An Indecent Proposal

By Jaleta Clegg

Dace faces her most challenging assignment yet - mingling with the high society of Linas-Drias, capital of the Empire. Vance hands her a golden opportunity to look for the traitors pulling the Empire apart, but when her pretend engagement becomes all too real, she's in too deep to escape.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaleta Clegg
• Release date: May 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310999598

Jaleta Clegg

I love telling stories ranging from epic space opera to silly horror to anything in between. I've had numerous stories published in anthologies and magazines. Find all the details of my space opera series at http://www.altairanempire.comFor the latest updates on my stories, check out my webpage at http://www.jaletac.comMy current day job involves teaching kids to play the piano. I also love piecing quilts together, crocheting tiny animals, and watching lots of bad 80s movies.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The pain woke me. Every breath shot like fire away from my middle. I smelled the odd mix of antiseptics and bad food that told me I was in a hospital, as if the bland paint job and medical equipment weren't a dead giveaway. The tasteful Patrol logo on the sheets was depressing. It meant I was still in the Patrol. I expected Lowell to show up sooner rather than later. People talked outside the door, muffled and distorted.

I breathed through another burst of pain. What was my last conscious memory?

Sunlight and clouds, birds soaring into multicolored rainbows breaking into silver light.

No, that couldn't be right. That had to have been induced by drugs. I had the grandfather of all pain patch hangovers.

You're finally awake, Admiral, a cheerful voice called from the door. How are you feeling? An incredibly happy medic loomed over me. He was big, all muscles and teeth. Admiral?

I closed my eyes. Still in the Patrol or they wouldn't be calling me Admiral.

I'd enlisted as an admiral. Lowell hadn't given me a choice. I had to go back to Trythia to rescue Tayvis. Only he'd died. Lowell hadn't let me resign afterwards. He'd ordered me to Tivor.

The medic bustled around the room, checking monitors and wires. He loomed over me again as the bed rumbled into a more upright position.

Thirsty?

He didn't wait for my answer. He jammed a straw between my lips. I pulled in a mouthful of thick fluid before I could think not to. It was a protein replenishment drink that the Patrol concocted as a supplement for injured personnel. The taste was sweet and tart and cloying all at once. I gagged down the single mouthful then spit the straw out.

The medic smiled his cardboard smile. You'll feel better if you can get it down.

No, I won't.

Opening my mouth was a mistake. He got the straw in before I could clamp it closed. It hurt too much to try to fight him. I gave in and swallowed the nasty stuff.

As I suspected, it was drugged. My whole body went limp. My mind drifted away into fuzzy places. I was vaguely aware of the medic pulling the sheet back and checking my side. The pain was there, bright and hot and stabbing, but I couldn't do anything about it.

I dozed for while.

The light was different when I woke again, the reddish glow of sunset painted a stripe across my wall. The sounds in the hall told me dinner hour was well underway.

The medic came back and fussed around me for a while before forcing more of the sticky drink down my throat.

I dreamed of a great bird, with fire for wings, that flew in front of me through space. I reached to catch it, calling desperately for it to wait. But the bird never heard. It kept flying, faster and faster, until it was a blur in the distance, a burning light that became a blinking indicator on the equipment next to my head.

I blinked, drowsy and muzzy and restless. It was the middle of the night. The halls were dark. I heard only quiet murmurs, blurred by distance and walls.

Machines beeped on both sides of the bed. I shifted, wincing at the pain shooting from my side. A thick layer of bandaging covered me from my ribs to my hipbone. It hurt just to brush across my side. I didn't try to peel it up to see why. I wasn't that stupid.

My door swung open. A medic, a woman this time, let herself in the room when she saw me awake. She shut the door behind herself.

How are you feeling? she asked, with none of the toothy smiles the other medic had used on me.

Lousy.

That's to be expected. According to your charts, she bent over me, checking the monitors on the equipment, you had a bad reaction to the medgel they used. And to the regen unit you were plugged into. She made notes on a hand pad then tucked it into her pocket. They kept switching you back and forth, in the medunit until you started reacting, then in a regen unit until you reacted there, then back into the medunit. You spent a day or so in a bed every few days, letting the drugs wear off. I've never seen anything quite like it. You had half the staff coming by for updates several times a day. Good teaching experience for the ones aiming to be xeno medics. Your profile showed human, but I'm beginning to wonder.

So I'm a freakshow for the Patrol? It was like waking up naked in the middle of a crowded room with people staring at you, not that I've ever done that.

Her smile faded around the edges. She messed with one of the machines next to me. No, your situation was unique, at least as far as our records show. Sorry about invading your privacy, Admiral, but watching you may have saved lives in the future.

She reached for the bandage on my side. I flinched away.

You want more pain meds?

No. If they pushed any more drugs into my system, I was going to have a headache for the next year.

You're obviously in pain. There are no medals for being stupid.

Which is why I don't want more drugs. Half the pain is overload from taking pain meds too long. They aren't going to help me much at this point.

She studied me, her eyebrows knit into a single line. She finally shrugged and started disconnecting wires.

You don't need these any more. She removed several sticky patches from my arms. She turned machines off and wheeled them away from my bed.

What time is it?

Just past four in the morning. It was completely true, but totally unhelpful.

Where am I?

Room one seventeen, eighth floor.

What planet?

She stopped messing with the equipment. Do you know your name?

I know my name.

Well?

Dace. Happy?

Are you?

Are you some kind of psych tech here to see if I'm completely nuts?

Are you?

I exercised my extensive vocabulary of profanity. Her eyebrows crept up her forehead.

She suddenly laughed. They said you were different. Nobody warned me just how different. I haven't heard that kind of language since we had the head engineer in here from the Endeavour. Some cadet left the engine drive unit hot while he was checking it. He spent a week regrowing skin over burns.

Was his name Sandover?

You know him? She started on the other bank of equipment. The tension in the room dropped dramatically.

I was on that flight. I wasn't the cadet who left the drive unit on.

That was only seven years back, she said, watching me as she unplugged equipment. Were you his assistant?

Engineering Cadet.

How did you make Admiral in less than seven years? The Patrol, unlike some branches of the government, does not sell commissions.

It's a long story. I had no idea how much of it was classified. I wondered what she'd say if she knew I'd enlisted at that rank.

You want to try walking around? she asked when the room was clear.

Just to the bathroom, I told her.

Then let's go.

It took me half an hour to make it the eight feet to the bathroom and back to the bed. My legs wouldn't work right. My coordination was nonexistent. I was weak and trembling long before she helped me back into bed. I'd been a lot sicker than I thought.

So what planet am I on? I asked while she pulled the sheet back over me, straightening edges.

Besht. I heard about the stasis unit they brought you in. Must have been some action.

I was on Tivor. My eyes were already starting to close. If I lay perfectly still, the pain was bearable. I think someone shot me.

Point blank. It's a wonder you're alive.

I didn't answer. Her last words echoed in my head as I slid into sleep.

Chapter 2

The clatter of dishes woke me. Sunlight streamed through the window. I tried to sit by myself. I didn't make it. Every muscle screamed in protest. I lay back on the bed, cursing my weakness and the pain.

The hulking medic of the day before came smiling into my room. Breakfast, he announced, pushing a straw at my face.

I turned my head away. Not if it's drugged.

It's got a mild relaxant in it. To keep you from locking up. Most patients who don't take their pain meds have muscle spasms that get worse and worse.

Until what? They tie themselves into knots? I've had enough. I have to get them out of my system or I'll just keep getting worse.

He stirred the straw in the cup. It's just a mild relaxant, nothing more.

I gave in. He was big enough to force feed me if I resisted. It didn't look like I was going to get anything else for breakfast. I drank it.

I dozed for a while. I almost didn't hurt when I woke up.

The medic came back and made me get up and move. I cursed him the whole time. He kept after me, making me walk. I don't know if he was really doing his job or making me suffer for the fun of it. I was glad when night came and he went off shift.

Three days of his bullying and the thick drinks went by. I gradually got better. I still hurt, horribly, but I could walk by myself, as long as it wasn't far. The night medic was a lot nicer, but she still made me get up whenever she caught me awake.

I was starting to wonder about my situation. I hadn't had any visitors. None. Not even Lowell. I saw my two medics and no one else.

I watched the other patients ambling past my door. It was too frustrating. Most of them went home within a day or two. I didn't know where my home was. I wanted my cabin on the Phoenix. I wanted out, of the hospital and the Patrol. I had to talk to Lowell to do that. My medics kept telling me to concentrate on getting well. I wanted to throw things, except I hurt too much to even try.

Movement out the door caught my eye. Someone had just walked past, someone in a silver uniform, not the blue the medics wore. Someone's visitor, not mine, I thought. I was deep in a pity party for myself. The someone stopped just past my door and came back. He stuck his head in the door and stared at me in surprise.

Dace? What are you doing here?

Having the time of my life, Vance. What are you doing here?

He grinned and came into my room, taking my question as an invitation. Just some paperwork I had to finish up. Medical records are on the other side of this floor. This was a shortcut. His grin vanished, replaced by concern. What happened to you?

Vance Shiropi wasn't the person I wanted to see but I was hungry for any familiar face.

He pulled a chair next to the bed and straddled it. You don't look so great.

I hope I look better than I feel.

It was the most natural thing when he took my hand. His felt warm, strong, and comforting. He squeezed gently. I got back from that mess on Trythia and spent a while in the hospital. When I tried to track you down, no one knew what had happened to you. His dark eyes were full of concern.

Lowell sent me to Tivor. I don't know how I ended up in here. I think I was shot, but I can't remember.

His face pinched in outrage. Lowell should have never made you enlist. Admiral or not, you should have gotten a discharge after Trythia. Most of us did.

I wasn't thinking, I admitted. I was past caring. Tayvis died in the last fight.

I'm so sorry, he said and squeezed my hand again. I know what he meant to you.

I looked out the window. I wasn't going to cry, not now. I'd cried enough tears over the last year to fill a tanker. It was a struggle not to, Vance was so sympathetic. His hand on mine warmed my whole body.

So when is your discharge coming through? he asked, pretending he didn't see the tear that managed to escape.

What discharge? I asked, surprised out of my pity.

Medical discharge. You're obviously in bad shape. A medical discharge is almost automatic in cases like yours.

I don't know anything about it.

Don't tell me Lowell is trying to keep you in the Patrol. His protectiveness felt good.

I haven't seen him since he sent me to Tivor.

He hasn't left you messages or anything?

I couldn't tell you. I feel like a prisoner here. They won't tell me anything, I added in a quiet voice as my daytime hulk of a medic entered the room.

This room is posted no visitors, the hulk informed Vance. You'll have to leave.

What if I don't want him to? I said.

The medic ignored me. He folded his beefy arms and glared.

Vance stood, squeezing my hand. Be ready, he whispered as he leaned close over me. He winked as he sauntered past the medic.

The medic turned to watch him all the way down the hall. His fierce glare hadn't changed when he turned back to me.

Why is my room posted no visitors?

For your privacy, the medic said, his scowl relaxing into his usual toothy smile. Time for you to get up again. He had a clean hospital robe over his arm.

Lowell had something to do with it, didn't he. The medic ignored my flat statement.

I spent a whole second debating whether to argue with him before giving in. I made it out of bed with only a little help. I shuffled into the bathroom and the shower.

I was settled back in the bed again for only a few moments when Vance appeared in my doorway. My medic rumbled his way over to the door. Vance held his ground. He produced a paper from his pocket.

Medical discharge, he informed the medic. She's coming with me.

The medic folded his arms and glared at the paper. He finally shrugged. I'll have to clear it.

You do that, Vance told him. He watched the medic leave then pushed the door mostly shut before he came over to the bed. He reminded me of a little kid with a secret. He grinned and held up a silver uniform. We have to hurry.

You didn't really get me a discharge, I said, disappointed.

It takes weeks to get one of those finalized. Mine just came through this morning. That's why I was here, to pick up the papers. Put this on. He shoved the uniform at me and retreated to the door. He opened it far enough to look down the hall. Hurry, he added.

I made my decision in a split second. Stay here, cut off from everyone, or go with Vance, wherever he was headed. It wasn't much of a decision. I'd face the music later, when Lowell caught up with me.

The pain was horrible. I struggled my way into the uniform, biting my lip to keep from groaning. He'd brought me an Admiral's dress uniform. It even fit. The boots were a little large, but close enough that I wasn't going to complain. The lack of underwear was a bit disconcerting. I managed to get it fastened before I collapsed onto the bed. Vance heard my sigh of relief and turned around.

He's coming back, he said. We've got to go now. But you can't go barefoot.

He was by the bed, slipping a pair of boots over my feet, before I could blink.

Ready? he asked with a grin.

I was already having second thoughts. Vance, I can't go far.

Then I'll carry you if I have to, although it will look less suspicious if you can walk. It's only to the elevators. I've got a car waiting downstairs.

To go where?

His look made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. What would it matter where we went? It was out of the hospital. He slid his arm around me and helped me off the bed. It felt good to be standing on my own feet and wearing boots again.

He helped me over to the door. Ready? he asked as he risked a peek out the door. We're clear.

He waited until I nodded before he moved his arm. I couldn't lean on him too obviously or it would give our subterfuge away. I felt a bubble of excitement and nerves ripple through my gut along with a stab of pain. I pushed the pain away and concentrated on walking normally.

We stepped into the empty hallway. A quiet murmur of voices came from other rooms.

This way, Vance whispered. He led me down the hall, out of the patient rooms and into a busier section of the building. People in uniforms, silver and black and blue, hustled past us in all directions .

Vance and I walked to the elevators. I let him push the buttons. I concentrated on not showing how much pain I was in. It took most of my willpower not to keep looking behind us. I expected my medic to come roaring after me at any second.

We got an elevator to ourselves. My uniform and Vance's haughty stare scared the others into waiting. The door shut and I sagged. Vance caught me and held me while the elevator slid silently down to the lobby floor. I braced myself back up as the door opened.

There were uniforms everywhere. Big men in black carrying big guns stared at everyone. Vance led me right past a pair of them guarding the entrance. They didn't give us more than a glance.

We stepped out into sunshine. Vance went to a groundcar parked near the entrance and opened the door. He helped me in, making it look as if he were my aide. He hurried around to the driver's side and got in. I sagged back in the seat as soon as he closed his door.

How are you doing? he asked as he started the car. We rolled smoothly into traffic. Dace? he asked when I didn't answer.

I'll survive, I managed through gritted teeth. My side was on fire. I wondered if I'd ripped anything open. I was beginning to think running away with Vance was a mistake. I could always blame it on the drugs. I wasn't thinking clearly.

Just hang on. We'll be there soon and then you can rest all you want.

We'll be where?

I looked out the window. Ships rose not far away. We were headed for the landing field.

Vance steered the groundcar into the port, pausing only long enough at the gate to swipe a card through an automated scanner. It opened the gate and let us onto the field. The groundcar rolled to a stop. He turned to me with a grin. It faded when he saw my face. You don't look good. Let's get you inside.

Inside where, Vance? I was tired and I hurt.

My friend borrowed his father's yacht. Come on. I think you'll like Bud.

His name is Bud?

Nickname. He prefers it to Flash. That was the name he earned at the Academy.

Vance opened my door and helped me out. He had his arm around me, more than half carrying me up the ramp into a small yacht. It was as big as the Phoenix, if you didn't count the cargo bays. The engine was bigger. Even through the haze of pain, I noted that. I couldn't help noticing. I missed my ship and being in space.

Vance shut the hatch. We were immediately surrounded by soft noises and softer carpet. The air smelled fresh, not recycled. The layout was customized, which by itself told me how expensive the ship had to be. There was a fairly large lounge area with a small cockpit at the front. The main feature of the lounge was a half circle of couch upholstered in a white fabric that was warm and soft to the touch. It faced the front of the ship where a big viewscreen hung, silver and opaque at the moment. Vance took me to the couch and settled me at one end of the curve.

Just lay down and take it easy, he told me.

I lay back, biting my lip at the pain. The couch was incredibly soft. I relaxed into it, feeling the slightest vibration as a massaging unit activated. Warmth spread through me.

Be right back, Vance said.

I watched him hurry across the lounge towards the back of the ship. Wide steps led up to a second level. Two doors opened off the level. Vance disappeared into one. Cabins, I assumed. I wondered if there was a crew aboard and where they lived. The lounge took up most of the space on the ship.

There was an automatic galley located between the two cabin doors, the ultra deluxe version. I wondered how it compared to Jasyn's cooking. I closed my eyes on a sudden wave of homesickness and drifted into a doze.

Dace? Vance was leaning over me. I blinked myself out of a dream involving blankets that transformed into furry snakes.

Doesn't look like any Admiral I've ever seen, an unfamiliar voice said above me. I had to crane my neck to see the speaker. He was tall and heavyset. His hair was medium brown, cut in a long style that didn't flatter him. His features didn't need flattering. He had a chiseled profile and piercing green eyes. He smiled easily. I hope you're worth it.

She is, Vance assured him. But right now, we need to get her away. Before they realize she isn't in her bed at the hospital.

You kidnapped her from the hospital? the stranger demanded of Vance. What kind of idiot are you? He turned his eyes back to me. They were kind, full of sympathy. Are you sure you don't need a medic?

I'll be fine, I murmured, with a bit of rest. Do you want me to call you Bud or Flash?

Call me Max, he said. And this fleabitten toad should be called—

You wouldn't, Vance interrupted.

Oh, I will, Max said with a vengeful grin. Call him Mister Magnificent.

Vance groaned.

And if he doesn't mind his manners better, I'll tell you how he got that name.

I smiled at Max. He was nice, I thought fuzzily, as I slid back asleep. Maybe nice enough that I could convince him to take me home. But only if I knew where Jasyn was with the ship.

I've got a liftoff window in half an hour, Vance said.

Where are we going? Max asked.

I didn't hear the answer. I was asleep.

Chapter 3

Lowell, to all outside appearances, was utterly engrossed in the minutely detailed report Admiral Flanigan presented. Inwardly, his mind wandered more than a little. He'd read Flanigan's report the night before when he had finally arrived back at Besht. Weeks of harried travel along the new border of the Empire were taking their toll. He kept the look of concentrated interest on his face out of habit. He was tired. Not just physically, he was tired of the constant negotiations, of the unending meetings everywhere he went. But he had his orders. He was to solidify the border and do his best to bring the straying worlds back into the Empire.

It was an impossible task. Those ensconced at Linas-Drias, the seat of the Empire, had no glimmer of understanding about the new reality. The Federation, once just a slightly better organized group of pirates, was now a force to be reckoned with. According to his information, which was admittedly sketchy, the Federation was larger than the Empire. And much stronger.

The report detailed the number of ships that had deserted from the Patrol to the Federation. It was an impressive list.

A sudden stir of activity outside the glassed walls of the room caught his eye. People in the blue of medics searched through the crowds moving purposefully through the halls. Lowell caught Paltronis' eye. She glanced through the windows and nodded then slipped out. He could trust Paltronis to find out what was happening.

The problem, Admiral Flanigan, Lowell said, is not that ships are leaving the Empire. They might have stayed if orders were not given for them to open fire on their own people.

Admiral Flanigan's face tightened. Lowell suspected Flanigan had given the order for the disaster at Ruritan. They'd lost most of a battlegroup there, the crews had kicked out the people who wouldn't join the mutiny before turning on the few ships still trying to enforce the Empire's control. Those three ships turned tail and ran. Ruritan joined the Federation without a shot fired. Ruritan now had its own fleet of fully armed battle ships.

They refused to follow direct orders, Flanigan said in his own defense. Ruritan was not to be allowed to desert.

So you ordered them to fire, Lowell said. Did you check where the crews of your ships came from? Ninety three percent of them were from either Ruritan or one of four systems next to it. You gave them orders to shoot their families and friends. They knew Ruritan and the other systems were leaving the Empire.

Which makes them traitors. Flanigan slammed his hand on the table.

They are still people, most of them unarmed.

Flanigan leaned over the table. Where are your loyalties, Commander Lowell? Judging from your words, I begin to question your devotion.

The air in the room was electric. The others waited nervously, Lowell was High Command, answerable only to the Emperor.

I've spent my life working to keep the Empire together. You dare to question me? Lowell wanted a reason to pull Flanigan from his position in command of the Fleet.

Flanigan was smarter than Lowell hoped. He backed down. Your words could be misinterpreted.

The last thing we need is a shooting war, Lowell said. Look at your report, Admiral. We are outgunned. Open war with the Federation would be disastrous. And the more you push your crews to shoot unarmed civilians, the more ships we are going to lose.

Lowell turned his attention to the next person on his agenda. His battle with Flanigan was far from over and he knew it. This was only the opening skirmish.

Commander Bickwell didn't bother to stand to report. He was older, his dark hair liberally streaked with gray. He looked tired and defeated.

We've lost a good portion of our agricultural worlds, he said. Food shortages are going to happen within a few months, unless we can do something about it.

Why is this a military matter? Flanigan interrupted.

Because hungry people riot, Lowell said impatiently. And when they get hungry enough, they kick out the people ruling them and find new ones.

The Federation has a food surplus, Bickwell said.

Only because they've stolen our worlds, Flanigan interrupted again.

Admiral Flanigan, Lowell said sharply. You will shut up or you will leave.

They locked stares across the table. Flanigan turned away first. He was spoiling for a fight. Lowell would give him one, personally, but Lowell was not going to allow him to embroil what was left of the Fleet in a war they couldn't possibly win.

The Inner Worlds will feel the effects last, Bickwell continued as if the interruption hadn't happened. Patrol stores will begin to run out within three months.

Then we need to open negotiations with the Federation, Lowell said.

That got him more than a few suspicious stares. Lowell stood and leaned on the table, meeting their eyes, willing them to listen to reason.

We've lost the Outer Worlds. Face the truth. They aren't coming back to the Empire. So we make the best of what we still have or we'll end up losing more. Possibly the whole Empire if people begin to starve. Who do we have that we can send to negotiate with the Federation?

None of them moved. They looked away from him, refusing to answer. What he said, even if it was the truth, was still perilously close to treason. He might be able to get away with it, but if they spoke the same words, they would suffer.

Commander Reeasht, he addressed the woman at the far end of the table. Contact the planetary Ambassador's office and see who they can recommend.

He sat back in his chair. Continue, Commander Bickwell.

Bickwell droned on, detailing the current state of supplies and equipment for the forces stationed at Besht and along the new border.

Paltronis slipped back into the room. She crossed silently to Lowell and bent to whisper in his ear. They're looking for an Admiral who disappeared from the medical wing sometime this morning. She didn't need to specify which Admiral.

Lowell stood, interrupting Bickwell in mid-spiel. A slight emergency is in progress. Please, excuse me.

What emergency? Flanigan asked.

A small matter of security, nothing to be alarmed about, Lowell said. Please, Commander Bickwell, continue with your report. I'll collect the summary later.

He left before they could drag him back into the meeting. He and Paltronis made haste for the bank of elevators. The number of people in the halls had increased significantly. Many of them wore Medical blue.

Was it just a way to rescue me from the meeting? Lowell asked.

Paltronis shook her head. She's gone. Cydon, the medic assigned to her during the day, is adamant she was kidnapped.

Lowell's face was grim. He knew more than a few people who would be overjoyed to have Dace in their hands. It wouldn't be good for Dace. He opened his mouth as he punched the elevator button.

The base is already sealed. Paltronis anticipated his question. Security is reviewing all recordings of the entry area.

Good, Lowell said, nodding his head.

The elevator slid upwards. They got off onto the medical floor. The knots of people were more pronounced here, black uniforms of Enforcers mixed in with the blue. Lowell tugged his own black uniform straight. He wore his real rank, High Commander of the Enforcers. Paltronis walked at his shoulder like a black ghost.

The biggest knot of people jumped to attention as he approached. At the center was a beefy medic in blue.

He had a discharge paper, the man said. Everything was in order.

Except the paper was his, not hers, another man said. He wore silver, with the gold clusters of Base Commander. Commander Lowell. He saluted.

Lowell waved off the salutes. Most of the people found something else to do, still within earshot but out of reprimand range. I assume Admiral Dace is the one you lost.

She isn't lost, the base commander said.

You don't currently know where she is, therefore, she's lost. Who took her out of here? And how?

A secretary handed a slip of a note to the base commander. He glanced at it before answering.

The who is easy enough, he said. We tracked the medical records requests. He's Patrol, or was until this morning. Which helps explain the how.

Name? Lowell prompted.

Commander Vance Shiropi.

That was a surprise.

She was too injured to leave on her own. You just let him carry her out of here? Paltronis was upset, which meant being anywhere in her vicinity was dangerous.

She shouldn't have been able to walk out, the medic answered heatedly. But she did.

She isn't in immediate danger, Lowell said, more for Paltronis' benefit than the others. We still need to know where he took her. And why. Commander, may we use your office?

By all means, the base commander answered. Just tell my people what you need and we'll get it for you.

They were escorted to a spacious office on the top floor that overlooked not just the port but the city beyond. The base commander left the two of them there and hurried out to collect the people and information Lowell requested.

Paltronis immediately began to pace. Lowell settled in the commander's very comfortable chair and put his feet on the desk.

You're just going to sit there? Paltronis demanded.

I think better sitting. Lowell closed his eyes as he leaned back. Vance was discharged officially this morning. Rumor is that he's with Max. I suspect he took her to Max's yacht.

Why? What does that skunk want with her?

You read the report Tayvis gave about Trythia. Vance was the one who knocked him senseless and told me he was dead. I sent Dace with Vance on that mission. Why do you think he wants her?

To get revenge on Tayvis, Paltronis said promptly.

That's what I was thinking. I doubt he'd hurt her. He knows her well enough to know she'd break half his bones and stomp on his face if he tried.

If she were herself. She was still in a coma when we left. How do we know she didn't suffer brain damage? How do we know she's still Dace?

Lowell sighed and sat up in the chair. We can ask, he said as he tapped the com.

They waited in silence, Paltronis pacing and Lowell staring out the window, until the medic arrived.

He was older, his hair a striped mane of white and faded orange. His eyes were a strange shade of gold. Lowell blinked in surprise. The medic was not human, which made his specialty of human brain injuries especially odd. He slapped a thick folder of papers on the desk and tapped the computer interface built into the desk surface.

You wanted her records? he asked. A three dimensional image of a brain, color coded into bright regions of orange, blue, yellow, and red appeared above the desk.

Summarize what you found, please.

Preliminary work when she was first admitted showed trauma here and here, he pointed through the image at regions of the brain highlighted in orange. Her activity scans were all over the place, the strangest readings I've ever seen. We did new scans every day or two, whenever she was transferred between units. He glanced at Lowell, gold eyes meeting silver. Her physiology readings were skewed, too. She's outside the range for normal human tolerances. Her scans don't fit any profile on record. Gross examination showed her to be human, but— He shrugged. His expression invited Lowell to explain.

Lowell pretended not to notice. What injuries did you find?

Gross injuries? Only the blaster shot, which was worse than any I've ever seen. She was also suffering from malnutrition and stress.

And mentally? Lowell prodded.

Like I said, her scans were strange. With the amount of brain trauma we found, I doubted she'd ever regain consciousness, even if we could repair the blaster wound. Complicate that by her reactions to the drugs, and I wouldn't have given her more than a ten percent chance of ever waking up. She obviously proved me wrong.

He shifted the image. The colors ran and dripped through the brain, settling in new areas.

As you can see from the scan we took a week after the first, the physiology shifted drastically. We rechecked all the scans. There was no mistake. Her brain rewired itself during that week. The image shifted again. The oranges and reds faded. Blue and yellow dominated. The week after, the scans were almost normal. For a human. We found no traces of trauma, no scar tissue, no residual evidence of damage. Which is impossible. Brain tissue does not regenerate or repair itself, not to that degree. He tapped the display once more. The yellow shrank. Most of the brain glowed blue. A tiny region remained red. The medic pointed at the red spot. That's the only area that didn't heal itself. Other than that, there's nothing wrong. The scan is normal for a human. No brain damage, nothing to impede normal functioning of the brain.

And what of the other tests?

We ran a full spectrum, the medic said, nudging the stuffed folder. A few came back at the far end of the normal range, a couple were clear outside it, but most of them were normal.

What of the psychic evals?

The medic frowned, but he dug through the folder. They aren't very accurate when administered to an unconscious patient. We could only get a general range reading. He pulled out a sheet and slid it across the desk to Lowell. That summarizes what we found.

Lowell scanned the sheet. His bland expression was enough to catch Paltronis' attention. She stood behind him and read over his shoulder.

That can't be right, she said.

We repeated the tests four times, the medic said. I was curious myself how her brain scans would relate, but there was no correlation. The tests all came back in that range.

Point seven ranging to one point six for latent telepathic abilities, Lowell read. Empathic readings range from point three to point nine. Both on the low end of the normal scale for humans.

Paltronis shook her head. They have to be wrong. I know what I saw her do. I know what I felt.

Lowell shook his head, signaling her to silence. Paltronis backed off.

If you have any more questions, the medic said as he stood, the answers are in the folder. The brain disappeared. He flapped half a salute at Lowell as he left the office.

None of this makes sense, Paltronis muttered as the door slid shut.

It makes more sense than I hoped it would. Lowell tapped the folder. The Hrissia'noru rewired her mind. She couldn't have survived without them.

She couldn't have lived with them, either. Paltronis leaned one hip on the edge of the desk and folded her arms.

So they removed the part of her that made her Hrissia'noru. They took away her powers and left her normal. He sighed. There's nothing we can do about it, even if we wanted to.

She wasn't happy with any of it. I wonder if she's happier now without that in her head.

We'll ask her, as soon as we find her, Lowell said.

I can start tracking yachts, Paltronis offered.

Lowell shook his head.

I know that look. What are you thinking now?

We can use this to our advantage. What is the one group we haven't been able to infiltrate?

High society on Linas-Drias, Vance and his friends. You can't use her like that, Lowell. Not again.

I don't have a choice. We have to find out who is behind the plot. We have to find out where the treason is. If we don't, what's left of the Empire won't be worth spit.

You have to give Dace a choice. You should never have sent her to Tivor.

Or any of the other places I sent her. It will be a request, not an order. After all, he smiled, according to the paperwork, she isn't Patrol anymore, at least not after next week.

Paltronis still looked angry.

Go find Scholar for me, he said. I need someone who can send a message that won't get her in more trouble. The people she's playing with are dangerous. The least I can do is warn her.

And tell her Tayvis is still alive?

Lowell winced. She doesn't know, does she?

Paltronis shook her head. It was a shock to me, when I finally dragged her off Tivor, to find that he was still very much alive.

I hope that makes up for the rest of it, Lowell said.

What is it you keep telling me? Guilt never solves anything? Stop beating yourself up. If you really want beat up, I'll be happy to oblige.

I'm not that fond of pain. Go get Scholar. Then you can start tracking ships. I want the yacht, but I also want the Phoenix.

He didn't need to explain. She almost smiled as she hurried out of the office. Lowell turned his attention to figuring out the wording for the message. It had to be something that would explain everything to Dace without blowing her cover.

Chapter 4

I woke slowly, lulled by the subliminal hum of a hyperdrive engine in flight. It had been much too long since I last heard it. I missed it, I missed being in space. I missed a lot of things.

I resisted opening my eyes as long as possible. I didn't want this to be just another dream. The engine was quiet, very well tuned and maintained. The shielding for the cabin was better than most. I blinked my eyes open at last, I couldn't sleep any longer.

The ceiling overhead glowed a pale green that soothed the eyes. I remembered running away. With Vance, of all people. I rolled my head to the side, wincing at the expected stab of pain. My side pulled and ached, but it was nothing like the fiery pain of earlier. My head still throbbed, less now. It would be days before the lingering side effects of the pain meds wore off completely.

I looked towards the back of the ship. Max sat on the other end of the couch, feet up on a cushioned lump extruded from the floor. He had a reader in front of him. How are you feeling? he asked.

Better, I answered. I shifted experimentally. The pain sharpened.

Max watched me a moment. I felt like an exhibit on display. I squirmed. I had to go to the bathroom. I wasn't sure I could walk by myself, though, and I didn't want to ask for help. It was more than a little awkward, being alone with the two of them. I'd lived in a cave for weeks with Vance and hadn't cared too much. Somehow, the gloss of civilization made it a completely different situation. The ship reeked of high society and polite niceties. Admitting I had to go potty didn't seem right.

You need something? Max asked, raising his eyebrows. They were on the bushy side, a dark brown to match his hair. That uniform doesn't look very comfortable for sleeping in, he added, saving me from embarrassing myself. You can use the facilities in the cabin, if you want. I'm sure we can find something more comfortable for you.

Max offered me his hand. I needed it to lever myself off the couch. I leaned heavily on him as I shuffled my way across the thick carpet. Someone had removed my boots, but the carpet was soft on my bare feet. And I'd gotten over that particular phobia a long time ago. The stairs presented a problem. They weren't very high, but I could barely lift my feet off the floor. I bit my lip and did my best to make it up the two steps. Max ended up lifting me.

I leaned on the wall for a minute to let the pain subside. Vance looked away from the galley controls.

I'm fine, I said through gritted teeth.

And even if you were about to bleed to death, you'd still say the same thing, Vance said. You should have told me how bad you really were. I never would have smuggled you out of the hospital.

And I would have gone insane with boredom. I managed half a grin. Thanks.

He grinned back. You're welcome. He shook his head as he turned back to the warmer. Crazy woman.

Do you want help the rest of the way? Max asked.

I shook my head. I could use the wall. I shuffled into the cabin.

It was a sea of blues, all shades from royal to a pale sky. It showed signs of someone who wasn't good at tidying up behind himself. The bed was rumpled. Clothes were piled in a corner. I ignored the mess. It wasn't my ship.

The bathroom was almost as big as a planetside one. I pushed the door closed and stripped out of the dress uniform, dropping it on the wide counter.

I did what my body demanded I do and then stood in front of the mirror. I carefully peeled back the bandage on my side. A wide strip of scar tissue on my left side stretched from my ribs clear to my hipbones. Smaller scars crossed the main one, forming a web of puckering pink, red and white skin. I saw where the medics had attempted a skin graft. Most of the patches had failed to take. I was going to have an impressive scar, even with treatments to minimize it. I touched it gingerly, running my fingers lightly over the ridges of skin. It was incredibly tender, but it was healing. I pushed the bandages into the recycler and stepped into the shower.

The water felt good, a warm mist that enveloped me head to toe. I made good use of the massaging sonic sprayer that relaxed muscles tensed against pain. I felt