CRICHTON AND MIRIYA RAN, KOIBAN HOT ON THEIR HEELS.

Behind them, far behind them, the siren wails of local firefighting, local law enforcement. It had been a close thing, that ambush. Crichton bore a sharp pain in his leg, and Koiban called again for a halt, sure they had out-distanced any pursuers. Miriya agreed, and when they had, she promptly flopped to the pedway, gasping.

"Dammit, John!"

"Bounty hunters," he panted. "Frelling figures! I knew it didn't smell right."

Koiban looked barely winded. He pointed at Crichton's leg.

"Shall I look at that? You have an object sticking in your leg."

"Yeah, if you would." Koiban dropped to a knee, looked his leg over. A slight trickle of blood ran from the wound the splinter had made. Koiban carefully extricated it, dressed the minor wound.

"It is nothing serious. A splinter." He held it up. Crichton took it, looked it over. It was a light tan, three hentas long, with a barbed tip, stiff, barely thicker than a hair.

"Not a splinter. Those hunters – whatever they were – zapped us with these. A lot of these. I think they're… quills." Koiban blinked, looked at it again. Miriya slowly climbed to her feet.

"Se'em'aari." Koiban intoned, as if it were something mystical.

"No way." Miriya panted beside them. She was looking at the quill curiously, however.

"Seema-what?" Crichton asked.

"Not your typical bounty hunters." Koiban told him. "They operate as a Triad – three sisters – and they don't give up." Koiban scratched his chin, thinking hard. "As to who could send them… well, they are far from cheap. They will not work for just anyone." He took the quill back from Crichton. "They are covered – the females anyway – with these spines – quills – and they have immensely fine control over them. They have millions of them – and they re-grow very quickly." He sniffed the end of the quill, then rubbed it with his fingers. "Hmmm. Mild soporific. Meant to slow you down."

"Well, it's working. My leg already feels twenty kilos heavier." Koiban nodded, reached into a pocket, pulled out a pill.

"Take this. It'll counter it." Crichton eyed it, shrugged, swallowed. "It'll take a bit to work. We should proceed."

"We're getting farther from the port, I'm noticing." Miriya said, scanning behind them.

"And D, Chi, Ryge and Jool." Crichton said, feeling the 'weight' in his leg ease off a smidge. Koiban turned, crossed the roadway, to the other pedway and a small kiosk. He ran a finger along it and it lit up.

"We are near the Workers' District. Follow me."

Koiban led the way, not checking if they were following or not, and Crichton just shrugged and followed. Miriya sighed and followed him, glad at least that they weren't running. By the time they had stopped again, Crichton's leg felt normal. Koiban stopped at a structure that reminded Crichton of a tollbooth.

"Do either of you have currency?" He asked. Both nodded. "Three chits for Five Sector." He told the tollbooth. The booth quick-scanned them and then said,

"Ten krindars per ticket." Koiban looked at them expectantly, and they each handed over ten.

"What was that scan?" Miriya asked.

"Currency determination." Koiban told her, stuffing the currency into a slot. "Which kind we were carrying that could cover the cost."

"Handy," Crichton said.

"What's in Five Sector?" Miriya asked.

"A ship port."

"A private ship port?" Crichton asked. A nod answered him. "Good. Let's go."

Koiban again led the way, and Miriya allowed him a few paces before she grabbed Crichton's arm, pulling him up short.

"Should we be trusting him this blindly?" She inquired, watching his back descending down the access to the transport system.

"If he gets me to D and the others, sure." Crichton propelled her after Koiban. "Now quitcherbitchen." A hard slap on her posterior made her yelp and soured her mood even further. Crichton stayed in his odd mood for the entire trip, and it was Koiban who apologized.

"Sorry – wide spectrum counteragent. It usually has no adverse effects on a Sebacean."

"He's not a Sebacean."

"Oh. Interesting." He looked at Crichton's pupils. They were dilated – slightly. "He'll shake it off soon enough." Miriya sighed again, rubbed the spot between her eyes. She really didn't need this dren. Fortunately, Crichton was himself by the time they'd left the transport and hired a conveyance to take them to the ship port.

A V'rahn met them at the entrance, backed by half-a-dozen Constables - and Koiban recognized it. It had been the same V'rahn that had 'purchased' Chiana earlier, P'tahrah.

"Evigan Koiban." P'tahrah indicated him with a haughty finger. "You step out of your bounds."

"That is a matter of opinion." Koiban told P'tahrah, not liking the V'rahn one bit.

"You are Crichton." P'tahrah said, glaring.

"I know who I am." Crichton reposted, with a smirk.

"Miriya Breannados." P'tahrah said in mild surprise. "The Master will be most pleased you have deigned to come and see him, after so many requests." Miriya looked sheepish, as the two males with her looked at her with some suspicion. P'tahrah indicated that they were to follow.

"Look – I've got a Se'em'aari Triad on my tail, apparently. Can't this wait?" Crichton asked.

"The Warlord wishes to see you. The bounty hunters are of no concern. Come."

Both Miriya and Koiban shrugged. They followed. This was why they'd come, after all.

"No, hold on, you don't get me. The Triad. That was me asking you and your bully-boys here to get it off my back."

P'tahrah looked at him like he'd just been scraped off a boot.

"No." He resumed walking. "Come. They are of no concern at this time."

Crichton cursed, but he followed.

"NO."

"I beg your pardon?"

"No. This is not the way I do business." Crichton folded his arms, put his feet up, and put on his best disgruntled face. "Not a single thing about this smells legit. Not one. You want me to go on a suicide mission."

D'Strand'm'tah glared at the Human.

"I have told you three times that I will supply you with everything you need. Am I some fool to give up all my playing pieces so early in the game?"

"John," D'Argo began. "This is a legitimate deal. We help him and he helps us."

"Are you trying to tell me," Crichton leaned forward. "That with the endless wealth you have, with fifty million troops and frell knows how many ships, you set up some plan to find and recruit us to free your family? Us, specifically?"

"Yes." D'Strand'm'tah tried to look innocent, failed.

"Oh, spare me!" Crichton drew back. "If I wanted bullshit, I could just watch the PK Propaganda Stations! I don't give a frell who the hell you are. I don't move a henta until I get the real reason."

Rygel gave out a dramatic sigh, Jool looked confused, Chiana thoughtful and D'Argo suspicious. Miriya just put her head in her hands. Evigan stayed out of it.

"Why you specifically?" D'Strand'm'tah asked.

"Yeah, us. You could have easily hired an army of mercs to go and do it."

"Yes, I could have, and I thought about it." D'Strand'm'tah finally conceded. "But I require… finesse. I will not risk my family. Mercenaries would not show the… care… for which you are famed."

Crichton sniffed, nodded, but it wasn't in agreement. "We have two Leviathans – one only a few days away from complete nuttery – waiting. What do you propose to do about them?"

D'Strand'm'tah sat, and he was remarkably calm, although his eyes blazed.

"I will send two cruisers to escort Moya back to Abbanerex. Twenty, if you want. You have my personal guarantee – backed by a monetary guarantee – that they will receive the absolute best of care. I will send P'tahrah to personally oversee it."

Crichton sat back down, matched the Warlord across from him.

"Fine. That's your down-payment." He saw the fires stoke in the Ashkelon's eyes, didn't care. "I'll rescue your family – but our Leviathans get fixed, whether I succeed or not."

"Agreed." D'Strand'm'tah was still trying to decide if he'd made a mistake.

"If and when I do retrieve them – I get to name my own price." Unnoticed, Miriya looked up and she was studying Crichton with new eyes.

D'Strand'm'tah gave him a hard look, assessing. Crichton let him look. After several long and tense moments, the Warlord nodded.

"Agreed." They stood. "However… if you return without them, you will never again be able to go near an inhabited system for the rest of your natural life, for I will put half of my fortune on your head as a bounty. As you can imagine, it is considerably more than any government will pay for you. You will never again know a moment's peace. That, I promise you."

"Yeah, sure." Crichton waved that away. "You have this other guy's mistress?" A nod. "Give her back then."

"With an escort?" D'Strand'm'tah's lips curled into a strained smile.

"More like retainers. He'll expect that, won't he? She'll need attendants. She's still aristocracy, isn't she?"

"Yes, of course."

Crichton nodded. "All right then. Find me, Miriya and Koiban some uniforms." Both started, began to protest, but closed their mouths, knew it would be pointless.

"John…" D'Argo interrupted. "We'll help you." Chiana was nodding at his side.

"No, D. You're the Captain of Moya now. You have other responsibilities. Take her back, get her fixed. Talyn too."

"Are you sure?"

"Deny it, D. You know it's your duty now."

D'Argo shook his head.

"No, John. Chiana…"

Crichton looked back at the Warlord.

"You'll be taking Chi with you. There's no need for hostages." A pause. "Is there?"

D'Strand'm'tah smiled.

"No. You are free to go at any time." He bowed his head to Crichton. "Well-played."

"Not over yet." Crichton walked around the table, grabbed a flabbergasted Miriya and a stunned Koiban and led them toward a door. "Let's get you kids some uniforms, hmmm?"

CRAIS COUNTED THE SOLDIERS AS THEY DROPPED FROM THE VIGILANTE'S BELLY ONTO ELACK'S OUTER HULL.

Ten. A small strike squad. They were but two. He wondered if he should be flattered that they even bothered. They could hear the groaning of biometal as the Peacekeepers began cutting an entry hole into Elack's side.

"This is very bad." Muukarhi muttered, backing out the door of Elack's Terrace.

"They will certainly not act like bounty hunters, " Crais added - unnecessarily, Muukarhi thought. "I doubt we have enough ammunition for a sustained firefight."

An ambush was unlikely. Crais was right in that they didn't have the resources for a sustained firefight. They couldn't take it into the ductwork because Elack's gravity systems, which were generated from his own mass and specialized bladders, would fail soon. Zero-G in a duct did not appeal to her. The Peacekeepers would have armored suits on, so lack of air and heat wouldn't matter to them, and it was already growing colder in the corridors. Help was at least a day or so away.

"Our only alternative is to hide." Crais told her as they ran along.

"For how long, Crais? Do you feel that? Once they finish that hole, what's left of the air in these sections is heading into space, along with what's left of the heat. In case you failed to notice, almost all the doors between here and Command are open." Muukarhi slid to a halt, cursed to herself.

"Dren! Stupid." She ran back the other way, digging through her pack as she did, a bewildered Crais skidding and turning.

"Where are you going?" Crais called. He saw Muukarhi pull something from his pack, stop a moment, which allowed Crais to catch up. Muukarhi turned, a mask in his hand. She pulled it over her head.

"We have rebreathers, they're standard in these station packs. I'd forgotten all about them. They're for emergencies, for breach events. They won't last long, but they should last long enough."

Crais followed suit.

"Long enough for what?" Crais asked as Muukarhi resumed her run. He figured she had a plan.

"For us to reach the propulser chambers. Normally one could not get near them, but this Leviathan is dead. If we can get to them before they get in here, we can hide. The alloys in there are very dense."

"Excellent." Crais followed her, his wound aching. He gritted his teeth and kept moving.

Behind them, they heard metal scream and a heavy clanging, echoed up the corridor followed by a sudden rush of air. The Peacekeepers were in.

Then, it got worse.

The gravity went, and everyone suddenly found themselves floating.

Muukarhi grabbed Crais, kicked off the ceiling, now the floor, toward the door at the end of the corridor, the only one closed. The troopers behind them were flailing, trying to right themselves. Behind the troopers, the side of the corridor suddenly blew out in a massive whump, a pressurized conduit failing as the gravity was lost. The troopers vanished in the thick haze.

"Fluidic regulatory conduits. That will not last long," Muukarhi grunted, grabbing the edge of the door and pulling for all she was worth. Crais said nothing, but was quick to help. They'd managed the door, and then had to hold on as the air behind it tried to rush into the corridor. Muukarhi and Crais managed to haul themselves in and both pushed mightily to close the door. There was a thud and both found themselves drifting serenely in silence – and air.

Muukarhi pulled her mask off, panting.

"So, Crais…" she said after a few microts, between pants. "What did you do today?"

Crais blinked, and then suddenly smiled. Muukarhi merely smirked, glanced up the corridor, listening hard. Nothing.

"They will begin searching soon," Crais ventured.

Muukarhi nodded.

"Very likely."

Muukarhi found herself slowly sinking to the floor/ceiling. Gravity was somehow reasserting itself, although not as strongly as before.

"The Vigilante," Crais said to her questioning look, as his feet contacted solid ground. He did a little jump. He floated up about half-a metre, came down.

"It is meant only for the troopers, I assure you."

"Naturally."

"I noticed a large C-type Veridane transport out there. The Peacekeepers have ignored it."

"It's likely the Insectoid's. Or was, at any rate." Muukarhi began moving away. "Do you know how to fly a Veridane ship?"

"I'm afraid not." Crais answered, trying to keep from bouncing in the light gravity.

"I believe I can." She mused as she went. "It was not docked. The Insectoid must have crossed without an umbilical."

"It would be extremely risky for us to attempt a likewise feat without suits."

"It was only a few motras away, and the hatch was left open. With our rebreathers – and care – we could make it."

Crais shook his head. Yesterday, his only care had been in finding Talyn some help. He had never bargained for it to go this way. At all. What had Crichton called similar situations? Ah, yes. "Screwing the pooch." Whatever that actually meant.

He weighed his options. One, he could remain here, hide and freeze to death or suffocate, whichever came first. Two, he could be captured by Peacekeepers, taken back to a Carrier, summarily tried and then enter the living death of induced Heat Delirium, or he could risk leaping through open space to a ship he knew nothing about, quite possibly failing and dying when the pressure differentials in space crushed his insides.

He smiled quietly to himself. Which death, Bialar, would you prefer?

At least I have a choice, he decided, and choose the one that gave him the best odds.

"We must find a hatchway. The Insectoid may not have needed one, however."

"Frell. In this area, there are only small service ones for DRD's. We won't fit."

Crais thought, and thought hard.

"When we were approaching this Leviathan, you said that much of his Hammonside – and his hanger there, though closed - was in a vacuum."

"So it is."

"Is it open to space?"

"No. He had atmospheric vent failure some time ago. Just a symptom of his age." She wondered where he was going with this.

"So, there is still pressure there. He had cargo, you said. Ship maintenance cargo."

Muukarhi looked at him with new eyes. "Pressure suits."

Crais nodded, glad he had remembered. "Possibly maneuvering packs, tools we can use. If we can get there."

Muukarhi scanned their surroundings, nodded, indicated that he was to follow her. Behind them, they could hear heavy-shod feet approaching. She pulled off a heavy grate and they squeezed through, and she pulled it shut just as feet pounded around the corner and marched smartly past them. She shook her head and indicated that he should keep moving. He winced, and did as bade. A spot of wetness hit her face as she followed, and she stopped, wiped it, was surprised to see a drop of blood on her fingers. Other droplets were slowly falling to the floor in the lower gravity. Crais' wound. To look at him, you would think he'd not been wounded at all, though he was still bleeding. Muukarhi smiled to herself, decided to stop trying to figure him out, and just go with it. She'd check his wound when they exited the conduits.

Crais knew he was bleeding again, but the pain was tolerable. Not much longer. If they could get to the Insectoid's ship, and avoid the Vigilante, they had a chance.

Crais suddenly had a flash of how Crichton thought in a crisis, why he'd done the seemingly inexplicable things he'd done during an emergency. As a Peacekeeper, Crais had been taught that every eventuality had a procedure, and every procedure an eventuality.

No wonder Crichton had beaten or outfoxed Peacekeepers so often, Crais realized. Take the chance.

It was a lesson Crais was beginning to take to heart.

APPARENTLY, IT HAD BEEN PLANNED FOR QUITE SOME TIME.

They managed 'Morning's Bounty' - Strad'ail'leevis' prison world - without incident. On an Ashkelon ship, surrounded by Constables, it looked legit.

As they passed through its outer security, and entered the atmosphere, surrounded by Strad'ail'leevis' heavily armed escort ships, Be'bari'a, who had been nervous they entire time, agitated, seemingly uneasy with the prospect of getting anywhere near the system, suddenly relaxed. That had been his first clue. He'd been preoccupied with trying to count ships, look over defences, plan a way out, and a small voice had mentioned the incongruity. Unbeknownst to any other on the ship, he'd gathered Miriya and Koiban and gave them a few instructions.

When they landed, Be'bari'a walked off the ship, through the line of Strad'ail'leevis' own type of Constable – Pacifiers, he called them - and vanished. Crichton had nodded to himself and Strad'ail'leevis' soldiers abruptly opened fire, and it was all Crichton could do to avoid getting fried himself. As it was, he had thirty pulse rifles in his face the instant he looked up and was slammed into a cell by the time he'd figured out the majority of the details of the screw-job.

Crichton did the only thing he could at that point.

He put his feet up and relaxed.

In his command tower, Strad'ail'leevis looked at the at-ease Human and frowned. He'd won, hadn't he? D'Strand'm'tah would have to pay a heavy price now. Strad'ail'leevis would name it and D'Strand'm'tah would pay, whatever he asked. Would he give over all of his assets for his family, the stupid sentimental fool? His glee had been great when Be'bari'a had informed him that D'Strand'm'tah had contracted outlaws to help him – and no less a personage as John Crichton himself. An added bonus. Hand Crichton over to the Peacekeepers and insure they stayed off his back for the next hundred cycles – as well as the massive reward for the fellow. Unlike D'Strand'm'tah, Strad'ail'leevis had not seemingly-inexhaustible financial resources to draw on. Well, that would change now, wouldn't it? Strad'ail'leevis liked the idea. Yes, his brother Warlord could pay in installments – tribute, massive tribute every cycle, and in a few cycles, if he were happy with the quantity and promptness of the payments, D'Strand'm'tah could perhaps visit his family. Perhaps. It would do.

He couldn't simply make D'Strand'm'tah a vassal, take over his territory, however. The other Warlords would not permit that. Cripple another, yes, strip him of wealth and troops and friends and family, certainly, but Ashkelon law forbade the complete annexation of any Warlord dominions by another Warlord. "Administer", if necessary. But no outright conquering. The strength of all Warlords was the strength of all Ashkelon. Warlords themselves could come and go but the dominions must be maintained.

Be'bari'a embraced her lover when she arrived in his tower, and he congratulated her on a part well-played.

"You have Crichton?" She asked. He smiled, nodded. "And the others." She added. His smile faded.

"What others?"

"The others! He had two companions – dressed as attendants!" Strad'ail'leevis immediately turned on his V'rahn, Stralh.

"Well?" Stralh turned pale.

"My Lord, the Lady Be'bari'a must be …mistaken… all of D'Strand'm'tah's Constables and attendants have been accounted for – and the transport thoroughly scanned. There, uh… were no others."

Be'bari'a rounded on Stralh.

"What? I was there! I saw them board! They are either on that ship or in this prison! A Sebacean female and an Interion male! Find them!" She smacked Stralh across the back of the head and pointed out the door. Stralh scrambled to get out.

"Don't hit the V'rahn." Her lover dryly told her. "You're certain he had companions?" Be'bari'a glared daggers at him.

"Of course I am!" She stalked to the monitor, looked at the supine outlaw on it. "He's done something."

"I don't think so." Strad'ail'leevis told her, making himself comfortable. "So tell me, my dear – what do you think they're worth?" He pointed to a small bank of monitors, on which multiple-angle images of what appeared to be quarters were displayed. On the large on in the middle she could see a number of individuals, all female. Ah, yes. D'Strand'm'tah's family.

"Not much." She sneered. "But you will be able to name your price."

"Indeed." She shook her head. "What?"

"What? Nothing. I was merely thinking it would have been easier if you'd simply allowed me to seduce and then 'marry' him. It would have been easier."

"You overestimate your charms, Lady." He laughed at her. "He was not about to give up Rial for you. Certainly not for some ridiculous symbolic marriage." Be'bari'a sniffed, sat with arms crossed, in a huff. "Don't fret, my dear. Massive amounts of currency have a way of easing any amount of pain."

Be'bari'a looked disgusted, shook her head again, indicated Crichton.

"What will you do with him?"

"He was an unexpected bonus. He is worth nearly 35 million currency pledges to the Peacekeepers. Perhaps I'll let you have that – you did, in essence, capture him."

"You're too generous."

"So I am." He said smugly. "To a point."

"Perhaps it would be best that we… " she was interrupted by another of her lover's V'rahn, who cut in on the monitors before them.

"Milord, I must report."

"Proceed."

"Several of your guard have been found dead in Nine Sector."

"Cause?"

"Unknown at this time. I would like to recommend a level one security alert."

"No, that's unnecessary. Investigate and report." The V'rahn nodded, and the screen switched back to its normal view. Strad'ail'leevis found himself drawn to watch Rial. She was astonishingly lovely. He wondered briefly if she could be persuaded… no. That would be futile. She had scruples.

"Is that wise?"

"It's not Crichton's ghostly friends, if that's what you're thinking. Nine Sector is on the other side of this complex – and this complex is fifty metras wide." He sat back, self-satisfied. "Even if they exist, they could not have landed anywhere without my forces knowing."

"Explain your guards."

"Prisoners, most likely. Every once in a while one or two get lucky and manage to lash out at a guard. Inevitable."

"You are too complacent," Be'bari'a sighed at him as she rose. "It will be the death of you."

"Unlikely." He eyed her as she walked away. "Where are you going?"

"To Azure Meanings. It has been a while since I've been home, you know."

Strad'ail'leevis waved her away.

"As you will. I left your apartments as you left them. I'm sure you can find some pretty boys to amuse yourself with. " And then he promptly forgot her. He probably shouldn't have, but such were the ways of fate.

MIRIYA BREANNADOS WAS NOT A HAPPY WOMAN.

She and Koiban were outside, hidden in a waste exhaust vent, staring up at the Command Tower of Strad'ail'leevis, and she was wondering just what in Hezmana Crichton expected her to do about it. They'd bailed out of the ship as it had entered orbit, in a sensor-opaque pod. How he knew, she couldn't imagine, but she was starting to take him far more seriously than she had been. She did a passive sensor sweep, so as not to set off any alarms, found Crichton in the prison and a number of anomalies she couldn't readily explain. She chalked those up to the vagaries of Ashkelon prisons, turned her scanner on the Tower.

"It has remarkably few defences for being a command annex for a prison," Koiban noted over her shoulder. She agreed. The place had a rudimentary array, no pressure or molecular sensor grids, nothing more sophisticated than a proximity net. She checked, checked again and shook her head.

"That's too easy," she frowned. "It's not easy on a passive scan, but I think there's more to his security than meets the eye. I'm getting subtle soil anomalies."

"Buried sensor drones. They have all the sensitive scan platforms."

"Frell… I think you may be right on that one. That's a bit trickier."

To their left, there was a hum and a roar and a supply transport took off. On Miriya's scanner, sensors that she could register went dark.

"Well, well, what's this?"

Koiban looked.

"Interesting. I saw something similar on Shepheridahn during the Ashel Pogrom." He pointed at the cycling rates on her scanner screen. "The Ashel had rather sensitive scan platforms. Whenever a ship left a port, the scanners were designed to cut their resolutions to avoid burnout from EMP leakage and harmonic overloads of ship engines. The unfortunate side effect was that a savvy enemy could use that against them – and the Peacekeepers did just that."

She looked at him with new eyes.

"You were there for that slaughter?"

He nodded, shook his head at the memory. He'd been conscripted into an action with the rest of his platoon.

The Ashel had been a technologically-advanced race, but they had also been, as a race, infected with a highly contagious, one hundred percent lethal disease of their own making and several governments had surrounded and quarantined their space. They weren't the only ones susceptible. The Peacekeeper force contracted as border patrol had taken it upon themselves to act after one of their ships had been boarded by the desperate Ashel and two thousand Peacekeepers infected and killed.

That it had been unintended had meant little. They'd had been short-handed and had press-ganged a number of garrisons in the vicinity and launched an assault. It was long, grim work, and not something Koiban liked remembering. Even though official policy had been quarantine (they would all soon enough die on their own, which was cruel enough) and once that was accomplished the looting (certainly not official, but it happened) and glassing of their worlds to prevent further infection – the wholesale butchery of an entire race was not something he'd relished. Calling it 'merciful euthanasia' had not helped. That they couldn't have been saved anyway and the disease would have given them far more cruelly-lingering deaths made no difference. That he would have been killed himself had he refused changed nothing to his mind.

He was a murderer in his own mind – a butcher of innocents. He was sorely ashamed of it, but it was not in his character to hide such things.

It was why he had dedicated himself to healing. He would not kill. Never again.

"The cycling isn't very long," she noted. "It's already back to strength." She smiled at him. "And you were right about the buried drones." She pointed at the readings. "Dozens of them. I took the opportunity for an active scan."

"Lovely. Nervandi Mobile Security Platforms. Droids." He frowned. Interions had an almost inbred revulsion for military-grade artificial and machine intelligences. There was little merit in letting a machine do all your intellectual work for you. Some decisions had to be made by organics – and that included all life and death ones. Mindless killing machines offended many of his sensibilities.

"Whatever. We can't get by them – and I'm not a sewer-pipe-crawling kind of girl."

Koiban agreed with her. He thought about it and then hit on an idea. They'd taken spare Pacifier weapons with them in the pod, and he made his way back, returned with one of their infamous shock rods.

"No offence, Koiban, but that's not going to do much good against a droid. They're hardened against those kinds of pulses."

"Agreed. But the average full-out pulse for one of these things is somewhere in the vicinity of four thousand trads. Jammed into a sensor node, it would do considerable damage."

Miriya grinned at the idea but shook her head in veto.

"True, and alert everyone in the tower – and activate all the automated defences over there."

"We cannot sit here forever." He told her. He wasn't exactly a 'man of action', but Koiban knew better that sitting around accomplished nothing. Miriya took the rod from him, looked it over.

"What are the power packs like in one of these things?" she pried a cover off the rod and looked inside. "Relayed. Thought so." She started yanking them out, Koiban watching curiously. "Sequential build-up with each one only having a limited charge. Nice! Static couplers – fine design." To Koiban's questioning looks, she smiled. "Sorry. To maximize power in these, they use limited charge, slave-linked power packs with static couplers – which can easily double the charge just by transference of charge through the packs. I can appreciate a nice design sense. It's quite clever."

"How does it help us?"

"We can't use the rod itself. Jamming it anywhere – aside from lacking finesse – would just set off alarms. But these packs by themselves should be enough to disrupt the overall grid out there and let us through without waking up those frelling droids."

Without waiting for him to agree or disagree, Miriya abruptly flung a pack into the air, pulled a pistol and hit the pack at the apex of its flight – blowing the pack into bright blue pulsating energy shards. Across the way, lights went out on the fences. Wasting no time, Miriya grabbed Koiban's arm and dragged him out of the vent.

"Let's go! We don't have long!"

They reached the fence, and Koiban hoisted Miriya over, climbed up rapidly himself. His feet hit the ground on the other side just as the sensors came back online.

"That was quite the shot," he said, reappraising her, not without a little suspicion, she noted.

"You pick these things up. Ex-Peacekeeper." She tapped a finger on her breastbone. "I might have been a tech, but we do get some weapons training. Stay against the fence."

"Some – that was more than some. I've known 30-cycle veterans that could not have done that."

"Part of being a tech is having excellent spatial-reckoning skills, Koiban. Can we get on with this, please?" She snapped, annoyed. He nodded, indicated for her to lead the way. They managed a few motras between outbuildings when Miriya brought him up short.

"What is it?" Koiban asked. Miriya was staring intently out into the compound.

"Do we know them?" She asked, pointing to a trio of figures making their way across the compound. They moved silently, but they didn't seem to be going out of their way to hide themselves. They wore dark cloaks and silver masks.

"We now have larger problems." Koiban intoned. "Those are our Se'em'aari friends."

"Here? How'd they follow us here?"

"Unknown."

"Frell. We've got to get to Crichton before they do." Miriya looked hurriedly around for alternate routes.

"We can't get near the prison with all the guards and that tower watching everything." Koiban told her. "What were you planning?"

"I was going to find a power conduit and jam the rest of these packs in it and set them off, blind the whole complex for a few arns."

"Was that not what I had suggested with the shock rod?" He asked her.

"No. The shock rod would have set off alarms as an attack, and the packs would have looked like a conduit power overload."

Koiban was watching the Se'em'aari. Like wraiths, they vanished into the tower.

"It will likely be unnecessary. Prepare to run."

Miriya was going to ask him what he meant when she heard screams and shouts begin to echo from the tower. Lights inside started going out. There was an ominous humming and clacking as pulse cannon began deploying themselves.

"Oh, frell." Miriya breathed, watching them do it.

"Indeed," Koiban agreed, pushing her along. "Run, please."

They ran. Behind them, the cannons started destroying everything that moved.

THE COLD WAS PROFOUND.

Hammonside had been in vacuum for quite a long time. Crais and Muukarhi bounced cautiously through the dimly-lit cargo bay, and suppressed a shiver. She inadvertently kicked some debris and they watched it bounce silently away. The place was like a tomb, and Crais thought the comparison apt, now that the great creature through which they moved was dead. Cold and silent in this vacuum, they were all eyes, moving cautiously. It took them more time than they would have liked, but they at last found what they was looking for, cracked the case, peered inside, smiled under their rebreathers.

They were older models, but the pressure suits piled neatly in the crate were Sebacean and functional. Crais checked the backpacks, was gratified to see them charged. Whatever else his people were, they built well. These suits could have been over a hundred cycles old, and he'd known they'd work. He found one roughly his size, pulled it on, cinched it up, felt better for it. Taking a deep breath, he peeled off his rebreather, activated the backpack and pulled the helmet on. He coughed at the initial pulse of stale air, then breathed deep as it cleared. Heat began to rise in the suit, would level off to a comfortable level soon enough. Sebaceans didn't mind the cold, true, but there were levels of it even they'd rather not have to tolerate for long. Muukarhi finished putting her suit on, was cracking other cases. Crais rigged his suit for suit-to-suit communication, a limited form that required the suits to be in contact in order to work. It would preclude anyone overhearing. He put his hand on her shoulder.

"We're doing well," he told her and she nodded.

"There's a dorsal exit hatch at the top of this bay," she said, looping a toolkit over a shoulder. "If we can get out, we may be able to cross Elack from the outside and board the Insectoid's ship that way. I don't think the Vigilante will be expecting us to be outside."

He was about to release her and step away when she suddenly yelled and jerked away from him. He looked about hurriedly for an enemy and saw nothing. After a moment, she came back, put a hand on his arm and said sheepishly, "I apologize. For someone who has spent her life working on Leviathans, you would think I would be a little less jittery on them." She pointed to a dim pair of lights on a crate before them, and Crais realized that it was a DRD.

"I must have brushed it and activated it," Muukarhi said. "It startled me."

"I shall not mention it if you do not," He told her, and it prompted a smile, which unexpectedly pleased him, even though that had not been the reaction he had expected. He looked at the DRD. "It must be the only one left operating, although I had thought they went offline when their Leviathan died."

"They usually do. It may have been that operational instructions were cut off when this side vented into vacuum. This one has been waiting for who knows how long."

The little machine seemed quite animated now that it saw life and movement. It's eyestalks were fully bright, and it seemed poised and waiting for orders. Muukarhi looked it over. Still functioning, but she could not guess how long that would last.

"Take us to the dorsal hatch." She told it, putting her hand on it to communicate, loathe to simply shut it down after she'd awakened it. She knew DRDs were mechanical, with usually simple AI, but she'd been around Leviathans her entire life, had even had a DRD as a companion when she'd been a child. She had a special place in her heart for the little servicers. The DRD spun on its crate, rolled down the side and scooted across the floor. They followed.

It arrived at a fork in the corridor, seemed to hesitate. Muukarhi gave it a microt, knew it had probably sat on that crate in standby mode for cycles. It spun in circles for a few more microts and Muukarhi toed it, which stopped it. It looked up at her, seemed to decide and sped left. Crais looked dubious and she just shrugged. So far it was going in the right direction. They followed it for another half-arn, were almost to the top tier when the DRD froze ahead of them as it reached a bend. Muukarhi put her hand on Crais' arm.

"The hatch is around that bend. It seems our little guide is hesitant to go."

He nodded.

"Wait here. There may be a reason for that."

Without waiting for her reply, Crais advanced cautiously up the corridor, until he was almost parallel with the DRD. He jammed himself between the corridor ribs as a light suddenly speared down the corridor, illuminated the DRD and crawled across the ceiling. He looked back to Muukarhi, but she had wisely already hidden herself. To the DRD's credit, it did not look at Crais, but slowly began to slide across the corridor, toward the wall, as if to get out of someone's way. The light followed it. Crais pushed himself as much as he could against the wall, in a very precarious position as the owner of the light came into view – another Invidid.

The DRD waved its eyestalks at the colony creature, and it seemed fascinated by the little machine – and Crais took advantage of that. Without hesitation, Crais propelled himself out and past the Invidid, firing as he went. The Invidid whirled and it turned into a strange, silent fight.

In the end, however, it was not Crais who dispatched the Invidid bounty hunter – it was the Peacekeepers. They destroyed it with multiple shots, splattering it across the corridor. Crais was disarmed with little effort, and Muukarhi was quickly captured.

As Crais and Muukarhi were marched to holding cells on the Vigilante, Crais apologized to the Kia'Baa'ri who looked at him as if he were deranged.

"This is not your fault," she told him. "You did what you could."

"No, as a former Peacekeeper, I should have anticipated that move. I used to Captain a Carrier, command my own Regiments. They used the Invidid to find us, rather than search on their own. I should have realized." He looked at her with a satisfied smile, however, which she found perplexing. "On the positive side, they have no reason to hold you. As an employee of the Ashkelon, you are beyond their jurisdiction. I suggest you use it when they come for interrogation. It will save you." At the cells they were split up.

"Goodbye." Crais said as he was marched away. "Extend my respects to the others and tell Talyn to be strong and do his duty when he is well. Thank what remains of Elack for me as well, if you would."

Despite his fatalistic tone, it was not the last Muukarhi was to see of him.