Home World: Aginfeld

By Rhobin Lee Courtright

Aginfeld...a planet in the final phases of a thousand years of bioforming. Men rule technically advance Aginfeld through brutal vendetta and feudal law. Captured by Aginfeld's Commandant, Nickal McDirk, thief Alix Risseu is held for crimes against Aginfeld. The sentence... death. Only this time, Alix is innocent.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781590885161

Book preview

Home World: Aginfeld Title Page

Dedication

Chapters

Meet Rhobin Courtright

Works From the Pen of Rhobin Lee Courtright

Home World: Aginfeld

Rhobin Courtright

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Science Fiction Romance Novel

Edited by: Leslie Hodges

Copy Edited by: Elizabeth Struble

Senior Editor: Elizabeth Struble

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Robin Courtright

All rights reserved

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

Copyright © 2006 by Robin Courtright

ISBN 978-1-59088-516-1

Published by Wings ePress, Inc. at Smashwords

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress Inc.

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Newton, KS 67114

Dedication

For my Mother

One

Mira entered the final security code. The screen erupted in a series of fast links. She closed her eyes against the strobe-like effect. An over-enunciated voice spoke. *Welcome, Alix Risseu.*

Her hand clenched into a fist. Alix Risseu. She stole from her sister, her dear Ara. Even in the privacy of her apartment she worked in the dark using only the backlight from the screen. Darkness felt safer, as if hiding her prying, her secret planning, and her guilt-laced excitement. Mira hardly understood her compulsion, but if at the very least, this robbery only gained her understanding, so be it. With six different security codes and as many redundant firewalls, the program was not the most sophisticated she had encountered, but she recognized a paranoia for secrecy. A giggle escaped her and she corrected her mental aberration label—criminal obsession.

Graphics appeared, confusing in copious, precise detail. Through centuries architects had codified. Black disclosed architectural detail. Yellow denoted wiring conduits with curious geometric jogs and images. Blue ventilation ducts followed in lockstep. Brown defined utility areas, green expelift shafts and other transportation sites. Red distinguished security and defenses in vivid warning. A thick, brilliant aqua line marked her target.

Just acquiring this blueprint marked an achievement. After a thousand years of habitation, the Abode Habitat on Aginfeld had changed significantly from the original design available in public libraries.

With study the labyrinth of architectural tubes composing the structure fell into a discernable design. Focusing on an area, she blinked and the section enlarged. A sidebar displayed times of importance for each site, periods of high and low traffic, times guard shifts changed, and scheduled maintenance information for each area she studied. More importantly, the recalibration intervals for all manual or automated security, lasers, alarms, vid sites, locks, gates flowed onto the screen as she toured the site. Transportation schedules, work shifts, including the depository schedule of the targeted vault, displayed at the blink of her eye.

The file contained not only the blueprint but also the entire habitat manifest. Her screen displayed the newest update, swiped from the very security office she must avoid. She smiled. Everything she needed.

As her plan developed, guilt assailed her. How dare I attempt such a scheme? It goes against everything I’ve been taught, everything Ara was taught. Why does she do it? What if I fail? Mira continued, but felt a stone grow in her gut. A prickle of agitation encircled her chest. She stretched her shoulders back and twisted her neck to relieve the tension. She swallowed. Ara is safe. Even if caught, nobody will know I stole her plan. Who could know her on Aginfeld? No one.

Wanting a tour, she requested virtual display. Images formed, detailing the structure in dimensional reality. Her gaze determined the direction the tour took. She inspected the visitors’ lodgings and security stations. Then she took the shortest route to her destination.

Why would Ara attempt such a heist? Need? Challenge? Adventure? For the pleasure of knowing she got away with it? I will understand before this is over. If she can do it, I can!

After several minutes of reflection, determination made her resume her quest. An invasion like this took elaborate planning. In a few hours a list emerged for follow-up research. The answers would take more time. A second list enumerated the equipment needed. She sat back in her form-chair.

Mira knew some of Alix’s thieving exploits—her estranged sister’s well-kept secrets. She wondered if Alix knew she and Isa investigated her. Her gut clenched on the rock lodged inside and her mind raced. Was pilfering a vault really worth all this effort? For a seal worth virtually nothing outside Aginfeld, except perhaps, a few thousand vouchers in the oddity-collector’s market? She smiled with personal insight. It wasn’t the value. It was the challenge—to conquer Aginfeld, the most dangerous colony known.

Do I have the guts to confront Aginfeld? Am I as daring as you? Mira stilled for a moment. If this theft brings me closer to understanding you, I’ll do it. I’ll beat you to Aginfeld. Do you miss us as much as we miss you? You are not alone, and to get you back, I will join you in any venture.

She mulled over the project until a smile crossed her face. She’d need a different persona. Few travelers entered Aginfeld. Scientists, sociologists, and tradesmen visited the colony for what they could gain. And thieves, she amended her list. What she planned wasn’t a challenge, but insanity.

~ * ~

At Bastion Station Mira changed identities. Not wanting to attract attention, she assumed a man’s disguise to enter Aginfeld. She emerged a small, effeminate male, of impeccable, but fussy dress. From this moment on, she needed to think of herself as her bogus identification proclaimed—Mr. Marcus Brodie, Chief Expo-Merchant, Tastes of Earth Exporters, a real name, a real identity, temporarily borrowed.

Travel had been more difficult than expected. The Colonial Pact controlled entry into Aginfeld with a labyrinth of permits and licenses. Innumerable information requests and bureaucratic delays stalled visas. When all else failed, apparent ineptitude lost permits, and licenses inexplicably strayed from appropriate channels. Most corporate boards were dissuaded with dire predictions of ruin, and other, more obscure prohibitions. Some few companies, like Tastes of Earth Exporters, still sought the elusive market.

Colonial Pact personnel manned Bastion station in uneasy association with the Enforcers holding the Aginfeld port. A few Astrocorps officers patrolled and the intercom proclaimed in frequent messages that interplanetary regulations established to prevent cultural-based conflicts were strictly enforced. The constant repetition harassed the ear. She supposed to make sure both sides in the legal contention obeyed the regulation.

The Enforcer standing at the entrance to Aginfeld’s shuttle service took Mr. Brodie’s ID and inserted it into his reader. He studied the credentials with an unnerving intensity. Another officer stood near the shuttle’s gate entrance—a woman who looked as tough and muscular as the man in the gray uniform. From inside her Mr. Brodie exterior, Mira recognized steroid-enhanced bodies. The uniform’s tall, black collar and the red shoulder epaulets drew attention to identically stern faces. No wonder few felt welcomed to Aginfeld.

Her reports told of Aginfeld’s genetic problem. Since the colony’s exile, rumors of the difficulty fueled speculation of ultimate colony failure. The predictions incited hopes and hype for re-colonization. Expectation of windfall profit motivated a desire to see Aginfeld collapse, particularly in the Colonial Pact. The company-league owned governing rights to all colonies and had suffered the greatest lost by Aginfeld’s treachery.

Nature of your trip?

Business. She lowered her voice to its deepest without sounding forced or artificial. Mr. Brodie still sounded unmanly. It was difficult with her throat so tense. Her voice cracked. She coughed and pulled out a large white cloth to wipe her mouth and forehead.

At the flourish of the handkerchief, and Mr. Brodie’s apparent spinelessness, a hint of distaste marred the Enforcer’s impenetrable expression. Weakness in any form was not an esteemed Agin’er quality.

How long do you plan to visit Aginfeld?

Two weeks, less if possible. Mr. Brodie sighed. I wouldn’t stay that long, except it will probably be necessary.

You’re a food broker? You’ll be lucky to get away in under a month. A stiff smile denoted a joke. Which habitats do you plan to visit?

Only Abode.

At that, the guard inspected Mister Brodie. Closely. Mr. Brodie hoped the man couldn’t sense the sweat running down her back, and jumped into speech. I made it clear to my employer, if I came this far, any prospective clients must meet me there. Mr. Brodie ignored the blink of the guard’s eyes and way his lips straightened. Instead, Mr. Brodie made a production out of returning the handkerchief to its proper place.

The guard handed back the ID. Your visit is sanctioned, Mr. Brodie. This shuttle takes you to Ferik Station. From there you take the Abode transport down to the planet.

With equally forced politeness, Mr. Brodie took his ID with a half-hearted, Thank you. He passed the female Enforcer and settled in the first seat on the shuttle, adjusting his seatbelt with a fatal sense of commitment.

A glance took in the other shuttle occupants. All Agin’ers, in uniform, their drug-enhanced frames filled the seats. Genetically sterile, they needed the hormones to mature. It gave the shuttle’s interior an intimidating atmosphere.

Investigation had proven Aginfeld no vacation destination. Most visitors, like Mr. Brodie, came for business or research. Few women journeyed there at all, at least not those wishing to leave again. Aginfeld’s notorious regressive masculine attitude, its violence and harshness, and its dismissal of women as incubators caused many concerns about the colony’s reentry into civilized interplanetary society.

Abode, the first enclosure built on the planet’s surface, remained the governmental headquarters and the home of the Aginfeld Treasury. Excitement shivered over her skin, counteracting the acidic terror coating her stomach. Her plans were sound. She could do this. Ten days of waiting, one night of activity, one day to exit. And no one on Aginfeld would ever know.

Before stepping off the shuttle she felt Aginfeld’s heavier gravity, but felt certain she could withstand the extra stress for her short visit. During the following days of waiting she realized her miscalculation. Every motion took extra effort, sapping her strength.

Mr. Marcus Brodie, Chief Expo-Merchant, Tastes of Earth Exporters, met with the executives of the different Habitats and placed orders. He bargained hard, but the different Habitats’ representatives still received good deals. Their purchases would be delivered. Details and carry through were essential to the success of any campaign.

Between meetings she rested, conserved her strength, and when too bored, took short, wandering walks through the microbot created and maintained Abode, an endless maze of tubular structures. The whole edifice covered several square kilometers, buoyed on motion sensor pillars to cushion against geological activity.

Each plant-lined corridor held a sign proclaiming the street’s name as if it were an open-air Earth city. Overhead translucent material gave light and airiness to the environment and blocked outside views of Aginfeld. Only at specific cul-de-sacs were scenic views of the planet accessible. There wasn’t much to see—rocks, water and a billowing putrid-green sky. Few Agin’ers lingered there.

Mr. Brodie found the people reticent and suspicious. They seldom initiated conversation, never touched in public and their stares followed the food merchant. It initiated a claustrophobic depression bordering on terror. The merchant avoided obvious residential areas. In the public sectors, talk died as Mr. Brodie approached, only to resume in hushed, rapid undertones behind him.

Distracted, Mr. Brodie felt a sudden blinding pain. He fell, sprawling on the floor. Volition left, sight blackened, but some awareness remained. A stranger’s hands probed his pockets, and then footsteps disappeared into background noise. Whistles sounded along with more running feet. Annoying voices filled his hearing as sense returned. He slowly rose. A check showed the mugger escaped with a few vouchers.

An Enforcer dragged a man back to Mr. Brodie. Both Agin’ers topped the merchant by a head. The victim looked around him. No crowds gathered, although the scene was intensely observed.

Follow me, sir, the Enforcer ordered.

Mr. Brodie looked at the manacled mugger, saw the challenge in his eyes that screamed, ‘I know your secret.’

No. I don’t wish to press charges.

The Enforcer shook the man he held and the mugger’s gaze dropped. You don’t need to press charges. I do that. He’s already passed off anything he stole, sir. You can’t make any recovery without coming in and filing a report.

I don’t wish to file a report. It isn’t important, he took nothing of value.

The Enforcer looked about to argue, then gave a combination sneer-frown and left with his captive in tow. Mr. Brodie looked at his hand and noticed how his fingers shook. Making a fist stopped the reflexive movement.

On the return to his lodging, he stopped at one place few residents visited, a viewing cul-de-sac. He dropped the carefully maintained Mr. Brodie facade. The attack frightened her. Oddly, the ache in her jaw only intensified her resolve. Let them whisper and sneer. She would conquer this place.

In the empty elongated alcove, she gazed through a huge convex window at grizzled clouds undulating and whirling in the sinister turbulence of the chartreuse sky. A chlorotic ocean spread below the malevolent sky. Its vicious waves smashed and slavered at the rocky land striped in desolate russet, ochre and umber stone. The view explained the inhabitants, and their avoidance of this place. She found the sight both compelling and repellent.

The thousand-year-old experiment eked slow success from a reluctant world. An established atmosphere and hydrosphere were under the onslaught of life. Nothing majestically discernible yet, but the talk in all the bars was of ecopoiesis and the success or failure of different cyanobacteria. It was rumored Habitat Tik-Slade had established lichen on land. At least it was spoken of here in Abode, where the responsibility and work for giving Aginfeld life centered. Even then, residents’ speculations put human habitation near, the locals bragging of their struggle to all offworlders, even a non-entity like Mr. Brodie.

The only other topic, and the only one in which her opinion as Mr. Brodie was sought, was on the Colonial Pact’s demands for colony reparations, and how Earth National Court would come down on the issue. He had no opinion.

Those damned greedy bastards, the locals would bark. They left us here to die. Thought to get the rewards of our labor. We didn’t all starve to death, and we’ll pay nothing back for nothing received.

The night of her excursion loomed ever nearer. She felt it with gratifying relief and contained terror. It would soon be over and done.

Mr. Brodie.

She started and took a breath to assume her male persona. Turning she saw the Enforcer returned with reinforcement, and from the marks on his uniform, a superior officer. Had the mugger given voice to suspicions of her sexuality? Was unmasking at hand?

Yes? She forced the undaunted word from stiff lips. Mr. Brodie saw no condescension or condemnation in the superior officer’s manner.

Aginfeld apologizes for the assault on your person and asks that you file a report. We would not want you to leave thinking our colony criminal infested or an otherwise objectionable place to conduct business.

Mr. Brodie’s mouth twitched in neither frown nor smile and he turned back to the view both Enforcers’ glances evaded. He took a breath of relief. Aginfeld Sovereign Tik-Slade’s relations campaign reached everywhere.

I think no such thing, Officers. He turned and gave the men his attention. Muggings occur the galaxy over, and even on Earth. It is an unpleasant aspect for any traveler and reflects nothing against Aginfeld. Indeed, the culprit was caught as near to immediate as I could tell.

Have you had your injury treated? Aginfeld health facilities are open to you.

She shivered inside Mr. Brodie’s skin. No need, but thank you, Officers, for your concern. I will use my bruises to gain hazard pay from my employer. He gave a conspiratorial smile.

~ * ~

At four hundred hours Aginfeld time, Mira entered her rented room. She stood a moment in dazed triumph and perverse guilt and drew a few deep breaths before throwing her few possessions into her bag. Another hour saw the room wiped clean. The transport to Ferik Station left in just under two hours. The bill was paid through one more night, so shouldn’t raise a warning flag. After the attack, everyone knew how badly Mr. Brodie wanted off Aginfeld. His business had completed late this afternoon. No one would wonder at his flight.

She pulled the seal out of its pouch and felt the undulating surface of the disk. The distinctive pattern of the Abode’s crest raised its surface in a spider web design. Pulling up the blueprint on her computer, she looked at the black, yellow, blue, green and red lines, reliving her accomplishment. She smiled and collected Marcus Brodie’s mail before leaving the planet.

The third message only said, ‘Excellent execution.’ Her heart frozen mid-beat, and she sank into a chair. Her mind tripped into frenzy. Someone knew. She needed to get off-planet fast.

Jumping up she grabbed her bag and took two steps to the door. Panic. She must fight it. She would stick to her plan.

Whoever knew, it wasn’t the Agin’er Enforcers or they’d be breaking down the door. Even so, if they looked for her, she would carry no evidence with her. She didn’t need souvenirs. It had never been about a tangible prize. Prepared, she left her room with her one small bag.

The corridors were dark. Low lights along the walkway illuminated the floor to prevent accidents. Overhead, the huge sections of daytime translucent materials in the barrel-vaulted ceiling turned transparent at dark. Stars dotted the night sky. Only a thin edge of light on the horizon promised another green tinged day. Three smallish moons in various phases gave little illumination.

Not many were about, mostly workers, who ignored her. Within minutes she entered the transport and was welcomed aboard by the attendant with another demeaning scowl for the passenger’s diminutive size and delicate build. Mr. Brodie accepted the debasing Agin’er look. Snapping the safety harness in place. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the face free of moisture.

Uncomfortable with flight, he murmured with a flimsy smile to the attendant. After that, he was ignored, although he waited with gut-wrenching anticipation for denouncement. It never came, not on the transport, not on Ferik Station. An unbearable weight lifted from Mira’s shoulders as the shuttle slipped free of Aginfeld’s domain. Once free of the Aginfeld Port on Bastion she found the closest bar and ordered a drink. The trap failed to spring. She was free.

Two

Commander Nickal McDirk stood in arrested annoyance on the expelift ride to the Commissioners Chamber. On the short trip to the top level of Habitat Abode his tense neck muscles threatened to rend the tight collar of his formal dress uniform. Three support officers, an adjutant and his personal bodyguard stood behind him. Their silence bespoke his mood. Shuffling feet disclosed their discomfiture and only caused his face to firm into even more austere lines.

They exited into a long street, the overhead alternated from transparent to translucent material, making a rhythm of changing light intensities. The passage led to numerous side streets, identical except for color. At each branch dark ruby, navy, slate, and forest walls and sound-absorbing composite floors marked the change. Guards operated the opening mechanism for the huge carved glass doors at the Government Complex, allowing he and his men entry. Nickal ignored the severe lines of metal furniture lining the walls, ignored the elaborate arrangement of historical mementos and murals depicting Aginfeld history. Ignored, too, the civil servants passing through the halls of the governmental sector. Their glances skittered from direct eye contact as they hurried to other destinations.

Along the way sentries, resplendent in the formal amber on indigo dress uniform of a Sovereign Guard, saluted his passage. His officers returned the salutes. His McDirk plaid, laid over the shoulder of his gray and red Enforcer uniform, floated forward as he came to an abrupt stop. The Lord Commissioners assembled in the chamber beyond the elaborately chased and enameled gold-on-copper doors where he and his small entourage waited.

Nickal’s frown didn’t change as his name was announced within the chamber. One of the oversized doors swung open and he walked through into a windowless room, its stark architectural detail enhanced by the upward thrust of concentrated light beams forming ethereal pillars that disappeared in overhead darkness. Nickal knew unseen security systems scrutinized him from every angle.

On the far side of an immense ellipse-shaped platinum table the nine Lord Commissioners and Sovereign Comyn Tik-Slade sat in elaborate chairs, each contained in its own sharp cone of overhead light. Behind each chair stood the Habitat Master, the Lord’s heir-apparent. They and Sovereign Comyn Tik-Slade stared out across the burnished tabletop.

Each Master was, in turn, flanked by two shadowed figures outside the cone light surrounding the chairs. The Lord Commissioner’s armsmen represented an age-old concession to the Lords’ protection. Even in the somber elegance of this chamber, violence erupted. A line of his own Enforcers dressed as Sovereign Guards edged the room’s sides. The petitioner seats were nearly empty.

Although an unscheduled meeting, Nickal recognized two Abode reporters attended, although they carried no cams. He huffed. There were enough of those hidden within the interior to capture his disgrace.

He knew his own Lord, Hugo McDirk, remained quiet, stoical and frowning in the face of Nickal’s humiliation. Hugo’s presence surprised Nickal. Usually Ellus took the McDirk chair. He had not known of Hugo’s journey from their home habitat to Abode. Nickal nodded to his lord, noting Ellus’ imperturbable expression in his place behind the lord’s chair. Nickal returned his attention to his Sovereign.

It is true? Sovereign Comyn asked even as Nickal’s officers lined up behind him at the hearing dais. All preliminary ritual and meeting agenda had been suspended from this meeting. The faces across the table wore varying states of rage and disbelief.

Yes. His answer elicited grumbles denouncing him along with the thief. The disgrace of his admission cut deep, but Nickal buried his shame, not allowing any unseemly display of emotion.

How? Sovereign Comyn’s blond brows lowered in anger.

The National Treasury was invaded at two-hundred-hours twenty-seven minutes, three nights ago. The intruder used current security codes, evaded manned posts and disarmed the alarms and defenses to the vault, remained in the vault without detection for eight minutes, fourteen seconds. An undetected exit was achieved by reversing the process. Nickal kept his gaze on the Sovereign.

Sovereign Comyn Tik-Slade’s lips thinned and a lid twitched over one of his stormy eyes. He leaned back, imposing calmness. The lines of his face smoothed like the fabric in his suit. What was taken?

Nickal McDirk shared his ruler’s rage, more so, since duty required rigid restraint. One of the old seals. A complete inventory is underway. I have a clip of the crime. He handed the clip to an aide who handed it to a clerk who handed it to a technician.

The technician inserted the clip into the reader. All watched. The security record played on a large view screen behind the Sovereign and on each Lord’s personal tabletop screen. Nickal didn’t need to review the file again but watched the black enveloped figure enter the vault.

A woman! Several masculine voices spoke together, the surprised disgust evident in their voices. A low babble accompanied the clip’s continued display. The culprit wore distortion attire, which caused static in the clip, making it fuzzy and jumpy. Heat alignment sensors failed to catch her movement in the dark cell, presenting only tenuous edges: fingers, the contour of a hip, the crescent profile of a breast.

That she had opportunity to rifle the contents of the Treasure was clear. Instead of taking priceless artifacts or large gemstones, the thief went into drawers holding smaller items. She ransacked objects of minor political significance and little value, like a prank of malicious intent and implication.

We were lucky, the Van Garth Lord said.

The intruder triggered no alarms, Nickal said as the clip showed her exit from the vault. Only this hidden surveillance cam caught the act, otherwise the theft would remain undetected. One of my security agents caught it this morning, reviewing the clips before erasing them. Abode general surveillance security has also caught her. His voice grated over the pronoun, but never broke as the clip continued. It showed a mousy man talking with an Enforcer on Ferik Station, another view showed the same figure walking Aginfeld Abode’s roads and streets. I have searched galactic-wide data and found indications of similar thefts with lists of possible suspects. Officers searched the vault and her room for physical evidence.

Do you think this just a political incursion by the Colonial Pact’s Women’s Coalition? Lord Ysus asked. The aged lord huffed in noisy breath, suffering from slow lung disintegration his breathing apparatus no long counteracted. I suppose not, even they would not be so brazen. He sighed, answering himself.

No, they just shout themselves hoarse in ire and work through Colonial Pact channels to disrupt Aginfeld. Lord Van Garth spoke in dismissal. This seems too direct an action, one aimed at humiliating Aginfeld when the sale of the seal becomes public.

Sovereign Tik-Slade looked at Nickal. She made it off-planet?

Yes. My agents are tracing her whereabouts. I will capture her.

This is your fault, Commander McDirk.

The accusation came from where Nickal expected. His gaze went to Quentin Rosly, Lord of Habitat Rosly, then rose to pause behind the lord, regarding his heir apparent and brother, Master Zach Rosly. Both Quentin and Zach were handsome young men in typical blonde, blue-eyed Rosly fashion, but Zach radiated a smug satisfaction. Miles McDirk’s killer smirked at Nickal’s very public humiliation. Zach enjoyed the convening, but there was disquiet there, too. Nickal looked at Lord Rosly. Quentin’s gaze returned to the clip, frozen on a close-up of the thief’s disguised face.

I have accepted the responsibility, Lord Rosly, he said.

Nonsense, Lord Aniel-James said. We were preyed upon by a very well designed and executed assault. It is to be expected with all the arriving foreigners.

A few minutes debate on where to place the blame ensued. Nickal remained the primary target. No one blamed him more than he blamed himself. Security was his primary duty, when the operations failed, so did he.

Lord Aniel-James’ support was an unexpected favor, opposed as the lord was to Sovereign Comyn’s policies. The lord renewed his contemplation of the issue. I am willing to bet someone helped this thief.

Most likely someone here on Aginfeld. Those codes were not easily obtained. Sovereign Comyn looked introspective. He raised one brow at Nickal. What is the chance of a traitor?

My Enforcers are investigating that possibility, Sovereign Comyn.

I hope in better form than this fiasco suggests. Lord Lakeesh waved his hand at his screen.

Nickal felt his nostrils expand with anger and clamped down harder on his expression’s range. From his Enforcers’ reports he knew the disagreeable Lakeesh lord unable to lead and unworthy of his title. Such a man’s opinion meant nothing.

In the following uncomfortable minutes Nickal answered questions, endured a pointed rebuke and the added insult of the resulting censure added to his record. His temper stretched hair thin, but his will held the tenuous strand.

Go where you must to capture this person, his Sovereign commanded. With this caution—you will not cause an interplanetary debacle or raise the ire of either Earth National or the Colonial Pact. Otherwise do as you must.

Nickal nodded and turned to leave. Lord Quentin spoke from behind him. He turned back to the lord commissioners.

I recognize her. It’s Alix Risseu, isn’t it Zach? All attention swiveled at once to the Rosly Habitat Master.

Master Zach Rosly seemed discomfited to be called upon. It might be. It’s hard to tell. Yes, possibly. A hesitation beat between each word, emphasizing the Master’s reluctant admission.

Zach and I went to the same University, shared classes, oh—six years ago.

You know this person? Hugo, Lord McDirk, spoke for the first time, almost in accusation.

Yes. A devious, self-serving sort of woman. Quentin sneered in obvious distaste.

Nickal studied the brothers. Was this incursion retribution rather than a game? Quentin inherited before finishing his university degree. Neither Rosly brother completed their studies,