The first coherent thought Hoshi put together when she regained consciousness was that Earth gangsters hadn't used knockout gas. Mickey finns in drinks, such as what had probably incapacitated the captain and Trip, yes, but not gas.

Hoshi hadn't felt any effects from her two drinks. She was fine until she had been knocked out by the vapor. Thinking back, she had the impression Galarn hadn't wanted her unconscious. Rather, he had wanted Malcolm, her "sober friend," out of commission.

Maybe Galarn didn't think she was a threat. If that was the case, it would be in keeping with the way Hadian men viewed their women.

Her head throbbed as she sat up, and she closed her eyes reflexively. She needed to figure out where she was and where the rest of her gang was.

Her gang? That was a heck of a way to think of her fellow officers, all of whom were her superiors. She was becoming so involved in her role that she was actually starting to think as a gangster. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing -- she could use every advantage she could get.

Opening her eyes a fraction, she saw that she was on a couch -- a rather decrepit couch with several dark-colored stains. Not trusting her legs to hold her, she remained seated as she peered through narrowed eyes around the room.

There was a beat-up wooden desk with a swivel chair over to one side. A couple of filing cabinets were against the far wall, next to the only door, which was closed. The glare from a single naked light bulb made everything stand out in stark relief, including the layer of dust that covered the furniture.

Behind the desk and chair was a window, and from where she sat, she could see iron bars on the other side. She noted that it was still dark outside. Perhaps she hadn't been out too long.

Drawing a deep breath, she got to her feet, feeling wobbly. Something else felt wrong, and she looked down to see her feet were bare. Her shoes were on the floor, tucked under the edge of the couch.

Hoshi's skin crawled. Had Galarn removed her shoes? She wouldn't put it past him to have fondled her feet -- or other parts of her -- while she was unconscious. He seemed like that kind of man.

She grabbed her shawl from where it was draped carelessly across the arm of the couch, and from underneath it her purse tumbled to the floor. Pulling the shawl around her gave her the illusion of covering up, which made her feel better. She would have put her shoes back on but she was still groggy. She was afraid she wouldn't be able to keep her balance on the heels if she did.

She retrieved her purse. Judging by its weight, the mini phase pistol was still inside. Either Galarn hadn't checked her purse or he didn't know what the pistol was and had left it alone.

As the pain in her head began to dull, she became aware of other discomforts. For one thing, her mouth felt as if it was lined with sand. The least Galarn could have done was left some water for her, she thought sourly.

It was in this disgruntled mood that she heard a key turn in the door's lock. Scowling, she faced Galarn as he stepped into the room.

"Where am I? What have you done with Jon?" she asked belligerently.

"Now, now, sweetie. No need to be so upset."

"Upset?" she yelled, advancing toward him. "You haven't seen me upset, you slimeball!"

He took a step backward as she continued her tirade. "If you've done anything to Jon, I'll--"

"You'll what?"

She forced out a rude laugh. "You have no idea what I'm capable of, you little rat."

Oh-oh! She might have pushed him too far with that last epithet. She saw a dangerous glint come into his eyes as he came toward her. Trying her best to stay in character and resist the urge to flatten him with one of the moves Malcolm had taught her, she retreated until the backs of her legs hit the couch, causing her to sit abruptly.

"Don't ever call me 'little,'" he said in a quiet voice as he stood over her. "If me and you are to get along, doll, that's one rule you better remember."

Hoshi watched warily as he walked to the desk and sat on its edge. It was a bit of a stretch; his toes barely touched the floor. Some perverse trick of her mind kept repeating the word "little" over and over in her head.

He stared at her, and when his gaze traveled down her body to her feet, she reached for her shoes.

"Now don't do that," he said. "It's very attractive what you've done to them."

She slipped the shoes on anyway. When he didn't stop her, she felt she had won a "little" battle. Stop it! she told herself. She had to match wits with this pervert and find the captain, Trip, and Malcolm.

Exhaling loudly, she leaned back on the couch and crossed her legs, making sure an ample portion of thigh was visible. She put her purse on her lap, keeping the pistol close at hand.

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" she asked in a pretty huff. "Jon always tells me what to do. He's not here now, and I'm...confused."

"I think you're smarter than you let on," he said. "Sure, you do all the talking for your boss, but I'm not so sure you don't call the shots."

"What do you want from me?" she asked, neither confirming nor denying his statement.

"I want to know all about this new surgery that doesn't leave scars. I want to know who the doctor is, I want to know where it's done, and I want to know why a boss has to track down a guinea pig. That's what hired guns are for."

"I'm not telling you anything until I know Jon's all right."

Galarn smiled. "I was expecting you to say that. Good thing you put on your shoes."

He pushed himself off the desk. Going to the door and opening it, he gestured for her to get up. "Don't even think about running, sweetheart."

"As if I could in these shoes," she muttered, her mind adding "little man" as she swept past him.

The brisk walk down the hall helped clear her head. They entered a stairwell at the end of the corridor and, as she climbed, she felt Galarn's eyes on her back. She was looking forward to shooting him. Much as she wanted to whip out her pistol, stun him and watch him drop like a sack of potatoes, she needed to find the others first.

She was relieved Galarn had agreed so readily to her demand. It was much easier to allow Galarn to take her to Jon than to try to find the others on her own. For that reason alone, it was best not to fight Galarn. Not yet.

At the top of the stairs, he led her down another long hall to a door guarded by an armed thug.

"They giving you any problems?" Galarn asked the man, who was rough looking despite the snazzy suit he wore.

"Nah. Two of 'em are still sleeping like babies."

Galarn opened the door and allowed Hoshi to enter first. The room was large but bare except for the three officers, each tied to a straight-backed chair. Their hats were scattered on the floor near them.

Jon and Trip were unconscious. Malcolm was awake, and even in the poor lighting, she could see a large bruise on the side of his face and a trickle of blood on his chin.

After a moment of stunned surprise, Hoshi gave herself a mental kick. She had to act like Jon's moll. She had to ignore Malcolm's injuries, just as if he were a real hired thug and of no importance to her.

She forced a cry from her lips and rushed to Jon's side. Kneeling down, she held his head between her hands. "Jon! Jon! Wake up!"

When he didn't respond, she rose and spun around to face a smirking Galarn, who had remained standing by the door.

"What have you done to him?" she asked.

"I haven't done anything," he said. "He's still sleeping off the mickey finn."

"He'll be OK, won't he?" she asked, putting a touch of uncertainty in her voice.

"Yeah, he'll be OK. But only if you help me out."

Hoshi swallowed. She was going along with Galarn for now, but maybe she could get some concessions.

"I'll tell you everything I know, but let me help Jon first."

"Not until you spill the beans," he countered.

"I'm not saying anything until I know Jon will be OK," she said, stomping her foot as she slapped her purse against her leg.

Galarn looked at her for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"You are one fiesty dame," he said. "I like that."

Sauntering over to her, he put a hand out as if to caress her arm. This time Hoshi made no effort to hold back her shudder. She closed her eyes, bracing herself.

After a long moment passed and he still hadn't touched her, she cautiously opened her eyes. He was looking at her, his eyes hooded.

"Tell you what," he said. "I'll leave you alone with him for a while. You see what you can do to bring him around. I may want him awake when I talk to you."

Galarn left, closing the door behind him. Hoshi hoped he could hear the string of Hadian curses she shouted after him. Out of sheer frustration she stomped her foot again, raising a small cloud of dust.

She went to untie Malcolm first. "What did they do to you?" she asked as she fumbled with the knots holding his arms behind his back.

"What's it look like?" he answered in a raspy voice.

"Don't be a smart ass," she said. "Let me rephrase. Why did they do this to you?"

"I took it upon myself to learn certain Hadian phrases that you didn't teach us, you being a nice girl."

At his last words, she gave the rope a sharp tug.

"Ow!" Malcolm yelped as the rope bit into the raw scrapes on his wrists. "You're really getting into this gangster stuff, aren't you?"

"More than you'll ever know," she muttered as the knot came undone.

Rubbing his arms to restore circulation, he eyed her as she came around to work on the ropes holding his legs to the chair. "One of them didn't like some of the phrases I practiced on him."

"You'll have to tell me those phrases later," she said, a small smile curving her lips as she undid the knots.

"Are you OK?" he asked when he was free of the bindings and could stand.

She made a noncommittal murmur, and moved over to free Jon while Malcolm started loosening the ties that held Trip. As she worked, Hoshi puzzled over something that had been bothering her since they had left The One Spot the first time.

"I wonder where Poltorn is," she said. "So far Galarn's been doing everything. He even talks like he's in charge."

She looked over to see Malcolm frowning at her.

"We won't be meeting Poltorn," the armory officer said. He jerked his head toward the shadows in a corner. "He's over there. Dead."