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  “They’ll be after us again, too,” Madeline pointed out as she followed the tall males down the hall. “And we’re no closer to discovering our companion’s would-be kidnappers.”

  Dtimun scanned the virtual note Mardol had give him. “Yes, but I think we have a contact who might. Let us find him.” He glanced at Chacon. “And considering the circumstances, I think it would be wise if you go back to the hotel and remain there. You should not be seen with us. If you are recognized, our true identities will be immediately uncovered and our mission will fail.”

  Chacon grimaced. “I concur, but reluctantly. I do not like the chances you take on my behalf, especially with Ruszel in such a condition.”

  “I’m quite lethal even in this condition, sir, and I want a future into which we can all survive and grow old,” she retorted.

  “As do we all,” Dtimun said. “We will return shortly.”

  “If you do not,” Chacon replied, “your finest assassin and I will come to search for you.”

  Dtimun smiled. “She has become fond of you. But do not mention this in front of her.”

  Chacon placed his hand over his heart, grinned and left them.

  * * *

  THE SHADY CHARACTER Mardol sent them to was a smuggler, an outcast human who deplored the totalitarian government of Terravega and became a wanderer, with no credentials. He was barred from legal transactions in the human colonies because of his lack of citizenship and the implanted DNA ID which all Terravegans were equipped with at birth. So he went underground as a young man and established a solid business transporting illegal goods from one colony to another. Most of his transactions dealt in weapons and foodstuffs. He was well-known in Benaski Port. And other places, some even more covert. Just occasionally, he was hired as an independent contractor to transport essential supplies to war-torn human colonies deep behind enemy lines.

  His name was Percival Blount, but friends and enemies alike called him Patch. He had long black hair, which he wore in a ponytail, and one blue eye. The other eye, lost long ago in a knife fight, was covered by a black patch; hence the nickname. He had a straightforward manner and a ragged dignity that sat oddly on a pirate.

  He shook hands with Dtimun and Madeline and offered them refreshment in his private cabin aboard the aging but serviceable space vessel he called home.

  “She’s old,” he said with affection, looking around the metal-faced compartment. “But I’ve never had cause to regret her purchase.”

  “You call your ship a she?” Madeline, raised in a unisex environment, asked curiously.

  “Yes, I do,” he replied. He studied her with some amusement and added, “Lieutenant Commander Madeline Ruszel,” he murmured with a grin at her surprise and consternation. “Or should I say, Dr. Ruszel?”

  She hesitated, uncertain what to say.

  “I have spies everywhere,” he said, as he poured ancient brandy into a snifter. He offered the bottle, but both his visitors refused. “It amazes me, to see a human female pregnant with a Cehn-Tahr child,” he continued. “It must be a Cehn-Tahr child, or you’d never have made it through what passes for customs here. We employ psy-techs to scan every visitor.”

  Madeline understood, then, why Komak had insisted that the pregnancy had been mandatory for the mission. Neither Madeline nor Dtimun had known that psy-techs did scans of so-called fugitives from justice here. It wasn’t publicized. But Patch still hadn’t mentioned Dtimun’s identity. The Holconcom never permitted publication of vids about its crew, or its commander. Dtimun’s face was not known outside the unit.

  Patch pursed his lip and studied Dtimun quietly. “You’re an aristocrat, we figured that out. But we don’t know from which Clan. Don’t worry, I won’t pry,” he added when the alien’s eyes darkened with a threat. “If either of your governments find out about that child, you’ll both have a life span of less than one solar day. You know that already, I’m sure.”

  “Why do you think we’re here?” Madeline asked with black humor.

  “I hope you fare well,” Patch said gently. “It’s not an easy pregnancy. We had a human female pregnant by a Rojok a few years ago. Tragic story...they only wanted to live together here without complications. They were safe, but she died two months into the pregnancy.” He shook his head while Madeline paled. Rojoks, like Cehn-Tahr, were Cularian humanoids.

  “And Rojok babies are even smaller than Cehn-Tahr, who grow at an accelerated rate,” Patch continued. “I studied medicine in my younger days,” he added, surprising them. His jaw set. “I thought I could get around the clone issue. But I couldn’t. I was required to grow and use human clones for replacement organs for high Terravegan officials. I refused.” He shrugged. “So I don’t practice medicine anymore. That knowledge comes in handy here, though,” he added. “So if you go into labor, Doctor, you’re welcome to send for me, and I’ll come, wherever you are.”

  Madeline was honestly touched. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry for your experience.”

  He shrugged. “Life happens. What can I do for the two of you?” he added. “If Mardol sent you here, you need information. Right?”

  She nodded. “We’re looking for an assassin.”

  His eyebrows rose. “In Benaski Port? Good luck. Every third humanoid here deals in covert death,” he added.

  She grimaced. “That’s probably true, but we’re looking for a particular one. He’s been sent to kidnap the Rojok Field Marshal, Chacon.”

  Now the one eye widened with shock. “You’re human. He—” he indicated Dtimun with a nod “—is Cehn-Tahr. In case neither of you noticed,” he added with amused sarcasm, “both your governments are at war with the Rojok Dynasty.”

  “Chacon saved our lives,” Dtimun replied quietly. “We are in his debt. We know of a plot to kidnap him and sell him into slavery, to remove his influence from Chan Ho’s government and allow a return to the terror policies of Mangus Lo.”

  Patch sat up straighter. “Bad news,” he said. “Very bad news. I’ve done business with Chacon’s under-lieutenant, Lieumek, in the past. In fact, Lieumek is involved with a Dacerian woman who comes here to shop.” He sighed. “If Chacon disappears, I lose a lucrative business myself.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you have any idea who the would-be kidnappers are?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “We know only that an attempt has been planned for some weeks,” Dtimun told him.

  Patch sipped brandy. His one eye narrowed. “There are a couple of people who’ve been inquiring about Rojok troop movements lately. I’ll send one of my agents into the bazaar to ask questions. When I know something, I’ll contact you. You’re staying at a hotel outside the port, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Madeline said, and named it.

  He shook his head. “Must be nice,” he sighed. “My digs are little more than a hut compared to the accommodations there. But one day I’ll retire from piracy and become respectable.” He leaned forward. “The Freespirit offered me work. I may take them up on it in future. Wouldn’t that confound my enemies here?” he added with a laugh. He frowned. “Where is Mardol? His life is worth pocket change after he loaned you that sniper kit,” he added, staring at Madeline. “Nice work, by the way. I wish you worked for me.”

  She laughed. “Do you know everything?”

  He nodded.

  “Mardol is already in a safe place,” Dtimun said, without volunteering more information. “He saved our lives.”

  “Yours and an unknown Rojok’s,” Patch added.

  “I’m sure you have some idea who the unknown Rojok was,” Madeline said with a grin.

  He nodded again. His one blue eye twinkled. “It didn’t matter at the time where he went. We know what goes on here, but we don’t pry. Hell, we’ve all got something to hide or we wouldn’t be here in the first place!”

 
Madeline leaned forward. “Just FYI, I’ve been in a lot worse places.”

  He smiled. “I know. That information, about how the Morcai Battalion was formed, is pretty much public information.”

  “It is,” Madeline agreed, “but some things we keep to ourselves.”

  “Yes, like your interesting condition and your relationship with a Cehn-Tahr aristocrat.” He shook his head. “There isn’t one case on record of a Cehn-Tahr mating with a human. Your child, if you survive the pregnancy—sorry—will be unique in the three galaxies.”

  Madeline’s hand went protectively to her belly and she tried not to think of the future.

  Dtimun stood and helped her up, his eyes affectionate. “You are tired,” he said gently. “We must go.” He glanced at Patch. “We will be in your debt for any information you can find out for us.”

  “Yes. In my debt,” he added with a slow grin. “And one day I may call on you for help, financial or otherwise.”

  “You may, indeed,” Dtimun replied, smiling. “And I will help, if I can.”

  Patch nodded respectfully. “There are herbs that can help retard the growth spurts of the child,” he told Madeline. “We’ve had at least one successful pregnancy with a human mother and a Rojok father. They’re not too different from the Cehn-Tahr.”

  They were very different, and there were genetic anomalies like the enhanced strength of Dtimun and his Clan. But he said nothing.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Patch said as he saw them off.

  * * *

  MADELINE WAS DISTURBED about what Patch had told them, about the one human woman’s fatal pregnancy. Since she was unaware of any medical precedents concerning human-Cularian offspring, the news was surprising.

  “We don’t have contact with the Rojoks, as a rule,” she told Dtimun, “so we don’t have much information about their efforts to breed with other races.”

  “The human female who died certainly had to conceal her pregnancy from Terravegan authorities and thereby limit her access to physicians,” he said gently, stopping to turn to her and smooth her hair with affection. “It is not an immediate concern, either.”

  “No, of course not.” But she was worried, all the same, more for the child than for herself. But why, she asked herself, when she wouldn’t even get to bear her child...!

  He pulled her into his arms, despite the public place, and held her. “No more brooding,” he whispered. “You must trust me.”

  She held on tight, biting her lip to stop the tears. “I didn’t expect to want him,” she whispered.

  His arms tightened. “Neither did I.”

  She managed a laugh and looked up with her heart in her eyes. “Couldn’t we run away to the Rim? I’m certain that a doctor could find work up there, and you’re peerless as a pilot.” She said it in jest, but she was partially serious.

  He lifted his head and smiled tenderly. “You have allies of whom you are unaware. I cannot say more, except to tell you once more that you must trust me.”

  “I always have,” she said simply.

  He traced her mouth and unexpectedly bent and pressed his own against it, very softly. “The future is not as dark as you anticipate.”

  She laughed. Her green eyes sparkled. He seemed to be optimistic. Could they have a future together, when it seemed impossible?

  “Do not anticipate tomorrow,” he whispered.

  She made a face. “I’ll try, sir.”

  He sighed. “Madeline...”

  She made a stab at pronouncing his name, only the second time she’d ever used it. She flushed a little, remembering the first.

  He laughed, delighted. “That is the formal usage, however,” he said wryly. “I must teach you the familiar tense.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Oh? When?”

  He brushed his cheek against hers. “Not now,” he chuckled.

  He took her hand and turned her toward a shuttle. “We have more important and immediate issues to resolve.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  LATER THAT EVENING, after the occupants of the suite shared a meal, there was a startling development. Chacon was not in the room assigned to him at bedtime, nor could he be located nearby in the city. There was only a cryptic message scrawled on a vidpad on the table next to his bed. It consisted of one word. “Dacerius.”

  Dtimun contacted Patch, who confirmed Chacon’s apprehension by parties mostly unknown and his transport to Dacerius.

  “I was going to contact you,” Patch replied over the vidlink. “I didn’t know until an hour ago that it was going down. I’ve been trying to track his destination. I’m sorry it’s taken so long.”

  “I appreciate your honesty,” Dtimun replied, and he smiled. “Before I met you, I did not expect to see nobility in pirates.”

  “Pirates have families and come from all sorts of backgrounds,” Patch told him. “I came from Terravegan nobility. My forebears were titled.”

  Which explained a lot, Dtimun thought.

  “I can at least tell you where they’ve taken him. I’m downloading a map to your recorder. And be wary. There are high level Rojok military involved, and they have mercs working for them who have sensor webs, they can appear invisible until they attack.”

  “I am grateful for your help.”

  “Just don’t let it get around, would you?” the pirate asked plaintively. “What will people think if they hear that I’ve been doing good deeds? It’s bad for my reputation.”

  Dtimun assured him that he would keep the knowledge to himself. Armed with the map, he approached the others, including Princess Lyceria, who was horrified when she heard that Chacon had gone missing.

  “But he was here earlier... I spoke with him just after our meal!” Princess Lyceria exclaimed. Her eyes were deep blue with sadness and concern. She and Chacon had spoken privately; she wasn’t sharing that knowledge. He’d said nothing about leaving, however.

  Dtimun turned to Sfilla. “Do you know anything about this?”

  She nodded solemnly. “There was a flash just before he went missing. I was not in time to intercept it, but I am certain that it came from a person whom the Rojok commander-in-chief trusts, because it was on a private frequency.”

  “Lieumek?” Madeline asked Dtimun.

  His lips compressed. “Possibly. However, he is one of Chacon’s oldest and most trusted friends. I cannot see him in the role of traitor.”

  “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer,” Madeline quoted a maxim from old Earth.

  Three Cehn-Tahr glanced at her. Two of them read her mind and laughed aloud.

  “Well, what do we do now?” Madeline asked.

  “Where did the signal originate?” Dtimun asked Sfilla.

  “On Dacerius,” Sfilla told him.

  Dtimun was quiet and thoughtful. “Which is where our contact confirmed that Chacon had been taken. If Chacon were to be enslaved, that would be the best place to conceal it. The Dacerians, for all their pride and high culture, do not see slavery as an issue.”

  Madeline was reminded of the Dacerian slave women who frequently appeared on the intergalactic market. She thought of it with distaste.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  Dtimun moved away, pacing. “I have a map of the area where he is being held. It will take a little time to make arrangements.”

  “I’ll start on them immediately,” Sfilla promised.

  “I will take Sfilla and go to Dacerius, first thing in the morning, to free him...”

  “Not without me, you won’t,” Madeline said at once.

  Dtimun whirled. “You will not go,” he said firmly. “The child makes you too vulnerable.”

  “Yes, well, the child and I are the only protection you’re likely to have,” she returned stubbo
rnly. “A lone Cehn-Tahr male in that thieves’ den would be immediately suspect.”

  “She is right,” Lyceria commented.

  “Bataashe!” Dtimun shot at her, with no regard whatsoever for her position.

  Madeline was surprised that the princess allowed him to speak to her in such a way. She glared at her commander. “You shouldn’t speak to her that way. She’s a princess,” she reminded him.

  Lyceria’s eyes, unaccountably, flashed green at the human female’s defense, but she didn’t say a word.

  “I do not need protection,” Dtimun continued, unabashed.

  Madeline gave him a droll look. “It will be easier for us to retrieve you if you don’t end up in a Rojok prison camp.”

  “I will remind you that I have lived successfully for two hundred and fifty years without your intervention,” he reminded her curtly.

  “Lucky you!” she shot back. “I’m going with you.”

  He moved toward her. “The child will inhibit your ability to protect yourself. The distraction of protecting you could cost us both our lives, to say nothing of the child you carry.”

  She stared at him. “The child is temporary,” she reminded him, “and I won’t remember any of this in about two weeks’ time.”

  His eyes made an odd combination of colors and there was a stifled sound from Lyceria.

  Madeline glanced at her and frowned. “Are the two of you keeping something from me?” she wondered aloud.

  “You and Lyceria will return to Memcache,” Dtimun began.

  “Like bloody hell I will,” Madeline said, standing taller. “You are not going to Dacerius without me!”

  “Madam...!”

  “Try it,” she replied hotly. “You can lock me up, but I’ll just escape and find an alternate route to Dacerius and go, anyway.”

  Lyceria’s eyes were mirthful. Sfilla was struggling not to laugh. The commander looked like every male since the beginning of time who was trying to reason with an unreasonable female.

  “The child should not go into such danger,” he groaned.