

“Admiral Dirr’s.” He continued to stare past her, retaining his formality, though a bead of sweat tracked slowly down his forehead toward his brow ridge. Kai sighed under her breath.

He wasn’t a fi ghting soldier. He was, instead, a decoration that 54

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commemorated something his family did and that the Coalition appreciated.

“Thank you. Dismissed.”

Yun nodded once, a tight, awkward motion, turned on his heel, and walked down the stairs from the viewing platform.

His boot heels squeaked on the ship’s fl oors, broadcasting how new his footwear was.

Kai grimaced. Dirr could wait. She turned back to the glass that stretched from fl oor to ceiling, hands clasped behind her.

The infi nite reaches of space beyond the cruiser’s walls always eased her mind. Out there, things were ordered and operated in logical ways, with defi nitive causes and effects for everything that occurred. There was no right or wrong, no evil or good.

Out there, you lived or died not because such a thing was plotted and executed, but rather because of a failure on your part to adequately prepare. And that was something she understood, something that sat well in her thoughts.

She took another minute to stare out the window. Earth loomed large in the viewscape on this platform, and she longed to breathe fresh air again, longed for a leave of absence when she didn’t have to think about the rigors of her choices or the strange path they’d led her down. She longed, too, for a certain woman’s company but knew it was too much to hope for, knew that each time they met only increased the danger of discovery.

Still, she carried a specifi c commdisk in her right boot, affi xed with a compound that protected it from moisture and detection.

Should she decide to activate it, everything in her life would irrevocably change, and she was not at all certain she was prepared for those consequences. But nevertheless, she kept it close to her, as a way to dream, perhaps. Or rebel.

Kai descended from the platform, hoping that Torri had completed the contract she’d taken at Newburg. She smiled as she turned right and walked down the corridor that would take her to a lift to the upper levels. Here she was, a Coalition military offi cer who secretly hoped that a former rebel-turned-bandit had slagged Kai’s employer. How one’s A Matter of Blood

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views can change, given the right circumstances. She moved aside so that a group of civilian shiptechs could pass.

Kai walked on, thinking about the time she’d spent with Torri on Newburg two months ago. She’d been culpable, after all, in Torri’s opal heist. And she’d waited for a sense of guilt or remorse to haunt her in the days since, but it never came.

Instead, she was gratified, and strangely relieved but invigorated, as if she’d been struggling with someone else’s secrets, the kind that left her somehow unclean, but releasing them left her more buoyant than she’d felt in months.

She waited for the lift and entered when it arrived. It was empty, for which she was glad. She was in no mood for pleasantries, which she rarely felt these days, anyway. The superfi cial veneer of the Coalition irked her more and more, and rather than pretend that she enjoyed mundane prattle with various buffoons and sycophants, she instead kept more and more to herself, becoming even more of a loner than she’d been during her Academy days, when she studied incessantly, afraid that her fellow Cadets would somehow see that she, an unknown holder’s daughter from an unproductive region of Earth, had no business at the Academy. But somehow, she’d passed all their entrance exams and screenings, and done so in a way that funneled her into the more diffi cult track, at which she excelled. Somehow, she’d proven that belong she did, but there were times she wondered what she was trying to prove, and to whom.

Studying is good, but practical application is better, Torri had said to her after their fi rst year as bunkmates. And thus began the fi rst of the “explorations,” as Torri called them, of nearby settlements. Some of their escapades were benign and involved nothing more than a drink in a local bar after exams. Others, however, had taxed even Kai’s calm and clear thinking. How many times had she covered for Torri after a particularly long night of fun or trouble, the two not necessarily mutually exclusive? How many times had she talked them out of a scrape, after Torri’s temper riled 56

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locals? She smiled again. Too many. But she’d do it again, and love the chance.

Damn you, Torri. May you be quadrants away. That thought proved far better than the one that Torri might be near, something that brought hope, and Kai could not afford to indulge in it. Better that Torri were light years away, engaged in her trader activities—as Kai euphemistically labeled her black market work—than nearby. If the Coalition knew of their occasional meetings, it wouldn’t be only Kai who would suffer. No, hope was a chance she could not take again. Still, she knew that given that chance, she would. She gritted her teeth at her weakness and glared at the location readout on the wall panel to her left.

The lift opened at upper level two, and she exited to turn right down this corridor, in which military personnel and security-cleared mechanics and engineers dominated. Upon seeing her, the former all snapped to attention, and saluted as she passed. She ignored them, as was her prerogative, and strode the few hundred yards to the bridge entryway.

Here she paused, waiting for the full body scan. The force shield dissolved, and she crossed the threshold, glancing around the bridge for Dirr. Navigators and military techcrews manned vidscreens and holomaps, but as Kai passed them, she discerned that no defi nitive course had been marked. Odd.

They’d been orbiting for nearly a month after her assignment ended in Newburg. She’d been on standby since, waiting for her next orders, hoping that her recent promotion would grant her better options. Perhaps Dirr was going to issue her next orders, a thought that made her uneasy because it wasn’t protocol, and his dislike for her was palpable, whenever they’d had contact. In the past, she’d always been notified via standard military comm then standard military briefi ng with regard to assignments.

She spotted Dirr sitting at the primary control panel, the prow viewscape open, the blackness of space beyond, stretching like an ocean, though out here, no horizon existed to offer the A Matter of Blood

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illusion of a journey with an end. She approached, attracting more salutes. These, too, she ignored.

Dirr was observing something on a vidscreen, expression placid. From his thin, almost pinched features, Kai suspected Talesian ancestry, though she’d never cared enough to ask.

“Sir,” she said, right fi st over her heart in a salute. “You wished to see me.” She didn’t voice it as a question and in Coalition, the statement automatically carried an added air of respect in the title of address that the language required for offi cials like Dirr but that Kai felt for few, if any of her superior offi cers. Dirr was not in the group she respected.

He looked up at her as if she were an annoyance.

“Commander Tinsdale,” he acknowledged after a few seconds in his reedy monotone. “Thank you for your time.”

Kai recognized the insult but offered nothing for him to continue in that vein. He had no doubt scanned the ship after he requested an audience and noted that she had chosen not to respond right away. Regardless, Dirr had little respect from any true soldiers. His commission was pure Coalition bootlicking, and on some level, he knew that, and it rankled him.

He didn’t bother to stand nor did he request that she sit, implying that her presence was a bother, and he didn’t have time to treat her as a military colleague. Kai clasped her hands behind her back and waited, unfazed. He’d never gotten a rise out of her, and that wasn’t going to change now.

He tried again, looking back at the screen for another minute or two. Kai settled into herself to wait him out. She knew she would because she always did and that he would probably hate her more for it, though she didn’t care. Military offi cials like Dirr weren’t worth the shit that littered outpost alleys, but she wouldn’t take his baiting because she’d earned her commission, and her Academy record as well as her service since provided a reputation that nothing he did would ever imitate or breach. And besides, I look much better in my uniform. She fought a juvenile smirk.

“It is my understanding that you are originally from Vegas 58

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Sector, located in Amer Province on Earth,” he fi nally said as he swiveled in his seat to look at her again, though his eyes didn’t meet hers.

“Yes, sir.” She wished he’d get to his point. Her past was well-documented in her personnel fi les.

“Then I’m certain you are aware of the High Council’s agreement with Holder Tinsdale with regard to a lease.” He drew the word out, and if Coalition had the same linguistic flexibility that Empire did, Kai was certain he would be implying that the lease was only as good as the Coalition wanted it to be. “You’ll of course recognize the name of your father. And I’m also certain that you are aware that the High Council is engaged in a development project on those holdings that will vastly benefi t military directives.” He waited for a proper response, as if she were a schoolchild.

“Yes, sir. I am.”

“The project is currently in the earliest stages, and though your family has been most helpful—” He deigned to look her in the eye briefl y, making sure she recognized his sarcasm. She didn’t react, and he returned to staring at his vidscreen. “In spite of your family’s help, the project requires someone with military experience who has intimate knowledge of Vegas Sector.” He looked at her briefl y again. “You are to travel immediately to your family’s holdings and assist with project development. You’ll be reporting to Major Sorreth, of the Twelfth Squadron based out of Yuka Sector.”

Kai’s stomach churned but she gave no outward sign of it.

“Yes, sir.”

He honored his vidscreen with his attention again.

“Councilmember Wareni will brief you at oh-nineteen-hundred hours in her offi ce. That is all.” He dismissed her with an airy wave of his left hand, and Kai saluted again, though doing so nauseated her. She turned and left, and this time she acknowledged the salutes from lower-ranking soldiers with curt nods, more than they probably got from Dirr. She checked the chronometer that hovered over a nearby holomap. Barely A Matter of Blood

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thirty minutes to meet Wareni, whose offi ce was back near the viewing platform Kai had recently quitted. Dirr could have commed her the information, but his pettiness ensured that he made extra work for personnel he disliked. Kai was pleased she’d made that list, though it created inconveniences for her.

She started back toward midship, mulling what he’d said.

The Coalition had been trying to buy half her family’s holdings for a few months but her father, almost as stubborn as she was, had refused to sell and instead grudgingly offered a lease agreement. He had called on the infl uence of a neighboring holder, who had some pull. Apparently, it was working. The last comm she’d received from her sister indicated that the Coalition had agreed to the deal, though at a lower price, and requested use of the northwestern quadrant of the holdings as they conducted some kind of experiments in the unclaimed territory. Her family left that quadrant alone because it was primarily desert and too far from the main irrigation grids. Plus, it was much too expensive to grid it individually, and Kai’s family couldn’t afford to hire the settlers needed to supervise its reclamation, and proximity to the unclaimed territory was always a deterrent to settlement.

Kai frowned. She suspected the Coalition wanted it as a training ground for pilots, but there were plenty of deserts elsewhere, Torri had reminded her in Newburg. Why this one?

It made no sense, putting something like that or a military base of sorts out there. She turned left into a canteen, where she purchased a vessel of frissol to sip on the way to her briefi ng.

Its taste reminded her of some of the teas her family grew, and she needed that memory sharp on her tongue, especially since she was being briefed by a member of the High Council, something else unusual with regard to her assignment. The High Council rarely involved itself directly with military affairs. At least not so overtly.

Kai nodded at a private who snapped to attention and saluted her as she passed, his civilian comrades waiting while he performed his duty. She continued on her way to Wareni’s 60

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offi ce, envisioning the northwest quadrant of the Tinsdale holdings. This was about more than a military base or training operation. The Coalition was up to something. Kai took a drink, but the frissol was suddenly bitter in her mouth, like the taste of Coalition political maneuverings. Dealing with situations like this always irritated her, because they required so much attention to even the most trivial details. Strategic gaming, situations like this, and a wrong move often cost far more than an initial wager. Kai didn’t care much for petty gambling, anyway, but where the Coalition was concerned, she was sometimes forced into it.

She imagined that the commdisk in her boot heated, as if it was begging her to use it, to make the decision that would grant her the freedom she craved, the opportunity to fl y again, and to go where she wanted when she wanted. Something she’d never been able to do, weighted with responsibility and duty.

Something she’d started craving more and more, since her posting at Hallifi n Port nearly two years ago. The Coalition wasn’t interested in the well-being of its galactic residents. It came to power simply for power, and Kai was fi nding it harder and harder to justify service to it.

But on the other hand, what better way to fi nd out what really was going on with regard to her family’s holdings than through involvement in a part of the process? She gulped the rest of her beverage and tossed the container into a wall vat, where it would dissolve in the next few minutes. She had to fi nd out what the Coalition was doing, and she had to ensure the safety and fi nancial viability of her family and their holdings. Dreams of fl ight, of freedom, were just that. Dreams.

She pressed her thumb onto the keypad outside Councilmember Wareni’s door.

6

“Touch-down in thirty seconds.” Jann’s voice sounded in Torri’s commlink as the hover thrusters engaged, slowing their descent. She glanced at Jindor, seated to her left in the navigator’s chair. Jindor was watching the vidscreens, already in full regalia for this venture. Torri doubted that an actual priestess of Cyllea would ever sully her hands at the controls of any transport, let alone a vessel like this one, whose crew could claim outlaw status in every Coalition port, if their true identities were known. But there Jindor sat, hair piled on top of her head in an intricate weave that intertwined with the bands of a silver diadem that was decorated with crystalline blue stars.

Torri suspected the stones were sapphires, or at least excellent facsimiles. It had taken some getting used to, seeing Jindor with black, rather than fuchsia, hair and blue eyes. Pigments courtesy of Jann again, who was, among other things, a master of illusion.

“Ten seconds,” Jann intoned as the Far Seek lowered itself to Earth’s surface where it alighted with a slight jar before settling in, allowing gravity to do what space could not, and anchor her to the landing pad.

“Engaging landing codes,” Jindor announced, her fi ngers fl ying over the surface of the panel, the sleeves of her deep blue robe rolled up to free her hands and forearms for movement.

She wore a heavy silver ring on the fourth fi nger of her right hand, a star-shaped setting on its band, fi lled with a star-shaped sapphire.

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“Sending voucher.” Torri pressed a sequence of controls to her right and opened a comm-channel to port security. She spun in her chair and nodded at Saryl, seated in her own chair behind Torri, near another set of controls. She nodded back in acknowledgement of Torri’s cue.

“Vessel Star Chaser requesting permission to dock,” Saryl said in clear, slow tones, using Empire.

“One moment, please,” came the clipped reply. Torri was unable to identify the gender of the speaker. A few seconds later, the voice continued, “Voucher received. Docking approved.

Welcome, Star Chaser. Please stand by for disembarking.”

“Standing by. Out.” Saryl closed the link and grinned at Torri. “I trust your journey with us was enjoyable, Guardian n’Morif?” She’d completely shaved her head, mimicking Jann’s usual appearance, to indicate her status as a mercenary, and they both wore black. The Coalition wasn’t adverse to soldiers-for-hire, because their loyalty could be bought. And the Coalition had access to far more funding than most Resistance networks did. Mercenaries in the company of a priestess of Cyllea were not unusual, and neither was a mercenary running a merchant vessel. Such a combination merely indicated a variety of services for hire.

“Moreso than I would have supposed.” Torri raised an eyebrow and released the fasteners on her seat harness. She stood up and smoothed her tunic, the color of rust, then checked the sheath at her left hip. Its weight was unfamiliar still, though she was grateful the Radij preferred dirks to swords. She would have preferred a fi rearm, but guardians employed by Temples were not allowed to carry such. A small pouch hung on her right side, holding a poison monitor, antidote disk for all known poisons, a wound closer, two comm jammers, and a tracker.

Things that temple guardians carried at all times. She tied her hair behind her head with a plain leather thong, fi nishing just as the Far Seek shuddered slightly as the docking magnet engaged. And so it begins. She looked at Jindor, who appraised her in a fi nal inspection.

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“Turn,” Jindor instructed.

Torri did so, holding her arms out.

“Good. What are your duties?” She had shifted from Empire to Southern Edge, the syllables melding in such a way that it sounded as if she spoke while holding a smooth stone in her mouth.

Torri, too, switched to Southern Edge, though the language was still a bit new on her tongue. “I am a guardian of a servant of Cyllea and as such, I am sworn to ensure her safety and security at all times, in all places, to the utmost of my abilities.”

“Not bad,” Jindor said, switching back to Empire. “You’ll pass. And since you’ve been gone from the homelands for so long, it’s plausible that your linguistic origins have suffered a bit.” She released her harness as well and stood, the robe cascading in impressive shimmers around her form.

Saryl made an appreciative noise. “I’m almost of a mind to donate to the Temple at Oiros at such a sight.”

Jindor drew herself up imperiously. “Almost?”

“Slag it, how much do you want?” Jann asked, digging in his pockets as if for credit disks.

Torri smiled at the banter. The next few days might not bring much of that.

“For you, kind sir, any donation to the goddess will do. For you—” Jindor turned to Saryl. “A month’s pay. The goddess looks kindly upon those who are so generous.”

“How kindly?” Jann grinned wickedly as Jindor unrolled her sleeves, which fell past her fi ngertips, hiding her hands.

“As kindly as a pure, untainted servant of Cyllea can offer.”

“Which, for you, would be a bottle of Oiros holy spirits blessed by Priestess Othne, and a quiet room to pray,” Saryl said to Jann as she powered the Far Seek down. “Are we ready?”

She looked at each crew member in turn.

“Always ready for a Coalition fuck-job.” Jann grinned again and smacked his left fi st into his right palm.

“Ready,” Jindor said quietly but fi rmly.

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Torri nodded once. “We’re guests here for two days. By that time, even if we don’t have the answers I’m looking for, we’ll leave and run the spice job early. Any longer than two days, and we risk someone contacting Oiros directly rather than simply checking the registries.”

They all nodded solemnly, fully aware that they were running that risk now. What Torri was counting on was Regent Evoran’s full attention to Jindor and impressing his neighbors with her visit rather than doing much more than a surface check of her credentials. Saryl and Jann wouldn’t garner a second look from him, since they were just merchant-mercenaries under contract with the Temple at Oiros. He no doubt saw plenty of those in general business. Torri, as Jindor’s guardian, would be even more invisible, since she was merely an appendage of the priestess. Evoran had his own bodyguards, so he’d pay little attention to anyone else’s. She, Jann, and Saryl were only a backdrop for Jindor, who was going to ensure that attention remained on her. Torri caught Jindor’s eye, and she knew that if anyone could accomplish that feat, it was Jindor.

“They’re sending the greeting party,” Saryl reported.

Torri exchanged another glance with Jindor, who smiled serenely at her. “Shar, please precede me.”

“As Othne commands.” Torri inclined her head respectfully and led the party to the side entrance at midship. She pressed the correct sequence on the keypad, and the door opened with its customary hiss, the ramp descending the ten feet to the landing pad.

“Slagging desert,” Jann muttered behind her. “When will we do something that involves palm trees and oceans?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Saryl muttered back as she switched the duffl e bag with Jindor’s and Torri’s clothing to her other hand.

Torri surveyed the terrain, and nostalgia blew through her synapses like the dust carried in the hot, dry breezes that wrapped around the ship’s landing gear. She’d met Kai’s family years ago on a term break, which she normally spent A Matter of Blood

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on campus. Her own family claimed the transport was too expensive, though she knew that was the excuse her mother used to cover her father’s continued anger at the career decision his daughter had made. Kai read between the excuses, too, and took Torri with her to her own family’s holdings twice during the course of their training, until even travel on Earth became too dangerous as the remnants of the Empire struggled against the Coalition’s ascent to power. She and Kai managed to graduate before the Collapse, Torri joining Resistance forces, Kai taking an offi cer’s track in the Coalition. Whether Kai saw battle during those months was something neither discussed with the other. Whatever Kai’s choices, they hadn’t severed her from her family. Torri’s had.

She clenched and unclenched her fi sts meditatively, and studied the buttes in the distance. Like broken teeth, they jutted from the bone of the earth, stark against the blue of the sky and the stretches of desert, mottled in shades of gray, brown, and cream. Tinsdale Holdings lay fi fty miles west, minutes away in a cruiser, but far too risky for this venture, since Kai’s sister and stepbrother might recognize her, even with the years and Radij scars added to her face. No, in order to uncover Coalition plots, she needed to go to the Coalition, and hopefully Evoran Ansi was that link.

Torri stood in the doorway, the rest of the crew behind her, as a fl oater emerged from a black ovoid structure on the opposite edge of the landing pad, some three hundred yards away. At that distance, she was unable to determine how many people were in the craft, but she suspected that Evoran was sending a decent escort for a visiting priestess. And in many cases, temples had cozy relationships with Coalition offi cials. Beyond the hangar, structures slightly darker than the wind-blown desert stood as a contrast to the buttes in the distance. Minarets with light blue roofs gleamed in the afternoon sun, surrounded by a mish-mash of other buildings of varying sizes. Splashes of blues and reds served as contrast to the tans and browns of the surrounding landscape, and the fl ashes of refl ections off a 66

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window or sun panel created a shimmering effect across Ansi Holdings. From its size, the holdings probably served as a trade center and outpost. And though she hadn’t visited Tinsdale in nearly a decade, Ansi’s were at least twice the size. So why wasn’t the Coalition trying to work with Evoran? Because whatever they want isn’t here. It’s at Tinsdale.

As the fl oater approached, no one on the Far Seek spoke.

They were now subject to commchecks, and Evoran had probably already programmed interceptors into the channels Saryl had used to contact Ansi personnel for landing. Torri glanced at Jann then Saryl. Both had shifted into professional mercenary demeanor. Easy for them to do, since they’d both served in that capacity. Jindor, meanwhile, seemed to radiate serenity, as a priestess of Cyllea probably had to do. Some, Torri was certain, believed in their stations as representatives of the goddess. Others capitalized on the corruption that ran riot through Coalition channels. How Jindor played her role with Evoran would determine how much information they could extract.

The fl oater’s pilot pulled within a few feet of the ramp.

Earthman, Torri gauged. The two others with him were female.

All wore light blue tunics belted at the waist that hung mid-thigh over black trousers. Ansi colors, she deduced, though she wasn’t certain yet whether these were security detail, staff, or both. She eased past Jindor and started descending the ramp, ensuring that Jindor was between her and Jann and Saryl, thus protected front and back, in accordance with proper bodyguard behavior. Jindor followed.

“Priestess.” The fl oater pilot addressed Jindor in Empire and bowed at the waist. He ignored Torri, as did his colleagues.

“It is with great joy that we welcome you to Regent Evoran’s holdings. I am Evor Ansi, next in line for the title of Holder.”

Evoran’s fi rst son, solidly built, and a few inches taller than Torri. He wore his hair long, and it fell on his shoulders in blond ringlets. A light blue headband kept it out of his face. He also wore a goatee, something that had become A Matter of Blood

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an affectation of nobility among Earthmen. Evor Ansi had an air of vanity about him and calculation in the way he appraised them. Torri decided he would bear watching. The two with him were probably mere security because Evor didn’t bother with their names. Given the impression Torri got from him, he probably ignored those he considered beneath him. His accompaniment weren’t professionally trained, but even someone with no formal experience could prove dangerous simply because they misread their own abilities and the situations in which they might fi nd themselves.

Jindor inclined her head graciously. “The goddess will be pleased at our reception. I am Othne, representative of the Temple of Oiros, Flori Sector. I am indebted to the crew of the Star Chaser, Captain Cansi and Second-in-Command Greybern, for the transport of myself and my guardian,” she said, using their aliases.

Evor gave Saryl and Jann a cursory once-over before deigning to acknowledge Torri. She nodded once at him, her thumbs hooked on the leather belt around her midriff. She expected him to forget her as soon as he registered her in his consciousness but instead he stared at her for a few moments.

Then he turned back to Jindor. “Priestess, it is my honor to ensure your further transport to my ancestral home.” He swept his arm toward the fl oater as if he were asking Jindor for a dance.

Torri stepped between Jindor and Evor and Jann brushed past all of them to board fi rst. The fl oater bounced a bit with his weight but he adjusted his stance and extended an arm, waiting for Torri to help Jindor aboard. A priestess of Cyllea never boarded any transport without someone from her entourage boarding fi rst to ensure her safety as her guardian helped her aboard.

Once Jindor was settled, Torri boarded, keeping Jindor between her and Jann. Saryl came next, with the duffl e bag, then the two female guards, and then Evor.

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permission. He understood the prestige a visit from a priestess of Cyllea could bring. Torri gave him that. But whether he was a believer or an opportunist remained to be seen.

“We may,” Jindor announced. “Many thanks for your courtesy.”

Evor unlocked the fl oater’s magnets and engaged the thrusters. When he accelerated, he did so with a practiced hand, and the craft slid forward with barely a jerk. Not thirty seconds later, he guided it into the hangar, where he nosed into an empty docking bay, which clicked into place on the fl oater’s prow. Several more Ansi security/staff appeared, all wearing the same color tunics and trousers. Saryl and Jann disembarked fi rst, Jann helping Jindor, Torri last out.

“Regent Evoran would be most honored to receive the priestess, unless she requires rest and perhaps a meal after her voyage. We have reserved quarters for her and her party, as all are guests of Ansi Holdings.”

“Ansi hospitality is most pleasing,” Jindor said as she looked around approvingly. “I do not require rest at the moment and would very much appreciate meeting the regent.

It is, after all, at his behest that I have come.”

Torri kept her eyes on Jindor and her expression impassive throughout the exchange, standard in its formality and turns of phrase. No matter how ridiculous she found it, she knew it was part of the political currency at play here.

Evor bowed again. “It is my greatest pleasure to escort the priestess to the reception room. Please, if you would follow me?”

Saryl caught Torri’s eye for a second before she and Jann started after Evor, a gesture that indicated to Torri that Saryl was paying extra attention to their surroundings. Jindor followed, and Torri positioned herself behind Jindor while the rest of the Ansi staff took varying places around them. Something in their demeanor bothered her—too watchful, too wary. Jumpy, like green recruits on their fi rst major mission. Were they ensuring the safety of a priestess? Or perhaps her captivity? Something A Matter of Blood

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about this reeked of Coalition, from the way Evor had studied her to the way the guards kept glancing at each other then Jindor then each other. Or perhaps Regent Evoran wasn’t as much a Coalition shill as Torri thought. Perhaps he, too, was nervous about what was going on at Tinsdale. An angle to consider, at the very least.

Torri moved a half-step closer to Jindor, within arm’s length as they walked down a corridor whose smooth, arched ceiling’s color matched that of the walls—light, dry soil shades, like the desert beyond. Glow sockets cast a warm, quiet light on the thick, colorful tapestries that hung on the walls, many of which depicted forest scenes. An odd juxtaposition, given the landscape of Vegas Sector. Torri suspected they had been in the Ansi line for generations, from the appearance of some of them. Old Earth history, from before the Alliance, perhaps.

The procession remained silent save for the scuffi ng of boots on the stone fl oor underfoot, and Torri thought of Tinsdale Holdings. Though smaller, the corridors there echoed with life and laughter, and carried the smells of food, spices, herbs, and teas. Within the walls of Tinsdale, most of Kai’s serious and reticent nature at the Academy melted, replaced with an easy smile and dry wit that had not only surprised Torri, but drew her ever closer to her bunkmate, though at the time Torri figured Kai would never know. She understood why the thought of losing the holdings to the Coalition wore heavy on Kai and sank into her bones like the toxins that marred the unclaimed territory to the north.

What she didn’t understand was what the Coalition wanted with a small holding like Tinsdale, when Ansi was so much larger, with better commerce and economic links to Earthbound traders as well as offworld merchants. And that’s exactly what she hoped to fi nd out from the Ansi holder himself.

7

They turned left down a shorter corridor that ended at an archway. The space beneath it hummed faintly, and Evor pressed his hand on the doorpad to deactivate the force shield.

Why was such a thing in use, so deep within the holdings?

Evor led them beneath the archway into a large, airy room distinguished from the corridor simply by size and the large table that stood in the middle of it, surrounded by ten matching wooden chairs, one occupied by the man Torri presumed to be Regent Evoran. He stood and bustled toward them, smiling broadly. Evor stopped, and everyone in his party did, as well.

“Priestess, may I personally welcome you to Ansi,” Evoran said in Empire. Like Evor, he, too, affected a goatee. He wore plain black trousers and a white tunic, but nothing about his clothing indicated his status. He stood no taller than Torri, though the added girth of his paunch and his effusive greeting made him seem somehow larger. Puzzling. Evoran clearly had money. Why did he not pay for the alterations to his physiology, like so many others? And why did he keep his hair gray, an indicator of his age? Perhaps another Alliance holdover. She took a step to her left, so that she could observe him in proper guardian watchfulness as he approached Jindor.

“Regent Evoran, I am honored at your invitation and request.” Jindor placed her palms together, fi ngers up, and bowed her head in formal greeting.

He mimicked her hand gesture and stood back, beaming.

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“I can assure you, the honor is all mine. I can’t tell you how exciting this is, that a representative of the goddess graces us with her presence. May Cyllea fi nd it within her benevolence to bless my holdings.” He ignored Evor and instead directed his attention to Jindor’s accompaniment. Jindor took the cue.

“Regent, may I present Captain Birrit Cansi and Second-in-Command Dal Greybern, of the Star Chaser. They graciously agreed to transport me on such short notice.”

Jann and Saryl inclined their heads.

“Welcome,” Evoran said, smiling again. “My thanks to you for being so amenable.”

“And my guardian, Shar n’Morif.” Jindor acknowledged Torri, who nodded once at Evoran but remained silent otherwise.

He nodded back and studied her face, as Evor had earlier.

Jindor waited a few more seconds before she broke his scrutiny. “Regent? Is something amiss?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, jerking his attention to her. “We don’t get many Radij here. Fascinating culture. I meant no offense.”

He directed the last to both, and Torri remained impassive though alert. Certainly Vegas Sector wasn’t the teeming port of Newburg, but something in his examination—like Evor’s earlier—wasn’t mere curiosity about a distant culture. Evoran exchanged a furtive glance with Evor, and Torri hoped that Jindor had caught it, too.

“Indeed,” Jindor said. “And also a culture that prepares its members from an early age for warfare. Those who leave the homelands are thus prized in temples for their protective skills.

As I’m sure you know.”

Clever, Torri thought. Jindor had both alerted Evoran and his son about Torri’s purported martial skills, but also warned them that should they attempt anything underhanded, they’d not only have a fi ght on their hands, but they risked offending temple personnel.

“I would imagine that a Radij would fi nd Vegas Sector quite amenable.” Evor this time, and Torri judged his statement as an 72

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attempt to gather information. “It’s a similar climate, after all, to the homelands.”

“Not all of Sentinel is desert, Premier,” Jindor responded, using the honorifi c term that denoted Evor’s position in his family hierarchy as eldest son. “And not all Radij inhabit the homelands.”

Torri crossed her arms and maintained her silence, a tactic she’d learned at the Academy. She’d found that with people who had no military background, such an approach often proved unnerving.

“It’s my understanding,” Evoran broke in, “that all Radij are tied to the homelands through the introduction of a parasite of some sort.”

Jann and Saryl glanced at Torri. They probably were wondering what in Cyllea’s name the Ansi holder was driving at. So did she.

“Not all,” Jindor responded. “Because not all Radij are privy to the ritual and not all receive the parasite.” She smiled serenely. “But I did not come here to discuss the heritage of my guardian, Regent. I am here as a representative of the goddess and as such, I have obligations to meet and requests to be fi lled. If it would please the regent, might he provide an idea to Cyllea’s servant as to the specifi c nature and extent of the blessing he wishes her to impart?”

“Of course. My apologies again, Priestess. Please forgive my show of ignorance.” He smiled and turned to say a few words that Torri didn’t catch to the woman who stood closest.

She nodded and headed back to the corridor that had brought them all here. She passed easily beneath the archway, an indication that Evor hadn’t reactivated the force shield.

“I’ve sent for refreshments. Perhaps your transport might avail themselves of their guest quarters?”

Jindor turned to Jann and Saryl. “Is that amenable to you both?”

“If the priestess does not require our services at this moment,” Saryl said. “But Regent, Second Greybern and I will A Matter of Blood

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maintain quarters on the Star Chaser until departure. It’s easier for mechanical checks.”

Evor exchanged another glance with his father and again, Torri wondered what bargain they’d made with the Coalition for a landing permit. No doubt the Coalition was already running checks on the ship, though they’d find nothing suspicious. Saryl was a master at ensuring all their permits were in order, even if they were false.

“Are you sure?” Evor asked. “We have more than enough room.”

“You are too kind, Premier.” Saryl inclined her head again.

“But we wish to ensure that the priestess’s transport remains in excellent condition. We don’t want to inconvenience you beyond the two days you’ve been permitted to host us.” With that, Saryl turned to Jindor. “Your leave, Priestess?”

“Yes. Please inform me should anything arise.”

“Most assuredly.” Saryl fl ashed a quick glance at Torri, who opened the commlink in her ear with a thought. Saryl and Jann would be able to hear what transpired between Evoran and Jindor. “Regent. Many thanks for your offer. Well met.”

“And to you. Evor, accompany them to their ship.”

Evor turned on his heel and strode out of the room, Saryl and Jann just behind. Torri kept her attention focused on Jindor and Evoran. So the good regent didn’t want strangers wandering about Ansi without supervision. Did the Coalition’s activities expand beyond Tinsdale? Or was Evoran a cautious man? And was this about the Coalition or about internal difficulties, something holders did have to face on occasion?

“Please, Priestess. If you would join me at the table?”

Evoran motioned for Jindor to take a seat opposite him. He chose not to sit at the head, something Torri found appealing.

In different circumstances, he might have been avuncular.

Jindor lowered herself gracefully onto the wood, and Torri took a station behind her, slightly to the left, so she could reach around Jindor to the table if need be. She counted ten male Ansi staff members who positioned themselves around the room in 74

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a semblance of sentry duty. From their stances, they weren’t trained soldiers. Perhaps they relied on their pistols to protect the holder and his guests. Or, more ominously, perhaps they were ensuring that Evoran’s guests remained in his presence as long as he deemed necessary. Ten men, ten pistols. One didn’t need to have military training to use a pistol, and one of them was bound to hit either her or Jindor if, Cyllea forbid, something untoward happened. Like, say, Evoran knew about their subterfuge and had decided to turn them over to the Coalition. But Torri doubted that was the case. Evoran was worried, and most likely, it had something to do with the Coalition moreso than a priestess of Cyllea and her guardian.

“As I specifi ed in my communication with the temple, I have need of a blessing for my daughter’s Corderan.” Evoran sat with his hands resting on the table, clasped together.

“A momentous and joyous occasion. I am most pleased to offer a blessing for her. Have you selected a setting for it?”

Evoran beamed with paternal pride, and for a moment, Torri saw Evor in his features, though she guessed that Evor would choose not to age as his father did. “I have. And if you would, a blessing for the Corderan site? I was hoping a morning ritual and perhaps an afternoon . . . ? Unless the priestess fi nds that too taxing.”

“I don’t. It shall be as you wish.” Jindor leaned forward conspiratorially. “Does your daughter have an array of prospective bondmates in mind?”

Torri bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. Jindor was intimating that she might put in a good word with the goddess for Liyah’s choice. Or perhaps Evoran’s choice, more likely.

He sat back, another smile lighting up his broad features.

Positively jolly, Torri thought.

“She does. And I’m pleased to report that any one of them would suit her well. But if you’d cast an extra blessing for Premier Vano of Tinsdale Holdings, I would be most honored.”

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the running as Liyah’s bondmate? He was nearly twenty years her senior, if Torri remembered correctly. Then again, his fi rst bondmate had died fi ve years ago, providing no children. Kai’s father probably wanted to ensure a tie to Ansi, and when he died or decided to pass holdership to Vano, both Ansi and Tinsdale would benefi t. Evoran may have encouraged such a bond, since Tinsdale teas garnered millions in neighboring quadrants. On the surface, a joining like that was politically astute for both holders. Beneath it . . . another matter entirely.

A politically expedient choice, though Torri found Vano distasteful.

“It shall be done,” Jindor said just as an Ansi staff member arrived with a tray of food and a pitcher of what Torri guessed was wine. Tinsdale Holdings vinted its own, and she suspected Ansi did, as well. The staff member set crystal goblets in front of Evoran and Jindor. She poured for Jindor fi rst then Evoran, after which she set empty plates in front of each.

“Please, serve yourself.” Evoran offered an expansive gesture over the tray. In accordance with tradition, serving oneself was an attempt on the part of the host to assure the guest that the food wasn’t poisoned. Jindor selected two pastry puffs most likely fi lled with local meats and an array of local vegetables. She looked up at Torri, who removed the poison monitor from her pouch. Her body heat activated it, and she moved it slowly over the food items, Jindor’s goblet, and the liquid in the pitcher which registered as wine.

“Are priestesses of Cyllea in such danger?” Evoran asked, frowning.

“Sadly, yes. Though we are servants of the goddess, and thus try to remain uninvolved in political or economic disputes, there are those who wish to use us as symbols in various confl icts. Regretful, but one can never be too careful. Please do not take it as a personal affront. It is standard procedure at Oiros.”

Torri nodded at Jindor and deactivated the monitor before she put it back in her bag. She resumed her station, staring at 76

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a point on the wall just above Evoran’s right shoulder, her demeanor as welcoming as a chunk of marble.

“I had no idea,” Evoran said, and he sounded sad, as if he’d just found out that a childhood belief was false. “But I am still amazed that you were able to come on such short notice. I hope the compensation I have offered is acceptable.”

Jindor fi nished chewing and swallowed. “It is extremely generous. Would it be possible for you to comm it directly to Oiros through the Star Chaser? I wish to ensure the temple immediately benefi ts from your generosity.”

And that Saryl can re-route it to offworld accounts, Torri fi nished silently.

“I will indeed. Oiros doesn’t like its servants running about with too much money, I suppose.” His eyes seemed to twinkle, and Torri decided that in spite of what she suspected were political machinations at the behest of the Coalition, he was a man who meant well. But she also suspected that when threatened, he’d acquiesce quickly, so as to avoid a fi ght. Unlike Kai’s father, who dug in harder the more he was pushed.

Jindor smiled. “You are correct, Regent. Or running about in any sense. We are servants of Cyllea, after all, and her benevolence for those of us who choose a temple life is more than enough. So tell me. I know too little about Ansi, and it seems quite grand. You must be very proud.”

Evoran positively glowed at Jindor’s observation, and he launched into an hour-long discourse about the history of Ansi, the development of its spices, wines, and teas—though Tinsdale was the expert on tea, Evoran graciously allowed—

and the effort required for its upkeep, as it included not only the Ansi family’s dwellings but also two neighboring villag-es, sustained by Ansi’s role in commerce. Throughout, Jindor asked questions at appropriate intervals, laughed at the right moments, and puffed Evoran up even more. He fi nished three goblets of wine and called for another pitcher. Jindor had yet to drink half of her fi rst, and she covered her goblet with her hand when the servant returned. He fi lled Evoran’s instead.

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“Are priestesses of Cyllea allowed to share a bit of their pasts with humble believers?” Evoran asked as he reached for his wine. He was a bit tipsy, from his now effusive speech pattern. Then again, he could be faking. But he was up against Jindor, who could wrest information from the lips of dead men.

“A bit,” Jindor said coyly. “What would the regent like to know?”

“Where such a lovely servant such as yourself hails from.”

Torri bit the inside of her lip again.

“You are too kind, showing an interest beyond my work for Cyllea,” Jindor defl ected. “Too often, those who request our blessings don’t see beyond our formal trappings.” She raised her goblet in a toast which Evoran hastened to meet. “I am originally from Paltor Quadrant, one of the agricolonies there.

My parents were not engaged in that pursuit, unfortunately, as my father was military.”

“Military,” Evoran repeated, a slight slur to the word. “Is he active?”

“He was. My father died several years ago, after completing his service honorably. My brother, however, is still active in Vector Quadrant. I’m very proud of him.”

Excellent. Jindor was laying some groundwork for possible Coalition sympathies.

“I wish Evor had shown an interest in military pursuits.”

Evoran took another gulp of wine. “Then again, he’s good with business, and I need an heir who’ll ensure our stability in the future.”

“Have you other sons?” Jindor asked, something she already knew from her research in preparation for this venture, but a question that might loosen Evoran’s tongue further.

“Two. One works with a spice distributor and the other works here, to ensure that if something happened to Evor, we’d have someone able to carry on.”

Ansi was traditional indeed. Apparently, the male heirs were expected to shoulder the holding business. No mention of daughters 78

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or even Evoran’s bondmate. Kai’s father, at least, prepared both Vano and his youngest daughter Meli for holdership.

“It seems as if Ansi is well-positioned for the next generations,” Jindor said, an extra bit of admiration in the statement.

“Cyllea willing.” Evoran fi lled his goblet again. “Though any time the Coalition is involved in local politics, it puts a hindrance on business, and I’ve had to stagger my shipments differently.” He sighed. “As much as I approve of what they do, sometimes it’s a bother, when offi cials spend too much time in an area.”

Torri adjusted her stance so slightly that only someone physically touching her would realize it. Evoran was a Coalition sympathizer. How far did his loyalties go?

“I’ve heard that from many hardworking citizens on Earth,”

Jindor said, hints of empathy in her tone. “For the good these offi cials do, local and regional business can suffer, due to the perceptions of others.”

“That’s exactly right,” Evoran said, looking at her with relief, as if he’d been trying to determine where a servant of Cyllea might stand with regard to the Coalition. “I suppose you’ve been wondering what’s going on here, that I had to fi le for a landing permit for your transport.”

“In truth, Regent, I had not. Coalition business is none of mine. I am but a priestess, and serve all.” She smiled in such a way that Evoran stared at her with open admiration. Jindor had him by the balls, and he had no idea. Torri focused on a different spot on the wall.

“I’m gratifi ed to hear that,” he said as he again reached for his goblet. “My apologies in advance should the Coalition decide to detain you upon your departure.”

The skin on the back of Torri’s neck prickled. Evoran’s body language was past tipsy and entering drunken sod, but he might still be in better control of his functions than he was letting on.

“Regent? Should I worry?” Jindor asked, injecting only curiosity into the question.

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“Every ship that’s permitted to land is also subject to a departure search.”

Jindor shrugged. “That seems reasonable. I’m sure whatever the Coalition is doing, there’s a good purpose behind it. I would expect offi cials would be interested in security and the like.”

Evoran relaxed even more. “They’ve got some research project going over at Tinsdale.” He gestured vaguely.

“Kaivan’s making it hard on all of us, that stubborn old fool.”

Torri stared harder at the wall.

“Perhaps he just wishes to ensure the security of his holdings, as you do,” Jindor said with a smile.

Evoran drained his glass and slowly poured another. Wine splashed onto the table but he was oblivious to it. “There’s security,” he said, “and then there’s plain slagging stubbornness.

The Coalition isn’t doing anything with Kaivan’s extant fi elds or the fallow land. They’re up there near the unclaimed territory.”

“Unclaimed territory?” Jindor echoed. “Forgive me, Regent. I’m not as familiar as I would like to be with this area.”

“No, no. Forgive me, Priestess. I should be clearer.” He belched softly into his hand then gulped half of his wine. “It’s land too toxic for agriculture. Been that way since the Fortunata Wars.”

“Ah. Well, perhaps the Coalition is looking to reclaim it, and expand agriculture for further economic stimulus in Vegas.

Such a thing would surely benefi t all the holdings in the area.”

Never underestimate what casual conversation might reveal. Evoran was a political novice in this exchange, and he probably wouldn’t remember much of it in the morning. Torri felt almost bad for him.

“If it were only that simple,” he said, ending the statement with a heavy sigh. “They’re conducting some kind of bioresearch.”

Torri swallowed as unobtrusively as she could, so as not 80

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to draw his attention to her and interrupt the flow of information.

“How strange.” Jindor took what looked like a sip of wine.

She’d most likely just tasted it before setting her goblet down.

“Some kind of work with parasites.” He glanced at Torri.

“Parasites?” Jindor’s interest sounded polite, as if she truly didn’t care what the Coalition was up to. Torri picked a different spot on the wall to examine, but her thoughts were roiling. Parasites. In general? Or specifi cally, the kind of parasites that were indigenous to the Radij homelands? She glanced at Evoran to gauge whether he had directed his parasite comment at her because she happened to be masquerading as Radij or if there was a link between what the Coalition was doing and the Radij, but he was staring moodily at the table. Her skin prickled.

“There’s a compound of some kind up there,” Evoran said, unhappy. “We think it’s military.” It probably detracted from local business. Coalition regulations always put a damper on that, but combined with military machinations, commerce here was probably reeling. “Evor thinks it’s a bioweapon of some sort, and that’s why they’re doing the research in the unclaimed territory. If something happens, the weapon won’t survive and put the population at risk.”

The Coalition didn’t give a wild eldim shit about that.

Offi cial policies were always about profi t, not safely. No, they were in the unclaimed territory because it kept locals from trying to fi gure out what they were up to.

“I can imagine that has had an effect on your business,”

Jindor said, layering sympathy thick.

“More than anyone could guess,” Evoran griped. “I’m hoping that your blessings will help morale around here. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited Tinsdale and Burnside representatives to attend one of those tomorrow. The afternoon one.”

Morale. Perhaps Evoran was afraid for his safety from residents of his own holdings. That, too, might explain what seemed like unnecessary security.

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“Not at all,” Jindor said. “Cyllea extends her blessings to all who welcome them.”

He belched behind his hand. “We use standard Earth time for this sector. Morning meal will be at seven.”

“I look forward to it.” Jindor inclined her head graciously and the way Evoran looked at her, Torri was glad Jindor masqueraded as a priestess, and was considered off-limits to carnal pursuits. The last thing they needed was a randy, smitten Coalition sympathizer trying to talk his way beneath Jindor’s robes. Not that Torri blamed him that.

“My thanks, Priestess,” Evoran slurred. “And now, I’m sure you must be exhausted from your travels. I’ll have someone escort you to your quarters.” He waved one arm absently in the air, as if trying to dissuade an annoying insect, and the female servant who had brought out the food approached.

“Please accompany the good priestess and her guardian to their quarters,” he said as he pushed back from the table and nearly upset the pitcher of wine.

“Yes, Regent.” The servant turned to Jindor. “Priestess, if you please?”

Torri stepped back to give Jindor room to stand. Evoran leaned on the table with both hands, an expression of bemusement on his face. If he wasn’t drunk, he was a damn good actor.

“Many thanks, Regent, for your hospitality. I’ll see you on the morrow,” Jindor said with a radiant smile.

“The pleasure was all mine. It’s been too long since I had such gracious company at my table.” Had he not been drunk, Torri suspected his words would not have carried the hint of sexual invitation that he placed on them.

The servant looked at him, uneasy, but not shocked.

Perhaps Evoran had a history of this type of behavior. A male servant stepped forward and gently took Evoran’s left arm so he could pull him carefully from the table. A familiar motion, Torri saw, and an indication of Evoran’s proclivities. The servant had probably had to do this at least a few times in the past. She turned and followed Jindor, keeping a pace between 82

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them as the servant led them from the room. She glanced back to see Evoran sagging against the servant even as he tried to wave him off. Torri directed her eyes at Jindor’s back. Evoran’s behavior tonight had provided a glimpse into the inner workings of Ansi and possibly clues about the Coalition.

Nothing was as it seemed here.

8

“May I have your name?” Jindor asked as she and Torri were led down the corridor away from the reception hall.

The servant looked over her left shoulder at her, surprised.

Young, Torri gauged. Maybe not yet twenty. She wore her dark hair long, and it hung down her back in a single braid through which bits of colored ribbon had been woven, a nice complement to the light blue tunic.

“Serris, Honored One.”

“Well, my thanks for escorting us. Are you able to attend the blessings tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” she said, and her disappointment indicated that she most likely could not.

Jindor stopped, which brought both Torri and Serris to a halt as well. “Have you ever seen a blessing?”

“Not in the fl esh.” Serris dropped her gaze in deference.

“Then you shall attend. I’m sure the Regent can survive without you for an hour or two.”

She looked up, hopeful. “I would be most honored, Priestess.”

“Certainly.” Jindor gestured for her to continue leading them. While Jindor chatted amiably with the servant, who seemed more dumbstruck than anything else that a servant of the goddess would wish to engage her in conversation, Torri memorized the route they took. They walked deeper into the holdings, using the main corridor that had initially brought 84

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them to the audience room. One turn left, then a right, then a second right, and Serris stopped at a solid wooden door.

“Your quarters,” she said.

“Thank you. But tell me,” Jindor said, “what I should expect upon the morrow.”

“Priestess?” Serris raised her eyebrows, confused.

“Should I incorporate a blessing for all Ansi residents?”

Serris relaxed. “Oh, yes. We would appreciate that.”

“Very well. A blessing for strong commerce? Favorable weather? What do you suppose?”

Serris started to say something then stopped. After a moment, she tried again. “Clear heads, Honored One.” And she looked meaningfully in the direction they’d just come from. And then she dropped her gaze, a fl ush spreading on her pale features.

“It shall be done,” Jindor said, her tone putting Serris at ease.

“Thank you, Priestess.” Serris stepped forward and pushed on the metal door handle. It clicked, and Serris opened it inward. This was clearly one of the older parts of Ansi. No keypads here. Which might not be a bad thing for security purposes, since a keypad could be programmed for anyone.

No keypad meant a door usually locked from the inside, allowing the occupants to control access. But only if they, too, were inside.

“You should fi nd all you need within, Priestess. We assumed your guardian would share quarters with you. There is an extra bed in the antechamber.”

“Many thanks, Serris. I look forward to seeing you on the morrow.” Jindor stood aside so Torri could enter fi rst, under the pretense of checking to make sure all was in order. Though given the evening with Evoran, Torri would have checked it anyway. Ansi reeked of Coalition. Lowering one’s guard is tantamount to lowering one’s trousers. Choose the time and place of your exposure wisely. Torri remembered the muffl ed snickers at Master Darr’s pronouncement. But she had been A Matter of Blood

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right. Lines blurred in matters of war and peace, whether in or out of the bedroom.

“Priestess, if you would wait here, in the entranceway?”

Torri motioned for Jindor to enter.

“One moment.” Jindor looked at Serris. “If it’s not too much trouble, might someone bring a meal for Shar?”

Serris’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Usually security details work in shifts and take turns—” Another fl ush splashed across her face.

Jindor touched Serris’s arm in a comforting gesture. “It’s quite all right. I don’t expect you’ve had many visitors who require the constant attendance of but one person.”

“No, we haven’t. I’m so sorry. I’ll take care of it immediately.”

She turned and walked swiftly down the corridor, deeper into the holdings, probably mortifi ed that the priestess’s guardian had not been fed.

“My thanks, Priestess,” Torri said, remaining in character.

“Please?” She motioned again, and Jindor nodded, entered, and stood to one side while Torri closed the door, its dark wood solid and smooth beneath her hand. The latch clicked, and she slid the deadbolt. Old. But effective. She glanced at Jindor and put a fi nger to her lips then signaled for her to wait by the door.

From her pouch she removed a tracker and sent it on its way ahead of her, watching its progress on the image it projected to her wristcam. It detected no body heat, no moisture that would signal respiration, no suspicious odors. She adjusted its capabilities and checked for listening devices and vid. None, but she would float a couple of jammers throughout regardless.

Torri recalled the tracker and returned it to her pouch. She left Jindor in the foyer and entered a small sitting room decorated with two light blue couches and one dark blue chair.

Cushions in an array of colors decorated the furnishings in turn. A low table between the couches held a tray of empty goblets. Off the sitting room to the right lay the antechamber with the spare bed and beyond that a large master bedroom.

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On the massive bed sat the duffl e bag from the ship. Torri ran a few more exams on it with the poison detector and also with her wrist tracker. Jann had rigged it with one of his ingenious security devices. If anyone had opened the bag, he would have received notifi cation through his commlink and then pinged Torri. He hadn’t, so chances were, the bag had been delivered as luggage, with no further examination.

The doorway in the far corner of the master bedroom took her into the spacious bathroom the tracker had examined.

Sunken marble tub, but a shower tube as well plus commode facilities and double sink. Evoran’s staff had stacked plush light blue towels on a marble counter that seemed to serve no other purpose than towel holder. Comfortably elegant, retro-fi tted with a few amenities like a beverage dispenser in one of the sitting room’s walls.

“All is in order,” she announced in Southern Edge. “You must rest. The day has been long. Shall I acquire something to drink for you?”

“No. But thank you.” Jindor smiled and brushed past her, the fabric of her robe wrapping momentarily around Torri’s arm. It slid over her hand, the feel not unlike warm skin. No, Torri couldn’t blame Evoran in the least for his attraction to Jindor. The wine had merely amplifi ed it. Jindor headed for the master bedroom, and Torri released two jammers into the air, programmed for highest security. They orbited around her head before slowly drifting into the sitting room.

“Priestess, do you require further assistance?”

“Not at this time. I’m going to bathe, I think, and then to bed.”

“As you wish.”

Jindor winked at her and retreated to the bathroom. They couldn’t discuss the evening’s events. Not here. But when an opportunity presented itself, they would. For now, they’d remain in character.

Torri leaned against the wall by the door, waiting for her much-needed meal, mulling what Evoran had revealed.

Parasites. Bioresearch. Had what she and Jindor discussed A Matter of Blood

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briefl y on the Far Seek come to pass? Ridiculous. Nobody could get a parasite off Sentinel. But the thought stayed with her.

¸

Kai stood with her duffl e on the landing pad, the chill desert night both familiar and ominous on her exposed face. Behind her, the transport vented, hissing like the rock snakes she’d hunted with Meli when they had been children here. Kai knew this landscape intimately, like she might a lover, and even in the dark, she knew she could fi nd the spot where Meli had been bitten by one of the snakes, some thirty paces to her left, behind the transport. And if she went west—to her right—she’d end up at Blackdraw Canyon, carved by a long-dead river.

Behind her lay Poison Land, Meli’s childhood name for the unclaimed territory. And, according to Councilmember Wareni, the place the Coalition was conducting its latest weapons research. Wareni had glossed over the description of what the Coalition was doing here, even as she assured Kai that Tinsdale Holdings were not in any contamination danger, and that her cooperation was absolutely essential to the continuation of the project and how thankful the Coalition was for Kai’s efforts.

As if she had a choice.

Kai spat, the moisture marking her presence. The earth would absorb it, like it had absorbed parts of her in the past as she grew to adolescence, in spite of herself. Kai needed that connection, needed the familiarity of it as she assessed the extent of Wareni’s lies and what she might do about them, and how she might determine how legitimate this facility was. Not that anything the Coalition did was ever legitimate. But there were activities sanctioned fully by the Council, released over media and comm channels, and then there were operations like this one, that stank of individual profi t and secrets within secrets.

She licked her lips, dry in this climate. Her father would not sell, but the Coalition had ways of forcing their issues. The only thing he had in his favor was his reputation as a holder and merchant. A long ancestry, a strong reputation, and 88

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the Coalition treaded gently, something far more dangerous, in some ways, than a show of force.

Kai’s right hand drifted beneath her coat to her pistol, holstered on her right thigh, a more comfortable position than on her hip. She wanted to walk to the hangar, but her instructions were to wait for pick-up. To wait for escort into her ancestral home. Kai’s mood carried a deeper chill than the night air.

She inhaled and exhaled through her nose, focusing on her diaphragm, seeking calm. A fl oater light bounced in the darkness a few hundred yards distant, emerging from the hangar. Which she could have found blindfolded. She took several deep, cleansing breaths, and repeated a mantra from her Academy days in her head, as the fl oater stopped a few feet from her.

“Commander Tinsdale?” said a genderless voice in Coalition from the vehicle.

“Yes.”

“Please accompany me to Major Sorreth.”

Kai hefted her duffl e into the fl oater and climbed in after it. The genderless driver waited for her to strap in before he/

she disengaged the floater’s magnets and turned back to the hangar. The driver’s features were all planes and angles in the dim control panel light, as if cut from crystal. He/she wore a black Coalition uniform, lieutenant rank denoted on his/her right bicep. The lieutenant’s name would be on the left pectoral, but from this angle, Kai couldn’t see it. The lights from the control panel weren’t bright enough. Besides, the ride was over. Kai released the belt and climbed out. She retrieved her duffl e and waited as the driver got out as well.

“This way, please.”

Kai chafed at the instruction. As if she wouldn’t know where she was going in her own damn household. She fought an urge to pass the lieutenant and lead the way to her father’s private study, where she knew he’d be waiting for her. They entered the hangar, and Kai detected spice, Danton tea, and citrus. The smells she missed the most when she left. Five fl oaters were A Matter of Blood

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docked here, none of them Coalition, for which Kai was glad.

Good. Let them park outside in the dust and wind.

Lieutenant Unknown led them across the hangar, and his/

her walk signaled a career soldier, crisp and exacting about foot placement. Kai was leaning female, but knew that wasn’t always the case, as the lieutenant might not have a gender. The nuances of Empire allowed for such contingencies in its linguistic structure. Coalition did not, in which case the lieutenant would choose one of the binary terms for self-identifi cation. As Kai assessed the lieutenant’s physiology, she decided she’d put money on “female,” if she were a gambling sort.

The double doors that led from hangar to internal corridor stood open, and as they approached, another Coalition soldier appeared from that corridor, dressed in offi cer’s gray. He strode toward them, exuding a controlled energy that Kai imagined pumped through him like hydrocoils in engine thrusters.

“Commander,” he said, in a smooth tenor that carried hints of warmth and humor, even in Coalition. She couldn’t place his accent, and from his physical appearance, she wasn’t certain of his genetic background. He stood a hair taller than Kai, and his sleek black hair was cut so close to his scalp that it looked almost like paint, a mirror to his eyebrows. He smiled, and the motion displayed a set of small, even teeth the color of bleached bone. “I’d welcome you, but I’m the guest here. In which case, my thanks to you and your family.” He nodded once at her and offered a brief salute. “Andris Sorreth. Thanks for helping with this. Transport trip okay?” He motioned her with him down the corridor, the lieutenant bringing up the rear.

“Fine.” She positioned herself on his left and matched his stride. Given her mood about this venture, and the presence of Coalition crawling throughout her family’s holdings, she was not in such a light mood.

“I assume Wareni fed you some info?”

Kai shot a glance at him, both surprised and amused in spite of her thoughts. “She did.”

“And I suspect you don’t believe half of it.” He turned his 90

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head, and his small, amber eyes twinkled. That was the only way to describe the mirth dancing in them.

“Major—”

“Andris. We’re going to be working together, and it’s a lot of this-and-that, having to speak in rank. Isn’t that right, Bal?”

He turned completely around and walked backward for a few steps so he could address the lieutenant.

“Yes, sir.”

Andris sighed and resumed walking forward. “Still can’t get her to de-rank in casual circumstances. I hope you’re not one of those, Tinsdale.”

“One of what?” she asked, pleased that she would have won a bet about the lieutenant’s gender. Or rather, at least with regard to how the lieutenant chose to be defi ned.

“One of those with a medical probe up the ass about certain things.” He had switched to Empire and he came to a halt in the middle of the corridor. Bal was apparently used to his behavior, because she stopped, as well, without running into him. Kai had taken an extra step before she realized she was now ahead of him. “Look,” he said, continuing in Empire. “I’ll not bandy about with this. Your reputation precedes you.”

“Good to know, in some quarters,” she responded in Empire, thinking that medical probes like the ones he alluded to were hardly in use anymore within Earth’s galaxy.

He put his hands on his hips. “From your records, you build the best soldiers, the best squadrons, the best operations. And you’re clean. Exemplary. No evidence of corruption, straying, or untoward behavior.”

“Your point?” she asked, her infl ection one of curiosity rather than challenge. As odd as his approach was, she did appreciate that he offered to show his hand.

“The best soldiers know which rules to follow and which to bend, and they know how to apply those standards in any situation.” He stated it as if it were a factoid recorded in some scientifi c database.

“Are you also applying a judgment?” She was amused, now, A Matter of Blood

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more than anything. Andris Sorreth was an intriguing break from the rigidity of her usual interactions with Coalition offi ciates.

“Absolutely not,” he said, raising his eyebrows which, Kai realized, were actually tattoos. Affectation? Or cultural more?

“Ah. So in keeping with your thought process, you are insinuating that since I have such a reputation, I don’t follow all the rules.” She pursed her lips, pretending to contemplate.

“I’ll toss Bal here out an airlock if I’m wrong.”

“Sir?”

Kai looked at Bal. “Not to worry.”

“So you’re conceding my point,” he said, a layer of teasing smugness in his words.

“Not necessarily. Tossing lieutenants out airlocks is against regulations. Plus,” she said, holding up her free hand to keep him from interrupting, “it’s simply not pragmatic to throw out a perfectly good soldier.”

He laughed, then, a sound that was half-snort. “Excellent. I had to lick a lot of boots to get you on board with this project.

Why the slagheaps at the top foot-dragged on it, I’ve yet to fi gure out.” He started walking again. “My guess is, they don’t want you to be uncomfortable about bioweapons research close to your family holdings.”

“A reasonable assumption,” Kai said, “and one most reasonable beings would understand in similar circumstances.”

“But that’s why it’s imperative that you’re here. It’ll force a little transparency.”

Kai glanced at him, bemused. “That’s not necessarily offi cial policy, I’m afraid.”

He stopped at the door to her father’s study. “Exactly. It’s unoffi cial. They don’t want to come off looking like shit-trollers. Not on Earth, not with a lineage like yours, not in a close-knit region like this.”

They. Who? Coalition military offi cials? Their civilian links?

Kai regarded him for a moment, weighing several thoughts, the foremost that Andris Sorreth, amusing as he might be, was a Coalition shill who was trying to fl ush her out and force 92

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an admission of anti-Coalition sentiment. Or perhaps he was seeking support from her in this venture. She decided she wasn’t interested in verbal sparring matches with him, or in his quirky approach. “I’m here under orders, Major. And I will perform my duties to the utmost of my abilities while I am on assignment. Is there anything else I need to know at this time before I address Holder Tinsdale?”

Andris sighed the same way he had sighed at Bal earlier.

“No. I’ll see you at oh-seven hundred for a briefi ng, and then we’ll jump in to the project.”

“Very well.” She saluted him and nodded at Bal, who saluted back. Before he could say anything further, Kai pressed her thumb onto the keypad and waited for her father to grant her entrance.

“You can’t fool me,” Andris said in teasing Empire as the door slid open. “You’re much more fun than that.”

“Perhaps not,” she responded blandly in Coalition. “Good night.” And she turned and entered the study to greet her father.

¸

Kai fi nished her wine but didn’t set her glass down, not yet.

She held it up, enjoying the way the light from the glow sockets bounced off it and the decanter near her left hand. Solid and enduring, glass. How unlike the beverage containers she used almost every day as a soldier. Organically derived synthetics that dissolved within hours, if not minutes. And the table—she ran one of her hands over its surface, admiring the deep gloss of the eldwood, rubbed to a smooth mirror by generations of use. It had been a fi xture in this conference room as long as Kai could remember, and when she was a child, she’d come here to sit and stare out the windows at desert stars. This room proved a sanctuary for her, and few knew she had haunted it as much as whatever ghosts of the past did.

She leaned back in her chair, carved eldwood like the table, and half-slouched in uncharacteristic military fashion. But she A Matter of Blood

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was not offi cially on duty, and she shed that identity as easily as she did the uniform. She thought briefl y of Sorreth but dismissed him within a few moments. Time enough to deal with him later. Right now, she was at home—a place she hadn’t seen in the fl esh for fi ve years. In some ways, it still fi t her like an old coat, but in others, she was as much a stranger here as Sorreth.

Her father, in his characteristic brusque manner, had greeted her warmly albeit stiffl y and taken his leave within ten minutes, though he did ensure that a staff member Kai didn’t know relieved her of her duffl e. “It’ll be in your rooms,” her father had said, and he’d squeezed her shoulder once more and left, taking part of the room with him, somehow. As soft-spoken as he was, he still managed to fi ll a space with his presence. Always had. The solidity of his frame, and how he moved within it seemed to leave an aura in his wake, like the roiling waves and ripples on water that followed an ancient ship’s passage. But like the thick rugs on the fl oor, he, too, had frayed at the edges, and Kai thought a hard tug on one of the threads might unravel him, expose things he’d spent years working to keep buried.

She turned the glass, and the light ricocheted off its faceted surface, each one a metaphor for the many facets of Kaivan Tinsdale, a man Kai barely knew, though she often saw his features in her own, often saw his slate grey eyes staring at her from mirrors, and she sometimes caught herself saying something he used to when she was a child. Strange, how a man like that stamped her physiology with his genetic material but left little, if any impression on her as a father.

In spite of the detached, almost formal relationship she had with him, she knew Kaivan Tinsdale was not a man easily swayed or easily led. A man who carried decades of pride and the desultory weight of history on his shoulders, who had survived the Collapse intact, and thriving, even—this was the man the Coalition was trying to force into a sale of his ancestral holdings.

Kai set the glass on the table. The Coalition might have 94

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considered harnessing a black hole instead. The door behind her broadcasted its opening with a mechanical whisper.

“I thought I’d fi nd you here.”

Kai stood at Meli’s voice. “Old habits,” she said with a grin.

“How are you?”

“As well as can be expected.” She wrapped Kai in a bear hug, a motion incongruous for the delicate, elegant fi gure Meli still cut. Tonight she wore a deep crimson sari accented with a turquoise and yellow sash. Matching slippers adorned her feet and gold ribbons were woven throughout her lustrous light brown hair, a shade darker than Kai’s own. “I’ve missed you,”

she said against Kai’s shoulder. “Our father isn’t the most social creature, as you know.”

Kai laughed and gave her an extra squeeze before she stood back and appraised her. “I see which of us got all of Mother’s beauty. Every time I see you, there’s more of her in you.”

Meli made a dismissive motion with one perfect hand, though her eyes sparkled with wit. Something else inherited from their mother. “And you. Quite the dashing fi gure, even out of uniform.”

“You got Mother’s gift with compliments. How is Tarkin?

Speaking of dashing.”

Meli pulled Kai back to the table and sat down, gesturing for Kai to sit with her. “My husband is no doubt picking the brains and kissing the asses of various Coalition offi cials.”

Kai glanced around the room meaningfully.

“Don’t worry. I keep jammers in here. Tarkin buys them from certain merchants whose connections ensure their reliability.” Meli smiled at her, and Kai relaxed.

“Do Tarkin’s actions surprise you?” Kai asked.

“Of course not. He has ambitions. And if you wish to capitalize on opportunity, then you must bed the people who provide it. Though I’m sure he’s bedding some for his own enjoyment. As long as he doesn’t bring me into any of his plans, we get along quite well.”

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“Where is he now?”

Meli brushed an errant strand of hair away from her face.

“Drinking profusely with several Coalition soldiers. The extremely annoying Major Sorreth may be one of them.”

Kai lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve only just had the pleasure of the major’s company this evening.”

“How utterly wonderful for you. Did he tell you about your reputation and what a great soldier you are?” Meli reached over her for the decanter. She poured wine into Kai’s glass and sipped delicately while she still held the decanter in her other hand. Satisfi ed, she set it down and sipped from the glass again.

“I see you’ve met him, as well.”

“Unfortunately.” Meli set the glass down. “Let’s talk about him later, after you’ve spent a day with him. I want to compare impressions.”

Classic Meli, Kai thought. She’d always been Kai’s comrade in subterfuge. And I’ve been away much too long.

“I wish I could see you more,” Meli said, pushing her lower lip out in a pout. “Father refuses to speak with me about the research the Coalition is conducting.” She traced the rim of her glass with one fingertip. “So I’ve had to do my own reconnaissance, as I’m sure you’d call it. Something else you and I need to discuss.”

“Does he talk to Vano about it?” Kai grimaced, thoughts of Vano sticking in her mouth like a bad taste.

“Not that I know. But Father has been talking to the regional holders. He thinks that if he creates enough rumblings among them, it’ll keep the Coalition from trying to force us out.”

Kai’s stomach knotted, and anger roiled in her chest, threatening to push into her throat. “It’s not a bad strategy. A dust storm across Coalition viewports.”

“No argument here.” Meli pushed the glass toward Kai, and Kai took a drink. Not the best of the Tinsdale wines, but a smooth one regardless, with nutty tones and hints of parador spices.

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“Where does Vano stand in all this?”

“As far away as possible. He has designs on Liyah Ansi,”

Meli said with a touch of distaste that was directed at their half-brother and not at Liyah. “Her Corderan is scheduled to take place in about six weeks.”

The wine was suddenly bitter on Kai’s tongue. “She’s half his age,” she said softly, not bothering to hide her disgust.

“Evoran’s pushing for it. Father hasn’t either endorsed or rejected the idea. He’s not enamored of Evoran, who spends far more time with his liquor and other pursuits than the business of holding. Rumors are that his own residents are none too pleased with his actions.”

Which might prove either useful or benefi cial, thought Kai.

If Ansi was distracted by internal problems, he might not have time or inclination to go to the Coalition and build an alliance against Tinsdale. She thought then of her half-brother. “Typical Vano. Putting his own interests ahead of the family’s.”

Meli smiled sardonically, the way she did when she chose not to voice her sarcasm. “He claims it’s for all of us, if he can become Liyah’s bondmate. After all, an alliance with a hold as large as Ansi could prove lucrative economically and politically. And as piss-poor a leader that Evoran’s become, he still has a lot of money and a lot of favors to call in.”

Kai took another sip of wine in the hopes that it might wash the taste of Vano out of her mouth. “Evoran would sell his own children to Endor slavers if he thought it would advance his standing with the Coalition.” She remembered the Ansi holder well during her Academy days, and she’d heard the talk in the halls of Tinsdale and Burnside, before the Collapse. Evoran was not to be trusted even then. She doubted that had changed.

“Speaking of Ansi money, Evoran’s commissioned a priestess of Cyllea to perform some blessings at his hold.”

Meli said it conspiratorially, as if she and Kai were teens again, planning to infi ltrate a gathering.

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knew it wasn’t about that. No, Evoran was shrewd. A blessing from a priestess meant public attention and a full social calendar from other holders who cared about such things. And there were many.

“No, he thinks he can buy a temple’s favor,” Meli corrected.

“Good point. Which one?”

“Oiros, in Flori Sector.”

Kai frowned, thinking. Oiros was the closest temple, as distant as it was. This half of Amer Province had been woefully neglected where servants of Cyllea were concerned. It made sense that Evoran would have contacted Oiros in search of a blessing. “How much money is he paying?”

“I knew you’d ask. A million, at least.”

Kai made a little noise of surprise in the back of her throat.

“For a blessing?” Evoran did indeed have a lot of money.

Meli shrugged, a gesture that implied she knew far more than she let on but was far too circumspect to reveal it. She missed her calling, Kai thought. She would have excelled as an offi cial politician. “Is the priestess going to bless the Corderan, then?”

“Yes, but not when it’s slated. She’s at Ansi now, and scheduled to perform two blessings tomorrow, one for the future Corderan and one for Ansi Holdings overall.”

Kai poured another glass of wine. “And I’m sure that Meli Tinsdale has already received the invitation to such an event.”

She raised her eyebrows and handed the glass to her.

Meli gave Kai one of her “perhaps I haven’t, perhaps I have” looks. “I’ll have some food brought,” she said as she took the wine. “We have a lot of talking to do.”

Kai smiled. “We do indeed.”

9

Torri followed Jindor like a shadow and appraised the crowd that had gathered in the reception hall after Jindor’s blessing ceremonies—so convincing that Torri wondered if Jindor had temple training. For a moment this morning, she’d felt guilty as Jindor, under falsehood, called upon Cyllea to provide blessings and prosperity to Ansi and to Liyah in her future Corderan.

Followers of religion frowned on that sort of thing. But then again, the public mood here seemed much better than it had been prior to the blessings. People believed what they wanted to, and if for a moment belief in a false priestess brought them some peace of mind, was that such a bad thing?

Ansi had many secrets, and from Torri’s observations at the square where Jindor performed, neither Evoran nor Evor were popular among residents and staff. A few comments not meant to be overheard and many surreptitious glares at both father and son convinced Torri that Ansi sat on a political grenade, and anything might trigger it. How the Coalition fi gured into that she wasn’t sure—or if it did at all—and how specifi cally it affected Tinsdale was also anybody’s guess. No wonder Evoran had paid so much for a priestess. He was trying to curry favor with his own residents and staff but also create an illusion for his fellow holders, an illusion of a standing that he no longer held. It was entirely possible that he would use whatever the Coalition was doing at Tinsdale as leverage to further his goal of reclaiming lost status.

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Jindor moved freely among the people gathered here, perhaps a hundred, all representatives from other holdings. She wore a white silk gown that Saryl had altered so it fell to the tops of Jindor’s white slippers. It fl owed around her legs when she moved, a striking contrast to the black of her hair, piled again atop her head and held in place by her silver diadem.

Jindor was hard to miss.

As was Evoran, who bulled his way through knots of people, laughing loudly, patting backs, gripping shoulders. He was dressed in a light blue tunic and black trousers today, like all Ansi staff and residents. But Torri invariably picked him out of the crowd because of his bellowing laughter—she was sure he’d started drinking—and his rotund form. A ball bouncing from corner to corner. Oh, yes, he’d scored political capital, bringing a priestess of Cyllea to Ansi, and he was making sure to pound that point home. And pound a few drinks as well.

Evor drifted along the periphery of the hall, his head bobbing against the background of the tapestries he passed, a detached, almost macabre addition to the depicted scenes. Torri lost sight of him when a contingent from Burnside, by their colors, swallowed him. She caught sight of him a few minutes later, engaged in conversation with a male Ansi staff member and a woman in a Coalition offi cer’s dress uniform. Not unexpected to see Coalition here. Evoran was trying to play all sides and, in spite of Torri’s low opinion of him as a holder, he did know how to throw a party.

He’d chosen a room that was large enough to accommodate twice the number of people in attendance, but its ceiling couldn’t have been more than fi fteen feet tall, lending a sense of intimacy to the myriad conversations swirling around her.

It was almost like being in a public market, except people bartered politics here, and a handshake or agreement might be worth more than a shipment of black market spices. Torri looked for the Coalition offi cer again but didn’t see her. Evor was not where he had been, either. An angle that might need 100

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investigation, though she wasn’t yet sure of the approach. She scanned the rest of the room, assessing.

A long table constructed of a dark wood Torri didn’t recognize occupied the center of the room like a large sleeping animal, ponderous and solid. The massive claws on its legs only helped the illusion. Guests moved around it, past it, and away from it, as if they, too, worried about waking it.

Some, braver than others, stopped to retrieve a food item from its surface or pour another glass of wine from the dozens of bottles Evoran had provided.

Jindor, like Torri, had already eaten a few things, and now she sipped Danton tea from a heavy crystal goblet, smiling and greeting people as they approached and engaged her. Torri smelled the tea every time Jindor moved, a subtle mixture of citrus, cinnamon, and tarfruit. A Tinsdale signature, and she thought again of Kai, and about where she might be stationed now. Her breathing increased, as it always did when Kai was on her mind. But whatever she found on this trip, she couldn’t risk notifying Kai directly, though if it was as damaging as she suspected, she’d have to alert the Tinsdales somehow. Perhaps she could go through Meli. Not Kaivan, with his legendary stubborn streak and lack of subterfuge. He would refuse to accept anything unless he saw it with his own eyes—an admirable quality in many cases, but in this instance, one that could prove detrimental to his holdings.

And defi nitely not Vano, who would keep the information for himself and work his own bargain with the Coalition. Torri had met Kai’s half-brother on her second visit to Tinsdale and disliked him immediately. Physically, he might have been a human version of a rodent, with his pinched features and the almost triangular shape of his skull. Vano’s broad forehead narrowed to his chin, like the two sides of a triangle whose apex had been hidden beneath a goatee. Kaivan’s fi rst wife must have provided her son his unfortunate visage, since Torri saw none of Kaivan’s in him. Vano was sneaky, she had thought then. She doubted time had softened either his features or his personality.

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She scanned the room for Jann and Saryl, and located them near the table, chatting with a couple of Ansi staff and three people in colorful dress that didn’t seem to indicate a particular hold. Good. Not every holder broadcasted his or her standing, even at offi cial functions. In situations like this, rife with people whoring for attention, she tended to gravitate toward those whose trappings offered no clues about social standing or status. Those were the ones, she had learned, who tended to be the most important among their peers, and who often had the most useful information. People who felt no need to advertise were secure in their status, and had no real reason to lie.

“Priestess, it is a great honor that we were able to view your blessing,” said an Earthman in Empire. He had a fl at, round face that made Torri think of Earth’s moon. His hair had a similar whitish-grey tinge to it, though his countenance was ageless and smooth, a sign that he was not interested in going through some of the physiological changes of human aging. He wore dark green trousers and a plain white shirt that looked like silk.

It bloused loosely around his arms but came to tight cuffs at his wrists. He kept fi ddling with a heavy gold ring on the last fi nger of his left hand.

“I am pleased to be of service.” Jindor inclined her head, waiting for an introduction.

“Boris Sen,” he said, clasping his hands together and holding them stiffl y just below his waist, like they were errant children who might bolt around the room touching things inappropriately. But even in this position, the fi ngers of his right hand managed to worry the ring on his left. His focus was exclusively on Jindor. Torri might as well have been one of the faded tapestries, the impression she made on him.

“Sen Holdings,” Jindor said with a hint of breathiness.

“How wonderful of you to come. Evoran was most gracious in his descriptions of your fi ne textiles.”

Evoran had said no such thing, but Torri approved of Jindor’s lie.

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Boris appeared puzzled for a moment but he recovered quickly. “How kind of him,” he responded. Was that a bit sarcastic? Torri studied him with greater interest.

“Tell me, Holder—”

“Please, Priestess, call me Boris.”

Torri suppressed an eye roll. Had Jindor’s magic worked that fast? He seemed a solid, sensible fellow even if he did bear a passing resemblance to Earth’s Moon.

“Very well. Tell me, Boris,” and in Jindor’s voice, with her infl ections, his name sounded like the silk he wore, “how long has Sen been engaged in textile manufacture?”

“A long time,” he said, dropping his eyes in what looked like genuine modesty. “Since the Reorganization. Things have been diffi cult at times throughout our history, but we have persevered.”

For him and millions of others, Torri thought. The Reorganization wasn’t any light jaunt along a beach, after the last of the Old Earth governments had collapsed, spelling the end of the Administration. Some families were able to build dynasties out of the wreckage of the past, and others fed on memories and opportunities until they, too, disintegrated into history. Her father’s family had emerged from the Reorganization, as well, but split into different factions. Whatever was left of him and his attempt to begin his own legacy might have ended in the Collapse. Or perhaps he, too, bought favor with the Coalition.

She never wanted to fi nd out.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Jindor was saying. “May I offer a blessing to you in wishes that Sen continues with its fi ne traditions?”

He smiled, and the gesture showed fi ne, straight teeth that couldn’t have been the ones with which he started his life. “If it would please the Priestess, Sen Holdings would be honored.”

Jindor took his left hand in hers—she practically had to pry his fi ngers apart—and offered a standard blessing statement for Sen’s holdings, livelihood, and family. She added a fl ourish at the end, with “may Cyllea guide Sen Holdings down proper A Matter of Blood

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paths for the greatest good,” after which she released his hand as gently as she’d taken it.

Boris stared at her with the wide-eyed expression Jindor cultivated so skillfully. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, shaking his head, as if mere words would sully this moment.

“Boris, you suspicious old slag, how good of you to join my gathering,” Evoran boomed as he maneuvered around the table, arms gesturing expansively.

“My thanks for the invitation, Evoran,” Boris responded with a tone that implied he clearly hadn’t expected one, and he wouldn’t have been put out had one not come. Torri watched the two, gauging the relationship between them. Evoran squeezed both of Boris’s shoulders in a show of comradeship, but from Boris’s expression, it was a gesture laden with falsity. A performance, almost. But for whom?

“I wouldn’t think of excluding my neighbors from an event as momentous as this. It’s not often we have a priestess on hand to offer blessings—such things are too few these days,”

he fi nished with exaggerated self-sympathy. Torri studied his face, seeing none of the physiological signs of too much drink that he’d exhibited the previous night. “Priestess,” he said, turning to Jindor. “Has Boris here been talking your ear off?

Best keep the other one covered.”

“Not at all. I was just going to ask Holder Sen about his latest fabrics and dyes. Temples are always interested in local sources for products. Such a good arrangement, don’t you think?” She raised an eyebrow at Boris.

“I . . . I would think so, Priestess.”

“After all, if a temple invests in local economies, then it helps cultivate stronger ties between temples and communities.

And perhaps stronger ties within those communities. It’s a project Oiros is investigating.”

Evoran’s eyes narrowed in thought. “What would a temple expect in return?”

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learning more about the communities in the geographic regions they serve. I would hope, Holder Evoran, that you would not be adverse were I to inform Oiros administration about your fi ne wines, for example. Oiros provides a venue for many different social functions, and Ansi wines would, I think, please discerning and diverse palates.” Jindor smiled at him, and Torri again wondered about Jindor’s past, and her abilities to play whatever part was required of her. How many faces did she have? And which one was real?

“That would offer more opportunities for promotion,” Boris said. “And might help bypass certain . . . restrictions in the area. A shipment to Oiros, after all, doesn’t require offworld permits.” He pursed his lips, already too prim for a man with a face as wide as his. “But with current conditions, such a shipment would require some form of permitting beyond the usual.”

“Current conditions?” Jindor pretended confusion. “Oh, you’re referring to the extra security measures in place.” She didn’t mention the Coalition by name, and Torri knew she was casting a net to see what sorts of things she might pull in.

“That business at Tinsdale’s got us all locked down in Vegas Sector,” Boris said, a hint of exasperation in his words.

“Business has slowed.”

“Then you’re just not making the right connections.”

Evoran smiled at him, but Torri saw nothing genuine in it.

Especially since Evoran himself had so recently complained about the same thing to her and Jindor. He was baiting Boris, or at least chiding him. Boris might not have fully supported Coalition incursions here, but there was nothing unusual about that, since most producers and merchants chafed at Coalition watchdogging.

“Perhaps not,” Boris said with a shrug. “But there’s something to be said for the company I’ve decided to keep.

Sen’s weathered much worse, after all.”

So this moon kept its own orbit, Torri thought. Was he anti-Coalition on principle, or merely being pragmatic as A Matter of Blood

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circumstances warranted? From her experiences in the decade since the Collapse, most humanoids in all quadrants kept their mouths shut about current policies and most engaged in cautious practicality when it came to dealings with the Coalition. Torri knew supporters and lackeys existed, but the Coalition’s rise to power was too recent, in some ways, to have built up a lasting foundation of support. But if what she’d seen in the few years it had run intergalactic affairs was an indication of what the future held, she doubted the Coalition would ever have that base. Ruling by fear was effective in the short term, and ruthless governance could ensure years—

decades, even—of control. But fear spawns hatred and hatred drives rebellions. A merchant pilot had told her that, years ago, in a bar just before the Collapse. She hoped it was prophetic.

“But how much longer can it sustain itself with your policies?” Evoran snapped at Boris.

“And what policies would those be, Holder?” Boris’s expression was remarkably bland but his tone issued both a challenge and a rebuke. Torri moved closer to Jindor, her left hand resting on the pommel of her dirk. Boris fully faced Evoran now. “A refusal to involve my holdings in political machinations that have nothing to do with me? I have a business to run. Inventories to meet. Shipments to send. I’m not interested in the games small men play for scraps from Coalition tables.”

Evoran’s face purpled and a vein at his right temple throbbed against his skin in such a way that Torri half-expected it to explode in a most unseemly fashion. Now that would prove messy. She glanced at Saryl, some twenty feet away, still near the table. She could hear the exchange because Torri’s commlink was open. Saryl caught Torri’s eye, a silent acknowledgement that she was observing.

“Cyllea knows that we all do the best we can with whatever circumstances we’re offered,” Jindor said in an attempt to shift the winds of the brewing storm between the two men. “Even in disagreements are the roots of discourse. Holder Sen, may 106

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I interest you in one of the fi ne Ansi wines?” She took a step toward the table, Torri right next to her.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Priestess,” Evoran interrupted, and his charm supplanted the moment of anger. “Allow me.” He took her empty goblet, turned his back on Boris, and strode to the table.

“May I apologize?” Boris asked, contrite. “Evoran and I have a long history together but sometimes we don’t agree on things.”

There’s an understatement. Torri adjusted her stance to relieve a cramp in her right calf. She wasn’t used to standing for such long stretches of time.

“Priestess,” Evoran said upon his return. “If I may take your leave?” He handed her a goblet.

Jindor smiled. “Certainly. You have many guests.”

Evoran half-bowed and strode away again. He had ignored Boris. Jindor handed the goblet to Torri, who checked it and its contents for poisons or anything else untoward. She handed it back to Jindor. Boris seemed not to have noticed the exchange.

“It’s my experience,” Jindor said to Boris, “that it’s rare for any one person to agree all the time with any other. But tell me, has it been so diffi cult shipping your products offworld?”

“Only recently. Whatever the Coalition is doing at Tinsdale, it’s entered a new phase, and security has tightened. I have spoken to Kaivan—the Tinsdale holder—and he is trying to get those restrictions loosened for outgoing shipments from this sector’s holdings.” He toyed with his ring again.

“Well, perhaps he’ll be successful. I’ll make sure to issue a blessing upon my return to Oiros.”

“I hope he is. Kaivan’s a good sort, but can’t say I envy him his position over there. It’s a bit disruptive of business as usual to have military offi cials crawling all over your livelihood.”

“But we have managed to keep them out of the tea fi elds,”

said a newcomer whose deep blue sari coiled around her body like a colorful snake. Her hair, the color of rich, dark honey, cascaded to her shoulders, held out of her face by a plain silver A Matter of Blood

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diadem. She smiled, and the effect was like sunlight. “Boris.

How are you? Father sends his regards.” She raised her glass in a toast to him.

“The same to him,” Boris said, beaming.

To Jindor, she said, “Meli Tinsdale. I’m guessing you’re Priestess Othne. Welcome to Vegas Sector.”

“Fuck us all,” came Saryl’s voice in Torri’s skull over the commlink. “You want a diversion?”

Torri shook her head once, as if alleviating a slight crick in her neck. The best way to play this was to pretend she had never met Meli. As perceptive as Meli was, Torri doubted she’d recognize her. It had been over ten years, after all, and she was disguised as Radij.

“My thanks . . .” Jindor raised an eyebrow in question.

“Just Meli. How are you fi nding our little corner of the province?”

“Lovely. I confess it is my fi rst visit and I regret that. I hope to return, but on less offi cial business so that I might perhaps explore a bit.”

“And would a priestess require a bodyguard in a less formal venture like that?” Meli sipped from her glass and studied Torri over its rim. Torri willed herself not to move or look away from Meli’s gaze.

“Sadly, I’m afraid so. One would think that a servant of Cyllea might appeal to everyone’s inherent good will, but sometimes, it’s not so. This is my guardian, Shar n’Morif,”

Jindor said, stepping aside to present Torri to Meli.

“I’m honored,” Torri said in Empire, exaggerating a Southern Edge accent.

“As am I,” Meli replied. “If I may be so direct, it’s a surprise to see someone Radij here.”

For the fi rst time, Boris seemed to notice Torri, though in a cursory way, like he might notice a new piece of furniture.

“Priestess, Meli—pardon my interruption. Your leave, if I may,” he said, apologetically, and as formally as Empire would allow.

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“Chasing a business deal, are you?” Meli raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“Such as business is these days.” He smiled. “I do need to speak with your father at some point. Could you pass that along?”

“Indeed I will. Well met, Boris.”

“And to you.” He smiled at her then addressed Jindor.

“Priestess, a thousand thanks. May your journey home be safe.”

“Thank you. It was a pleasure.”

Boris nodded and moved away. Torri watched him until he was swallowed by a group near one of the entrances. She wanted to see if he had left, but to do so would require her to move away from Jindor so she could get a better angle of sight.

She instead remained in her position.

“At any rate—” Meli picked up where she’d left off with Torri, “how are you fi nding Vegas Sector?”

“Quite hospitable,” she said.

“Yes, well, Evoran can be that, when he puts his mind to it,” Meli said with the humor Torri remembered from her visits here, years ago. It pained her, because she could never engage it, could never ask Meli about Kai. That would put Torri and Kai at risk, and perhaps the entire Tinsdale family. “How long are you planning to stay?” Meli asked Jindor, though she kept her focus on Torri.

“I believe we’re leaving tomorrow, though the merchants who brought us here will make a stop at Burnside to deliver a load of spices.”

“Too bad. We are known for our teas, and I think my father would be pleased to send some to Oiros, as a good will offering.” She turned her attention to Jindor then, but Torri sensed she hadn’t fi nished with her yet.

“You are too kind. I’ll discuss it with the merchants.

Perhaps they’d be interested in purchasing a shipment of Tinsdale tea. They have many clients, and I’m sure that item is always welcome.”

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“Though I see you sully your tastes with Ansi wine.” Meli smiled mischievously and motioned at Jindor’s goblet.

“Only after thrilling them with a much larger glass of Danton tea which, the staff assured me, was a Tinsdale blend.”

She smiled back and raised her glass in a toast.

Meli laughed in appreciation. Torri remembered Meli over a decade ago, when she’d tease Kai in a similar fashion, and Kai would tease back, much to Torri’s astonishment. Her bunkmate had always seemed stiff and aloof at the Academy, but here, on home turf, she’d shown a different side. Torri had seen fl ashes of it, but never in full force and she knew, after that fi rst visit to Tinsdale Holdings, that Kai’s hold on her heart was permanent.

“I’m curious,” Meli continued. “Does Oiros prefer Radij guardians over non-Radij?”

Torri pinged Saryl. This might be a good time for an interruption. Meli was too inquisitive, and they simply could not take the chance that she wouldn’t eventually recognize her.

Jindor appeared to think a moment before answering. “It’s not an offi cial policy, but yes, those Radij who wish to serve Cyllea as such will fi nd a warm welcome at Oiros.”

“I can’t imagine that many Radij are able to leave the homelands. How many does Oiros employ?” Meli spoke to Jindor, but she stared at Torri, as if she wanted to extend an invitation for Torri to engage her, something Torri could not afford to do.

“Ten, including Shar. Oiros has been fortunate. The first Radij guardian there informed her network that Oiros welcomes them. A few more thus chose to offer their services.”

Meli took a sip from her goblet. “I’ve been told that Radij who leave the homelands cannot return.” This time, the expression in her eyes was one of challenge. She was trying to force Torri into this conversation.

Jindor, once again. “Socially, it’s diffi cult. But physiologically, the Radij who leave can return and suffer no ill effects.

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Just because the parasite didn’t take doesn’t doom them to a life offworld.”

“Has this parasite ever left Sentinel? Alive?”

Jindor started to answer again but Meli stopped her.

“Please, I would like to hear Guardian n’Morif’s opinion on that.”

Jindor conceded and moved so that she, too, could look at Torri.

“I am not aware of such an occurrence,” Torri said. “It cannot survive outside the environment of the homelands, nor can it survive transport.”

“Which, I am made to understand, is probably a good thing, since its introduction is fatal to quite a few humanoid species.

Or have I heard wrong?”

“You have not.” Torri knew that Jindor’s eyes bored into the side of her head, but Meli didn’t seem to notice. Where the fuck was Saryl?

“Tell me,” Meli said, with a softer tone now, “would the Radij approve if the parasite left Sentinel?”

“None that I know would approve of such a thing,” Torri said, thickening her accent to emphasize what she hoped was convincing indignation. “And none of the elders in my family lines would ever condone it.”

“Comforting,” Meli responded with what might have been a bit of sarcasm, but Torri wasn’t sure, and at the moment, she didn’t care because Saryl was but a few paces away. Thank Cyllea.

“Excuse me,” Saryl said to Meli. “I need the priestess’s ear for a moment.”

“Certainly.” Jindor handed her goblet to Torri. “Birrit Cansi, captain of the merchant vessel that was able to bring me to Ansi on such short notice. This is Meli Tinsdale.”

“Well met.” Saryl acknowledged the introduction with a nod.

“And to you. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Priestess. In the future, should you fi nd yourself in Vegas A Matter of Blood

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Sector again, you and your guardian are welcome at Tinsdale Holdings.”

“Your hospitality is greatly appreciated,” Jindor said. “You honor me with such an invitation.”

Meli smiled and looked again at Torri. “My apologies if my questions were too forward. I meant no disrespect.”

“None taken.”

“Safe journey to you. These days, it’s always a good idea to take extra precautions.” Meli’s infl ection carried a warning beneath the well-wishes, but her eyes betrayed nothing.

“Priestess, are you fi nished with your wine?”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll gladly take care of it for you.” And she took the goblet from Torri’s hand. “Well met to you all.” She moved away, and the crowd swallowed her. She was Jindor’s height, and therefore not easy to fi nd in a crowd, but Torri stared after her for a few moments anyway. What did her warning mean?

Had she recognized her after all, and she was simply reiterating Coalition presence? Or had she been fooled by the disguise, and she was warning her about something that had to do with her identity as Radij? Her intuition nudged her. Something about the Radij. But all she had at the moment were pieces that didn’t fi t together. Not yet.

“We’re ready to leave tomorrow morning,” Saryl said.

“Burnside is expecting us either then or later. I’ve arranged a twenty-four-hour clearance with him and fi led with local Coalition authorities. We’re approved for take-off and for unescorted travel to Burnside.”

“Excellent,” Jindor said. “Evoran has graciously insisted that Shar and I stay one more night within Ansi. Shall we say an eight o’ clock departure?”

“Dal will meet you. Should you require anything further, comm me. Otherwise, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

Saryl left, but her height made it easy for Torri to track her until she left through the main entrance. Once Saryl was no 112

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longer visible, her voice echoed through Torri’s commlink.

“Keep an eye on Evor. He’s been talking to Coalition. Dal’s almost got a clonelink through the Ansi neurosystems, if we need it. Out.”

Torri sucked air between her teeth and scanned the crowd for Evor, but she didn’t see him.

“I’m rather tired. I’d like to fi nd Evoran and make our excuses,” Jindor said in Southern Edge.

“As you wish,” Torri responded, maintaining decorum.

“You know, for my guardian, you’re not much fun.” Jindor shot her a look that was half-pouty, half-teasing.

“I imagine not, given the circumstances. Shall we?” Torri motioned toward a group of people where Evoran was holding court. Jindor hid a smile behind her hand and swept toward the holder, her gown moving with her body and attracting the attention of every onlooker she passed, including, to Torri’s amusement, Meli’s, though she quickly returned her gaze to the group with which she was engaged, thankfully ignoring Torri. Probably being a little too paranoid, Torri thought, as she eased through a knot of people.

Jindor made their excuses to Evoran in a way that left him practically drooling, and they departed with the staff member he instructed to accompany them to their quarters. On the way, Torri mulled the evening. She was uncertain what Meli knew, and what specifically she was trying to communicate, if anything. Evoran was most likely not an issue tonight and probably tomorrow morning. He had been drinking, from what she could tell. Evor, on the other hand, might be a problem, given his earlier conversation with a Coalition offi cial and Saryl’s observations of such.

They arrived at their quarters, and once again, Torri checked before she allowed Jindor to enter. She activated the jammers as soon as she closed and locked the door. She and Jindor needed to talk a bit about the evening, and about Evor. Certainly, he could have just been conducting hold business. The Coalition had offi cials and military stationed near Tinsdale, after all, and A Matter of Blood

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they no doubt ran routine security checks at neighboring holdings, and Evoran probably wanted a semblance of transparency with them. Whatever Evor had been doing, it might have had nothing to do with any of them. But she doubted it.

10

Kai stared at the vidscreen, which relayed information from a series of cameras positioned around a one-acre plot in the unclaimed territory. Here, in the lab facilities that the Coalition had constructed in accordance with their latest project, they were protected from contamination even though they were located within the area’s boundaries. She’d been here since after breakfast, touring the nerve center of the latest Coalition plot.

And Meli, meanwhile, was making nice at Evoran’s gathering. Given the choice, Kai would have preferred sitting through religious rituals and engaging in mundane chatter with people she either didn’t know, hadn’t seen in a while, and probably would not see again. Anything but more time spent with Andris Sorreth and Coalition machinations.

“There. Do you see?” Sorreth pointed at the upper right corner of the screen. “Show me that area,” he said over his shoulder to Bal. She made the appropriate adjustment at her control panel, and the area of the screen at which he had pointed enlarged. “Yes. There’s one.”

Kai studied the object, and as she did so, Bal brought it front and center. A worm-like creature, light gray in color. It moved sluggishly across the screen.

“It’ll live about forty-eight hours,” Sorreth said. “Quite a feat, considering no one prior to this has ever been able to cultivate them off Sentinel.” For once, his voice didn’t carry the smugness that had marked most of his pronouncements during the past three hours.

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“Why doesn’t it live longer?” Kai asked, not taking her eyes from the screen. The worm itself, she had been told, was barely two millimeters in length at this stage of its development. But on the screen, it looked much larger. Hundreds of cilia moved like seaweed in an ocean as it propelled itself over the soil. It looked like a maggot with legs, she thought, but that didn’t repulse her. What horrifi ed her—though she’d never show it—was that the Coalition was actually designing a biological weapon not forty miles from the northern edge of her family’s holdings. Diabolical. And so arrogant, to presume that something like this could be contained. Hadn’t history demonstrated that containment was only temporary?

“We don’t have the soil composition just right,” Sorreth said in response to her question. “We have two samples, barely enough to line your palm. So we must be sparing with our analyses, some of which require degradation.”

“How can something like this survive in that environment?”

She turned then to address him directly. The unclaimed territory had toxicity levels so high that even skirting it without protection resulted in illness and, in some cases, death. So far, Tinsdale had remained untainted, but her father had erected cleaners at fi ve hundred yard intervals fi ve miles from the southernmost reach of the unclaimed territory. The line of cleaners stretched for nearly thirty miles west to east, squat tan-colored orbs that blended into the landscape. She and Meli had learned as very young children to stay well south of them.

“It’s evolved for that. It adapted to the soils on Sentinel, which have extremely high levels of elements that are, in certain combination, toxic here on Earth. That’s why the Radij don’t venture into the area much, except to harvest the parasite for their rituals.”

Kai didn’t respond right away. She looked again at the screen, but the worm had disappeared. “How many?”

“At last count, fi fteen. But we’ve got twenty more in the lab.” He gestured with his chin toward the door, which would take them down a corridor to the highest security lab. “We’re 116

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testing them in various soil combinations. The composition of the unclaimed territory is proving a much better match for its home environment than we thought possible.”

“How did you get them here? I had thought that even frozen, in samples of their home soil, they don’t survive travel.”

“They don’t.” Here, Sorreth’s tone was smug again. “And their genetic material degrades quickly once off Sentinel, regardless of how it’s transported. It’s been extremely diffi cult to circumvent. So we tried something else.”

Kai looked at him again, both interested in and dreading his answer.

“We used a host.”

“The Radij with the parasite can’t leave Sentinel, either.”

“No. But their blood can. And it proved a much better way to get the parasite here.”

Kai folded her arms. “How did you get samples?” And do I really want to know? Her gut tightened with dread.

“I knew you’d be interested,” Sorreth practically chortled.

“The Radij are in confl ict with the Varsian rulers along the far edges of the homelands. The Varsians take prisoners in skirmishes.” He shrugged, and Kai stared at him, struggling to keep her disgust from showing. One of the worst things that could happen to a Radij, she knew from her dealings with the few who didn’t carry the parasite, was to lose blood in any circumstances except injury, war, or death. Taking a blood sample from a Radij was a supreme insult, a humiliation with such deep cultural taboos that many Radij chose exile rather than face their families and extended networks. Some even chose death. A Radij’s blood was sacred, because it carried a sacred life form, and it was that reason, too, that ensured that so little was known about them medically and biologically.

“The Radij hosts we used had been condemned to death as prisoners-of-war. The samples were taken before those executions,” Sorreth said, as if he had read her mind, and as if he were trying to placate her.

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“Is that not a violation of the Cultural Autonomy Directive?

Even if the prisoners were condemned?” she asked, keeping her tone as level as she could, given her building anger.

“The Directive can be suspended in times of war.”

“But only after a hearing with the High Council and the ambassadors from the warring nations. The Coalition has not declared war on the Radij or the Varsian rulers on Sentinel.

It is, therefore, not a warring nation or entity under these circumstances.” She let the rest of her statement, “and thus in violation of the Directive,” remain unspoken. She would not voice opposition to a Coalition policy here. Not with this man, whose loyalties followed whatever whim would benefi t him most.

“Ah, but the Coalition did not formally request the blood samples. Those were . . . acquired via a third party, who bought them from the Varsians. But I’m pleased that you are aware of formal policies that the Coalition had chosen to maintain.” He smiled at her, as if he were speaking to a rookie trainee. But he was also giving her an out, a chance to back away from any further accusations. She took it.

“There are records of this transaction?”

“Of course. We would not pursue such a project as this without defi nitive proof of something as important as that.” He waved a hand. “We have been granted a full research permit, for the period of one Earth year, though we may apply for an extension after outside review. I have a feeling we’ll get it.

Don’t you?” He smiled again, and his eyes seemed to twinkle, as if it were a great joke, this attempt to create a parasite that, when injected into a non-Radij host, could kill it within six hours. Kai swallowed, trying to stave off rising bile.

“I’m sure you, too, are imagining the possibilities. If we can develop a more effective way than what we’ve got so far to fi re a parasite at an enemy—and most humanoid species, as you know, cannot survive an incursion from this particular life form—we’ll possibly be able to put a stop to all uprisings. Even the threat of uprisings. A peaceful world, don’t you think?”

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Kai looked again at the vidscreen, but all it showed was reddish-brown dirt, the color of old wounds. Did Sorreth then have an injector prototype? “You said that the Coalition acquired the blood through a third party. What will ensure that this particular weapon remains in the control of the Coalition?

And how can you be sure that there aren’t other samples out there, with other research facilities that have no connection to the Coalition?”

“Very good, Commander. And that’s the reason I worked so hard to get you on this project.”

“I would have thought my involvement was obvious, given that the Coalition is using my family’s holdings.”

“Not necessarily. That helps, of course, but if you were as incompetent as many military offi cers are, I would have worked very hard to keep you off this project. As it stands, your experience with smuggling rings plays in your favor here.” He crossed his arms and beamed at her. “It’s why I’m going to put you in charge of fi nding other parties who may be doing just what you expressed—buying blood samples from the Varsians on Sentinel.”

Kai clenched her teeth.

“Obviously, we can’t have others engaged in this sort of work. Especially not like-minds. We can’t have attacks on humanoid Coalition offi cials involving this bioweapon.

Imagine the havoc. Worse than the Collapse.” He shook his head, as if sad, but Kai didn’t believe the sentiment behind the gesture. Worse than the Collapse? Millions had suffered in that, untold thousands had died. And thousands more, like Torri, had no doubt disappeared, living twilight existences between past and present.

“You’ll be paid very well. And I’ll put in a personal word for a promotion. This, my dear commander, is the assignment of a lifetime. You won’t regret it.”

I already do. Kai held his gaze until he looked away fi rst, toward Bal. “Call up Commander Tinsdale’s orders, please.

We’re going to make her have fun whether she wants to or not.

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Oh, and bring up the communication from Captain Hyasin.

Include that in the commander’s packet.” To Kai, he said,

“Hyasin is in attendance at a gathering at Ansi Holdings today. I’m sure you’re aware of it, since a formal invitation was extended to Tinsdale, as well. I believe your sister is also in attendance as we speak. Something about a priestess of Cyllea performing various blessings.” He waved his hand again, dismissing that aspect of the comm. “The priestess employs a guardian who is Radij. That’s what we’re interested in. We’re arranging a visit from the priestess with Tinsdale for tomorrow. If that’s not too much of an inconvenience.” Even in the fl at, colorless tones of Coalition, Kai knew it was not her decision to make nor was it her father’s. She swallowed her disgust and anger again.

“Certainly, Major,” she said with great effort. “A servant of the goddess is always welcome.”

“I’m sure,” he said with a touch of impatience. “The goddess can have her servant. It’s the guardian of said servant that interests us. Clearly, the parasite didn’t take with her. Which implies that this particular Radij—who bears the scars of her culture and thus was clearly born in the homelands—must have some kind of genetic mutation that renders her immune to the parasite. I’m sure you can see where I’m leading you.” He didn’t wait for her to respond, and instead continued lecturing. “For every bioweapon we develop, it’s always a good idea to have an antidote. Protection, you know.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “You will accompany Captain Hyasin and Lieutenant Bal to Ansi tomorrow afternoon to escort the priestess and her guardian back to Tinsdale.”

Kai nodded once, brusque, her stomach clenched in painful, angry knots.

“Don’t worry, Commander. We’ll make sure that, in accordance with the Cultural Autonomy Directive, we receive permission from the Radij guardian to extract a blood sample.”

He grinned at her, and Kai placed her hands on her hips, if only to keep herself from wrapping them around his sanctimonious 120

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throat. They’d never get permission from a Radij for that. So Sorreth and whatever other Coalition flunkies under his command would manufacture an attempted escape, or some other scenario in which the Radij guardian was made to look like a threat. And they’d sedate her and take the sample as Standard Medical Procedure, which, in some cases, could trump the Directive. And then they’d probably dump her in the unclaimed territory, where she’d die within a day. Kai felt sick.

“My thanks for your attention,” Sorreth said, without a trace of sarcasm. “Dismissed, Commander. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” He took the commdisk that Bal held out to him and handed it to Kai. “Your instructions with regard to retrieving the priestess and the guardian. There’s no need to notify the temple just yet. We’ll take care of that once we get the sample.”

Kai held the disc, no larger than her thumbnail, and slid it into the comm unit on her left wrist, fi ghting an urge to drop it on the fl oor and crush it beneath her boot.

“Bal, please accompany the commander back to Tinsdale.”

And with that, Sorreth left the room.

“Commander?” Bal entreated her, seeking permission to escort her. She looked almost sorry about what had transpired.

Kai motioned for Bal to precede her through the door.

¸

“How much does Father know about what the Coalition is doing?” Kai sat in one of the chairs at the table in their father’s study. She’d opened the shutters but sealed the windows, in order to ensure that the jammers worked effectively.

“Probably most, though he’s very good with denial.” Meli toyed with the jewel at her throat, an old habit. It might have been a ruby, but Kai wasn’t sure.

“Does Vano know?”

Meli shook her head, and a strand of her hair got caught in one of the links of the necklace’s chain. She freed it and continued worrying the jewel. “I don’t think so.” She sat to Kai’s right, at the head of the table.

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“Or is he keeping his own council? You know how he is. He might know more than he lets on.”

“He might, but I doubt it. He’s been too involved lusting after Liyah, and spending more time at Ansi.”

Kai made a face. “I can’t imagine she welcomes his attentions.” The thought made her twinge, and she refl exively clenched a fi st. She should have found a way to hobble him all those years ago, when he’d fi nd her alone and press against her, his fi ngers grabbing and prodding, seeking entry, which they fortunately never got. Kai had learned early on ways to defend herself against him, but he kept trying, up until her fi fteenth year, when he tried once more, in the hangar. He didn’t see the shocker in her hand. She used it, rammed it against the bulge in his pants. He’d left her alone then, but she still sometimes wished she’d permanently maimed him. Perhaps even killed him. Meli’s voice brought her back to the present.

“She doesn’t. But Evoran does.”

Kai focused. “Ah. Evoran wants a piece of Tinsdale and favor with the Coalition. No wonder he pushes for this union.

Tell me, dear sister, who Liyah truly favors?”

Meli tilted her head to the left and frowned, a gesture that made her look twenty years younger. “I don’t know. She was at the gathering today, but in the company of several people who could be potential bondmates.”

“Was Vano there?”

Meli thought for a moment. “No. At least, I didn’t see him.

There weren’t so many that I wouldn’t have noticed him, either. Besides, the invitation went to Father, and he specifically passed it on to me. It’s possible Evoran sent Vano a personal message, but if that were the case, Vano would have been there.”

Kai half-laughed and drummed her fi ngers on the table.

“Maybe Father isn’t as uninvolved as he pretends to be. He may have intercepted the comm, since I doubt Liyah has provided Vano a personal link. You mentioned Father neither supports nor condones the match.”

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“He’s careful. He knows Evoran wants the match, but you know how Father feels about Ansi.”

“So he keeps quiet on either count.”

Meli took a sip of tea from her glass before answering.

“And perhaps does a little bit of sabotage behind all our backs.

Mother wasn’t the only one good at that.”

Kai raised her own glass in a toast. “To Mother. For passing along her information-fi nding genes to her daughter, Meli, and her love of secret sabotage to Father.”

Meli toasted back. “Sometimes, Vano astounds me with his lack of common sense. Tarkin once told me that he’d not met a man who couldn’t fi nd parts of his own anatomy without a locator.”

Kai snorted as she set her glass on the table. “He’s not even close to being as good as you at fi nding information.”

“Is it so surprising? Look at him.”

“I try not to.”

Meli smiled. “Hard to believe he’s related to us.”

“I like to think he’s not, and instead is the result of one of Stanni’s trysts.” She grimaced at mention of their father’s fi rst bondmate. “Vano looks nothing like Father or either of us.”

“Just as well. And if so, Father’s kindness may have backfi red.”

It would, Kai thought, be something Kaivan might do—take in a child upon the death of a parent. Just a coincidence that the parent was Kaivan’s bondmate at the time. He had never claimed Vano was not his child, but more and more, she suspected that Vano was not related to him. Just as well, indeed. She loathed Vano more than she had ever voiced to Meli. “So. What are your thoughts with regard to what’s going on in the unclaimed territory?”

“I’ve suspected for a while that there was some kind of bioweapons experimentation with a parasite, but a Coalition soldier confi rmed it to me, last week.”

Kai raised her eyebrows at Meli, waiting for more.

“He also confi rmed that Sorreth was keen on Radij culture.”

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“This soldier volunteered all that information to you?

Clearly, he wasn’t doing his duty,” Kai said, teasing Meli about her sexual appetites.

“Oh, he was. Several times over the course of an evening.”

She grinned at Kai. “It’s amazing, the things you fi nd out in certain contexts.” Meli took a sip of tea from her glass.

“Especially the horizontal ones.”

Kai laughed and poured herself a glass of tea before she leaned back in her chair and regarded Meli for a moment. “And did your soldier volunteer any information about a weapon prototype? One that might be used to, say, fi re the parasite into a target?”

Meli lowered her glass. “Not specifi cally. He did, however, say that Sorreth seemed interested in modifying pistols. The kind that are easy to obtain and easy to fi x.” She furrowed her brow. “Perhaps Sorreth is working on something like that.”

Kai pursed her lips. “I don’t know how to proceed here. I want nothing to do with this. And I want these slags off our holdings.” She longed to punch the smile off Sorreth’s face.

“As we both do. Father, as well, though he’d never say as much, even privately. But think of it this way. If they weren’t here, they’d be somewhere else, doing the same thing.”

Kai looked at her, puzzled. “I’m not following.”

She raised a shoulder and affected an innocent air. “They’re here, not elsewhere. Which means we have access to what they’re doing.” She looked at Kai meaningfully.

“Ah,” Kai said, catching on. “And the unclaimed territory is notoriously unstable, chemical-wise. Anything could cause an explosion or two.”

“Anything,” Meli agreed, with exaggerated solemnity. “In fact, one occurred last week. Sorreth had to evacuate the facility for two days.”

“But how to make sure that this area is just not worth their while to continue further experimentation? An explosion is a setback. Not an end.”

“True.” Meli reached for the pitcher and refi lled her glass.

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“Perhaps more than one explosion, then, which unfortunately destroys the parasites.”

“Terrible, ruining that research,” Kai said with mock sorrow.

“And one never knows . . . there might be buried artillery out there, long forgotten. No one’s really been out there since Fortunata. Explosions all the time.” She smiled at Kai. “There must be a weakness with Sorreth. Everyone has them. We just have to fi nd it.”

Kai looked at her appreciatively. “Why didn’t you enroll in the Academy? That kind of thinking is exactly what our instructors wanted of us.”

Meli set the pitcher down and turned it so its handle faced Kai. “And wear those horribly boring uniforms?” She picked up her glass. “Not my color.”

“No, you are far more attractive in bright, festive tones.”

“Thank you. I think so, as well.”

Kai dropped her gaze and stared thoughtfully at the table’s surface. Her refl ection stared back, blurry. Wood softened her edges as time hadn’t. “There’s more. It may affect how this plays out.” She didn’t look up for a few moments, until she realized Meli was waiting for her to continue. “I have to go to Ansi tomorrow with Hyacin and Bal. The priestess and her guardian are to be guests of Tinsdale.” She emphasized

“guests” with extra sarcasm.

Meli’s eyes narrowed. “What does Sorreth want with a priestess?”

“He doesn’t.”

Meli’s elegant brows furrowed and then, comprehension dawned. “He means to use her guardian?” Had her disbelief and disgust not been conveyed in her words, they were clear on her face.

“He wants a blood sample, because this Radij clearly doesn’t have the parasite, or she wouldn’t have been able to leave the homelands. He thinks there’s some kind of mutation she may carry that could provide clues for an inoculation so the Coalition can use the parasite to their own advantage and not A Matter of Blood

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worry about it being turned against them.” She ran both hands through her hair and exhaled, anger again fi lling her chest. She stood and paced around the room.

“Kai.”

“I want no part of this. None. I’ve played their game too long, and look where it’s gotten me.” All her life, she’d worked to prove she could be a soldier, one of the best. Her father’s father hadn’t allowed Kaivan to attend the Academy, even though it had been his dream. Kai’s grandfather had crushed it out of him, and so Kaivan had remained at Tinsdale, but some of him had died, like the relationship with his father. When Kai was accepted to the Academy, it was both a victory and defeat for him. Part of him was going to fulfi ll the dream, in the form of his oldest daughter. But it wasn’t for him, and that, Kai knew, still grated on him. She’d played by the rules as best she could, excelled at every test they threw her way, became the perfect soldier. The perfect fucking soldier. And now they owned her, just as she’d told Torri in Newburg. They fucking owned her.

“Listen to me,” Meli said with greater urgency.

Kai turned, and Meli was standing, as well. “The priestess’s guardian doesn’t have a mutation.”

Kai stared at her. “What are you talking about? She’s Radij and she’s not on Sentinel. She’s got the scars, she must have a mutation.”

Meli came around the table and stood in front of Kai, her eyes fi lled with worry and dismay. She took Kai’s hands in hers. “She’s not Radij.”

What was Meli getting at? “I don’t understand.”

Meli tightened her grip on Kai’s hands. “I wasn’t going to say anything, because I didn’t want to upset you, and I hoped the priestess would be on her way soon.”

“Meli—”

“Listen for a moment. I wasn’t sure, at fi rst, and I haven’t seen her in nearly ten years and I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.” She looked as if she were going to cry.

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“What are you talking about?”

“On my honor, and on our bond as sisters.” She leaned very close, to Kai’s ear and said, very softly, “It’s Torri.”

Kai’s throat tightened, and she couldn’t breathe.

“Impossible.” She pulled her hands away from Meli’s. Torri?

In the company of a priestess at Ansi? No.

“I thought so, too,” Meli said, almost whispering. “But I never forget anyone, and though the disguise is excellent, I recognized her voice.”

“No.” Cyllea, no. What was Torri doing?

“I know her voice. She’s not dead. Kai, she’s not dead. I didn’t want to cause you new pain, and I wasn’t sure whether to tell you or not.” She didn’t fi nish the thought, and Kai knew that Meli would have taken the secret to her death if she thought it would have hurt her to know this information. But because of these new circumstances, Meli had to tell her.

Kai stared at her feet, and her heart ached. Torri was here, in Vegas Sector. She was barely twenty minutes away by fl oater.

Kai had never mentioned Torri to anyone after the battle at Shanlin, even after Torri had contacted her a year later to let her know that she wasn’t really dead, but to treat her as such, because if the Coalition found out that she was in contact with a known rebel, the punishment would be severe, and there would be repercussions beyond it. Even knowing that, they’d shared each other’s company twice since Shanlin, and both times she swore to herself it was the last, though she knew it wasn’t.

She’d kept Torri’s secret for years. But now, she had to compromise both Torri and herself. Torri’s life depended on it.

She groaned softly. “You’re right. She’s not.”

It was Meli’s turn to stare.

“Come on. Let’s take a walk.” Kai gestured toward the door. This conversation was too dangerous to have indoors, no matter how many jammers Meli had placed in their father’s study. No, this conversation needed to be held outside, away from the holdings. The desert kept her secrets, she had learned years ago. She would add another tonight.

11

Torri jerked awake, an insistent pinging in her skull. Not yet dawn, she noted, glancing at her wrist comm. “Birrit,” she acknowledged in a low voice.

“We’ve just received orders from one Major Andris Sorreth, stationed at Tinsdale. We are not granted a permit to leave today. Possibly tomorrow.” Saryl tried to cover her alarm, but Torri heard it.

“Did the major provide a reason?”

“Security concerns.”

“Has Evoran communicated with you?”

“No. Nothing from Ansi. Dal and I are on board, but we do have some company stationed outside. Five, at last count, with two armed fl oaters.”

Torri swung her legs over the side of the bed and pulled her boots on. With her motion, the glow sockets increased light.

She had been sleeping fully clothed, out of habit when not on the ship.

“That’s not very hospitable, is it?” she muttered as she fi nished with her boots. She heard another sound and looked up to fi nd Jindor standing in the doorway to the master bedroom, wearing a blue sari. Torri held her index fi nger up, signaling for her to wait.

“Afraid not,” Saryl said. “Ideas?”

“What are Sorreth’s orders?”

“We are to remain docked at Ansi until further instructions.”

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“I’ll confer with the priestess. In the meantime, perhaps you could check all the on-board systems and run a few tests. Make sure Major Sorreth is who he says he is. Out.” Torri broke the link. “Something’s wrong,” she said in Southern Edge to Jindor even as she set the jammers on their highest frequency with her wrist comm. They’d have to take their chances with this conversation.

“So I gathered.”

“We’ve been ordered to stay an extra day, but it came from Coalition at Tinsdale. Security issues.” She knew very well this wasn’t about security. The Coalition knew something. Or perhaps Evoran or Evor had said something that aroused suspicions.

“I personally doubt very much that the Coalition requires the blessing of a priestess.” Jindor stared into space for a moment, thinking. “That’s not it.” She turned her gaze to Torri.

“The parasite. Slag it, Evoran and Meli all but told us what was going on. The Coalition is attempting to create a bioweapon out of a very specifi c parasite.”

Torri stared at her. “How is that possible? They can’t survive the trip from Sentinel, not even encased in home soil.

A Radij infected with one can’t survive, either.” But she knew she sounded unconvinced. Jindor was right. She had to be. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The Coalition had found a way to bring at least one parasite from Sentinel to Earth.

“This isn’t about security. And it’s not about me.” Jindor exhaled. “Cyllea, they want you.”

“For what? Even if I were Radij, I’m clearly not carrying the parasite, since I’m here.”

“For tests, perhaps. That’s the only thing that makes sense.

The Coalition doesn’t waste its time in the workings of temples.

I doubt they’ve even bothered to check the registry at Oiros.”

“Evor,” Torri muttered. He had been talking to that Coalition offi cer. She kicked herself mentally. Why hadn’t she sent Saryl last night to fi nd out more about the offi cer? She’d slipped. Meli had rattled her. A costly mistake.

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“Maybe he and Evoran both. They seemed quite interested in your heritage when we arrived.”

Torri spat a curse in Southern Edge. They had. She’d been careless, and fi gured it was because Radij were rare in Vegas Sector. She hadn’t made the connection even though Evoran all but handed it to her. Meli’s behavior merely backed Evoran’s drunken pronouncements. The most innocuous conversations can reveal more than the deepest. She swore again, more colorfully.

“As much as I appreciate your artistry with the dialect,”

Jindor said as she fl ashed her a wry smile, “how do you want to play this?”

“We don’t know for sure they want any of us at Tinsdale, and the orders didn’t say that you and I are confi ned to the holdings.” Torri raced through several scenarios. If they walked out, chances were they’d be able to get to the ship, at least, and they might be able to make a run for it. They’d done it before.

Sorreth may have been relying on fear of the Coalition to keep them from doing that. At least they might have more leverage there, security detail notwithstanding. But to get to the ship, they’d need to create another illusion. Jann might be able to do it. Saryl said he’d been working on it. She commed him.

“Shar,” he acknowledged.

“It might prove helpful were there a little adjustment to the Ansi body heat sensors.”

“Funny you should say that. I’ve just completed a circuitry re-route that might prove useful.”

“Excellent. Particularly those in our temporary quarters.”

Jindor smiled again.

¸

Torri carried the duffl e bag slung over her right shoulder as she followed Jindor through the Ansi corridors. Jindor maintained a steady pace, no trace of agitation or hesitation in her stride. She nodded at the staff members they passed, and most nodded back, though none stopped them. Torri tracked their 130

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progress on her wrist comm. They had twelve minutes to exit Ansi holdings before Jann would remove the patch he’d sent through the neurolines. The program he’d initiated through it ensured that Ansi security readouts indicated that two humanoids occupied the rooms Torri and Jindor had vacated eight minutes earlier, based on body heat registries. He also scrambled their biosignatures, so Ansi tracking couldn’t readily identify them. Though Jann could. And if Jann felt he had to remove the patch early, he’d ping them.

A staff member offered a friendly wave as he passed, and Jindor responded in kind. We believe what we see, Torri thought. A lesson she learned on her fi rst reconnaissance mission. Hiding, she discovered, could be done openly, if one had the confi dence to perform in accordance with someone’s expectation or belief about one’s identity. “Cadet Rendego has an innate and effective ability to assess a situation and adjust her actions to address changes therein and ensure successful outcomes. We thus recommend she be given more opportunities in recon. ” Kai had laughed about that when Torri told her the results of her fi rst recon assignment. No surprise, she’d said.

After all, Torri had been sneaking out of the barracks a few times a month to explore and bar-crawl. She’d always been good at blending in.

Kai. Torri had to fi gure out how to get a message to Kai about what the Coalition was doing at Tinsdale. She glanced at her wrist comm again. Seven minutes. She relayed that softly in Southern Edge, and Jindor increased her speed a bit. Two minutes later, they entered the hangar. A lone staff member sat at a control console, and from her body language, she was fi ghting sleep, and sleep was winning. She looked up as they came in.

“Well met,” Jindor said in Empire, sounding tired.

“Priestess,” the staff member said, puzzled. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have your schedule—” She pressed her palm on the access panel, and Torri pinged Jann at the same time and opened her commlink so he and Saryl could hear the exchange.

“You’re quite certain?” Jindor leaned against Torri, as if she A Matter of Blood

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needed a place to rest. “Premier Evor told us he would send the clearance to the hangar.”

“No, I haven’t received anything like that.” The staff member looked at Torri then Jindor, nervous.

“The Priestess is not feeling well,” Torri said. “Yesterday’s blessing rituals drained her, and after consultation with Holder Evoran and Premier Evor, it was decided that it be best for her to return to the Star Chaser earlier than expected in preparation for departure.”

“Um. . .”

“Perhaps if we contact the Premier, we can clarify the decision. I’m sure he’s awake.”

The staff member cleared her throat. “Let me check the comms again.”

“Thank you.” Torri adjusted her position to make it easier for Jindor to continue leaning on her. She had assessed the Ansi mood correctly. No one really wanted to deal with either the holder or his successor. Even if Saryl couldn’t plant the message after Torri had just pinged Jann, this Ansi staff member would let them pass. After all, a representative of the goddess was not feeling well. Better to deal with an unpopular mortal man than the potential long-term effects of a displeased goddess.

“Ah, here’s one.” The staff member looked up in obvious relief.

Thank you, Saryl.

“But it’s from Major Sorreth at Tinsdale.”

How had Saryl managed that? No matter. Torri was glad she had. Sorreth’s orders trumped Evoran’s. And Evor, she was certain, would not challenge a Coalition offi cer. “And the major is authorizing transport to the Star Chaser?”

The staff member seemed to be reading through the comm.

“He does. You’re to wait outside for your escort to your ship.”

The staff member looked at her console, then at Torri and Jindor, clearly torn.

“No need to leave your station,” Torri said. “You’ve done your duty well.”

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“Thank you. Many thanks, as well, for your visit and your blessings, Priestess. I hope you are not indisposed too long.”

“Just a bit of exhaustion. Thank you for your concern.”

Jindor smiled at her and allowed Torri to lead her across the hangar to the main arched entrance, big enough for fl oaters and small cruisers. The staff member took the force shield down, and they exited into an encroaching dawn. Torri felt rather than heard the hum of the shield as it reactivated, a barely discernible static in the still air. Once the sun fi nished cresting the eastern horizon, its warmth would stir wind.

Jindor stopped leaning on her, and Torri checked her wrist comm. Twenty seconds to spare. She could just make out the form of the Far Seek in the gray light that bridged night and day. A light bounced toward them. A floater, no doubt, bringing their escort. It arrived carrying two Coalition soldiers, and Jann. He hopped out. “Guardian, if I may?”

Torri nodded, and he took the duffl e bag from her and loaded it into the cargo hold of the fl oater. One soldier remained in the vehicle, and one stood and watched Jann, who returned to Jindor’s side. He preceded her onto the fl oater. “Are you ready, Priestess?”

“I am. Thank you.”

He helped Jindor aboard, making a show of being careful.

Once Jindor was settled, Torri climbed in and seated herself next to her. The pilot released the vehicle’s magnets, and they returned to the ship, where Jann once again played host. He helped Jindor out and retrieved the duffl e, then stood while a soldier scanned it with a detector. Satisfi ed, she waved them up the ramp into the Far Seek. Jann took the lead, and Torri followed him, pretending to support Jindor. Once inside, Jann activated a force shield over the exit, but he didn’t close the hatch.

“They want the ramp down,” he said.

Of course they did, Torri thought. The Far Seek couldn’t leave the planet with the ramp down. But if they had to make A Matter of Blood

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a run for it, they’d take off with it down and retract it in fl ight.

She’d done that maneuver before. She’d do it again if necessary. She and Jindor followed him to the rear of the ship and entered the cargo bay, stacked with containers of spices.

He set the duffl e on one and looked at Torri.

“It’s best that the Priestess rests. I think, too, you might consider doing the same, Guardian.”

He was baiting the Coalition probes in the ship’s commlinks. Torri followed his lead. “A good idea. I’ll escort the priestess to her quarters and make use of my own. Please notify us when the Tinsdale escort arrives.” But neither Torri nor Jindor moved, and a few moments later Saryl appeared.

“We’ve got ten minutes before they check the glitch in the links. I’ve got the full system block on.”

“Well done. You’re both hired.” Torri grinned at Saryl then Jann.

“That’s a relief,” he said. “And here I was, worried about my next job.”

“How did you get the security detail to provide an escort?”

Jindor interrupted the banter.

Saryl shrugged, laconic. “I asked.”

Torri focused on her. “And Sorreth approved it?”

“Sometimes the most obvious approach is the best. Nobody wants to be responsible for not ensuring the comfort of an ill priestess. The Coalition knows that kind of attention wins them no favors, even among supporters. I forwarded Sorreth’s orders to the Ansi hangar.”

“Does either Evoran or Evor know we’ve left?”

“I don’t think so. We haven’t received any word yet. I’ve already sent Othne’s sincere regrets that she had to take her leave early, but she felt it was in her best interests to seek rest on the Star Chaser and not trouble his household further. She hopes to return to Vegas Sector in the near future. She thinks perhaps the Flori Temple might consider building a sister temple here, as there seems to be a need.”

“My, how virtuous Othne is,” Torri said, glancing at Jindor, who half-bowed at her in mock piety. “What now?”

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“You and Othne are scheduled for pick-up at fourteen hundred hours. Sorreth seemed to think that was plenty of time for recuperation.” Saryl’s tone told Torri that he was not a man who adjusted his schedules much.

“And what of the major?”

Saryl handed Torri a commdisc. “I’m sure you’ll fi nd it as interesting as I did,” she said, with a hint of warning in her voice.

“I’m sure.” Torri pocketed the disc. Saryl had clearly found something in Sorreth’s background that troubled her. “And thank you, all, for extricating us from Ansi. Dal, you’re a man after my own heart.” She used his alias, one of their policies when docked.

“High praise. Too bad you’re not my type, Captain.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“I prefer sane women.”

“So now you’re choosy?” Saryl asked. He shrugged and smiled.

“I think I need a nap,” Torri said. “Perhaps then I’ll be sane enough for Dal’s liking. Birrit, notify me if anything changes.”

“Will do. And it’s nice to have you both aboard again. We missed you, no matter what Dal says.”

Torri waved and left, Jindor not far behind. Torri wanted to shower, eat, and see what Saryl had found on Major Andris Sorreth. And then she wanted to sleep for an hour. Or maybe she’d do that fi rst. She pressed her thumb on the keypad outside her quarters and entered. Defi nitely a nap fi rst.

12

Torri sat at the small table in her quarters and went back through the information about Sorreth on the commdisc, still using her wrist unit to mitigate probes in the ship’s neurosystems.

She used the holofunction, which enlarged the images and projected them over the table, making the data a size that was easier to work with.

Saryl hadn’t found much about Sorreth’s early life, but during the last fifteen years, he had thrown himself into Coalition service, according to the records she’d pieced together. From the fi les, Torri wasn’t sure whether Sorreth was a true believer or someone who thrived on the chance to exercise gratuitous violence without repercussion. Either way, he was a nasty enemy if they didn’t play this right.

Torri sipped the cup of hasha she’d gotten from the mess and skimmed to Sorreth’s most recent accomplishments. One in particular had been digging at her. She called it up, and an image of Major Andris Sorreth fl oated in front of her. She didn’t recognize him, but appearances were easily altered.

He’d received his promotion to major last year, right after he crushed a cell of like-minds here on Earth, in Aysa Provice. For a Coalition soldier, that was something to celebrate—destroying a rebel hive.

Except it wasn’t true. Torri studied his image. The like-minds Sorreth claimed to have killed had been dead much longer. Five of them were killed years before, in the battles 136

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at Shanlin when Torri was shot down over Mangone Swamp.

The other three he had recorded in the fi le as like-mind kills Torri suspected had claimed death and chosen new identities.

All eight on his report had fought in a squadron Torri had been with until a month before Mangone.

So why did Sorreth say he had wiped out a like-mind cell a year ago? Had he been gunning for a promotion? But if that were the case, how would he even know the names of rebels at Shanlin? Those he had claimed as recent kills clearly didn’t make it into Coalition databases after Shanlin, because Sorreth was able to resurrect them and claim he had killed them much later after their actual deaths. Which meant he had either done a lot of research or he had been at Shanlin.

Torri fi nished her hasha and sat back, thinking. If Sorreth had fought with Coalition forces at Shanlin, then he’d probably be privy to the names of some of the rebels there. Commprobes and careless talk invariably allowed some information to escape. She checked his promotions again. According to the fi les, he was a lieutenant at the time the battles erupted at Shanlin. He made captain after the Collapse, which made sense if he’d seen service in those fi nal battles.

Except Saryl had found nothing that defi nitively linked him to Shanlin. That left two possibilities. One, Sorreth manufactured parts of his past in order to curry favor within the military.

Nothing surprising about that. The Coalition was full of opportunists. Some probably really believed in the new regime, but most, she fi gured, would slip a blade between its ribs if a different power structure replaced it. The second possibility—

and one that turned her stomach—was that Sorreth had indeed been at Shanlin, but as a rebel. If he had been a Coalition spy at Shanlin who had infi ltrated rebel ranks, his service there would have been noted in his military records, most likely as something innocuous but probably heroic. The Coalition liked to celebrate its victories and victors, even though it might not be too specifi c about what the soldier had done. If Sorreth had served as a rebel at Shanlin, he had clearly turned, and what A Matter of Blood

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he knew of the past was helping to provide promotions in the Coalition military.

The container that had held her hasha dissolved on the table’s surface, and the liquid pooled beneath the images of Sorreth’s record, like her memories of Shanlin. She felt the hit to her starboard thrusters again, and the smell of scorched metal and fl uids fi lled her nostrils, even across time and the reaches of space. Again, her ship careened out of control and fell toward Earth, and she waited as long as she could to blow the hatch and trigger her chute, and she kept falling, debris from her ship’s impact and subsequent explosion fi lling the air around her as she braced for impact in the trees she barely saw—

“Shar.” Saryl’s voice over her commlink broke the past’s hold.

“Birrit,” she acknowledged as she worked to get her breathing under control.

“We’ve received a comm from Tinsdale. It’s on the main boards, and I’ve fl agged it for your assessment. There are some things you should know.”

“Very well. I’ll access it now.”

“Comm me if necessary. Out.”

Torri broke the link, wondering at Saryl’s urgency and brusque solicitousness. She called up the appropriate datalink on her vidscreen. The comm had arrived ten minutes earlier.

She opened it and started to read. Two sentences in, she had to fi ght again to keep her breathing under control. Oh, no. She fi nished it and read it once more. No. She stood, compelled to do something besides sit, though she stared at nothing, mind reeling. She glanced at the chronometer on her wrist unit. Less than three hours, now. Less than three hours, and Kai would arrive, part of the escort that would take her and Jindor to Sorreth.

Kai had told her in Newburg that if Torri ever needed to contact her, to use the old frequency, a reference to a channel they’d opened at the Academy, that ran on nearly forgotten 138

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equipment. A few of the Cadets fi gured out how to duplicate the frequency on their wrist comms, a secret they passed on to other Cadets worthy of knowing it. Torri and Kai had both been granted access to it by an upperclassman who died in a fi ghter crash two years later, after he had graduated. Torri had kept the channel programmed into her wrist reader, and kept it open since her own graduation. Anyone who contacted her on it would most likely be like-mind who had fought with her at Shanlin. Or perhaps Kai would use the frequency, and Torri always had hope for that.

Torri now stared at her wrist unit like it was a foreign object.

Did she dare ping Kai on the old frequency? Did she dare take that chance? Her left hand moved, as if of its own volition, and her fi ngers reached for the reader’s face. No. Her hand dropped.

Kai was thorough. She’d no doubt already run a check on the vessel and discovered that Dal Greyburn and Birrit Cansi had registered the Star Chaser in Newburg. Kai knew that Dal and Birrit were members of her crew, so she would assume that the two passengers listed on the manifest were Jindor and Torri.

And Kai had commed them because she wanted Torri to know that she would be part of the escort.

But what was Kai doing at Tinsdale? Torri glared out the viewport, though from her position, she could only see a swath of desert and a dark line of distant buttes. Was she on leave?

Or had the Coalition stationed her there? Perhaps Kai had requested the assignment, given that Tinsdale Holdings had been drawn into what looked more and more like a bioweapons research facility. Kai had not been pleased that the Coalition was trying to force her father into either a long-term lease or a sale, so maybe she thought the best thing she could do to ensure that the holdings remained in Tinsdale hands was to go and run interference for her father.

Torri sat down on the bench that served as her couch, thinking. Meli was very good at political machinations, and she’d married someone who was well connected in Coalition webs. Meli was no fool, and she knew that in order to retain a A Matter of Blood

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bit of independence, she needed a bondmate who could both create and call in favors from Coalition offi cials. Tarkin could do that, Kai had said, and he’d do the same regardless of who was in power. His family had played the Empire the same way, and had long roots in Amer Province, all the way back to the Reorganization. But if Meli and Tarkin hadn’t been able to hold the Coalition off, perhaps Kai had decided to get more directly involved.

Torri rubbed her forehead. Where was Vano here? From her own observations, he was useless to Tinsdale, but he might have the wherewithal to curry Coalition favor. Even using his familial holdings as leverage, though Kai had told her that she doubted he was even actually related to her, that her father’s fi rst bondmate had engaged in trysts with people other than Kaivan.

Nothing strange about that, since most marriages were based on political and economic ties, rather than an antiquated sense of loyalty to the premise of monogamy. But Stanni had been careless indeed, allowing a pregnancy. Even in some of the more traditional Earthbound cultures, unplanned pregnancies were rare, if practically nonexistent. Perhaps Stanni hadn’t known she was pregnant. Strange, but possible.

And too bad, because Vano was always a thorn at Tinsdale.

Was he capable of having a hand in this situation? She doubted it.

Regardless, Kai was at Tinsdale, and would soon be arriving at the Far Seek to take custody of Torri and Jindor. That’s really what this was about, no matter what euphemisms Sorreth employed. The Coalition was experimenting with a parasite that was embedded in both Radij culture and Radij bodies, and the only reason Sorreth would waste any time with a priestess of Cyllea was if her guardian happened to be Radij.

Most likely, he wanted a blood sample.

Torri grimaced. If she had to, she would ensure he got one, and by the time Sorreth’s staff realized that the blood wasn’t Radij, the Far Seek would be gone. They needed to acquire a 140

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blood sample, and it couldn’t come from anyone on the ship because blood revealed pasts, and that was a chance none of them could take. She left her quarters and went in search of Jann.

¸

Jindor appraised Torri’s appearance and then she used an eyescope to check Torri’s irises. “Still holding,” she said.

“Dal?”

Jann took the instrument and peered through it. “Yes.

Hopefully two more days.”

Torri exhaled in relief.

Jann set the instrument aside and checked the chronograph.

Torri did, as well. Three minutes before they’d have to unblock the comms. He spoke quickly and quietly. “Hold off on the sample as long as you can. The Radij are absolutely opposed to providing blood—even the ones who don’t have the parasite.

If that’s all Sorreth wants, then a few hours or even a day of dickering about the Cultural Autonomy Directive is worth it.”

He looked at Jindor then. “Try to get them to allow me to take the sample. Tell them Oiros has done business with us in the past, and Shar trusts me to be discreet. Or something like that.

We’ve got to make sure that I take the sample, if it comes to that. It’s the best way to make this work. Barring that, then you’ll have to fi nd a way to substitute samples.” He handed a vial to Jindor less than an inch long. “Medical protocol is barely a drop.” His expression told them what he was thinking before he voiced it. “But you know who we’re dealing with.”

Jindor pulled her pendant from inside her shirt and turned the stone over. She triggered a hidden catch and placed the vial inside.

Clever, Torri thought. But not necessarily safe. Still, the Coalition had no interest in creating bad will with temples.

Offi cials knew the power of religion, and they knew that political expediency often required a light touch with servants of Cyllea. Hopefully, nobody had thought to dig beyond A Matter of Blood

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the registry at Oiros, if they’d done that at all. Saryl had left a few forgeries in the fi rst archival levels to deter more suspicious minds, but Torri had no illusions about how long that could last. They needed a day, maybe two, and hopefully they could provide the “sample” and leave without more than a few ruffl ed feathers.

But what of Kai? Where was she in this? She’d received her promotion to commander right after Newburg, and faster than she had thought, since she’d told Torri in Newburg that it was six months away. Perhaps her actions at Vintooth had played favorably with her superiors. The only other alternative was far more sinister, and she refused to believe that Kai would sell her out, especially after what had transpired between them in Newburg. Kai had to know by now what the Coalition was doing, and she had to have fi gured out that Torri was once again in her orbit. So she had to suspect what Sorreth wanted with an alleged priestess’s alleged Radij guardian.

“Time,” Jann said, even more softly than his instructions.

Saryl had unblocked the comms, according to the chronograph.

He stood and gestured toward the door of sick bay. Torri and Jindor had to prepare for Tinsdale. For Torri, that meant far more than she would have preferred. She nodded at Jann and offered a wry smile. They’d been in worse situations than this one. And he and Saryl knew to save themselves if Torri ordered it. Whether they’d adhere to such an order remained to be seen, but she knew that if there were no other way, they’d do so.

Jindor put a battered fl ight jacket on that looked like someone’s cast-off. She’d dressed in plain black trousers and one of Jann’s dark shirts, to lend an appearance that she had not been prepared for a fl oater journey like this and was forced to borrow clothing more suitable to Sorreth’s demands. Torri put her jacket on and followed Jindor into the corridor beyond.

She still wore her tunic, but she’d changed into a black shirt and trousers. Jindor had tied her hair back but she still wore the diadem, to mark her status. Torri followed her into the corridor, and nervous energy suffused her muscles. She was trained for 142

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just such occasions, skills honed to almost machine-like precision but with the fl exibility and experience to adjust quickly. She’d survived this long, she wasn’t going to get taken out without a fi ght.

“Priestess,” Saryl said from behind them. “We’ve received orders to stand by. The escort has departed Tinsdale.” She looked at Torri, expression sympathetic and worried.

“Thank you, Captain. Are we to wait on the landing pad?”

“The major did request that.”

“Very well. Then we shall accommodate him.” She looked at Torri, and together they moved to the ramp.

“We’ll await word.” Saryl squeezed Torri’s shoulder then Jindor’s in an uncharacteristic display of physical contact.

“We’ll send it.” Torri looked at Saryl a moment longer then placed herself slightly ahead of Jindor as they descended the ramp together. Wind fl ung dust around the gathered soldiers—

eight, now—and Torri almost had sympathy for them. She’d had to pull guard duty in all kinds of weather, and most of these recruits probably had no loyalty to the Coalition. They were just recruits, like she had once been at the Academy, and for a brief moment she recognized a comradeship. It disappeared as quickly as it had come. They wore Coalition black, and would carry out orders under that mantle, no matter a shared experience.

The one gray-clad fi gure stepped forward. By the color of his stripes, they’d warranted a captain. Torri assessed his demeanor. Formal but confi dent. He moved with the assurance of someone who had seen service beyond mere guard duty, and he was well-muscled, from the way his uniform fi t. A career soldier. She guessed he loved the military, and didn’t care who ran it. But because he was military, he, too, would follow orders. Sorreth didn’t want to take any chances.

“Priestess,” the captain said in Coalition, “the escort from Tinsdale Holdings will arrive in fi fteen minutes. Please stand over here.” He motioned toward the edge of the landing pad that was farthest from the Far Seek. They followed him, and A Matter of Blood

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once there, Torri and Jindor turned their backs to the wind. The captain did, as well. His hand rested on his pistol.

“If I might ask, sir, why Major Sorreth has requested an audience with me?” Jindor addressed him in Coalition.

“Can’t say,” he responded with a shrug.

“Might you then have any estimate about how much time this will take? The transport my guardian and I arrived on has schedules to maintain, as does the temple.”

“Perhaps Commander Tinsdale can provide that information,”

he said, as apologetically as Coalition allowed. Had he spoken in Empire, his infl ection would have told them that he was not privy to a timeline.

“Thank you.” Jindor pulled her jacket tighter around her, a vulnerable gesture that didn’t match the woman Torri had hired as navigator. But as a servant of Cyllea, such an air lent credence to their masquerade. They all three stood in silence.

Wind pushed against Torri’s back and whipped dirt past her face. Sorreth had deliberately requested that she and Jindor wait outside for the escort. Did he think that they were going to make a run for it? The terrain was probably riddled with Coalition security, and a Directive in place ensured that surveillance had tightened in this sector. More likely, it was a psychological tactic, to keep them uncomfortable and off guard. “When interacting with a potentially hostile subject, you must establish primacy and then maintain it through your successive actions. No matter how small the gesture might seem, it must keep the subject wondering about your motives.”

Torri studied the western horizon through the haze. Sorreth did have primacy here, but there were still a few hands that Torri hadn’t played. And one was approaching now, in a fl oater from Tinsdale.

13

Kai climbed out of the vehicle fi rst, followed by two Coalition soldiers. One, whose gender Torri couldn’t deduce, and a female captain she recognized as the Coalition offi cial Evor had been speaking with the night before. She clenched her teeth at the sight of Kai, at the recent memories she shared with her, but in accordance with her role as Jindor’s guardian, she stood protectively near her, arms crossed.

Kai approached, her smooth, even stride painfully familiar.

In her gray battle dress, Kai looked like the perfect soldier, but it was her demeanor, with or without the uniform, that ensured attention and obedience. Kai never had to demand either, which was why she was such an effective leader. That, and Kai’s unswerving sense of loyalty and duty, though Torri knew how those two warred within her. She studied Kai’s features and tried not to appear as if she were staring, tried to read what Kai might be thinking. Kai’s lean, strong features were set in the hard formality that always accompanied her uniform. Which would win this day? Loyalty or duty? Torri was gambling on loyalty, but Kai’s family played a role here, too, and she would not begrudge Kai if she chose duty, though she’d carry that pain as long as she lived.

“At ease,” Kai said in Coalition to the captain on Jindor’s right.

“Priestess Othne, I’m Commander Kai Tinsdale. I’m charged with escorting you to Major Andris Sorreth, currently stationed at Tinsdale Holdings. This is Lieutenant Bal and Captain Hyacin.”

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Jindor acknowledged the introduction with a wary smile.

“I suppose I should thank you, Commander, though I remain puzzled as to what Major Sorreth could possibly want of me or my guardian.”

Torri relaxed a hair, even in Kai’s presence. From that response, no one would guess that Jindor knew who Kai was, given the business at Newburg.

“I’m sure the major will inform you.” Kai then focused on Torri. “My apologies for this inconvenience,” she said, enunciating each word carefully. Her gaze lingered on the Radij scars. “I’ll do my utmost to ensure your comfort and safety.”

Torri’s heart pounded her ribs like a cannon but she gave no outward sign. Kai knew damn well what Sorreth wanted. She knew what he was about, and she knew what the Coalition was doing. It was in her eyes, it was in the way she held herself, and it hung like smoke and death over a battlefi eld. She knew, and she was furious.

“Our thanks, Commander,” Torri said, as Bal and Hyacin returned to the fl oater.

Kai’s eyes bored into Torri’s a few extra moments, and Torri thought she saw echoes of their shared past in them, and then Kai turned to Jindor. “Priestess, if you and your guardian would please accompany us now—” She beckoned at the fl oater, where the genderless Lieutenant Bal sat behind the controls, and Captain Hyacin occupied the seat closest to the back of the vehicle, probably as a guard. Torri boarded fi rst, then Jindor.

Kai waited for both to adjust their harnesses before she, too, climbed in, the fl oater bouncing like a tight spring beneath her weight. She sat to Jindor’s right, ensuring that a servant of Cyllea was protected on all sides. Or guarded. However one viewed the situation.

“When you’re ready, Lieutenant.” Kai sat back in her seat, and Bal touched the control panel. The top slid into place over them, and then Bal disengaged the magnets and accelerated, the force of the fl oater’s increasing speed pushing Torri back 146

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against the seat. Kai engaged Jindor in a bit of conversation about Vegas Sector—something a well-mannered military offi cial would do with another offi cial or dignitary.

Once, Kai caught Torri’s eye, and the right side of her mouth twitched, a motion so slight that it might have been a trick of the light. But she had lived and breathed over three years of Kai, and every nuance of Kai’s body language had stamped itself on her psyche. Kai was suppressing a smile, but whether she was offering encouragement or acknowledging that here they were again, in each other’s company in unexpected circumstances, she wasn’t sure. Probably both. She stared at the back of Bal’s head the rest of the journey, willing herself not to look at Kai because it might alert Hyacin. It didn’t matter whether she saw Kai or not, though, because every nerve sang at her proximity, and Kai’s voice slid into her veins as she conversed with Jindor.

Your bunkmate is your closest ally, came Torri’s memory from Cadet introduction. You may not like her. You may even hate her. But you will come to trust her with your life. Her life. Did Torri trust Kai with that? What could Kai do for her, surrounded by Coalition and caught in some kind of bioweapons research? What would Kai sacrifi ce to the ghosts of the past? Torri clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached. If the price Kai had to pay to ensure Torri’s safety was too high, Torri wouldn’t allow her to pay it. No matter the outcome, she would not place the burden for her mistakes at Ansi on Kai. Or on any of her crew.

Sometimes sacrifi ces must be made, Instructor Flor had said once. You are Cadets. You will come to accept that. Or you will fail. And he’d looked at each of them, standing out on the landing pad before their fi rst offi cial training mission. Which one of you, he seemed to ask, will that be? Torri knew then, as she knew now, that if you were unwilling to accept the consequences of your actions and decisions, unwilling to sacrifi ce something should the circumstances warrant it, then you would fail. Should fail.

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Torri didn’t fear death. She feared that her death would be in vain, a sacrifi ce that changed nothing. She glanced at Kai, then Jindor, and thought about Jann and Saryl. If she must die at Sorreth’s bidding, then she must ensure that such an occurrence allowed her crew to escape, and Kai to remain safe, even in Coalition ranks. Yes, she thought. Sometimes sacrifi ces must be made. But sometimes we can control the situations in which they occur. Clinging to that thought, she prepared herself for the next stage of this journey, wherever it would lead.

¸

Torri stood in the center of the room, studying the scientifi c accoutrements that defi ned it as a laboratory. She’d been here for at least thirty minutes, since Bal and Hyacin had left her. They’d arrived via the conveyor, constructed in an underground passage whose entrance was accessed a mile outside the unclaimed territory. Torri wasn’t sure how far they’d gone, but she guessed she was beneath the toxic soil.

Kai, fortunately, had escorted Jindor to Tinsdale, which meant Torri didn’t have to worry about her. She had a better chance at escape from there than here.

She returned her attention to the room. Two exam tables fl anked her, one on either side, and a counter ran along all four walls. Several vidscreens were set into the walls and panels near each one were labeled in Coalition, advertising scientifi c equipment. A thumb pad was set into the wall near each panel.

Everything was stark, maddening white, with the exception of the soft blue of the vidscreens and red lettering on the exam tables.

To a casual observer—and Torri fi gured she was under surveillance—she might have been just a bored onlooker, waiting for something to happen. Which was what she was counting on. She forced herself to take calm, regular breaths and stared at the ceiling, then looked around again, feigning continued boredom. Hyacin had confi scated her dirk before 148

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leaving her to contemplate whatever fate Sorreth would decree, and so far, this room was devoid of anything that might be used as a weapon. Still, the exam tables could serve as barriers, and there might be something behind the panels, though bypassing the thumb pads could prove difficult. Not impossible, however. Everything can be put to a use for which it was not intended.

The door slid open, and Lieutenant Bal entered—Torri had decided that Bal was probably female, or at least identifi ed that way—followed by a man in formal Coalition grays whom Torri recognized as Sorreth. His appearance hadn’t changed much from the image in his fi les. Not much taller than she. His dark hair—was that actually hair?—matched his eyebrows, which she saw immediately were tattoos and not actual brows.

Nothing about his movements or appearance were familiar, so if he had been at Shanlin as a rebel, she may not have had any contact with him. Or he had altered himself enough that even his closest friends there wouldn’t recognize him today.

“Shar n’Morif,” he said in Coalition, in a voice that carried hints of warmth. It was at odds with his appearance.

“If I may.”

“You may,” she responded, deliberately accenting the Coalition on her tongue with Southern Edge. “Major Sorreth, I assume.”

He stopped a few feet from her, Bal to his right, and appraised her unabashedly, as if he were choosing an envoy at a pleasure dome. “You assume correctly. Please forgive my rather abrupt invitation. It’s just that I was so thrilled to discover that someone of Radij heritage was so close. I simply couldn’t let the opportunity pass.” He smiled, and his eyes seemed to shimmer. Syn? Possibly.

Torri didn’t respond. The major seemed to enjoy banter, so she wouldn’t give him any. Instead, she waited. He did, as well, and continued his survey of her body. Was he trying to push her in some way? Force a reaction? The thought both annoyed and amused her.

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“I have to wonder,” he said after a while, “if being away from the homelands for so long allows a loosening of certain restrictions.” He phrased it delicately.

“No,” she responded with a fl at, hard tone that even in Coalition had the consistency of stone.

He looked at her, and for a moment, surprise might have registered in his eyes. They shimmered beneath the lights, and seemed almost to twinkle. Defi nitely syn in that regard, at least. But an expensive eye job. Was the good major mostly human? Mostly syn? Or a balance of both? A frown hovered on his lips for a couple of seconds, and Torri decided he was at least half-human.

“Most distressing,” he said in a soft, portentous voice. “You still follow Radij restrictions with regard to Standard Medical Procedure?”

Torri studied him like she might a strange insect. His frown returned beneath her scrutiny, but she buried her satisfaction at getting to him.

“Culture is not something one removes like a piece of clothing,” she replied, deliberately eschewing his title. Radij were not known to use them with people who had not won their respect, and she guessed Sorreth knew this. Dangerous, perhaps, to push him, but she wanted to map her boundaries.

Bal looked from her to him, unease advertised in the tightening of her shoulders.

“Of course,” he said abruptly. “I’ve overstepped.

Uncharitable of me.” He grinned, and his mirth—genuine—

found refl ection in his eyes. Disconcerting, this Sorreth. His demeanor was at odds with his responses. Torri decided to rely on the former as an accurate gauge of his motives. “However,”

he said, “I’m quite certain the Cultural Autonomy Directive provides for extenuating circumstances.”

“And that would be?”

He clapped his hands together, as if delighted that he’d drawn her into a conversation. “A medical option that could save the lives of thousands of individuals.”

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Torri waited for him to continue, and when he saw that she was not going to engage further, he did so.

“The parasite is deadly, as you know, to humans and a few humanoid species. Radij excepted, of course. We—” He raised an eyebrow, seeing if she followed that the “we” referred to the Coalition. Of course she did, but she made no effort to acknowledge it. “We are concerned that certain illicit parties are conducting experiments with the parasite that is native to Sentinel, and that said parties are attempting to

. . . how to put this delicately . . .” He hesitated, as if really debating what he was going to tell her, which wasn’t the case.

This was a controlled, careful man who planned even his most mundane statements. “Shall we say that should these parties manage to fi gure out a way to use the parasite against their enemies, the results could be catastrophic.”

“And impossible. No parasite or host can survive a journey through space. And it is forbidden to remove the parasite from the homelands,” she said, injecting what she hoped was convincing anger into her statement.

Sorreth shook his head in a parody of sadness. “We should all be so fortunate, that a respect for cultures and territories ensures that we wouldn’t have to lose sleep over such matters.

Nonetheless, we do. And we must. Which is why a medical directive may overrule the Cultural Autonomy Directive in this instance. My sincerest apologies, Guardian n’Morif, but we must have a sample of your blood to start developing an antidote against such nefarious deeds. The fate of some humanoid species could depend on it.” He half-bowed and added a sweeping hand gesture.

“No.” The word fell hard and fl at, like her expression.

He straightened and regarded her through newly narrowed eyes. “I can put in a request to the High Council. I assure you, they will grant it.”

“That remains to be seen. Do so.”

“It would go much easier and faster for all of us were you to simply allow us a drop of your blood. A mere drop.

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Barely visible. Surely that is not in violation of your cultural mores.”

“Amount is irrelevant. It is forbidden for me to provide such a sample.” Torri crossed her arms and returned his glare with impassivity.

Sorreth frowned for a third time since this meeting started. She guessed he wasn’t used to such open defi ance. That could either make him careless or more dangerous. She’d know soon enough.

He smiled suddenly. “Very well. I hope, then, that you don’t mind being our guest for a while longer.”

“Guest? If such were true, then the priestess and I would be allowed to return to Oiros. I hardly think this qualifi es as any sort of hospitality. I therefore assume I am under some kind of arrest, and the Articles of Detention clearly allow me representation and open communication with regard to the circumstances of my case.”

The smile remained on his face, but it was forced, now.

“Certainly. I’ll arrange a commlink as soon as possible. It’s diffi cult to do so in this part of the province.”

“Then take me back to Tinsdale,” she said, noting that he didn’t deny that she was being detained. What was the point?

And what could she do about it?

The smile disappeared. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.

Weather conditions have made the surface impassable for at least three hours.”

Convenient, Torri thought. That’s about how long it would take to get the High Council to authorize the blood sample.

“Bal will take you to more comfortable quarters. Once the weather relents, you’ll be returned to Tinsdale.” He turned in an abrupt motion and left the room, but in the way he moved, Torri saw irritation. The door remained open, and she considered her chances if she made a run for it. Not good.

She wasn’t quite sure where they were, or that she could get the conveyor to operate, since she wasn’t authorized personnel.

She elected to go willingly with Bal, who said nothing as she led her down the corridor farther away from the conveyor. The 152

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walls and ceiling gleamed white, offering no shadows. A diffi cult place to go unnoticed.

Bal turned left down an equally bright corridor and stopped at the fi rst door on her right. She pressed her thumb to the keypad and motioned for Torri to go in. Once again Torri debated an escape, but two Coalition soldiers rounded the corner just then, chatting. Damn. She went into the room, and the door slid shut behind her, separating her from Bal. She surveyed her surroundings, a small windowless area, maybe ten feet square. No furniture, with the exception of a low bench that ran the length of each wall. A Coalition sign over a niche in the far wall advertised beverages, but she wasn’t taking any chances with that, though she could have used a bit of water.

She chose a corner on the wall in which the door was set and leaned back, her legs stretched out in front of her on the bench. At least it was gelled. Not so uncomfortable as she had initially thought. She pinged Saryl once, not wanting to take a chance that the signal would be tracked. How far was she below ground? That would also affect the ability of Saryl to get a lock on her. But a chance, however slim, was better than none at all. She closed her eyes. It would be a couple of hours, at least, before anyone came for her with the Council’s approval. At that point, she’d demand Jann’s services. There was no guarantee she’d be granted her request, but she could at least get another ping to Saryl during what was sure to be another inhospitable exchange with Sorreth.

Torri opted to conserve her energies and capitalize on her situation. She sank into a doze.

14

“Perhaps I might speak with her,” Kai said to Sorreth’s image on the vidscreen in her quarters. “I’ve worked with some Radij in a few of my units.”

“I’m not sure that’s necessary.”

Kai buried a sigh. Must he be so diffi cult? She checked herself. Of course he must. Coalition, after all. So she’d have to take a chance, though she’d never been much for gambling, even during her Academy days. But Torri had never been one of the stakes, either. She opened her wager. “Major, if I might address this matter with you more bluntly?”

“How so?” he said, and Kai heard caution in the question.

“I’m not entirely certain that detaining a Radij temple guardian will curry favor with local holders.”

He pursed his lips for a second. “That is indeed blunt.” His tone carried a warning, even in Coalition. “Explain.”

“I’m thinking of appearances. And as I’m sure you understand, I am in an awkward position. After all, I am a member of a local holding, which means I’m privy to certain . . . rumblings, if you will, about policy decisions.

However, I’m also positioned to understand local networks.”

She’d bluffed a strong hand, she fi gured. Her fi rst card was a power card, but not ranked so high that he’d think it her only one.

“Rumblings, Commander?”

She shrugged, a casual motion designed to put him a little at 154

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ease but yet warn him that there were rumors afoot that hadn’t grown past the nascent stage.

He pursed his lips. “Playing the benevolent, are you? I’m disappointed, Commander, at the transparency of that approach.” He smirked, and Kai wished she could reach through the screen and punch it off him.

“Not at all,” she said, glad she still sounded calm. “I’m merely offering my services and experience with a member of a particular cultural and ethnic group. And working to ensure that there isn’t any fallout that could damage the project.” Which is exactly what she wanted to do. Not just damage it. Blast it beyond recognition. But that was a card she wasn’t going to play. Not yet.

“You’re suggesting my services and experience aren’t suffi cient?” He was either teasing her or baiting her. Kai pushed her bet higher.

“Are they? Might Guardian n’Morif have reason to lodge any kind of complaint with regard to her treatment? And might local holders have any reason to think that a priestess of Cyllea has been inconvenienced in any way?” Kai raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think I like this conversation. What exactly are you insinuating, Commander?” Still, he smiled, though the expression in his eyes was hard and cold, like a sharp blade.

“Major Sorreth,” she said, in as conciliatory a tone as she could muster, “as I know you’re fully aware, the matter you’ve undertaken here has ramifi cations beyond a minor medical procedure, including jeopardizing work on this project. I’m sure you and your superior offi cers would be vastly disappointed should that happen because of a matter as simple as cultural courtesies.” As much as it galled her to phrase her concerns in the ass-licking cadences of Coalition, Kai did so.

He studied her for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he could take her statement at face value. A wiser man would not. Kai was betting he wasn’t.

“I doubt your input will do much good,” he responded, in his usual smooth tones.

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“It can’t hurt,” Kai pressed. “How long before the High Council responds?”

“Two hours, at least.”

“Did she request representation under the Articles of Detention?” Kai played a higher card, testing.

Sorreth stared at her, expression placid though his eyes still seemed to sparkle. It hit her, then. Syn. He was part syn, which might explain the paradoxes of his behavior. But her question had thrown him a bit.

“Yes,” he admitted.

So he had detained her. Slag-fi sted bastard. “And did you grant it?” She hoped her anger hadn’t reached her words.

“Not yet.”

She pushed her bet. “If I may . . .”

“I suspect I have little choice.” He offered another smile.

She ignored it.

“You understand, Major, that this issue cannot be resolved if Guardian n’Morif is not granted appropriate representation, regardless of what the High Council rules. The Radij take blood matters very seriously.” She crossed her arms for emphasis.

“Are you aware of the diplomatic crisis that will ensue should the Ori intervene when they hear of the Council’s approval of your request? You don’t really think the Radij political representation at the Council will allow this to pass.” Kai did not phrase the last statement as a question and instead let it serve as a recrimination.

Sorreth was motionless and silent for several moments.

Perhaps he thought it would unnerve her. She waited him out, settling into her stoniest visage. He broke fi rst. “The Ori have never interfered with a High Council ruling.”

“The High Council has never overruled a Radij cultural directive.” The Coalition hasn’t had time to irritate the Ori before now, she thought. But that seemed to be changing here.

He wavered. Uncertain? A fl icker in his eyes. Kai had always been good at reading body language. The Academy had trained her to be even better. “What else have you assumed, Major, 156

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in this matter?” Even in Coalition, the reprimand was clear, though cloaked as a mere question. She had just rebuked a higher-ranking offi cer, and from his hard, angry expression, he knew it.

“No more than what you’re doing now.” His words snapped, like whips on fl esh. Kai held her position.

“I hardly think that offering my services as a mediator is an assumption.”

The planes of his face hardened, in contradiction to his smile and strange, sparkling eyes. “Of course. I misunderstood.

Perhaps it would be useful for you to speak with Guardian n’Morif. I believe you know the way to the labs. Inform me when you arrive.” And the vidscreen went blank.

Kai sucked air between her teeth, thinking. He had conceded this round to her, but from what dealings she’d had with him over the past two days, he was not the kind of man to retreat so readily. No, he was regrouping. And she’d just agreed to visit him in his lair. She might as well walk barefoot into a den of rock snakes. Perhaps she’d overplayed her hand.

She stared hard at the blank vidscreen, thoughts roiling.

This was the only way to see Torri, the only way to try to get her away from Sorreth. He had no reason to ask for Kai’s assistance, no reason to agree to let Kai see her. She’d had to gamble. It was as simple as that. Now she needed to strengthen her hand.

Damn you, Torri. Kai massaged her forehead with her right index fi nger and thumb, an attempt to fi nd a moment of peace in this shitstorm of a day. She sank into a nearby chair and smiled at her own weakness. Where Torri was concerned, Kai would face the lavastorms of Hantel. Not that she’d thought when she fi rst met her bunkmate back in their green days at the Academy that she’d ever willingly want Torri’s company for anything.

They were so different. Worlds apart. Torri was brash, obnoxious, and cocky. Cyllea, she was cocky. After that fi rst meeting, Kai wondered if she should lodge a complaint. Why A Matter of Blood

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had Torri been assigned to her? What had the instructors been thinking? Kai couldn’t stand her from the fi rst meeting.

Couldn’t stand her arrogance, or how she picked and chose Academy rules to suit her whims. She’d sneak out at night and return just before dawn roll call, reeking of alcohol, incense, sweat, and, on some occasions, sex. No self-discipline, no respect for the fact that she was one of the few who had been granted Cadet status at the Academy.

Kai stopped rubbing her head and stared again at the blank vidscreen, remembering. That fi rst term with Torri as bunkmate had chafed. Oh, how it chafed. But Kai was a Cadet, and Cadets didn’t complain. So she kept her mouth shut and buried herself in her studies. After all, once they graduated, she wouldn’t have to deal with Torri ever again. “Your assigned bunkmate is your closest comrade. You will eat, sleep, live, possibly die with her.

You may not like her. You may come to hate the sight of her. But you will learn to trust her. With your life. ” She hadn’t believed that at fi rst, no matter how many times she chanted it at roll call, no matter how many times an instructor demanded that a Cadet recite the signifi cance of a bunkmate. She ignored it, for the most part, because it didn’t apply to her.

And then, some time during that fi rst term, things started to change.

Nothing specifi c, at fi rst, and it might even have started at midterm, when reports were issued, and Kai realized that Torri excelled in her program. So Kai started paying a little more attention to her in their classes, and she saw that Torri threw herself into discussions and simulations, completely focused on every nuance, every situational shift an instructor and computer generated. So Kai started taking more meals with her, and she saw many other sides to her bunkmate, and by the end of that fi rst term, Kai admitted to herself that she actually sort of liked her, liked her humor, liked that she poked fun at herself, and that she admitted when she was wrong. The brash attitude, she decided, was Torri’s shield.

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needed a shield, and that family was something she would not discuss beyond a few surface details. Kai stood and smoothed the front of her uniform. Not so unalike after all, you and I. By third term, Kai often accompanied Torri on her jaunts, and they covered for each other with different instructors. They were fi nishing each other’s sentences, spending practically every waking moment together. And I loved her then, she thought, staring accusingly at her refl ection in the vidscreen. But I didn’t know how much until Shanlin.

And now Torri needed her, like she had at the Academy, like she had in Newburg. She’d never asked for Kai’s help, never taken advantage of Kai’s good will, never questioned her about the choices that had brought them to opposite sides of a political chasm. She’d never asked, but she’d always given, and Kai knew that if she herself were in trouble, and that if something was within Torri’s power to help her, she’d do it.

The bond they’d forged at the Academy had somehow transcended their Cadet status, and the Collapse, and it had translated into a new kind of intimacy they’d fi nally shared for the fi rst time nearly two years ago in Hallifi n and then again two months ago in Newburg, though Kai knew Torri had fi nally snuck a kiss from her the end of their fi rst year. Kai had been exhausted after her exams, and Torri had waited up for her in their quarters, with food and candles. Kai still didn’t know where she’d gotten those. Torri had tucked her in that night, and Kai was almost asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. Almost. A brush of lips across her mouth, then on her forehead. She’d dreamed it, she thought. Dreamed it and realized she wanted it as a reality, but it didn’t happen again during their Academy days. And the dream died at Shanlin.

Only to reappear in Hallifi n two years later.

With that thought, Kai left her rooms in her father’s holdings and headed for the southern wing. She’d not had many dealings with Meli’s husband, but Tarkin had many connections and many clandestine ways of making them. The former she might not need, but the latter, defi nitely.

15

Kai commed Lieutenant Bal from the hangar at Tinsdale.

Bal appeared in the vidscreen, attentive but remote, as she seemed off screen.

“Commander. How may I be of service?”

“Lieutenant. The major has agreed to allow me to speak with Guardian n’Morif. I don’t have codes for the labs. I was hoping you might have the time to escort me.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll comm you the codes over a secure channel. Link me on the standard frequency and inform me which one you’d prefer.”

“My thanks. That will save some inconvenience on everyone’s parts. Out.”

Bal blinked off the screen, and Kai glanced at Jindor, who stood out of Bal’s view. She held a fi nger up, signaling for her to wait, and she opened a link with a thought to Bal, using a local Coalition channel.

“Lieutenant.”

“Commander. At your service.”

“Jericho Jericho Stand Down Nine,” Kai said.

“And . . . done. You should have the codes on your wrist unit. Please meet me at the lab with which you’re familiar. I assume you recall how to get there.”

“I do. Thank you. Out.” Kai broke the comm and addressed Jindor. “Priestess, if you would . . . ?” She motioned at the fl oater.

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Jindor climbed in and seated herself in the front passenger seat. She buckled herself in as Kai readied herself in the driver’s seat. Thus situated, Kai disengaged the vehicle’s magnets and backed out of the dock then turned the fl oater’s nose toward the exit.

She activated the dome and glanced at Jindor. “Ready?”

“Let’s go,” Jindor said, and Kai touched the dashboard then accelerated, and they shot into the desert, toward the unclaimed territory.

A trip that lasted barely ten minutes at Kai’s speed, but ten minutes too long, as far as she was concerned. They didn’t have much time before Meli played her hand. She and Jindor didn’t speak, but she suspected that Jindor knew far more about her than she let on, especially since Jindor told her why Torri had come to Vegas Sector.

Kai remembered Jindor from Newburg, where Jindor had played a different role in the opal mines at Vintooth. Clearly, a woman of many talents, she thought. And one she needed to bring with her on this venture. It would be much easier to get both Torri and Jindor out at once then try to do so separately.

She decelerated at the landing pad near the underground entrance to the labs, built into a berm, just far enough away to avoid contamination, but even the Coalition didn’t want to take any chances. They docked fl oaters inside. She jumped out and entered the proper code at the thumb pad. The heavy door slid open, and she maneuvered the vehicle inside. Once she’d eased the fl oater into a slot against a wall, she pressed her thumb against the pad and entered a personal locking code and helped Jindor out, in keeping with the masquerade. Jindor was more than capable of getting in and out of fl oaters. And probably a lot more than that, she fi gured, or Torri wouldn’t have hired her. She removed the water bag and meal packet she’d stashed under the back seat. Knowing Torri, she wouldn’t trust any food or drink here. She slid the packet into the right-hand cargo pocket on her standard-issue trousers and the bag she carried.

Kai motioned for Jindor to precede her to the conveyor.

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They entered the lab-bound capsule, standing inside for the journey. Within a minute, they’d arrived at the stop near the lab. A hundred feet down a nearby, almost blinding white corridor, to the door of the lab, which opened before Kai could enter a code.

“Commander,” Bal greeted them. “And Priestess. Welcome.”

Bal exhibited no surprise that Kai had brought company and instead motioned them farther down the corridor to yet another corridor, this one to the left. She stopped at the fi rst door on the right.

“Has the major received any word from the High Council?”

Kai asked. Bal’s answer would determine how much time she had before she made another bet in this game she played with Sorreth.

“No. Perhaps another ninety minutes.” She pressed her thumb to the keypad. “You have the code for this door as well, Commander. Just comm me when you and the priestess are finished.” She stepped aside, and the door slid open, revealing a sparse, white room, the only obvious furnishings a bench along the opposite wall—the wall Kai could see from her angle. Please, she silently exhorted Torri. Don’t do anything stupid.

“Many thanks, Lieutenant,” Kai said, a little louder than convention demanded. “You’ve been most helpful.”

Bal saluted and headed back to the main corridor, steps crisp and even. A good soldier, Kai decided. How unfortunate that she had to work with Sorreth.

“Shar?” Jindor said as she entered the room.

Kai hesitated before she entered, gathering herself. They were undoubtedly under surveillance, and she had to be very, very careful. She entered, and the door slid shut behind her.

The bench ran along every wall, she noted, as she did a quick scan before focusing on the woman to her right, who stood next to Jindor. She caught Torri’s eye, and everything she’d felt in Newburg cascaded down her back, like warm water after a long day, like sunlight after a hard rain. As much as she’d tried since Hallifi n to forget, and as much as she thought Newburg 162

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was just another fl uke, all of that disintegrated in Torri’s presence. She’d endure much more than a lavastorm for her.

“Guardian n’Morif, I must apologize for your circumstances here,” Kai said in Coalition, relieved that she sounded calm.

“I’m sure you’re aware that the High Council is rendering judgment on Major Sorreth’s request as we speak.” She held the water bag she’d brought out to Torri, who took it, expression unreadable, though her fi ngers brushed Kai’s. A physical connection, however brief. An acknowledgement of their proximity, perhaps. Not a mere slip of the hand. For all of Torri’s mercurial decisions, she wasn’t careless with her movements.

“How long?” Torri asked, eschewing Kai’s title in Radij tradition. She’d done her research well, and she passed as Radij admirably, given her skin tones and dark hair. Her eyes, though, were just starting to reabsorb whatever pigment she’d used. Her irises were no longer the same color as her pupil, but a shade lighter. Hard to detect, unless you were looking.

“Ninety minutes, we were told.” Maybe less. But if Meli’s part in this escapade worked, Kai had barely sixty minutes from the moment she and Jindor arrived at the facility. And that time was running out.

“Sorreth conceded that I am being detained. I requested representation under the appropriate Articles.” Torri pressed the release on the bag and squeezed some of its contents into her mouth.

“I have already begun arranging that. Rest assured that I will do everything in my power to ensure that you and the priestess are soon on your way back to Oiros.”

The hint of a smile played at the corner of Torri’s mouth, the smile Kai felt sure Torri didn’t know she harbored, and it meant that Torri knew something was working in her favor. “I am most appreciative.”

Kai pulled the meal packet out of her pocket and handed that to her, as well. Again, a brief touch and again, an ache in her chest.

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“Have they injured you in any way?” Jindor this time.

“Only my pride, Priestess.” Torri smiled. She opened the meal packet and sat down on the bench to eat before the outer shell dissolved.

Kai reached into her pocket and activated the jammer therein.

Tarkin had more than connections. He had black market tech tools most often used in resistance movements, designs that had been perfected over the course of numerous campaigns, and that could be altered easily for changing situations. Sneaky, that Tarkin. Maybe not such a strange match for Meli after all.

Kai remained standing, her hands clasped behind her back.

Tarkin said the jammer would take care of audio, but maybe not visuals, so she retained formality.

“We’ve got fi ve minutes,” she said in a low voice through a smile.

Torri stopped eating and stared hard at Kai, who fought every muscle in her body at that moment. Just a quick embrace, she thought. But no, she couldn’t. Because she wouldn’t want to stop there. And if the jammer didn’t take care of visuals, the Coalition was in for quite a show if she relented to her urges.

“What did Sorreth say to you?”

“He wants a drop of my blood,” Torri said, just as quietly.

“He claims someone’s brought the parasite off Sentinel, and he wants to develop an antidote for it.” She took another hasty bite. “Do they have some here?”

“Yes.”

Jindor muttered something, and Torri grimaced.

“Fifteen in the soil. They survive forty-eight hours. Twenty in the labs, in suspended animation. They’re trying to get the soil just right, because that’ll make it easier to transport them from Sentinel if they can’t reproduce here.”

Torri finished the meal, and the packet dissolved in her hand. She wiped it on her pants. “Sorreth’s half-syn, at least,” she said. “Not that it makes any difference. But it might.”

“I guessed.”

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She caught Kai’s gaze, held it fast. “He was at Shanlin.”

Kai nodded, a slow, deliberate motion as if in understanding.

A show for the surveillance, though Torri’s statement fi lled her gut like a rock. “That’s not in his fi les.”

“No. But the like-mind hive he knocked out for his latest promotion was. And the names of those he said he took out died years before, in the Collapse.” She stopped, still staring at Kai. “Some at Shanlin.”

“Only someone who was there would know those names,”

Kai fi nished, directing her attention at Jindor, who smiled and nodded, playing along. “Who is he?” Kai asked, still looking at Jindor.

“I don’t recognize him,” Torri said. She leaned over, bracing her arms on her thighs, and stared at the fl oor. “But the syn job might have altered his appearance enough for that.”

A rebel. Sorreth hadn’t been Coalition at Shanlin, because he wouldn’t have had to fabricate a like-mind hive using names of previously dead people for a promotion. Kai smiled again.

Leverage. Meli had said that everybody had weaknesses. This might be Sorreth’s. She checked her wrist unit. “Two minutes.”

She nodded, pretending to think. “I have a plan.”

“I fi gured.” Torri looked up at her, and a shadow of their past caught at the corner of her mouth, caught a ride right into Kai’s heart.

“Priestess Othne will provide the important details. We’ve decided to call it Operation Ass in the Wind. I think you’ll appreciate its nuances.”

Jindor cleared her throat in an effort not to laugh, and Torri’s lips twitched, though the grin Kai knew she fought didn’t show.

“And when this is over, Guardian, I’d like a few important details from you, as well.” Kai tossed her statement at Torri and bowed slightly, a show of cultural deference for Sorreth’s monitors.

“I most defi nitely look forward to it.”

“As do I.” Kai tapped her chin with one fi nger. One minute.

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She bowed toward Jindor, as well. “Her eyes, Priestess. We may have to launch our operation early.”

“Fuck,” Torri murmured. “Already?” She turned toward Jindor, who smiled and nodded for the monitors.

“It’s begun,” Jindor said in confi rmation. “But you have to look hard.”

Kai started to say something else but the door opened, and Sorreth stepped in, Bal on his heels. The man had impeccable timing. Impeccably inconvenient. He clenched and unclenched his fi sts but Bal cast what might have been an apologetic glance at Kai. “Commander. I’m hoping you have a very good explanation as to why an unauthorized person is standing in this room.”

“I do. Major,” Kai said in a tone as smooth and cold as winter ice fl ows. “If you would join me outside, I have some information I think you’ll fi nd most interesting.”

He glared fi rst at Jindor then at her. “I can’t wait.”

Sarcasm does carry well in Coalition, Kai thought as he stepped back into the corridor. Kai nodded once at Jindor and followed Sorreth, though at the door, she paused for what might have been a second, maybe a little more, and caught Torri’s gaze again. So close. But at least this time, the distance between them was not self-imposed. She stepped into the corridor. Operation Ass in the Wind was defi nitely going to start early.

¸

Torri remained seated on the bench, her heart still pounding from Kai’s all-too-brief proximity. Damn her this hold on me. But thank Cyllea for it, too. Perhaps the goddess might see fi t to allow them to spend more than a few hours together at a time. We all have weaknesses. The key is to keep yours hidden while exploiting those of others. There was no point to that, now. Kai knew her, knew her weaknesses, and probably knew her future failings. But Kai was the one person Torri would grant that privilege.

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“So, Priestess,” she said softly in Southern Edge. “What might I expect from the commander’s plan?”

Jindor rearranged her own position and smoothed her trousers, the way a privileged woman might when out of her element. A nice touch to her latest role. “The major will be apprised that you are not what you seem, to prevent him forcing you into giving him a blood sample. She wasn’t sure he’d allow Dal to conduct it.”

And Kai didn’t want that kind of genetic material from Torri in Sorreth’s hands. Kai knew what blood could tell. Hair and skin cells—easily altered at the source, and so many did that now that they were often unreliable indicators of identity. So Kai had made a choice. Loyalty outweighed duty. What Torri had felt from her in Newburg—wavering in her support of the Coalition—seemed to have morphed into a revolt. But then, Kai was very careful about the battles she picked. And when she made her choice, she always planned to win.

“And does the commander know the reasons for our visit here?”

“She does.” Jindor pulled Torri against her, as if comforting her, but it served to help mask their conversation.

“And you trusted her with that information?” Torri pressed, half-teasing.

Jindor smiled. “Implicitly. I understand, now, why you feel what you do.”

Torri ignored that and instead asked, “What am I to expect when Sorreth returns?” And he will, she surmised. Oh, he will.

“He’ll know you’re not who you seem to be.”

“And you?”

“Still a priestess, until he decides otherwise. If I’m guessing correctly, we have about thirty minutes.”

“Until?”

“We have to vacate this facility.”

What was Kai up to? Torri started to say something further but Jindor gave her a fi nal squeeze and released her just as the door opened again.

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“My lead,” she said, and Torri stood as Sorreth entered, followed closely by Bal, as always. Kai was last in, and her expression was unreadable.

“Guardian n’Morif,” Sorreth said, as if greeting a comrade.

“We have some things to discuss, you and I.”

“Major?” Jindor questioned.

“I’m afraid, Priestess, that your loyal temple servant is not who you think.”

Torri dared not look at Kai. She focused on Sorreth. “Please, elaborate on your accusation.”

He moved closer, so that he was but a foot from her. He had a slight height advantage, but if he thought his actions would intimidate her, he was disappointed. “Come now, mercenary,” he said in a conciliatory tone, though the way he held himself told her that he was not at all in a compromising mood. “You’re as Radij as I am. Which is to say, not at all.”

“Shar?” Jindor said, managing to sound both confused and concerned.

“It’s not what you think,” Torri said before Sorreth could respond.

“What does he mean? Of course you’re Radij.”

“Respectfully, Priestess, she is not. Most likely she’s a mercenary who sought employment at the temple. Or perhaps she’s merely a bandit who plans to rob Cyllea of whatever material wealth one can fi nd at Oiros.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Who do you serve?”

“Surely there’s an error, Major. We checked the guardian’s credentials when she requested service with us—”

“And I’m sure those checked out pretty well. She’s obviously good at covering her ass, to make it this far.” To Torri, he repeated, “Who do you serve?”

Torri looked over his shoulder and stared at a spot on the wall. Silence fi lled the room for a few long moments.

“No matter,” he said with an exaggerated shrug. “We’ll fi nd out. Bal, take the priestess and whomever this is—” he 168

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gestured at Torri as if she were a servant, “to Lab Three. The commander will accompany.”

“Yes, sir. Priestess, if you would? And . . . ah . . . Guardian.”

Bal moved into the corridor and waited for them to join her before she guided them back toward the lab near the conveyor.

Torri kept her eyes on Bal’s back. Kai was just inches from her left arm, Jindor inches from her right. The three of them could easily overpower Bal. But then what? Sorreth would put the place into lockdown and Kai—no. Kai was already in violation of Coalition protocol with regard to commanding offi cers. She was deliberately misleading one, in collusion with what Sorreth suspected was a known criminal element. The ramifi cations of taking Bal down were too high a price, and she stifl ed the creeping panic-edged claustrophobia she invariably felt when she had to deal so closely with Coalition.

Should she risk a ping to Saryl? She caught Kai in her peripheral vision. Maybe that, too, was risky. She was, after all, under increasing suspicion. With any luck, Jindor had already done it, and Saryl and Jann were busy fi guring out an escape plan. But how they’d know what to do given where she was now . . . focus. When in immediate danger, trying to predict an outcome is futile and wastes energy. Your fi rst concern is to assess each moment as it occurs, not whether it will occur.

Bal took them past the lab where Sorreth had initially questioned Torri, and the corridor continued even farther into the unclaimed territory. How deep underground were they?

And did these walls really protect them from the toxicity? Bal stopped, fi nally, at a door near the end of the corridor, marked

“3” in Coalition. She thumbed the keypad, and the door opened.

“Please,” she said, and waited for them all to enter before she did, as well, and closed the door. She took up a post near it, her body blocking the inside keypad.

Torri did a quick survey of her new surroundings. Pretty much a larger version of the previous lab, though this one held fi ve examination tables. For a Coalition bioresearch project, A Matter of Blood

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this one seemed woefully understaffed. She had seen only two other people since she’d gotten here, and neither were techs.

Perhaps they were working in other labs, thinking up worse things to do to people than inject them with a potentially deadly parasite. Did the Ori know about this facility? About the experiments going on here? And if so, did they actually condone it? That didn’t seem possible, and she decided there was something else here that she was missing.

“My apologies, Priestess, for these revelations,” Kai said.

“This has no doubt been a most trying situation.”

If you only knew. Torri studied Kai surreptitiously, and she marveled at how Kai affected her physically and emotionally, as visceral now as when she realized how deeply she felt for her at the Academy.

“We’ll do our best to ensure your safe passage home,” Kai was saying, “once we ascertain the nature of this situation.”

“I appreciate your manners, Commander. Would that everyone comported themselves thus.” Jindor smiled, and Kai inclined her head in acknowledgement. Torri regarded her again for a moment, but looked away when Kai shifted her gaze toward her.

The door opened, and Sorreth entered, accompanied by four others dressed identically in tan trousers and shirts of a material that looked lightweight. Lab personnel, Torri deduced. Maybe the only ones here. Two men, two women. They all looked human, though one of the women might have had Sendalian connections, from the shape of her eye orbits.

“You’ll be pleased to know that the High Council has overruled the Directive and I am allowed a blood sample from you,” Sorreth announced. The techs fl anked him, men on his left, women on his right. “Make this easy on yourself.”

“The Council’s ruling is invalid,” Torri challenged. “As you’ve determined, I am not Radij. The ruling was for a Radij subject.”

Sorreth’s lips twitched in what might have been a smirk.

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protocol for purposes of identifi cation,” he countered. “True, you’re not Radij. But you are unidentifi ed, and as a military offi cer in charge of this facility, I can do whatever necessary if I feel security has been breached.” He motioned with his chin at one of the examination tables. “Will I need to ask my aides here to help you up?”

“Major.” Kai moved closer. “Regardless of whomever this is, there are certain procedures to follow—”

He turned to face her, a slow, deliberate motion that reminded Torri of the crouching of a predator before it attacked.

“And I’m following them. This individual has misrepresented herself not only to me, but to you and other holders, as well as to a temple representative. I am authorized to identify her.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “By. Any. Means. Necessary.” Without taking his eyes off Kai, he spoke to his techs. “The mercenary seems to have a problem understanding my suggestion. Please help her onto the table.”

The two male techs moved toward Torri, wary, and she tensed. Sorreth and Bal were armed with pistols. The techs weren’t, but they probably carried stunners or prods.

Sorreth wasn’t so careless that they wouldn’t have weapons.

She glanced at Jindor then at Kai.

“I request offi cial authorization,” Kai said, her tone level though her expression was grim.

“And you shall have it. When I’m done here.”

The techs gripped Torri’s arms, one on either side.

“Under the Articles of Detention—” she started.

“Fuck your Articles.” He whirled toward her, venom in his voice though his face carried no indication of it. “I tire of this game. Strap her down,” he said to his techs.

“Major,” Jindor said, steel in her voice, “whatever her identity, she is still a temple representative, and as such, can request representation from Oiros with regard to this matter.”

The techs looked from Jindor to Sorreth, waiting for his response to her statement.

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“Ah, yes,” he said. “The temple. What will I fi nd, Priestess, if I send my hunters deeper into the temple registry?”

Torri clenched her teeth. Sorreth may have outmaneuvered them all. The techs’ fi ngers dug into her arms. She’d have bruises later, if she lived to care about it.

“Is it Coalition practice to insult a member of an established temple?” Jindor shot back, words like ice.

“No.” And he grinned, his amber eyes fl ashing in pleasure and triumph. “Because I fi nd it hard to believe that is, in fact, what you are. Put her on a table, too,” he ordered the female techs. “Time to solve this mystery.”

16

Torri went limp, and the guards holding her arms relaxed their grips. It was enough. She slammed her right elbow into the abdomen of one, and he gasped and doubled over. She brought her knee up to his chin and pivoted away as his head snapped upward. He stumbled back against one of the tables.

The three other techs stepped away from her. Clearly not soldiers. Sorreth had made a mistake there. Torri dodged the clumsy attack of the remaining male tech and easily knocked a female tech to the fl oor. Jindor was yelling at her, pointing at Sorreth. Torri ducked, heat from Sorreth’s laser practically singeing her eyebrows. It completed its journey to the opposite wall amidst a hail of fragments and the smell of molten metal.

And then Kai knocked his arm as he fi red again, and the shot blew a hole in the closest examination table. Torri rolled to her feet but Bal was faster.

“Please,” she said, the barrel of her pistol not an inch from Torri’s forehead. “Stop. Hands up.”

Torri complied. What now? She rested her palms on the top of her head. Alarms sounded in the corridor, no doubt because Sorreth’s shots had compromised security. Cyllea help them all if the shots had compromised safety, as well. Jindor looked from Torri to Kai and back again, expression unreadable.

“I will have your head, Tinsdale.” Sorreth reached down for his pistol—Kai must’ve gotten it away from him—but she kicked it away. It slid past Jindor and clunked against A Matter of Blood

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an examination table. He straightened, furious. “Your career is over,” he added between clenched teeth.

She stared at him, expressionless. “Hardly. I don’t believe I’m the one who opened fi re in a closed lab facility buried in a toxic environment. Or did the major neglect to learn safety protocol with regard to biohazards?”

The door opened, and another tech entered, accompanied by two soldiers, one of whom was Hyacin.

“Major. Commander,” she said as she saluted.

The rank-and-fi le soldier did as well, and stood at attention nearby. From his stance, he was green. And armed. Easy enough to relieve him of his pistol. But Bal—she was a more seasoned type and getting past her was another matter. Hyacin, now, as well.

“Captain,” Kai responded. “Did the major’s weapons practice breach the structure?”

Hyacin’s eyes widened just as the fi rst guard Torri had disabled groaned and rolled over. “No. It’s intact.”

“A blessing from Cyllea, no doubt,” Kai said, grim. “Help him.” She directed the newcomer tech to attend to the man Torri had brought down. She focused then on Sorreth, and even in Coalition, her tone could have dropped the temperature in the room several degrees. “Major, as I’m sure you’re aware, the discharge of a weapon in a life support environment is a serious breach of military and civilian protocol. Captain, please retrieve the major’s weapon and secure it.”

Hyacin hesitated and fl icked a glance at Sorreth, who turned his glare briefl y to her then back to Kai. Torri kept her own eyes on Hyacin and prepared for another attack. But the captain made the right choice. She picked up Sorreth’s gun and disengaged its power cell before she slid it into the belt at her waist. Jindor exhaled softly as Bal lowered her weapon and in turn, Torri lowered her arms. This couldn’t have been part of Kai’s script.

“Thank you, Captain. If you would please remove lab personnel from this room, I’d be most grateful.” Her tone left 174

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no room for argument, and if Hyacin thought to do so, Torri knew Kai would dismember her verbally. She’d seen Kai angry before, but unlike many, Kai’s emotional control solidifi ed into an impermeable surface, like onyx. Hard, cold, and sharp. Torri silently entreated Hyacin to make the right choice again. She did.

“Yes, Commander. Shall I request assistance from the Council?” She sounded almost pleased, and Torri studied her.

Sorreth clearly hadn’t made many friends among his staff.

“Not yet. I’ll inform you if such is necessary.”

Hyacin saluted and motioned for all the techs to leave. The one Torri had injured left under his own power. The door slid shut, but Bal remained.

“Lieutenant?” Kai kept her attention on Sorreth. “Is there a problem?”

“No, Commander. In accordance with protocol, may I serve as a witness to this conversation?”

“Certainly. Please disengage your weapon.”

“Commander?”

“I gave you an order, Lieutenant.” Kai’s eyes never left Sorreth’s.

Bal reached for her pistol.

“I’m ranking offi cer here,” Sorreth said. “She retains her weapon.”

Kai moved so fast that Sorreth didn’t have time to take another breath after his statement. Her left hand closed on his neck, and she whirled him around and slammed him against the wall next to the door. Torri saw what might have been surprise in Sorreth’s eyes.

“Disengage your weapon, Lieutenant,” Kai said. “That is an order.”

Torri glanced from Kai to Bal. What was Kai playing? She shifted her weight, prepared to engage Bal if such were warranted, but Bal removed the power disc from her pistol and tossed it on the fl oor. It landed near one of the lab tables. Torri relaxed, but only slightly. Bal’s choice might be temporary.

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“Bal—” Sorreth started, but Kai adjusted her position so that her left forearm pushed against his neck, keeping him pinned. She drew her own pistol with her free right hand and held its muzzle to his cheek. He didn’t struggle.

“Cyllea,” Jindor muttered at the tableau. Torri silently concurred. Kai had gone way off-script, and all Torri could do at this point was try to follow her lead and hope Jindor did so, as well. This was a game she had never seen Kai play.

“Tinsdale,” Sorreth managed. “You’re fi nished.” He grinned at her, and Torri clenched her fists to keep herself from completing what Kai started.

“I think not.” She pressed the pistol harder into his face, and he winced. “Tell me about Elgrin.”

“What about it?” He was wary now.

Kai stepped back suddenly, and he staggered forward a half-step before he regained his balance. “Hands on your head.

Was it diffi cult, killing people who were already dead?”

He stared, now, and for once he was not smiling. He slowly rested his hands on the top of his head.

“Nice promotion, for wiping out a hive of like-minds,” Kai pushed, her pistol still trained on him. “Too bad they had been dead for years.”

Sorreth didn’t respond right away, and Torri imagined him running through all kinds of scenarios in his head. She checked Bal’s position. The lieutenant hadn’t moved, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t.

“I’m wondering how valuable it would be, to inform your superiors that you were at Shanlin, but on the wrong side,” Kai said.

Bal either inhaled or exhaled loud enough to alert Torri, who checked her position. Bal remained where she stood, staring hard at Sorreth, who looked at Kai’s pistol then at her face. “What do you want?”

He didn’t deny it. Torri studied him again, trying to place him, though there was a chance she didn’t know him. There were many people at Shanlin. Had he been injured and rebuilt?

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Or just rebuilt to escape detection? Had he genuinely sympathized with the rebels? Or maybe he was just an opportunist. That was more likely. Regardless, the Coalition would want to know everything he saw at Shanlin, and if he wasn’t willing to talk, they’d fi nd a way to make him do so. And maybe he had other secrets he wasn’t willing to share with them.

“This isn’t about me,” Kai said. “Your choice, Major.” She put a sarcastic emphasis on his title. “You can fi le a report on what happened here and hope somebody actually believes your slagged ass, because I’ll fi le a rebuttal, complete with my fi ndings and the histories of those names you resurrected for your promotion. Or you can keep your mouth shut and hope nobody digs into your past any more than I have.”

Smart. But Sorreth was the kind of man who enjoyed revenge. Slow, nasty, painful revenge. Did Kai have something else on him? Please, Kai. You need more. Torri waited, tensing for his reaction.

He leaned back against the wall, keeping his hands on his head, and he smiled again. “I have connections.”

“I have no doubt. Mine are better.”

The smile faltered. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not here just because you wanted my experience or because this facility happens to fall partially on my family’s property.”

His smile disappeared. “You’re a tail.”

“Something like that. Certain parties on the Council weren’t convinced about the legitimacy of this operation.”

Torri checked on Bal, who still had not moved. She looked again at Kai, who had either just pulled off one of the best bluffs she had ever seen, or she really was in double-agent role with the Coalition. Given Kai’s actions in Newburg, Torri was leaning toward the former.

Sorreth laughed softly, but there was no mirth in the sound.

“Well, Tinsdale, I was wrong about you. I could use a woman of your clear talents. Any chance we could come to a different understanding?”

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“None.”

“Too bad.” And then Sorreth moved, faster than Kai had.

Torri barely registered his motions. Syn. He’s mostly syn, was her thought as he fl ung himself to his left and slammed his hand on the keypad. Kai fi red at it, but too late. The door slid open and he was already in the corridor and, from his motions, barreling deeper into the facility. Kai let him go, and Torri remained where she was, waiting for her next move. Kai checked her wrist unit.

“Let’s go,” she said to Jindor and Torri. “Now.”

Bal wavered.

“Now,” Kai snapped. Bal followed Torri and Jindor into the corridor.

“Commander, permission to pursue.”

Kai regarded Bal for a moment. “Granted. Here.” She handed her pistol to her. “It’s armed. Make it fast, for your safety. He may try a breach.”

Bal nodded once and headed down the corridor in the direction Sorreth had presumably gone, running with smooth, clean strides.

Torri stared after her, then back at Kai. “I’m thinking that wasn’t in the plan,” she said in Empire.

“That’s what I like about you,” Kai said with a half-smile.

“You’re quick like that.”

“So are you, apparently.”

Kai motioned at them. “We’ll talk about that later. Come on. We’ve got about fi ve minutes.”

Torri didn’t question her. Kai was up to something, and even though she’d had to take a detour plan-wise, this next element wasn’t something that was fl exible. Kai started jogging in the opposite direction from Bal. Jindor and Torri followed, and Kai picked up speed until they were sprinting.

The corridor remained empty, and Torri once again wondered where everybody was. A facility this size surely had more staff

. . . something exploded. Something either aboveground or below, because it was more a visceral rumbling than a sound.

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An alarm blared, short, insistent blasts. “Breach,” an emotionless and genderless voice started to intone.

Had Sorreth blown a hatch? If he had, he no doubt had an escape plan for himself. And what about Bal? Maybe she was helping him. Torri threw a glance over her shoulder, half-expecting to see Bal chasing them, taking aim at them with Kai’s gun. Nothing. Not even techs. Another muted explosion.

“Fuck.” Kai stopped and checked her wrist unit. “We’re good for another ten minutes, before this section locks down.”

“How far to the conveyor?” Jindor asked, breathing heavily.

“Quarter-mile.” Kai grimaced. “But there’s a possibility that the outer access automatically shut down.”

“We’ll worry about that when we get there,” Torri said, as a third explosion rumbled around them. “Slag it, how many hatches is he blowing?”

Kai chewed her lip for a moment. “It may not be Sorreth.”

Torri stared at her.

“It’s probably Meli.”

“Meli? Your own sister is bombing us?”

“It’s not what you think. I’ll explain later.” And she grabbed Torri’s arm and started pulling her down the corridor again before Torri could offer anything further. Jindor followed, and they were running again, hard and fast. Torri’s lungs burned, but she ran even harder until the conveyor appeared, a hundred yards away.

“Eight minutes,” Kai said between gasps. They piled into the conveyor vehicle, and Kai pounded in the code as Torri grabbed onto a handle. The magnets engaged, and they shot forward and then upward. Just a few more seconds . . .

The vehicle lurched to a stop. Kai entered the code again.

Nothing. She tried again. Still nothing. Another explosion echoed around them, and Torri heard pebbles and dirt rain on the metal roof above.

“Open the door,” she said.

Kai pressed on the door release. It opened a couple of inches.

“Help me.” Torri inserted her fi ngers through and braced A Matter of Blood

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herself, pulling on one side while Jindor did the same on the other. The door reluctantly opened a few more inches.

“Fucking slagging—” Torri pulled harder. The door opened wider, fi rst on her side then on Jindor’s. A dirt wall greeted her, a couple of feet from her face. Thank Cyllea the tunnel had been built to accommodate incoming and outgoing conveyors.

“Go,” she yelled. She shoved her left shoulder against her half of the door and held Jindor’s side with her right arm. Jindor slid beneath Torri’s arm into the space beyond the conveyor and moved out of the way. Kai did the same, and when she was out of the way, Torri threw herself out of the doorway against the wall. The doors slammed shut. She exhaled in relief, and they started moving up the tunnel. The dim emergency light strips above them fl ickered then continued burning. But for how long?

Jindor took the lead, and Torri let her. Malrusians had better vision in conditions like these. Kai brought up the rear.

“We’ve got to stop meeting this way,” Torri shot back at Kai after a few seconds, needing to assure herself that Kai really was with her again.

“Pity. I was getting used to it.”

“Newburg didn’t turn you off tight, cramped tunnels?”

“Afraid not,” Kai retorted. And then, under her breath, but loud enough for Torri to hear, “Where you’re concerned.”

Torri smiled but another explosion rumbled behind them, dislodging more dirt from the roof. It coated her hair, and she brushed at it, trying to keep it out of her eyes. She opened a commlink to Saryl, but got nothing. “Jindor, try Birrit.” No point to calling her “Priestess” here.

“I already did.”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

Torri kept her link open regardless. “Can you reach Meli?”

she asked Kai.

“Tried already.” Her tone said she’d failed.

“Quiet.” Jindor stopped.

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Torri and Kai did, as well. Torri strained her ears. The soft whisper of dirt and pebbles slipping to the fl oor. The dying rumbles of an explosion. Kai’s breathing . . . and a mechanical humming, getting louder.

“Conveyor,” Kai said. “Go.”

She pushed Torri forward. Jindor was already moving, and Torri worked to keep up, her boots slipping in the loose rubble that littered the tunnel’s fl oor. The humming increased in volume. At that rate, the second vehicle was going to hit the fi rst—hard—and send it right at them. Torri doubled her efforts, but felt she wasn’t making much progress in the soft dirt.

The sound of metal on metal fi lled the tunnel as the second conveyor rammed the first, and Torri imagined the latter hurtling toward them.

“Fuck,” she yelled, scrabbling up an incline in the muted light.

“We’re out of reach,” Kai managed between gasps. “Keep going.”

Torri did, kicking her boots into the dirt and throwing herself upward. She heard Jindor some yards ahead, doing the same thing, but she didn’t look up, afraid she’d lose her footing.

“Everyone clear?” Jindor called.

“Yes,” Torri responded. “Go on. Make sure the entrance doesn’t lock down.”

“Affi rmative.” The sounds of Jindor’s movements increased and then faded. She was faster than Torri had thought.

The tunnel had started to level off, and Torri stopped for a moment, waiting for Kai, who was a couple paces behind.

Torri started to reach for her when a fl ash of light back down the tunnel caught her attention. She threw herself against Kai, and they both hit the ground, rolling a few feet back down the incline. She ended up on top of Kai as the gelpulse thudded into the wall where Kai had been standing and exploded, blowing a small crater into the dirt. Dust fi lled the corridor, and she shut her eyes, keeping Kai’s head covered with her chest.

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“Sorreth,” Kai muttered as she spat dirt out of her mouth and cleared her eyes with her free hand.

“Or Bal.” Torri peered back down the tunnel, but couldn’t see anything through the dust. Except another fl ash. “Down.”

She lowered her head again, and another gelpulse hit the roof above, bringing a pile of dirt down on top of them. It engulfed her back, knocking the wind out of her. She coughed and rolled off Kai in an effort to remove dirt from herself and keep it off Kai.

“I can’t see who it is,” Kai said.

“Doesn’t matter.” Torri got to her feet and pulled Kai up with her. She heard someone approaching behind them, footsteps in the dirt. One person, from the sound. Maybe fi fty yards. Too close. And neither of them with a pistol. Not even her damn dirk. But they did have some cover from the dust.

Torri kicked at the tunnel’s fl oor, and Kai did the same before they started moving forward again. But the footsteps behind them were drawing closer.

“Sorreth.” Kai increased her speed.

Torri didn’t answer. Kai had to be right. Sorreth’s syn parts had given him some extra abilities, as he’d demonstrated in the lab. His voice fl oated toward them.

“Tinsdale,” he called in a sing-song tone.

Torri caught Kai’s eye momentarily as they ran. Neither responded to him. The tunnel widened a bit here, about ten feet across instead of eight.

“I know that’s you,” Sorreth continued.

A gelpulse whirred above them and took out a chunk of wall up ahead, to their left.

“The next one hits your back,” Sorreth called. “And I can see you clearly. So stop.”

Torri gripped Kai’s arm and hauled her to a stop as she pinged Jindor. Sorreth wasn’t bluffi ng. He could see them, even through the dust and bad lighting. He wouldn’t miss, as close as he was now. Not even thirty feet. He stood looking at them, smiling.

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“I was at Shanlin, Commander,” he said. “As I’m sure you’re now aware. And the injuries I sustained ensured that when I was rebuilt, most of me works much better than I did in the past. So there’s no point to running, because I’ll catch you.”

He took a few more steps and halted again, about fi fteen feet away. In his right hand he held the pistol he’d been fi ring with.

In his left he held a smaller pistol. And this one he brandished at them.

“I don’t know who you contacted,” he said in a much too congenial tone. “And it will take me a while to rebuild. And I’ll make sure that every last bit of land in your family’s holdings is relinquished.”

Kai didn’t say anything, but Torri almost felt her anger blazing out of her pores. It’ll take Sorreth a while to rebuild?

Just Sorreth? Was the facility not Coalition-sanctioned after all?

“The work must go on.” He held up the pistol in his left hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell people you were a willing participant in the pursuit of scientifi c knowledge.” He pointed the pistol at them. A pistol that looked a little different than any of the weaponry with which she was familiar.

And then Torri realized what it was. “You already had a prototype,” she said, trying to delay him. She pinged Jindor again. “A means of long-distance injection.” Jindor pinged her back. She was on her way.

“Smart, for a mercenary,” he said. “Too bad I don’t want this wasted. Otherwise, I’d let you participate in my quest for knowledge, as well.”

Torri placed herself in front of Kai. He wouldn’t waste the shot on her, and if he used a gelpulse, it would blow right through her and hit Kai, as well. She was counting on his sadistic streak. He wanted to watch Kai suffer with the parasite from Sentinel, so he wouldn’t risk killing her through other means.

And she was counting on Kai grasping what she was doing.

He lowered the injection pistol a bit, and frowned. “And what bit of your past is Tinsdale using for this touching display?”

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“Maybe I just don’t like you much.” Torri heard someone approaching from behind, moving quickly. Jindor would know he was armed, and she would know what his weapons were.

If she were half as intuitive as most Malrusians, Jindor would have to know.

A pistol discharged from behind Kai, and the projectile caught Sorreth in the right shoulder. Standard issue blunt force bullet. His arm jerked, and he sank to one knee, dropping his gelpulse pistol.

“Drop the other one,” Jindor said.

“Will wonders never cease? An armed temple representative.”

“Drop it.”

“Of course.” And he pulled the trigger.

17

No time. Torri knew Kai was pulling her to the ground, but she knew, too, how ineffective that was. Sorreth had been aiming right at her. And in the split second before both she and Kai hit the tunnel fl oor, in the split second that a fl ash of movement crossed her fi eld of vision, she wondered how painful it would be to die this way.

And then they landed, and Kai grunted on impact. Torri rolled off her, trying to get clear in case the injector didn’t penetrate. It might have broken on her clothing, and that meant the parasite was loose somewhere.

“Damn,” Sorreth said, still on his knees. “I suppose Cyllea will have no blessings for me now.”

Jindor. Jindor had taken the shot. She, too, was on her knees, and what looked like blood stained her left pectoral. She looked up at Torri and managed a smile. “Caught me,” she said.

“Unfortunately,” Sorreth said.

Torri ignored him and moved to Jindor. “Did it break?”

Jindor nodded. “On impact.”

“Then it worked,” Sorreth said. He laughed and started to get to his feet but Kai picked up Jindor’s pistol and trained it on him.

“Stay there,” she said.

He did, still laughing. “It actually worked.”

“Shut up,” Kai ordered.

Torri leaned in closer to Jindor, fi ghting panic. “Can I get it out?” Should she try? Would Jindor’s Malrusian heritage really A Matter of Blood

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protect her? What if the parasite had mutated here on Earth, and now it was different?

“Too late for that. It’s in my bloodstream.” Jindor gingerly pulled the torn edges of her shirt’s fabric away from the entrance wound, about the size of her thumbnail. “The projectile dissolved once it penetrated.”

“What, then?”

“Nothing. We wait.”

“I’m timing this,” Sorreth announced. “How long it takes to kill you.”

Kai backhanded him across the face, and his head snapped to the right. “Shut the fuck up. Next time I shoot you in the gut.

And I time how long it takes for you to die.”

He shut up.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Jindor said softly. “Don’t get too close. It might try to leave before it dies, and it’ll look for a new host,” she said in a low voice, so Sorreth wouldn’t hear.

Torri ground her teeth, frustrated. “Are you sure about this?”

“Nothing’s ever sure,” she said, smiling.

Damn. Torri reached for the hole in Jindor’s skin, then pulled it back. Completely helpless. She couldn’t do anything.

If something went wrong here, if Jindor’s heritage didn’t block the parasite . . .

“It’s a chance I was willing to take,” Jindor said, her words interrupted with short pants. She was in pain. “Move back.”

Torri obeyed, more frustrated now and worried. She looked at Kai, who kept her attention on Sorreth. They were going to have to kill him, though at this point, she relished the idea.

“Fuck,” she muttered. A ping. Saryl’s signal. Torri pinged back just as Jann’s voice echoed down the tunnel.

“Priestess?” he shouted.

“Here,” Torri yelled back. She stood just as he appeared a few dozen feet away, at the top of another incline in the tunnel.

He half-jogged down to them, kicking up clouds of dirt and dust.

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“Figures,” he said when he arrived. “Where there’s a tunnel, no doubt you’re in it.” His gaze fell on Jindor, and his grin faded.

“Parasite,” Torri said, her concern for Jindor overshadowing her relief at seeing him.

“Radij?”

She nodded.

“How was it introduced?”

“Prototype bioweapon, courtesy of the major over there.”

Torri gestured at Sorreth.

Jann muttered something foul and squatted next to Jindor.

“Do you want a painkiller?”

“No,” she managed. She held out her left arm and pulled her sleeve up to expose her forearm. Jann pulled a lightstick out of his pocket and held it over her skin. Torri leaned in to watch. A pinprick of blood, at fi rst. And then a thin stream.

Jindor panted with pain.

“You want me to cut?” Jann asked. “Give it more room?”

“No,” she gasped. “Don’t let it leave my blood.” She pointed at something in the stream of blood, an anomalous bubble that Torri wouldn’t have recognized as anything incongruous.

“Is it out?” Jann took his portable med kit out of his left cargo pocket and opened it.

“Yes.” Jindor relaxed, and her breathing returned to normal.

“But it’s not dead yet.”

Jann removed a vial the size of his index fi nger from his medkit and held it next to the tiny bubble that Jindor had pointed out. Using the stopper, he gently knocked the parasite into the vial, blood and all, and sealed it. Torri helped Jindor to her feet, so relieved she almost shouted in triumph.

“Cyllea is indeed great,” Torri announced to Sorreth. “She has spared her servant.”

Sorreth stared at Jindor. “Impossible.” He started to get up but Kai motioned with her pistol, and he stayed on his knees.

“It’s not possible. I’ve seen them kill—” He stopped and glared fi rst at Jindor then at Kai.

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Which might explain the absence of techs in his facility, Torri thought.

Kai glanced at her wrist unit and then at Torri before focusing on Sorreth again.

“How long before contamination?” Torri asked.

“Ten minutes, give or take. Unless someone thought to implement sealing procedures before vacating.” She looked pointedly at Sorreth. He only glared at her, and Torri knew he hadn’t.

“Then let’s go,” Jann said. He picked up both of Sorreth’s pistols. “I say leave him.” He looked at Torri for confi rmation.

“Agreed. Commander?”

“We leave him. If he attempts to follow, shoot him.” She nodded at Jann.

“Gladly,” Jann said. “Let’s go. There’s transport just up ahead.”

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” Torri said, waiting on Kai and Jindor.

“And I thought it was my wit.” He motioned Jindor to go ahead. Kai offered her a hand but Jindor shook her head and moved up the incline under her own power. Torri waited for Jann, keeping her eyes on Sorreth, who remained on his knees, staring at her. Feral, almost.

“You were at Shanlin,” he said suddenly.

A chill wrapped around her spine. “Lots of people were.”

“Rendego.” He smiled, mirthless. “That was your name, wasn’t it? But you didn’t use it then. I remember your squadron. You’re Academy trained.”

Torri’s breath caught in her chest, and what felt like a vise closed around her rib cage. Dangerous, to leave him alive.

Much too dangerous.

“Tinsdale is, too. So maybe you met there. Or maybe you were both at Shanlin.”

Jann raised the gelpulse pistol and fired, but missed, because Sorreth was that fast. The projectile slammed into the wall and cratered. Sorreth had rolled aside, and now he was up, 188

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bounding past both Torri and Jann, even in the cramped confi nes, running up the incline Jann had so recently come down.

“Kai!” Torri shouted. But Sorreth was so fast. Kai turned too late—and something whizzed past Torri’s cheek and in a blinding instant, Sorreth’s torso exploded in a kaleidoscope of red, grey, and creamy white. What was left of his body collapsed at Kai’s feet, splattering her chest and legs. She had turned her face away automatically, sparing that part of her from bits of the major.

No one moved in the silence that accompanied Sorreth’s demise. And then Kai swore and wiped what she could off as Torri turned toward the newcomer.

“Nice shot.” Jann looked past Torri at the figure jogging toward them, diffi cult to see at fi rst in the weak light and through the dust.

“Sorry about that,” Bal said. “I tried to get here sooner.” She holstered her pistol and looked at Kai. “I implemented sealing procedures, Commander. We are assured eight minutes.”

Kai raised an eyebrow. “Well done. Let’s go.” She kicked a piece of fl esh off her boot, grimacing.

“Birrit’s not far,” Jann cut in. “We should have time.” He moved so he could take the lead. Torri waited for Bal, then continued after Kai, stepping over Sorreth’s legs. Bal ignored his remains. The group continued in silence, and when Torri saw the shape of a fl oater up ahead with Saryl in it, she only smiled.

¸

Torri stood on the roof in the evening wind, watching the sun drag day with it behind the western buttes and rock spires.

Meli was no doubt entertaining the rest of her crew again, for the second time since they’d arrived yesterday, ensuring that a servant of Cyllea and her transport agents were well-wined and well-dined. And in Jindor’s case, something else indeed.

She grinned, almost envying Meli. The sound of approaching A Matter of Blood

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footsteps pulled her from her thoughts, but she didn’t turn.

Kai was in session with Tarkin, Kaivan, and a Council representative, and she knew the sound of Kai’s movements better in some ways than Kai’s family did. This was not Kai.

“Trader.” Bal addressed her in Empire.

“Lieutenant,” Torri acknowledged without turning, not surprised. In the moments after Sorreth’s death, she’d guessed that Bal had been waiting for an opportunity to take care of him the way she did.

Bal joined her, gazing across the desert. “I wanted to thank you,” she said after a while in which shadows stretched farther, almost reaching the Far Seek at its position on the landing pad below.

Torri threw a sidelong glance at her, waiting. Bal was dressed in casual tan trousers and shirt, and looked almost feminine.

“There were many losses at Shanlin.” Bal kept her eyes on the sunset. “And some of them were mine.”

“My sympathies,” Torri offered, though wary. She knew that pain.

“We trusted him.” Bal crossed her arms, hugging herself.

“We shouldn’t have.”

“Did he know you were there?”

Bal shook her head. “No. I, too, am altered. He didn’t recognize me.”

Clearly not. Sorreth would have killed her some way Torri didn’t want to imagine.

“But I remembered his voice,” Bal said, “which he kept.

And I ensured I was assigned to him.”

Torri made a noncommittal noise. She understood vengeance, too, especially in the dark months after the Collapse. But she also understood how it fed and how voracious its appetite could be. “How long?”

“Six months. I served elsewhere prior to that. And elsewhere before that.” Bal’s tone was hard, and bore the emptiness of emotions long since gone cold, like the mercenaries and assassins Torri had dealt with since the Academy. Life and 190

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death were business dealings, sometimes colored with personal feelings, most often not. Bal, she guessed, was a hunter, part of the like-mind networks, charged with protecting those through any means necessary. Sorreth had been a threat, and Torri wasn’t sorry he was gone, but Bal was more dangerous than he had been in some ways because she was so unobtrusive, so unassuming. Sorreth had never seen her coming. A ghost, with many different pasts. Belief is a matter of perception. Ensure that yours are not lulled.

“How many?” she asked, but thought as she did that maybe she didn’t really want to know how many traitors to the rebellion Bal had assassinated.

“More than enough.”

Silently, Torri thanked her for that answer. “And now?”

“I’ve been reassigned.” The hint of a smile played on her lips. “The Coalition, as you know, doesn’t approve of certain information going too public. They are most grateful for my vigilance in this matter, and my unwavering service to their interests.” Humor and sarcasm tinged her words.

Torri smiled, as well. No, the Coalition didn’t want information about a longstanding Coalition soldier with a rebel past, a faked promotion, and a rogue bioweapons facility getting out. The Ori, Kai had said this morning before she left, were calling for an investigation. That was a public relations disaster for the High Council, and something like-minds would exploit only too well. “How did Sorreth die, then?”

“In an explosion.” Bal lapsed into silence again then spoke after a long moment. “There are a few among us who would like to know that you survived Shanlin,” she said, lacing the statement with caution and respectful distance.

So Bal had heard Sorreth. Or maybe she had guessed. “I know.” Torri stared at the farthest mesas and thought about the training runs she and Kai had made as Cadets across bombing ranges that looked a lot like this one, skimming past hoodoos, dodging into canyons, skirting rock walls so close that had the hatch been open, she could have reached out and run her fi ngers A Matter of Blood

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across the stone. Kai was the best pilot the Academy had seen in a century, but Torri knew Kai was the best ever—better than that fi rst legendary ace, better than anyone since, though the Academy was now a breeding ground for half-assed Coalition fl yboys and girls who would never know what true expertise in the air was about. And she remembered the skies above Shanlin, and the explosions all around and the sizzling, glowing hulks of metal of her fellow rebel fi ghters, plummeting to their fi nal resting places in the swamps below, their pilots often trapped within. She shook her head, as much to dispel the images as to respond to Bal’s suggestion.

“I understand,” Bal said, with something like regret in her voice. “But should you change your mind or should you need anything, Mondri’s Imports at Magellan would be a good place to start.”

“Thank you.” Torri turned and stared hard at Bal. “Well met, Lieutenant. May you fi nd what you’re looking for.”

“And you. Well met.” She turned and walked away.

Torri resumed watching the sunset, listening to Bal’s footfalls as they crossed the roof then dissipated as she descended the stairwell down into the main galleries of Tinsdale Holdings, leaving Torri to the evening and the failing desert light.

A like-mind contact. The information rolled around her brain like the round stones holder children used in games. A rebel network, expanding and maybe strengthening through the efforts of hunters and informants, seeking survivors and new recruits. She’d known they existed, and that they’d gladly take her in. Some of them she probably knew personally, but they thought she was dead, and in some ways, she was glad of it. The more she stayed unknown, the better. She hooked her thumbs on the waistband of her trousers. Maybe she didn’t want to fi ght this war anymore. Maybe she just wanted to be a trader and create a life that didn’t require that she constantly look over her shoulder, and constantly worry about where the next Coalition checkpoint was.

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What kind of life would that be? And how might Kai fi t into it? Torri caught herself. Kai didn’t fi t, and never would. Not in the expected ways. She was a soldier, and a damn good one.

It was in her blood, her very bones, and she needed to use it, or she’d wither, like parts of a soul left untended. The thought of Kai piloting with her, working the trade routes, and keeping abreast of Coalition plans was pleasant—exciting, even—but utterly unrealistic. The circumstances of their lives were such that they’d forever be connected, but never share physical proximity for more than a few hours or days at a time, with long stretches between. And perhaps that was as it should be.

A breeze ruffl ed Torri’s hair and blew it across her face. She brushed it away and tucked it behind her ear.

“I remember the fi rst time you did that.”

Torri shut her eyes at Kai’s words, a strange but welcome ache fi lling her chest, and she listened to her approach, so familiar, so safe. Damn her.

“Or rather, the fi rst time I noticed you do it.” Kai stood to Torri’s right, but she wasn’t watching the sunset. She was regarding Torri, a half-smile on her lips. “We were studying for the history of air strategy during second term. You were on the practice deck, running holofl ights against the archive. And one of the fl ights you’d mapped did something unexpected, and you stood staring at the readouts for a good ten minutes.” Kai reached over and brushed another strand of hair out of Torri’s face. She gently tucked it, too, behind Torri’s ear. “You do it when you’re thinking hard about something.” She lowered her arm.

“You know me too well.” Torri crossed her arms, trying to protect herself from the emotions Kai stirred and the past they shared.

“I might say the same about you.” Kai half-turned and stared out into the deepening twilight. Torri imagined she felt Kai’s body heat, rolling in gentle waves across her chest and down her thighs.

“I’m not sure I’m that fortunate,” Torri said, studying Kai’s profi le, noting the tiny lines at the corner of her eye.

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“You are.” Kai fl ashed her another smile. “And we’ll discuss that further in a moment, if you’re so inclined. In the meantime—”

“Business.” Torri grinned back at her. “And how was the meeting with the Council representative?” She injected extra innocence into her question.

“Interesting. The Council is oh, so shocked that Sorreth had gone rogue. How he managed to construct the facility is a matter under investigation. Heads,” she intoned gravely, “will roll.” And then she snorted. “But only if the guilty parties don’t offer a cut of the profi ts Sorreth seemed to have made. Lots of interested buyers, for a bioweapon like that. But the rep didn’t say that. Nor did he mention which of Sorreth’s superiors were skimming.”

Torri scowled. The rep didn’t have to. Kai wasn’t an idiot.

Corruption in the Coalition was like sand in the desert. One came to expect it. “It’s only a matter of time before someone else fi gures out how to get the parasite off Sentinel.”

“Which is why the Ori are pursuing the matter. Hard.”

“How hard?”

“Enough that the High Council is calling a session in twenty days. The Ori are pushing for a traffi cking ban. Which they’ll probably get, since the Coalition really can’t afford to add fuel to like-mind networks.”

Which means Kai has a job for the rest of her life, Torri thought, if she wants it. She had quite a rep for tracking and breaking smuggling rings. “What about the facility?”

Kai shrugged, sardonic. “The unclaimed territory is notoriously unstable. You know that. Explosions happen all the time. Powerful explosions. Everything was destroyed in this most unfortunate incident. The logs Bal fi led as well as reports from techs document almost weekly occurrences of such things. But it seems Sorreth’s wayward shot in the lab triggered a chain reaction.” She winked at Torri, who almost didn’t catch the gesture in the growing darkness.

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part of a nefarious plot on the part of the Tinsdales to rid the nearby landscape of a suspicious research facility.” Though no doubt the explosive drones Meli had sent had helped with the

“chain reaction.” But Kai was right. The soils and chemicals in the unclaimed territory were unpredictable. Good cover, that.

“Indeed.” Kai was laughing, and the sound sank like sunlight into Torri’s veins. “Sadly, the facility is completely contaminated. But the Tinsdales will ensure that it’s not disturbed. The Council rep was most relieved about that.”

“Certainly. Much easier to shove it under the dirt and forget about it than send a team in. What about the techs?”

“All ten of them got out, thanks to Bal. They’re on their way to debriefi ng, since it seems they’re all pleading ignorance about Sorreth’s activities. They fi gured it was a Coalition-approved facility and they were glad for the work. The military personnel, too. Sorreth only kept a squad of twenty here.”

“So who on the Council implemented the security clearances here?”

“Wareni. Which I suspected. She’s claiming that Sorreth’s facility was approved through the proper channels, and that there was no reason to suspect otherwise. The Ori have called for an investigation of her, and they’re going public with that.”

Torri half-laughed. “They won’t fi nd much.” Sorreth had been covering this long, no doubt he had lots of Coalition connections who worked very hard to hide their black market activities. And now, their links to him.

“Wareni may be reassigned, depending on how much money she brought in to the proper channels.” Kai threaded a layer of disgust into the statement.

“So why did Sorreth risk bringing you on board?”

Kai shook her head slowly, staring into the dusk. “I think he wanted some legitimacy. If he could get a Tinsdale to approve the facility, then he could conceivably end up with the proper licenses for military contracting, and he could operate in the open.”

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“He didn’t do his research, then.” Torri slid her hands into her pockets. “Had he done so, he would have known there was no way you’d buy into something like this.”

“Mmm. I think Sorreth fi gured just about anybody could be bought. He’d been able to buy everybody he wanted, up to this point. And then he ran into my father who is, as you know, incapable of taking a bribe.”

“True. I’m sure Sorreth was so confused by it that he assumed your father was merely taking bigger bribes from someone else.”

“And the more he offered, the more my father refused.” Kai grinned again. “I rather like the idea that my father frustrated Sorreth.”

“Same here. So why didn’t he target Meli?”

“She has no military background, and neither does Tarkin or Vano.”

“Enter the other Tinsdale,” Torri said, wry. “Academy graduate, with honors. Excellent service record.” She shook her head. “Sorreth was a fool, to presume anything about you.”

“I’m fl attered,” Kai said, teasing. “But I’m sure Sorreth was able to buy many others with similar records. Perhaps even better than mine.”

No doubt. “So what now?” Torri kept her eyes off Kai, trying to sound nonchalant, trying not to hang hope on dreams.

Where did she stand in Kai’s world? “Has anyone checked Oiros?”

“For you and the priestess, there’s no interest in delving into temple records. As far as the rep is concerned, it was most unfortunate that the Radij guardian of a priestess on a good will mission to Vegas Sector was detained in such a manner, and he offered apologies to Othne. Which I have delivered, and she was, of course, most appreciative of the gesture.” Kai was fi ghting another laugh.

“I’m certain she was. The priestess is most observant of such protocol.”

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And Kai’s laugh sounded again. “Given how stressful the situation was, and Sorreth’s uncouth and decidedly hostile behavior, the rep granted the crew of the Star Chaser a perpetual security clearance for Vegas Sector, provided they fi le through Tinsdale.”

Torri turned and stared at her, still able to make out her features. “Perpetual?”

“Perpetual. And it’s for the crew. Not the ship. So should you perhaps be fl ying a differently-named craft . . .”

“Kai—”

“Meli has already contracted with Birrit and Dal for tea shipments to those who have not been so fortunate to indulge in the fi nest Tinsdale Holdings has to offer. Your clearance is thus merchant level. I’m sure Boris would be interested in more permanent contracts, as well, for his textiles. Not so sure about Evoran, though.” She shoulder-bumped Torri. “Best fi nd another vintner here for wine shipments.”

“I—” Torri stopped. She had no words for this turn of events. Her chest constricted.

“Please,” Kai said after a few moments. “Let me do this.

Every trader needs a base port.” And her words were heavy with hope and uncertainty, echoing vulnerability that Torri knew Kai hated to show, knew Kai hated to admit she had.

Torri exhaled softly, tears and relief clogging her throat. Kai had seen her cry only once before, during their third term at the Academy. Her father had commed her only once since she’d left for the Cadet life, to say that he couldn’t afford to bring her home for a visit, and she’d best make other plans. He’d formally cast her out with that one and only comm, and she had never felt so alone. Kai found her on the edge of the landing pad, the most isolated place she could fi nd, and a match to her mood. And Kai had sat with her until dawn, her supportive silence and hand on Torri’s shoulder letting her know that some things might end but others might begin.

“I’d prefer knowing that if you needed it, you could come here. I’ll do whatever I can to get you help, if you need it.”

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“I can’t let you take that risk,” Torri said, aching that she had to decline. Her chest tightened again, and she bit her lip.

“It’s not that much of a risk any longer. The Coalition knows it’s worn out a welcome here, and with the Ori pressing for investigations, nobody wants to admit what Sorreth was doing.

The Coalition is trying to legitimize itself, and what happened here only stirs its enemies up.”

A kinder Coalition. One that would put you on trial before declaring you guilty and then executing you. But Torri kept that thought to herself. Kai was well aware of Coalition machinations. She’d always been aware, but too worried about family obligations and duty to accept them.

“Torri,” Kai said softly. Only the third time Kai had used Torri’s birth name since Shanlin, and the sound of it on Kai’s lips embedded itself in her heart. “Please. If I didn’t think such a situation would work, I wouldn’t have suggested it. You know that.”

Torri did know that. And just because Kai offered didn’t mean Torri ever had to take her up on it. But it was nice, knowing Kai had made it. She pressed her fi ngertips against Kai’s lips. “Accepted. And you know the offer I made in Newburg still stands. I can always use your skills on my ship.”

You need to fl y again, she added silently.

“I haven’t forgotten.”

Nor had she come to a fi nal decision about that, Torri realized, and whispers of new hopes fl uttered in her chest. She closed her eyes again, liking the way the cool night breeze mixed with the heat Kai generated within her, and the way it felt to stand here with her, talking like they did as Cadets, Kai’s dry humor lighting up her eyes while slow smiles tugged at her lips. And for the fi rst time in years, Torri didn’t look over her shoulder, didn’t even feel as if she should, didn’t feel the presence of the Coalition weighing on her psyche. There is no shame in leaving a battlefi eld, if staying ensures defeat.

A strange lesson to hear, in military training. She had left, but she still fought on other fronts, both internal and external. But 198

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here, standing on this roof in the desert night, she relaxed. A port in a storm.

“My thanks,” Kai said after a while. “For caring enough to come here.”

Torri glanced at her, but Kai’s features were masked now by shadows. “Always a pleasure, dragging you into my idiocies.”

Kai laughed again. “Good intentions don’t always provide the results you want. That never stopped you, and I hope it never does.”

Torri studied her, trying to pick out her features in the encroaching darkness. Different, this Kai. She had seen glimpses of her in Newburg, in Kai’s frustration and uncertainty with the Coalition’s maneuvering to take her family’s holdings, to pay forced tributes to what had turned out to be a bogus project. Still fragile, the bond they acknowledged then, and still painful, the choices they’d made years before.

But somehow, not so bitter anymore.

“I owe you twice now,” Torri said. “Newburg and here.”

Kai made a noise in the back of her throat. “You would have fi gured something out without me. Well, wait. Not Newburg.

But here, probably.” Warmth and something else—something much deeper and surer—colored her words. “Newburg—that was a slagging mess. Yes, you defi nitely needed me there.”

Torri laughed. “All right, so you saved my life offi cially once. I owe you.”

“No, we’re even.” Kai turned to face Torri, and the space between them fi lled with promise. “We’re even. Because you saved my life in Newburg, too. Showing up here made me realize that, and made me see a few things I’d been avoiding.”

“I might say the same about you.”

“You always were the more insightful of us,” Kai said with a soft laugh.

“I’m not sure that’s true anymore.”

“Remains to be seen, I suppose.” Kai’s palm was warm on Torri’s cheek, and Torri leaned into it as something like fl ames danced across her nerve endings. “Radij,” she whispered, her A Matter of Blood

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thumb grazing the scars on Torri’s skin. “I have to ask. Was it your idea?”

“Coming here, yes. The priestess idea, yes, but Jindor set it in motion. Radij? That was Jindor’s suggestion.”

Kai’s lips brushed Torri’s forehead. She smelled of spice and space, crisp and cool and open, like the view from the roof. “I want the whole story,” she murmured. “But I want something else fi rst.”

Torri pulled Kai close, and it was like home, the solidity of her body, and the way Kai’s hands roamed down her back, her mouth on Torri’s neck. Torri burned for her, wanted nothing more than to lose all track of everything with Kai wrapped around her all night, until the sun sent them on their way.

Torri sighed. “How much time do we have?”

“As much as you want.” She nipped at Torri’s throat, and Torri groaned. “I’ve cleared you as my guests for the next few days, if you want them.”

“Defi ne ‘few.’ ” Torri dug her fi ngers into Kai’s shoulders.

Kai kissed Torri’s chin. “Three. Four. Five, if the wind shifts on the fourth. Sandstorms make for poor fl ying conditions.”

“Cyllea grant that,” Torri whispered. Please, grant me that.

“So you’ll honor me with a longer visit?” Kai was teasing, but offering Torri an out, should she want it.

“You have no idea how much I’m planning to honor you.”

And then they stopped talking.

¸

“Done,” Jann said, and he set the tissue stabilizer down on the tray. “No longer Radij.” He adjusted the viewer so Torri could see herself in the screen. She touched her left cheek, where the scars had been. Her skin still tingled.

“I don’t think I’ll miss them,” she said, even though memories of Kai’s fi ngertips and lips grazing them so gently two nights ago almost made her want to keep them a while longer.

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“Me, either. It’s good to have you back.”

Torri pushed herself out of the med chair. “Freeman in Kranstown on Riser Nine can get us a good price on the tea.

They still have a couple months of winter, and tea stores are no doubt getting low by now.”

“We haven’t cargoed tea in a while,” Jann mused aloud.

“That’s a safe bet. Legit, even. Are we going soft?” He raised his eyebrows in mock horror, though he was smiling.

“You tell me,” she shot back. “Five days of R and R might make even the toughest mercenaries want to dabble in tea shipping for the rest of their days.”

“And lose out on this life of adventure? Blasphemy.” He stood. “Although I will admit, the R and R was a good idea.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Much needed.”

“Oh? Perhaps we should do that more often?” Torri slipped her shirt back on and fastened it.

“No argument here. It does wonders for your mood.”

She threw a piece of gauze at him.

“Captain—” Saryl poked her head in to sick bay.

“Course?”

“Completely off-kilter,” Jann said. Saryl glowered at him.

“Oh,” he kept on. “You mean you want a different course than that.”

Saryl laughed, and Jann shrugged, smiling, as he fi nished sterilizing his instruments and started to put them away into the various cubbies and drawers.

“What do you think? Freeman in Kranstown?” Torri finished tucking in her shirt. If there was anything going on there that could cause a problem, Saryl or Jindor would know about it.

“Riser Nine,” Saryl said approvingly. “Good idea. They might just need a Tinsdale tea this time of year. Direct? Or do we have any scheduled detours between here and there?”

“No. But that could change, given some of our clients.

Make it direct, but let’s keep our options open.”

Saryl grinned. “It’s good to have you back, Captain.”

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“It’s good to be back.”

“If there’s nothing further, I’ll have Jindor plot us.”

“Excellent. I’ll be in my quarters until my watch.”

Saryl nodded and retreated and Torri turned to Jann. “It’s cold on Riser Nine.”

“I’ll run systems checks and calibrate for it,” he said as he tossed the last of the gauze into the waste bin. “And I’ll dig out our heavy gear,” he added with a long-suffering emphasis.

“Thanks.” She headed for the door.

“Captain.”

She stopped and regarded him.

“It is good to have you back.”

She smiled and held his gaze for a moment before she entered the corridor.

¸

Torri stood on the bridge, staring out the front viewports, seeing not the darkness of space but rather sunlight stenciling latticework patterns on the fl oor of Kai’s rooms at Tinsdale.

She hadn’t spent that much time in Kai’s company since the Academy, and she’d fallen into the pace easily, as if a decade hadn’t wedged itself between them. And she was reminded how comfortable, and safe, those days were in so many ways.

No Coalition then, only rumors of a political storm gathering beyond the windows of the Empire. And at Tinsdale, in Kai’s company, she let ten years of caution pool beneath her feet like the clothing she left on the fl oor near Kai’s bed.

Liberating, to do that, to slough a layer like clothes. How heavy she’d become, since the Collapse. And how much of her she’d let the Coalition defi ne these past years. She reclaimed some parts of herself she hadn’t realized she’d buried. No, Kai, she thought, I do owe you because you just saved my life again. And then she smiled, sunlight and rumpled bedding in her mind’s eye.

“Captain.” Jindor addressed her before entering the bridge.

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Torri caught her refl ection in the viewports. She was holding a cup in each hand. “May I join you?”

“Please.” She watched Jindor’s refl ection approach, glad that she was back to looking Malrusian.

Jindor handed a cup of hasha to Torri, who took it.

“Many thanks,” Torri said, appreciative.

“And no,” Jindor said. “I didn’t know whether you wanted it or not. I just assumed. Your secrets are thus safe. Even from Malrusians.”

Torri hid her smile behind the rim of the cup.

“My gratitude,” Jindor said after she sipped.

Torri swallowed before responding. “Yes, you should be grateful. Not everyone gets shot with a parasitic bioweapon in a tunnel on the verge of contamination beneath toxic soils.

You’re most welcome,” she teased. “But don’t expect it to happen again.”

Jindor studied her for a moment. “Jann’s right. R and R

agrees with you immensely.”

“It agrees with all of us, and I think I’ll implement it more often.”

“Ah. More tea runs, then, from Tinsdale?” Jindor kept her tone level, but her eyes seemed to spark wickedly.

Torri defl ected the bait. “Perhaps.” She sipped and stared out the viewpanel. “I think Tinsdale agrees with you, as well.

Meli is a consummate hostess. Quite adept, I’m told, at ensuring the comfort of her guests.” She shot Jindor a glance, pleased to see an expanding blotch of red on Jindor’s neck, above the collar of her shirt.

“As is her sister, I suspect,” Jindor muttered.

Torri grinned and took another sip. “How is your shoulder?”

“Fine.”

“Good. I like my Malrusians in working order.”

“This one appreciates that.”

Torri nodded, as much at Jindor as to herself.

“Captain, may I speak freely?”

“You may.”

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“It’s been a very long time since I belonged anywhere. I wanted you to know how much I appreciate that.” Jindor locked her gaze with Torri’s.

“I should express my gratitude, for what you’ve done for us.

You have a place with us, as long as you want it.”

“Thank you.” She drained her hasha and walked toward the entrance.

“Jindor.” Torri turned to her. “Someone once asked me if something I was doing was about connection.”

Jindor waited at the doorway, watching.

“Yes,” Torri said. “It was. And it is. Feed the ones that work.”

Jindor smiled. “I intend to.” And she left the bridge, Torri watching after her for a moment before she fi nished her own hasha. She checked the control readouts and programmed a routine systems scan then stared once again out the viewports, at the never ending night hurtling over the Far Seek like wind over a butte. She thought of storms, then, and gunships above the swamps of Shanlin, and the life that could come of death horribly met. And she thought then of Kai, and the things that remained unspoken but certain between them, and she knew it was one connection she could no longer avoid feeding.

“Damn you, Tinsdale,” she said to her refl ection in the viewpanel, and she laughed.

About the Author

Andi Marquette was born in New Mexico, grew up in Colorado, then ended up back in New

Mexico where she completed a Ph.D. in history after two other degrees in anthropology. Around 1993, she became a professional editor and has been obsessed with words ever since, which may or may not be a good thing. She wandered east and spent three years on the other side of the Mississippi, but couldn’t shake the West off her boots or out of her soul, so she returned to her homelands and is currently based in Colorado where she edits, writes, and spends lots of time running around in the surrounding mountains.

Her website is at http://andimarquette.com/

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