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"Hey... you!"
His head shot up, one hand stabbing for the key that would blank the screen. The Tech was standing several meters away, hands on hips, a black scowl on his face. There was another man with him, an older, gray-haired officer draped in a cloak.
"S-sir?"
"Who did you say sent you down here?"
"Major... uh... Major Kraig, sir."
The gray-haired man threw back the flap of his cloak. Beneath it he wore a black, Combine infantry major's uniform. Fear rose gibbering in Grayson's throat. He knew what was coming.
"I am Major Kraig," the man said. "I gave you no such order, young man. I've never seen you before in my life."
"Let's see your ID," the Tech said. Behind the two, the astechs gathered in an uneven line across the door. Several of them, Grayson noted, wore holstered pistols, though none carried anything larger.
Grayson was not armed. He'd decided not to carry a weapon because he'd had no way of knowing what Combine military policy toward Trells carrying guns might be. If it had been against the rules for Green Coats to carry guns and he'd been caught with one, his expedition would have ended before it began. Now, without a gun, the only way he would be able to get past that line was to catch them off guard. He turned and walked toward them, reaching under his tunic for an imaginary passbook.
"It wasn't your direct order, Major," he said as casually as he could manage. "It was one of your officers, a Captain... uh..."
He launched himself, low and fast, diving past the Tech and directly at the knees of the smallest of the astechs behind him. He collided with the man in a tangle of arms and legs, rolling into the open door, then bounced to his feat and ran into the passageway. A chorus of shouts to halt rose behind him, then he heard the sharp crack of weapons fire in the air above his head. He ran faster, twisted down a side passageway, and kept ru
Grayson's immediate concern was to put as much distance between himself and his pursuers as possible. After that, perhaps he could lose himself among the other Trell Guards in the Castle. Even that would only buy him a few minutes time, he knew. The Castle would be sealed off and all Trells seized for interrogation. The question was, just how many minutes did he have? Grayson had entered the Castle through the Vehicle Bay. Could he reach it before the doors were closed?"
* * * *
Renfred Tor gestured with his Gunther MP-20. "Move aside, mister. I'll take her up."
The cluster of men and officers on the DropShip's bridge watched Tor with a mixture of shock, fear, and anger. Five of his men had spread out across the bridge, their assault rifles at the ready. Meanwhile, the black-clad sentry who had been standing outside the bridge door groaned and rubbed the back of his head where one of Tor's men had brought him down with a gun butt
The man in the pilot's position was a Tech wearing a black and red dragon-insignia armband, and the deck officer's elevated chair was occupied by a Combine Naval Lieutenant Commander. The man in charge, however, seemed to be the civilian dressed in ornately inlaid and gilt-edged clothing. That one had the fat and sallow-ski
Tor had seen that merchant before. It had been long ago, on Drovahchein II, in the Erit star cluster. He'd known him as Proctor Sinvalie, of House Mailai.
"Yes, we do know one another, you and I," the merchant said, smiling. He stepped forward, and Tor swung the machine pistol to cover him. They'd ordered all their captives to drop their sidearms on the deck when they'd entered, but that merchant's cloak and tunic could hide an arsenal.
"That's far enough. Keep your hands where I can see them!"
The merchant's hands appeared below his deep, loosely-draped cuffs, spread-fingered and empty. He smiled easily, but his eyes were diamond hard. "Easy there, friend. Surely we can come to an amicable agreement, can we not? We have so much to discuss..."
"We've got nothing!" Tor was confused, and not a little frightened. The merchant had a self-assured air about him, a deadly cu
"I arrived with Duke Ricol, of course. His mission here is, shall we say, of great interest to my masters. As was yours."
"You arranged it so Ricol could take my ship! You arranged it with Hendrik's people!"
"Actually, I arranged things with a faction plotting against old Hendrik, people who, will find political advantage in the destruction of the Trellwan Pact They had the data on your jump series, of course. I introduced them to Ricol's man, Singh. It was necessary to have some of Hendrik's warriors involved to make this little charade... more convincing. We couldn't be sure some of them wouldn't be captured."
Sinvalie turned to the Combine commander. "This is Renford Tor, Captain — a business partner of mine. He was Captain of this vessel.
"I AM the Captain of this ship, and you damn well better believe it!" Tor gestured again with the gun. "You will obey my commands, starting now."
"Of course, of course. Don't get excited, friend. Ah, may I produce some identification?"
The MP-20 hovered within centimeters of the merchant's nose. "Slowly. Very, very slowly."
The man's smile deepened, and he reached inside the folds of his thickly draped outer tunic, then brought forth a square of translucent plastic. Tor found himself looking down through layers of color to symbols that floated unsupported within the square's depths.
"ISF, Captain," the man said. "My name... my REAL name, is Captain Yorunabi. Perhaps you've heard of us? We are the investigative arm of the Draconis Combine."
Tor felt totally out of his depth. The ISF was well known, with an evil reputation that extended far beyond the Combine's borders. "I know you, yeah. Kurita's secret police."
"As you wish. I can tell you, Captain, that I am on a highly important mission, that I must get to Luthien as quickly as possible."
"That is NOT where we're going," Tor snapped.
"Captain, please. I understand you are upset over the requisitioning of your vessel. Frankly, you have shown considerable resourcefulness in taking it back." Yorunabi flourished the card. "I think you will grant that I am... shall we say... in a position to reward you well? Take myself and my companions to your starship, and from there, guide us to Luthien. Think, Captain. This one commission could pay you and your crew enough for you to retire in comfort! Such an oportunity does not enter a man's life twice..."
All Tor's life, it seemed, had been a struggle for one more cargo to earn just enough money to pay his expenses or to bribe the next customs agent. The payment this ISF man was offering him for a single passage would make Tor wealthy. His men, he saw, were looking at one another rather than at their prisoners. The offer was tempting. What chance, after all, did the rebels have? Or Grayson Carlyle?
Tor remembered his interrogation, the biting cold as Singh battered him with questions. He remembered Grady, Moran, and Lathe, and his own bitter guilt at having left them behind, the pain at learning they'd been killed. What chance? What chance? The machine pistol wavered, its muzzle dropped toward the deck...
. . . then whipped upward in a grey blur, smashing Torunabi's cheek with a red-smeared slash that tore a scream from the fat man's throat.