“I’ll never get used to this,” I muttered.

My seatmate looked up from his reader in surprise. “What’s that?”

“Sunset in the east.” I gestured to the thick-paned porthole at my shoulder. “I’ve never been on a widdershins world. It’s throwing off my equilibrium.”

My neighbor looked past me out the window. He was a bookish type, slender and pale as bone, and dressed like money: a tunic of sapphire silk, cream-colored linen breeches and vest embellished with heavy blue brocade. His thin silvery hair, neatly combed and oiled, gave off a ginger scent, and his gray eyes crinkled at the corners as he frowned.

“It’s the desert that bothers me,” he said. “All that red sand.”

I had to agree; in the last evening rays the planet’s dusty surface gleamed like fresh-spilled blood.

“Ah well,” he said cheerfully. “At least it’ll be dark soon.”

As he spoke the sun vanished over the horizon. The thin atmosphere gave up its light in a blink, and the pinkish-grey sky went abruptly black. Scattered pieces of the moon shone their own fractured light down on the desolate landscape. “Doesn’t help,” I muttered.

My seatmate chuckled. Drawing the window shade I offered him my hand. “Ida Geraud.”

“Call me Wil.” His grip was cool and firm, and his smile warm. “What brings you to Tafari, Ida Geraud? You don’t look like a tourist.”

I glanced around the crowded transport at our fellow passengers. They dozed or watched vids or stared blankly into space. They played gamesets and listened to tunes. A few browsed readers like Wil’s. Likely none of them carried embedded weaponry, or a price on their heads.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said.

He grinned. His teeth were perfectly white and perfectly even. “It was meant as one.”

“What about you?” I asked playfully. “Your clothes alone are miles above the pay grade of this place. Your hands have never done a day’s labor. What’s a man of your blood mean by traveling among the base-born like this?”

His smile vanished; he looked down at the reader in his lap. “Postponing the business at hand,” he said stiffly.

“Ah. The destination is not of your choosing.”

“It is the least of several undesirable options.”

“I see.” In my mind something clicked: the slender build and fine delicate features, rich clothes and idle hands, characteristic of a clan wealthy enough and arrogant enough to call themselves Royal. “You’re Willem Koenigen,” I blurted.

He glanced around with a grimace, but no one nearby had heard. “Very perceptive.”

“Well, you’re famous. The first man to mark a sesquicentennial. You could live as long as women do.”

“My fondest dream,” he said bitterly. “Two full centuries of life as a zoo animal.”

“What in the universe are you doing on Tafari? And on a public transport?”

“I wanted the slow road. And the low profile.” He sighed. “It’s a circus every time the Royal shuttle lands. I’m tired of it.”

“You’ve done well enough, if I’m the first to recognize you.”

“It’s over now, though.”

“I promise not to say a word.”

He smiled wearily. “All right.”

“It surprises me, though, that they would let you travel alone like this.”

“Who says I’m alone?”

I gave our fellow passengers another glance. Not one stood out as particularly watchful, or particularly dangerous. “If you’re not, your people are very good.”

“The best.”

Not the best, I knew, or they’d never have seated him next to me. But I couldn’t find them in the crowd.

“All my life they’ve been there,” he said. “Lurking in the shadows, watching my every move. I’m never free of them. Every once in a while, like this evening, I manage to forget for a time. But now the moment is over. I’m their prisoner again.”

He looked despondent. “I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it.

“It’s not important.”

I watched him as he returned his attention to the reader. He looked little more than half his true age; the Royal clan’s legendary genetic tinkering had clearly paid off. A scientific fortune inhabited his every cell. In another life, I might have been tempted.

Instead, I propped my head against the window and slept.

 

“There’s a problem.”

Soft as it was, the voice jerked me awake. It was a woman’s, low and silky but accustomed to command: a bodyguard. I kept my eyes closed.

“What is it?” my seatmate murmured.

“We’re off course.”

“So?”

“Your safety may be at risk.”

“My safety is always at risk,” Wil grumbled. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Be prepared to leave the transport,” she said, and moved away. Wil sighed. Lifting a corner of the window shade I peered out into the blackness.

“I suppose you heard,” he muttered.

“Someone after your blood?”

“Apparently it’s more valuable than I am.”

I squinted up at the glittering moon shards. “We are definitely off course.”

“Is there anything even out here?”

“This is farm country. Agricultural domes all over the place.” I turned on my wrist computer and snagged a satellite feed: a wispy 3D image of the landscape appeared, hovering just above my lap. A worn track down the center of the desert plane represented our route.

“What are those lights?” asked Wil, pointing at a glittering cluster among the low hills to the east.

Data scrolled past my eyes. “Unregistered settlement. Probably our destination.”

“How far are we from the capital?”

The image slid sideways. Our original destination, the planet’s capital city, blazed like the sun beneath its shimmering dome. Wil swore under his breath.

“It’s only about a day’s hike,” I said.

“But there’s no air out there.”

“There’s air. Not much, but you’ll adapt. Even at your age.” I winked at him, and his pallid cheeks reddened. “Anyway,” I added, “I wouldn’t worry about it yet. It might not be you they’re after.”

He stared. I put away the computer and flexed the fingers of my opposite hand. A gleaming blade shot out of my forearm, extending past my fist like an exquisite bayonet. Wil gasped.

“Who are you?”

I grinned at him. “I’m trouble.”

 

The transport rumbled onward as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Most of the passengers slept, and I finally managed to pick out Wil’s bodyguards by their agitation. There were three: a fair, stocky man approaching the century mark; a callow girl; and a woman, likely the owner of the voice I had overheard. She was tall, long-limbed and lean as a panther, with cheekbones like cast iron and raven hair gathered in meticulous cornrows. How she had hidden herself among the sapless tourists, I could not imagine. Then I noticed the burqa at her feet.

“Who is that woman?” I murmured.

Wil glanced up. “That’s Riana. She used to be one of Mother’s top agents. She’s fallen far to be saddled with me.”

“How’s that?”

“She allowed a young cousin of mine to be arrested.” He snorted. “If you ask me, the brat deserved it. But in Mother’s view, no Royal faces consequences for her actions.”

“So Riana has a principle or two alongside those cheekbones.”

He chuckled. “Her honor will be her downfall.”

The bus began to slow, and the bodyguards exchanged nervous glances. Taking advantage of their distraction I edged past Wil into the aisle.

“Where are you going?” he whispered.

“Out. Nice to meet you, Wil. Take care of yourself.”

“Ida, wait!” I ignored him, moving swiftly and silently toward the back of the bus, past rows of sleeping passengers and dormant service bots and into the supply room. Stuffing my pockets with spare oxygen, emergency rations, and the like, I fastened my cloak tight around me and turned the wheel on the hatch.

The cold hit me first, then the hypoxia, icy fists crushing my lungs with each breath. Frigid metal burned my hands as I clung to the back of the transport, and my eyes watered in the parched air. It had been years since I’d worked in such conditions, but eventually my body remembered. The pain in my chest began to subside. Pushing the hatch shut behind me, I switched on my goggles to take a look around.

The shattered moon gave off minimal light. Still, the tech in my eyes showed me a dark shape keeping pace off our stern. A desert crawler, low and fast, favored toy of smugglers and kidnappers on dozens of worlds. It would seat maybe six; if they planned to take away a prisoner, they were working with minimal resources. I scoured the shadows on both sides, but saw no evidence of a second machine.

A ladder by my elbow led to the transport roof. Clinging to the grimy rungs, I made my way up. From the top I could see the approaching dome glittering ahead. If we reached it, our chances of escape grew slim. I had to take out the crawler, and probably reprogram the transport’s guidance system if I wanted to avoid the long walk to the capital. But there was still time. I began to climb back down.

Below me the hatch wheel turned. Throwing myself onto the roof I retreated into the dark. Steel-toed boots rang heavily against the ladder; then a head appeared over the edge, cornrows glistening in the moon-shard light. Riana struggled upwards, gasping in the thin air, pushing a pale, man-sized bundle ahead of her. Heaving her limp burden onto the roof she scrambled up after him, then bent over her unconscious charge and breathed into his mouth and nose. Too fast, I observed; she was beginning to panic.

It was none of my concern. I was not in the business of saving lives, and Royal lives in particular served little purpose. But this one was unique, a cultural and scientific marvel. For him to die like that, no benefit to anyone, didn’t seem right. With a sigh I clambered toward them, oxygen in hand.

“You’ll need this,” I said.

The bodyguard jumped like a startled cat, and an abrupt glare of light stabbed my eyes. “Who the hell are you?” she snarled.

“A friend? No, never mind, I wouldn’t buy that one either.” I waved the oxygen canister. “But if you want him to live, you’ll need this.”

Slowly she lowered her light. I blinked my vision clear. After a moment’s consideration she took the canister and sniffed it, then pressed it to her charge’s face. His eyes fluttered open as he gulped in air.

“You’ll adapt,” I told him. “Give it time.”

He pushed the oxygen away and immediately began to choke. “Slow breaths,” I advised. “Take it easy.”

Struggling, he obeyed. Riana watched, clutching the oxygen can anxiously. Gradually he mastered himself, taking in each patient lungful and letting it out with care.

“All the gods,” he gasped. “It’s cold out here.”

Instantly Riana shrugged out of her vest and offered it to Wil. He pushed her away. “I’m fine,” he snapped. “Don’t treat me like an infant.”

She said nothing, only gazed at him like an adoring but undisciplined dog. I looked away. Over my shoulder the dome had grown huge against the horizon. My time was up.

“Can you get back in there and reprogram the guidance system?” I asked Riana.

“I can,” said Wil.

I looked at him with surprise. “You can?”

“I’m a hundred and fifty-three years old,” he said wryly. “I’ve learned one or two things.”

“Do it, then. I’m going to take out that crawler.”

“What crawler?” said Wil as I stood. “Ida, what crawler?”

Ignoring him I ran to the edge of the roof and leaped off into space.

 

I hit the crawler’s roof on all fours, joints loose to dissipate the impact. The vehicle swerved drunkenly beneath me. Scrabbling for purchase on the smooth surface, I finally caught hold of the periscope. For an instant I considered how nearly it had disemboweled me. Then a hatch creaked open nearby, and I scrambled to my feet.

A figure in mercenary black emerged from the rear of the vehicle. Sturdy and broad-chested, she made her way toward me with smug confidence. Then the front wheel hit a bump and she tumbled over the side with a shriek. I stifled a laugh.

An instant later two more mercs climbed out of the machine. They were leaner, with long simian arms, and they moved across the roof like malevolent chimpanzees. One raised a blaster. With a well-aimed packet of emergency soy nuts I knocked it out of his hand. Unbalanced, he fell, sliding across the slick roof while his long limbs flailed for purchase. In a moment he too was gone.

The remaining merc crouched just out of reach. Over the whine of the crawler’s engine, I heard the transport’s rumble shift in tone. I didn’t dare turn, but by the tension in my opponent’s shoulders I deduced that Wil had gained control of the bus. The merc lunged for me; stepping aside I pulled a vacuum-packed crisis blanket from my pocket, shook it free of its wrapping, and lofted it into the air. Light and strong, it engulfed her like an enormous moth and carried her away in the breeze.

No one else emerged from the hatch. I risked a glance over my shoulder. The transport accelerated away from the mysterious dome, on a course for its original vector. With a surge of triumph, I scrambled to the hatch and dropped through.

The cramped cabin stank of canned air and rancid sweat. Six sturdy chairs faced forward, in two rows with a single narrow aisle between them. Safety belts danced as the crawler jostled over rough ground. From the fore, a featherweight driver gaped at me for a terrified instant before quickly turning back to his instruments. Across the aisle a second figure rose from its seat and started ponderously toward me.

She was huge, more animal than human, with shaggy red hair spilling across a low protuberant brow and immense freckled hands brandishing a leaden club the size of my thigh. I crouched, ready to spring, as her massive arms unfolded. She struck with unlooked-for speed: her club whistled narrowly past my head as I ducked, and slammed into the bulkhead with a deafening ring. As she lifted the weapon again I scrambled between her legs and came up with my blade pressed to the driver’s throat.

“Stand down,” I shouted. “I want answers, not corpses.”

The driver squeaked. The giant scowled. The crawler’s engines roared in the quiet. Annoyed, I set my blade more firmly against the driver’s quivering carotid.

“What are you after?” I demanded. “Who sent you?”

With a snarl the giant lumbered forward. Mentally I checked my pockets, wishing for something heavy to throw. Then I checked the driver. My free hand found his blaster; as the giant swung her weapon toward me, I drew the gun and shot her in the face.

The noise resounded through the compact space like a barrage. The giant staggered, half her head blown to bits. But the club sailed on through its arc, unstoppable as an army. At the last instant I leaped aside, only to be splattered in blood and gore as the driver, strapped in his chair, took the unimpeded impact.

Unpiloted, the crawler soon drifted to a stop. The silence echoed in my ears. Foul-smelling smoke rose from the instrument panel where the giant’s club had landed. Electronics popped and sizzled. Wiping the blood from my face, I glanced around the cabin. A courier packet stuck out from beneath the driver’s seat; I transferred its contents to my pockets and hurried out of the machine.

The bus waited nearby. Riana, flashlight in hand, watched me from the hatchway.

“How many?” she called.

“Five,” I gasped, gulping air.

She frowned. I could almost hear her thinking: assessing my candor, perhaps, or calculating her debt. Then, reaching down from the hatch she clasped my hand and pulled me aboard. “I still don’t trust you,” she said.

“Fair enough,” I answered, and slumped into the nearest chair to sleep.

 

Bright daylight woke me, and pins and needles in my arm where my head had rested. Outside the window the landscape had turned hilly, sheer red stone rising out of the dust. With a cracking of joints I extricated myself from the chair and stood.

“Going somewhere?” Wil yawned from across the aisle. Bus travel had taken its toll on him too: his clothes were mussed, his face haggard, and his hair refused to lie flat as it had the day before.

“Nowhere special,” I answered. Around us the tourists stirred and stretched, apparently oblivious to the evening’s excitement. Riana had resumed her burqa, and kept watch beside the rear hatch. The other bodyguards were out of sight; in the cockpit, I surmised, minding the hardware.

“We’re nearly there,” said Wil. “There’s a carriage waiting for me. If you’d like a ride anywhere, you’d be welcome.”

“Whoever employed those mercs will be waiting at the terminal. I don’t plan to be aboard when we get there.”

“All right,” he said doubtfully. “If you think that’s best.”

“Let me ask you something.” Checking my pockets, I drew out a small, highly polished stone with a colorful etching on one side. “Do you recognize this?”

He took the stone, and his already pale features turned white as death. “You found it where?”

“The mercenaries had that among their orders.”

“What were the orders?”

“They’re in code.” I took the flimsy from another pocket and passed it over. He frowned at it, his eyes darting across the page.

“All the gods,” he murmured, rubbing his forehead with a shaking hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“This seal belongs to my mother’s social rival, the matriarch of the Imperial clan.”

“Your mother’s rival could easily gain by your death.”

He shook his head and passed me the coded flimsy. “The orders say to leave the seal.”

“But who would kill you and frame your mother’s rival?”

He buried his face in his hands and I knew the answer. “Would she do it?”

“Murder her own son?” He shook his head, not in denial but in despair. Pity stirred in my gut. My own mother had hated me openly, but never for a moment wanted me dead.

“Why are you on Tafari, Wil?”

“I was to be married. It was all arranged.”

“An arranged marriage? At your - forgive me - at your age?”

His mouth twisted into a contorted smile. “She tried it before. I eloped instead.”

“And now?”

“I’ve outlived two husbands. I’m tired of fighting.”

I looked at him with new respect. The offspring of a clan like the Royals were expected to form unions for the benefit of the clan, to produce children - or not - according to the guidance of their elders. A valuable specimen like Wil was not supposed to marry for love, nor to enter non-procreational relationships. That sort of thing was for peons like me.

“What do you know of your bride?” I asked him finally.

He shrugged. “She’s an old school friend. I like her well enough.”

“That’s something, I suppose.”

“Her family is wealthy, and looking to extend the longevity of their male heirs. They paid my mother a good price for me.”

“So who gains by your death?”

“Mother.” He rubbed his eyes hard, as if trying to scrape away a vision. “She possesses several samples of my DNA. My death would increase their value substantially.”

“She would kill you for money.”

“For control of the next generation, more likely. If I die childless, no one would begrudge her a clone or two. Their bride price would be a hundred times mine, and she wouldn’t have to share it with a daughter-in-law.”

“You poor bastard.”

“We’re arriving,” Riana interrupted from the aisle behind us. Her eyes glittered in the shadow of her burqa. “Be ready.”

Wil looked at me. “Maybe I ought to get off early with you.”

“Your carriage is waiting,” Riana insisted. “You’ll be safe there.”

Wil passed her the stone. Her eyes narrowed.

“You will not be safe there,” she said at last.

I nodded toward the cockpit. “Do you trust them?”

Slowly Riana shook her head. “Rand is loyal to the keeper of the purse, and Mali is new.”

“So he’s in on it, and you and the girl are expendable.”

“I fear that is likely.”

“Will you help us?” said Wil.

He looked at me without entreaty, a simple request free of expectation or demand, yet somehow more persuasive than the most exacting order.

 

“All right,” I said as the transport began to slow. “It’s now or never.”

 

We left the transport just inside the capital dome, and joined the throng filling the main road. Other than a few odd looks as we leaped from the bus, we attracted no notice. Every color, every size, every mode of dress was represented on that road: businesspeople, tourists, cowled Inarans on their way to temple, locals on their way to work. A group of Laorists in burqas like Riana’s hurried past us with herb-laden baskets on their arms, tittering among themselves like schoolchildren. Two towering, half-nude Rasaris ambled along the verge, their burnished torsos gleaming in the haze. A dozen languages danced in my ears. The thick dome air had an overused flavor, stale smoke and body odor overlaid with dust and the fry-oil smell of the transport as it rumbled into the distance. I rubbed my nose in distaste.

The road widened into a market square. Rough tents sprang up among the mud-brick huts of the city, and merchants sang out enticements to the crowd. Alluring scents of alien spices issued from stalls offering food and drink. Gradually, as the mass of humanity cloaked us in its color and noise, I began to relax. Then a fight broke out ahead, between a hulking sumo with elaborate facial tattoos and a deranged family of yellow-haired Minoats. With renewed vigilance I guided my party around them.

“We can’t stay in the open long,” I murmured to Wil.

“What do you recommend?”

“Tell me about your bride.”

He glanced at me with surprise. “Leia Ster, of the Reiziger clan. She works at the Academy.”

“Do you trust her?”

“She has nothing to gain by my death. In fact, her family loses their investment if I die on their soil.”

“Close enough. Remind me never to cross your mother.”

 

The Academy was Tafari’s crown jewel. A dazzling cluster of bluestone towers situated on a hill at the center of town, it housed some of the finest technological minds in the galaxy. Every scientist and engineer of any renown had studied there, and half the artists too. I could just see its highest pinnacles over the plainer structures of the market road; they teased the eye like a mirage. Riana gazed at them in wonder.

“That’s our destination?” she breathed.

“That’s it,” I said. “The Reiziger clan’s seat of power. I’ll say this for your mother, Wil, she has some lofty aspirations.”

He muttered something under his breath. I clapped him on the shoulder.

“Come on, then. We’ll be there in time for lunch.” And maybe, I thought, a little something for my troubles.

Just then a troop of armed mercenaries jogged past us through the crowd, black boots kicking up fresh flurries of pungent red dust. They made for the dome gate at speed, where they set up a hasty blockade. One of them muttered into a communicator, while others ran probing eyes over the crowd.

“Time to vanish,” I said, urging Wil and Riana into a narrow side street. More soldiers began to fill the main road behind us. Complaints rose from merchants shouldered aside, commuters and tourists thwarted. The narrow street opened into a wider, more meandering way, faced with factory store-fronts and peopled with workers in rough clothes. Several cast suspicious glances toward Wil’s finery. Shrugging out of my cloak I draped it over his shoulders. My own clothes - tunic, vest, and breeches in unremarkable browns and grays - would draw no comment.

“Hang onto that burqa,” I told Riana as she made to disrobe.

“I can’t fight like this.”

“If we aren’t spotted, you won’t have to.”

Grudgingly she obeyed. I adjusted the cloak’s hood to shield Wil’s face, and steered my charges toward the distant shimmering towers. When the road turned away, I found another; street by street, block by block, we advanced on our destination.

As we approached the outskirts of the Academy’s more fashionable environs, the crowd around us abruptly parted. A troop of mercenaries loitered at the crossroad, staring fiercely at each passerby. One caught sight of Wil as he peered out from under his hood: glancing down at her wrist computer and up again, she opened her mouth to shout.

In a single fluid move, Riana scooped a fist-sized stone from the road and flung it in the merc’s face. With a howl of pain she fell. Her associates turned toward her, taking their eyes from the road.

“Run!” Riana hissed.

Grabbing Wil’s arm I bolted back the way we had come. Shouts filled the air, and the shriek of blaster fire. Bystanders screamed. I risked a glance backwards as we dove into the shelter of an alley. The mercs swarmed from their post, their weapons trained on Riana’s inert form lying in the dust. Not one of them looked our way.

“Is she dead?” Wil asked. Tears streamed down his face as I urged him onward.

“Probably.”

“Why? Why did she do it?”

“She’s your bodyguard, that’s her job. And her choice.”

“What about you?” He looked at me with fury. “Why are you still here?”

“I don’t know,” I said, losing patience. “This place has me all turned around. Now get moving!”

 

The uproar faded in the distance behind us. I pulled Wil’s hood up over his face, and led him back into the protective anonymity of crowded streets. He leaned on my arm like an old woman. The Academy towers wavered in the distance, half hidden in the afternoon’s rising dust.

A slim brown girl moved toward us through the throng, a black scarf bound across her eyes. She held a begging bowl out in front of her and cried for alms in a plaintive voice. Noticing her, Wil stopped.

“It’s Mali,” he whispered.

The second bodyguard, I recalled, the girl I had thought expendable. “What’s she doing?”

“What if she figured out what’s going on? She could be in danger too.”

“Or she could be in on it after all.”

She reached us then and pushed aside the scarf. “Lord Koenigen,” she whispered. “Come with me. Your life is at risk.”

“Come with you where?” I asked sharply.

Mali looked at me with guileless eyes. “We have a safehouse.” She turned to Wil. “The carriage man was a known assassin, and there were others in the crowd besides. Hurry now, they’re looking for you.”

Wil glanced at me. “We’ll come,” he said.

“I don’t like it,” I muttered.

“She’s my bodyguard, remember? It’s her job to look after me.”

“Unless she’s taken another job.”

Mali opened her cloak to reveal a heavy blaster in her belt. Her slender form radiated challenge. “We thank you for your service, stranger,” she said. “But Lord Koenigen is my responsibility. Come with us if you choose, or go your own way, but do not interfere.”

Small as she was, she had quickness and a wiry strength; she would put up a nasty fight. I glanced at Wil, ready to leave him if he asked me. But he stared at the dirt between us, blank-faced and resigned. I would get no help from him.

“I’ll come,” I said uneasily.

Mali let her cloak fall shut, and with a hand on Wil’s arm guided him into yet another alley. I followed with reluctance. The back of my neck tingled as the hairs stood on end, and my every instinct screamed at me to run. But I couldn’t leave him now. I had to see it through.

“Riana is dead,” Wil told the girl.

“I wish she had come to us,” said Mali. “She was too cautious with her friends, and not enough with the enemy.”

“The enemy is your employer,” I said. “So why are you helping us?”

She looked around, a little too much innocence in her pixie face. “My duty is to Lord Koenigen.”

She stopped then, and drew aside a curtain hiding a low arched doorway. Wil stumbled back with a grunt, just as the pop of a stunner sizzled through the air. I grabbed for him as he fell, but the stunner fired again: my chest exploded with pain, and the world went dark.

 

I woke bound hand and foot on a gritty packed-dirt floor. My chest ached. The smell of dust and damp lay heavy on the night-cool air, overlaid with the bright sting of iron. Nearby someone paced, impatient footfalls thudding dully on the compact ground. Cautiously I opened my eyes.

I lay among a heap of old crates in a close windowless room not much larger than the bus. A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling. Its sickly light illuminated a lone stocky figure marching back and forth across the narrow space, glinting gold in his hair as he moved. He turned, and I recognized Rand, the final bodyguard: the man Riana had described as loyal to the purse.

For not the first time in my career, I thanked my younger self for having her blade implanted. With a flick of my wrist I cut through the cords that bound me, and noiselessly climbed to my feet. Rand continued his anxious pacing. Beyond him, in the center of the feeble ring of light, I found Wil.

He lay naked on a table, so still and pale I might have thought him dead if not for the stirring of his chest as he breathed. Thick cord bound his wrists and ankles. A tube snaked from his arm, dripping blood into a clear vessel on the floor. More than a liter had already been collected. Cold rage bloomed in my gut; I had come too far to watch him die now.

Fortunately I was in my element. In silence and shadow I moved, pacing alongside the restless bodyguard. Calm like darkness settled over me: no eye could see me, nor weapon pierce my flesh. Nearing my target I raised my blade, poised like a viper to strike.

A knock sounded on the door. I dropped behind the nearest crate as Rand turned, one hand on the stunner in his belt.

“Who’s there?” he growled.

“It’s me,” a female voice hissed through the door.

“Mali?” He strode past me without a glance. The latch rattled and the door creaked open. “What are you -”

The door burst wide and slammed against the wall; Rand’s voice cut off with a gurgle. He staggered backwards into my view, grappling with a gleaming blade that strained for his throat. Its wielder, a rangy, broad-shouldered mercenary, twisted free of his grip and thrust her weapon home. Rand sank to the ground, the hot iron scent of his blood searing the chill air. The merc wiped her knife on his vest as her eyes scoured the dim-lit room. I froze in place, a harmless shadow; her penetrating gaze passed over me once, twice, and finally withdrew. Satisfied she was unobserved, she crossed to Wil’s side and flicked on her wrist communicator.

“Subject located,” she said. “Just where the prisoner said he’d be.”

“Status?” a tinny voice replied.

“Still breathing.”

“Terminate,” said the voice. “And make it quick. This job is already a day overdue.”

“Yes, Commander.” She switched off the communicator and raised her knife. The viper once more, I struck, thrusting my own blade between her skull and her spine. She died without a sound, collapsing like an empty sack. I kicked her out of the way.

A purple bruise flowered across Wil’s chest where the stunner had hit him. I pulled the tube from his arm and tore a strip of fabric from my sleeve to bind the wound. Pressing two fingers to his throat I felt his pulse: weak but steady his heart beat on, clinging stubbornly to life. Relieved, I crossed to the open door and peered out into the alley.

The dome overhead glowed a diffuse orange, reflecting the perpetual light of the sleepless city. The moon shards shone weakly in the east. Somewhere a stray animal yapped in desolation. Nearby, nothing stirred. The night lay still and quiet upon the dusty streets. I pulled the door shut and quickly examined our surroundings.

The room had once served as a warehouse; prying the lid from a decaying crate I found machine parts rendered obsolete a decade ago. More lately, it had been made into a comfortable safehouse. Portable rations and bottled water stood neatly on shelves across the back of the room. A pair of cloaks, one of them mine, lay heaped on a chair. I stuffed the pockets with supplies and swung my cloak onto my shoulders. Then I cut Wil free. He moaned softly but did not wake. Wrapping him in his bodyguard’s cloak, I heaved him onto my back.

The alley remained empty. In the distance, the topmost tower of the Academy shone like a beacon in the gloom.

I made for it like a comet to the sun.

 

Before long Wil began to struggle. I let him slide to the ground, propped up against a wall. He groaned.

“You’re all right.” I dug a packet of high-iron rations from my pocket. “You’ve lost some blood. You’ll need these.”

“What happened?” He plucked at the unfamiliar cloak. “Where are my clothes?”

“Probably sold on the street. That’s what I would have done. Here.” I tore open the packet and handed it to him.

He took the packet, and I watched the street as he ate. The thrill of battle lingered in my blood; in spite of the ache in my chest and the weariness of my limbs, I remained alert. But nothing living moved within hearing. Only the rumble of air recyclers disturbed the quiet night.

Foil rustled as Wil crumpled the empty packet into a ball. “Mali did this?”

“And the other one. Rand. Just like Riana said.” I sat down beside him in the wall’s shadow. “They’d have drained you dry and left me to take the blame.”

“But you stopped them.”

“Sort of.” As briefly as I could I told him what had happened. When I had finished, he sat quietly, rubbing the bandage on his arm. I passed him a bottle of water.

“Who are you, Ida Geraud?” he asked.

“Hell of a time for that question.”

“Indulge me.”

I smiled, grateful for the concealing dark. “I’m an assassin.”

He choked, sputtered, and began to laugh. “If Mother only knew.”

“I don’t take jobs like yours,” I retorted. “Not anymore.”

“Instead you keep saving my life.”

I glanced to the west. “This whole planet’s backwards.”

“This is backwards? What makes someone decide to kill people for a living?”

“Most of them deserve it.”

“And I don’t?”

“As far as I know. But maybe you eat children and torture small animals in your spare time. In that case I might be persuaded.”

“Someone was persuaded.”

“Some people have no principles.”

“Your honor will be your downfall,” he said, mocking.

“I’m no Riana. And you should be grateful. You’d be dead now if it wasn’t for me.”

“You’re right, I would. I am grateful.”

A silent moment passed. He drank his water. I watched the dome for traces of dawn.

“What brought you to Tafari?” he asked. “A job?”

“Actually, I came to get away from that life for a while. Tafari’s a good place to disappear.”

“Disappear from what?”

I sat back against the cool bricks and considered what to tell him. I’d been hired to take out a minor warlord, only to discover that my employer was the one with the red in his ledger - slavery, genocide - and the warlord was her planet’s last hope for freedom. I returned his cash and cut his throat.

His daughter was not amused.

“Principles,” I said finally.

He laughed. The western sky brightened a speck.

“We should go,” I said. “Can you walk?”

With my help he struggled to his feet. “I’ll try,” he said, leaning heavily on my arm. “I’m not used to going barefoot.”

“It’s all right,” I told him. “Grandmother, let me help you.”

 

The sun climbed steadily as we traversed the last few miles to the Academy. It gleamed off the bluestone towers and sparkled in the dust that flew before the brooms of vigorous street-sweepers. Wil clung to my arm, limping with every step. With neither crowd nor night to shield us, we made an easy mark; I studied doorways, rooftops, and alleyways as we passed, but no enemy emerged.

The road opened into a market square. A handful of smaller roads spilled into it, at this hour still little used. At the far end, a score of guards flanked the broad white steps that led to the Academy’s main gate. By reputation they were unarmed, ceremonial, but I suspected they could defend their post competently if called upon.

The market itself came gradually to life around us. Every flicker of movement caught my eye as merchants began setting out their wares: bolts of vivid fabrics, fine leather goods, tools and kitchenware and luxurious foodstuffs of every kind and style. Early shoppers and unhurried workers emerged from buildings and side streets and made their way among the stalls. Someone nearby brewed coffee; I savored the aroma on my tongue as I watched the growing crowd for signs of trouble.

“Ida,” said Wil. “I need to rest.”

“We’re almost there.”

“Please.”

Reluctantly I eased him to the ground. He looked like a beggar in the daylight, exhausted and filthy, his sparse hair standing on end like a madman’s. Silver stubble dusted his chin. The borrowed cloak, made for a stockier man, swallowed his thin shoulders and left his spindly legs exposed almost to the knee. He slipped one hand into its folds and rubbed his chest.

“It hurts,” he complained.

“Stunners can leave a nasty bruise.” I patted my own aching sternum in sympathy. “I’m sure your bride will have something for the pain.”

He nodded wearily.

“Come on.” I offered him my hand. “We can’t sit here in the open like this.”

Together we got him back on his feet, though he gritted his teeth in pain. I slipped his arm across my shoulders and we lurched onwards through the increasing hubbub of the market. Well-dressed patrons and tradespeople frowned as we passed. Someone’s dog barked viciously. But they were only civilians; I saw nothing more dangerous than disapproval in their gaze.

The high wall of the Academy loomed taller as we neared, towering smooth and windowless overhead. More guards patrolled along the rampart. The wide iron gate stood open and welcoming. People streamed in and out, some in ordinary clothes, others in the striking multi-colored robes of scholars. Through the throng I caught a glimpse of lush green foliage inside.

“Do you think they’ll let us in looking like this?” I asked Wil, only half joking.

He grunted in response. His face was bathed in sweat, despite the cool morning. Alarmed, I stopped and grasped him by both shoulders.

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. His breath came in ragged gasps. I glanced toward the steps, where the guards watched us with careful vigilance. My own heart began to pump in double-time.

“Just a little farther,” I urged.

Wil shook his head. “I can’t.”

“You have to. We’re so close.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

His knees gave way, and he collapsed into my arms, limp as a sack of grain. Frozen in disbelief I held him, clutched to my chest like a lover or a child. Then, as the world began to turn again, I heaved him over my shoulder and staggered on towards the gate.

A shout went up from among the guards. A portion left their posts and flowed down the white steps, hands outstretched to offer aid. A sea of blue and silver, they surrounded us. Strong arms lifted away my burden, voices rushing in my ears; like a tidal wave they crashed over me, and I was lost.

 

I washed up alone, in a plush sitting room somewhere along the eastern wall. Tall windows overlooked the Academy proper, where scholars in their garish robes scurried among the bluestone columns. A hologram of fire crackled without warmth in a square column of glass behind me. A bowl of hothouse flowers on the mantle gave off a cloying, overripe odor.

Across the room the door opened, and a petite, dark-skinned woman stepped inside. Her crimson robe trailed behind her on the floor. Shutting the door she regarded me with a detached expression on her round, childlike face.

“Lady Ida Geraud,” she said.

I flinched. “You know me.”

She inclined her head formally. Dark eyes glittered beneath an impassive brow. “You’ve provided services to my family before.”

I scowled at the sham of a fire, craving a heap of logs to kick, sparks flying and charcoal crumbling to ash. Instead the cold flame taunted me from its cage.

“He’s dead, isn’t he.”

Leia Ster inclined her head again.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to turn over the bowl of expensive flowers and cut the soft chairs to ribbons. I wanted to pummel the unfeeling woman before me until she cried. But I had long since learned better than to give full vent to rage. Concealing the bulk of my agitation, I spat expressively on the carpet.

Leia Ster remained unmoved.

“Why am I still here?” I asked her.

“Wil was an old and dear friend of mine.”

“He told me.”

“These years have been a gift. An ordinary man would have left us decades ago. He had the benefit of his clan’s research. But his heart -” She paused, a flicker of emotion in her eyes. “The best science in the galaxy can only do so much.”

In a rush the fight went out of me. My anger evaporated; I leaned against the cool glass chimney, watching the fraudulent fire dance. “After all we went through. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“Wil’s body betrayed him in the end,” she said. “But before that, you saved his life. You foiled powerful enemies.” Her mouth curved in a humorless smile. “You defeated the Royal clan.”

“For all the good it did.”

“I would like to ask your services again.”

I stared at her. Her placid face gave nothing away.

“I shouldn’t be here.” I picked up my cloak from the chair where I’d flung it. “Wil’s dead. He doesn’t need me anymore.”

“He’s not the only one.” With a tap of a finger she switched on her wrist computer, then extended her hand to me. Reluctantly I took it. A tingle of energy passed between us, and my own device switched itself on.

“Tamik Astra of Idria,” she said, as the face of a solemn dark-haired girl materialized above my hand. “She was meant to begin here at the Academy a year ago, but her family’s enemies make travel dangerous for her.” The image shimmered, becoming a fierce-looking man with a scarred cheek and a scraggly beard. “Ander Loris, conducting physiology research in the blackstone mines of Cambaria, was betrayed by his sponsor and remains there as a slave. Suranne Reik -”

I switched off the display before the image could change again. “I get your point.”

“I know what fees you command to kill. But killing is easy, compared to what I’m asking.”

I snorted in response. She wasn’t wrong.

“Your compensation would adjust appropriately. Will you help?”

She spoke in the same frank, undemanding manner that Wil had used to persuade me. Repulsed, I turned away. Through the high windows the sun, still climbing, shone in my eyes. I scowled at it, both of us in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I’m not in the business of saving lives, I reminded myself. Or do I have that backwards too?

I turned from the window to give Leia Ster my reply.

 

 

 

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