DOZENS OF IDENTICAL gray-uniformed workers continue with the repairs and remodeling of the Dragon. Michelle slips between them.

Doug directs the identical humanoids into the chamber at the end of the main corridor. He follows them inside, and the door seals.

She races down the hall from her quarters to the lift.

The elevator crowds with synthoids. She maneuvers to the back corner in time to avoid Doug spotting her among the worker drones. She doubts he would question her. She unbuttons the top two buttons of her jumpsuit. Lacking the same endowment as Amye, she wonders if her exposure will matter to Doug. He steals a boob glance at every opportunity. He lacks the musculature and manly stature of Scott. She doesn’t care much for the reddish-blond hair he spikes up. She knows he wears it short to provide convenient access to his jacking port.

He never turns.

Her thighs cramp from the weird angle she maintains to hunch down lower than the synthoids’ shoulders in the overcrowded cubical. The three-floor drop should be over. I should be married. What if my mother did pay these pirates to kidnap me?

The doors open. She loses track of Doug as more synthoids filter on. She bumps one while working past them onto the cargo deck. Her height works to her advantage as she utilizes the stacks of crates as camouflage. An army of identical synthoids march up the landing ramp—an obstacle to overcome if she reaches it without a crewmember spotting her.

With enough tutelage under Amye, she would learn to add stealth to her combat abilities, but opportunity means grabbing this chance to escape. Even if mother paid these people—how could she?

The humanoids stack crates as if she’s not present.

No Doug.

Australia’s off ship, and Reynard left. It would be better to know where Amye was, and JC might read my panic about escaping, but the telepath’s concerns about Samantha preoccupy her. She reaches a crate five feet from the ramp. The crew trusts me. They risked themselves for me. A risk they wouldn’t have had to take if they would have allowed my marriage. Marriage mandates that my husband protect me. He wouldn’t allow me to be assassinated by the Mokarran. He would want an heir. Mother’s wrong.

Find a UCP officer. Request asylum. I’m a political dignitary requesting asylum.

She reaches the ramp in one stride, dropping through. No sign of any of the crew. Just workers off-loading supplies. Michelle quickens her pace away from the Dragon. She slows, straightening her jumpsuit. All her panic pinches her bladder. I should have peed before I left. I did. I’m not going to make it to a lavatory. I don’t know where they are.

The cargo bay stretches the length of two more Dragons. Move like you belong here. Don’t wet yourself. You’ll draw attention and never explain your presence.

Michelle suppresses her urge to run. She reaches doors. Please lead to a corridor.

She wants to run. Run as fast as her legs will propel her. Someone monitoring the system might be alerted by her—running would set off flags.

Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run. Michelle fights the urge to check every door in the corridor. Walk like you belong. She chooses a door.

Empty.

Incomplete wall panels with exposed wiring conduits give no clue as to what this chamber was designed for. She squeezes her calves together as her bladder pinches again. The next room opens into a series of metal wall frames. She finds herself in an under construction section of the battle cruiser. Likely, it lacks security surveillance, but she knows it lacks an escape.

She returns to the corridor. Any diligent guard who actually monitors this section of the cruiser will quickly wonder why she keeps popping in and out of unfinished rooms.

Return to the Dragon. Learn more. Escape later. She contemplates. No. Without risk I’ll get no reward. I’ve spent too much time already with this crew. Across the corridor, she discovers a wall of lockers. At the end of the changing room are lavatories.

With a lighter step and less nervousness, she marches back into the landing bay. Selecting another corridor, she keeps her “belong here” attitude. Before reaching the corridor the synthoids entered from, she spots a cargo transport. She weaves through the growing number of synthoids. Once the last artificial humanoid removes the last cargo box, the ramp raises. Michelle dives through before it seals.

Her body shivers. The cargo hold lacks heat. She scrambles to her feet. Airtight doors keep the shuttle cargo section from the cockpit.

Michelle twirls around, searching for an escape. If the transport trip takes too long to its next location, I won’t have enough air! Desperation overwhelms her. She rushes to the hatch door to the cockpit. She raises her arm to pound her fist against the clear durasteel window.

Before making contact, she jerks her hand back. She slides down with her back to the wall. If I inform them I’m trapped onboard now, they will report me. I’ll wait until we’re in space.

She curls her toes inside her boots. She opens and closes her toes, attempting to relax. What would Amye do?

After a second of thought: Blast open the door, commandeer the shuttle and fly wherever she could have a drink. No blaster, and I guess I need to learn to pilot a shuttle. So much for knowing all the uses of Darren pronged forks.

Michelle digs her fingernails into the seam of the wall panel next to her. She stares at all the components—she has no idea what function each serves.

Too bad I don’t have Scott’s mechanical skills. I’d just rewire some panel filter to send enough air into the cargo bay.

The gravity adjusts as the shuttle leaves the landing bay. The shift jars her. Stabilizers keep cargo in place, not a stowaway. She closes her eyes. The constant displacement forces her breakfast into her throat. She forces it back down and thrusts the panel sideways into the exposed components behind it. Sparks burn pockmarks into the back of her alabaster skin. She drops the panel.

The inner hatch opens. A crewmember sprays a chemical foam into the exposed panel to prevent a fire.

“What the drazz? How did you get onboard?”

“What’s going on, Ben?” the Osirian pilot calls, unable to leave his station.

“One of the Dragon’s crew got caught back here.”

“Plotting a return to the Independence.”

“No. Please. I’m not part of the Dragon’s crew.”

“You’re not in a UCP uniform.”

“I need asylum. I am a hostage.” Michelle’s voice cracks with fear.

“Do we turn around and land on the Independence?” the pilot asks.

“No. Take me to a planet or another base. If the Dragon’s crew finds I’ve escaped, they’ll kill you to get me back.” She claws at the flight suit of the copilot for effect. She doesn’t fear the crew, nor would they kill these men. “Please.”

“We’re scheduled to return to the docking port on Taygete III. We turn her over to our UCP superiors there.”

“If we head to our destination, your captors won’t suspect you’re on this ship, but still on the Independence.”

“Where’s Taygete III?” Michelle needs to plan on placing a farther distance between her and the crew.

“Everyone forgets the Twin Suns system has a designation,” Ben says.

“Oh.” Michelle doesn’t have to fake her revelation. She only knew the UCP home system as the Twin Suns.

“It’s a desert world with breathable air. The Federation refugees are stockpiling there until their applications into the Riftgate are accepted.” Ben slides back into his seat.

“The Grand Admiral Maxtin won’t let anyone in who’s not employable inside,” the pilot rants.

“The poor girl just escaped forced captivity—she doesn’t need political tirades.” He buckles his harness. “I’m sorry we don’t have a blanket for you.”

“I…I’ll be okay.” Where do I go on Taygete III? I didn’t consider that some of these guys are loyal to Admiral Maxtin. I surrender to the wrong one and I’m right back on the Dragon.

••••••

THE SHUTTLE TOUCHES down on the landing pad. Michelle bolts from her seat on the cockpit step. She slams the meat of her palm against the emergency door release. She slips through the gap, jumping to the concrete floor before the ramp completely lowers. Sprinting from the pad, she chooses a warehouse structure over the central control building as a destination.

Foolish. What am I doing? Michelle reaches the halfway point to the warehouse when intruder alarms scream. Just have them take you back to the Dragon.

She avoids the first loading dock worker attempting to snag her. She bobs and weaves between two more workers. The fourth grabs her waist, lifting her into the air. Legs pumping away, Michelle performs a kata, slapping the man four times before he releases her.

Nimble feet propel her instantly from her landing. All the repeated forms have shaped her stamina. She had no idea her training was already paying off. Armored guards join the foot chase. They close in, weapons raised.