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  She looked up again. She felt very insecure, despite her assurance of his affection. “That is, if you wished to bond with me, one day.”

  He felt her vulnerability, and smiled with pure affection. He touched her cheek with his fingertips and bent to press his forehead against hers. “There is nothing I wish more,” he whispered. “Except that I could wish you were only an aristocrat and not an emperor’s child. I am not ambitious of political power, but it would be intimated that power prompted my interest in you.”

  She slid her arms around him, shyly, and pressed close. “Those who know you would not think that, and the opinion of enemies is never important.”

  He laughed. He held her close and rocked her against him. He laid his cheek against her dark hair and closed his eyes, drinking in the floral fragrance that clung to her body.

  “I envy Madeline,” she said softly. “It must be poignant, to carry the child of a beloved mate.”

  “Yes.” He let out a strained breath. “I should like, very much, to breed with you,” he whispered in her ear.

  She caught her breath and shivered, just a little. The mating cycle in females was less intense than in Cehn-Tahr males, and usually only initiated by mating itself. But she felt an intense longing all the same. She felt needs that she had never contemplated in her young life when Chacon held her.

  His big hands smoothed down her back, bringing her even closer. A soft groan passed his lips.

  She rubbed her head against his chest and made a low, rumbling sound, deep in her throat.

  He buried his face in her throat, his lips rough against the soft flesh. He was consumed with fevers, with aching needs. He bent and lifted her off the floor. His eyes, as they met hers, were flaming.

  “Put her down,” Dtimun said calmly, from the doorway.

  Chacon and Lyceria looked at him blankly, frozen in the moment.

  “Put her down,” Dtimun repeated firmly, although his eyes were green with fond amusement. “This is not the time.”

  Chacon looked at the submissive female in his arms and groaned.

  Lyceria peered at Dtimun from calming features, and a wry little smile touched her lips. “Could you be persuaded to leave the hotel for a few days?” she asked amusedly.

  He glowered at her. “The emperor would put my head on a stick and have vids made of it,” he replied.

  She laughed out loud, the idea was so preposterous.

  Chacon set her back on her feet, with an amused, but strained, expression. “Since he will not leave, we must behave with decorum,” he sighed.

  “There must be a bonding,” Dtimun reminded them. “And we are at war.”

  They both grimaced.

  “That being said, I do understand,” he added gently.

  “I suppose you do,” Lyceria agreed.

  Chacon chuckled. “Perhaps we should remain in company, for the time being,” he told Lyceria with a new and delighted knowledge of her. “We would not want to risk Dtimun’s head.”

  Lyceria studied him with amusement. “No. Although I very much doubt his assessment of the consequences,” she teased.

  He gave her a cold, meaningful look, and she cleared her throat.

  “There are news vids about the latest skirmish between your troops and ours,” Dtimun told Chacon with dancing green eyes.

  Chacon burst out laughing. “I trust my troops are winning?” he taunted.

  “Against the vanguard of the Cehn-Tahr?” Dtimun chuckled. “Amusing.”

  Chacon took Lyceria’s hand closely in his, and enjoyed her soft flush. “Perhaps there are better programs to view,” he commented, glancing past Dtimun at Madeline, who was talking to Sfilla in the suite’s living room beyond the balcony. “I think your mate will not like your choice of programs.”

  Dtimun glanced at Madeline with warm, hungry eyes. “Then a nature special about the galots might suffice to amuse her,” he commented. He laughed. “As usual, the researchers have gained very little information on the species. The vid is full of fabrications.”

  “That is because the galots consume research teams who land on their home planet,” Lyceria murmured.

  Dtimun motioned them into the room and turned on the nature vid feed. He was still smiling when Madeline joined them.

  She sat down next to Dtimun on the wide chaise and gaped at the screen. There was a depiction of a galot screaming in some odd cat howls which, the show’s host explained, was how the great cats conversed with one another.

  She looked up at Dtimun with her eyebrows almost meeting her hairline. “Has this guy ever actually seen a galot, you think?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “I was wondering the same thing.”

  Chacon, who had no familiarity with the species, was puzzled. “Wakken on our planet communicate in such a fashion,” he commented, naming a sort of giant wolf.

  “Galots are, shall we say, somewhat more sophisticated in their forms of communication,” Madeline told him.

  “Yes, they communicate with researchers by eating them,” Lyceria told Chacon with evident glee. “Which is why this vid flasher is fabricating his conclusions.”

  Dtimun cocked his head and studied the human flash journalist. He shook his head. “They would not consume this one.”

  “No?” Madeline asked, fascinated. “Why not?”

  “Because he is Terravegan,” Lyceria commented.

  Madeline and Chacon exchanged curious glances.

  “He is a vegetarian, as most of the non-military humans are,” Dtimun told them, smiling. “No galot will eat a human who consumes only vegetation. He would consider the taste offensive.”

  “Well, I know one thing,” Madeline commented. “If I ever set foot in the primary Eridanus planetary system, I’m becoming a vegan before I get off the ship!”

  And they all laughed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BETWEEN THEM, DTIMUN and Chacon had gone through every contact they had, trying to locate the operatives that Chan Ho had sent after Chacon. There were many rumors, but no facts. They could only learn that the kidnapping was to take place soon, and that the operatives were already in place.

  Madeline had one contact of her own, and she led the two alien commanders to a shady arms dealer in the back room of a gambling shop. But the contact knew nothing. He did, however, seem to notice the direction they took when they left him. And he accessed a private vid channel shortly thereafter.

  “It’s so frustrating,” Madeline muttered as they walked. “Somebody in Benaski Port must know something they could tell us.”

  “Such information comes at a price,” Chacon mused. “But I agree, we cannot even find someone to bribe for intel.”

  “Perhaps your new friend has a contact,” Dtimun said suddenly, turning to Madeline. “He knows people here quite well.”

  “You mean Mardol?” Madeline asked. She pursed her lips. “That’s not a bad idea. We could ask him.”

  They took a shuttle to the hotel district, but there was, of all things, a traffic jam. They exited the shuttle and anticipated a long walk to the hotel. Madeline’s expression was weary.

  “There is a shortcut to your hotel across this bridge,” Chacon said, anticipating Dtimun’s reluctance to let Madeline walk so far in her rapidly deteriorating condition. The pregnancy was advancing quickly, and the pain and fatigue were greatly intensified. She couldn’t hide it.

  Dtimun frowned. “It might be unwise to move along such an isolated path.”

  “It might be more unwise to let your mate walk so far here,” Chacon said, indicating Madeline’s strained face.

  “I can carry her,” Dtimun said easily.

  Madeline glared up at him. “I can walk,” she said shortly. “I’m not an invalid. I’m just pregnant.”

  “Very
pregnant,” Dtimun murmured with soft golden eyes. He felt great pride in her condition, and the way she carried herself.

  She saw that. It fascinated her. She managed a grin. “The sky route it is, then. Is there an accelerator up there?”

  “I believe so,” Chacon said. “If it works.”

  So many things in Benaski Port that were supposed to work, didn’t, Madeline thought amusedly. But perhaps this one was. The weather was being badly managed. The heat of the asteroid in its dome was stifling. She felt it more because of her condition.

  They took a lifter up to the top of the building and found, to their dismay, that the accelerator pad was, indeed, out of order.

  “It is still closer to go this way than to attempt the path through the traffic and crowds below,” Chacon said.

  “I agree,” Dtimun seconded. He glanced at Madeline with some concern.

  “Lay on, McDuff,” she taunted. “I’m perfectly fit, I am.”

  “McDuff?” Chacon asked, frowning.

  “A human idiom,” Dtimun said with an affectionate glance at Madeline. “It means...!”

  He broke off as an explosion went off just in front of them as they walked across a rooftop that was empty except for a square weather unit barely adequate to provide cover to all three of them.

  With lightning reflexes, Dtimun picked Madeline up and ran to the only cover available, closely followed by Chacon.

  “A sniper!” Madeline exclaimed breathlessly when they were behind the unit. “That was an explosive sensor pack, and it’s a miracle he misjudged the distance. I’ll bet he’s using an emerillium psyoscillilator to program it. Those things are outdated, but some assassins still swear by them.”

  Before Chacon could question her intimate knowledge of such a detail, another round exploded on the other side of the unit.

  Of all the bad luck, she muttered to herself. It was unbelievable that three seasoned warriors could be caught out in the open with only a small block weather control unit between them and a determined sniper. It would not be possible to reach the window of the hotel before they were picked off. Even a champion sprinter would not survive the open area with the Rojoks’ perfected targeting tech.

  Madeline muttered under her breath. The growth spurt was painful and a little frightening, but being unarmed was worse. “If we only had a gun,” she grumbled.

  “I do have a chasat,” Chacon mused. “However, it would do us little good against a distant sniping emplacement.”

  “Indeed,” Dtimun agreed, his concerned gaze covertly on Madeline.

  She remembered something all at once. She turned to the commander. “Can you contact Lyceria mentally?”

  “Of course,” he replied. “Why?”

  “I need you to tell her to get Sfilla to go to Mardol and ask to borrow his sniper kit.”

  His eyes smiled. “I begin to understand the old fellow’s assessment of your battle skills,” he said. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, opened them and nodded. “Lyceria is sending Sfilla now to ask Mardol for the sniper kit. She will bring the sniper kit to the window,” he said after a minute.

  “A sniper kit?” Chacon asked. “I must tell you, I have no experience with it.”

  “Nor do I,” Dtimun returned.

  “Then of what use is it?”

  “Wait and see.”

  Only a few minutes passed until Sfilla appeared at the window with old Mardol, who was carrying the heavy weapon case. He peered out the window and argued with her.

  Dtimun closed his eyes. Sfilla took the case from the old warrior and balanced it on the windowsill. Dtimun nodded toward it, and the case suddenly sped down to the roof and moved like a snake across the distance until he had it in hand...

  “I’d love to be able to do that,” Madeline mused. She turned to the case, flipped it open and quickly assembled the sniper rifle. “Sir, may I borrow the power pack from your chasat?” she asked Chacon when she had it assembled.

  He removed the power pack and handed it to her, his eyebrow ridges arching when she snapped it home in the power core compartment. “You are familiar with the weapon,” he concluded.

  She grinned. “When I was eight years old, I was placed in a forward commando unit as a sniper. I was undefeated in competition within my entire division.”

  She tried to lift the rifle and suddenly felt her strength diminish as another growth spurt tautened her whole body.

  “You can balance it on my shoulder,” Dtimun offered.

  She shook her head, fighting to breathe. “It wouldn’t work, sir,” she said respectfully. “It has to be a stationary support. Something that won’t breathe,” she added mischievously.

  “She carries your child and still addresses you as ‘sir’?” Chacon commented.

  “A problem which I have labored unsuccessfully to resolve,” Dtimun replied with a wry glance at Madeline.

  He hit the preformed stone structure with his fist, and sent the material flying. He had made an indentation in it which would accommodate the underbelly of the gun. “Will this do?” he asked Madeline.

  She nodded. “If you can lift it into place for me...”

  He did. She got under it, breathing more freely now. She activated the virtual targeting scope and peered through it. On the roof, staring toward their position, were three humanoids. Two were Dacerian. The other...

  She grimaced. “Sir,” she said to Chacon, “one of the people targeting us is a Rojok. He’s wearing the patch of your intelligence services.”

  “Describe him,” Chacon replied.

  “Tall, thin, a scar running down his face beside his nose...”

  “Garathor,” he said heavily. “Second-in-command of my personal spy service,” he added coldly. “One of my most trusted comrades. No wonder Chan Ho knew where to find me.”

  Madeline hesitated.

  He glanced at Madeline and noted her reluctance to fire. “We have no choice, Ruszel,” Chacon said. “If we want to live.”

  She nodded. “Sorry, sir.” She turned back to her targets, adjusted for elevation and atmosphere, and suddenly sent three bursts toward the distant snipers. She didn’t even look. She turned away and indicated to Dtimun that he could remove the rifle.

  Curious, he looked through the scope. All three snipers were on the floor of the opposing building. “Amazing,” he said quietly.

  “We all have skills,” Madeline said quietly. “This is mine. But after a few years, it begins to kill the spirit.”

  “As most combat does,” Chacon replied. “Thank you, Ruszel.”

  “You’ve saved my life several times, sir,” she replied.

  “And you have saved mine,” Dtimun added to her, placing the heavy gun on the floor. He met her eyes with a shimmering green in his own. “Yes, I have not forgotten the scope of your accomplishment at Ahkmau, having been reminded of it daily for almost three years.”

  She grinned. “Here. I’ll put it away.”

  She disassembled the rifle, using the cleaning material to make sure it was properly wiped free of chemicals before she put it back in the case. She handed the chasat power pack back to Chacon. They stood up. Dtimun carried the case for her.

  Old Mardol was standing at the window with his eyes wide. “You used the sniper rifle!” he exclaimed to Madeline.

  “Yes,” she said, smiling. “Thank you for lending it to us. We were pinned down by sniper fire.”

  “You removed the threat?” he asked.

  “Three threats.”

  “And only three shots,” he replied, fascinated. “Amazing!” He stared at her. “You have been in the military.”

  She nodded. “In my youth,” she added quickly. “I’m glad I haven’t forgotten my old skills. They came in handy today.”

  “We must talk again,�
�� he said. “You can tell me some of your battle stories.” He grinned.

  Dtimun and Chacon were not smiling.

  “The wounds will be examined and traced to this weapon,” Dtimun told the old man, referencing nanotech that could pinpoint a weapon from trace evidence in seconds and locate its whereabouts. He turned to Sfilla and gave her instructions in Cehn-Tahr. She nodded and ran away. He turned back to the old soldier. “Pack what you need to carry. Sfilla is arranging passage to Memcache for you.”

  “But...but,” the old man sputtered, “I am a wanted man...!”

  “Not after today,” Dtimun assured him. “You will go to Mahkmannah, to our religious retreat. You will be safe.”

  Mardol searched for the right words. He couldn’t find them. His eyes misted.

  Dtimun put a hand on his shoulder, and his eyes went that odd opaque blue that indicated mind touching. “You were falsely accused and the only witness who could clear you is dead. I understand. However, you will find peace and safety at the religious retreat. You may stay there forever without fear of persecution. We owe you our lives. It will not be forgotten.”

  Mardol swallowed the lump in his throat. “I...have not been safe for two decades.”

  “Now, you will be. Pack quickly. Sfilla will escort you to the ship.”

  The old man paused, made a virtual note and handed it to Dtimun. “This is a man I know, who can give you information about any covert dealings here in Benaski Port. He will trust you, because I have told him to.”

  “We are in your debt,” Chacon told him.

  Mardol’s old eyes narrowed on the three. “A strange combination. A Rojok, a Cehn-Tahr and a human.” He smiled. “I hope someday I may know who you are.”

  “Sooner than you think, perhaps,” Dtimun said. “Go on. It will not take our adversaries long to discover you.”

  Mardol nodded and turned down the hall with the sniper kit held in one big hand.