Staffa's mind reeled as he stared. It couldn't be! He leaned forward, seaching that face, examining the trait. Yes, that was how he'd ook — the mixture of features a patchwork of inheritane. Fist wore oversized battle armor and he perched uncomfortably in the command chair as if unsure of how to sit in it.
It can't be! Bruen would have told me. I's been so log since I saw him. Relax, Staffa. It could be your mind again — another of those chemical flushes that affect your
judgment. But the eyes How often did that happen! The odds. and in those colors!
"Greetings, Staffa kar Therma," the familiar high voice filled Chrysla' bridge.
"You. " Staffas voice failed him. "You're. Sinklar Fist?"
Fist nodded, odd eyes glittering. "I am. And it appears our situations are reversed. What will you do now, Staffa? Will you destroy MacRuder? Will you kill all those people you pleaded to save?"
"No," Staffa replied absently, entranced by Sinklar Fist's face. "No. I won't destroy you. You're. You're my. How old are you? Twenty-two?"
"More or less," Fist replied warily. "However, were I you, I wouldn't make the mistake of judging my abilities based upon age. Others have and regretted it."
Staffa twitched and said. "I don't think you understand. I have to meet with you — face-toface."
"Minister Takka tells me you're in the employ of Sassa." Sinklar shook his head. "Is that why you want to see me? Possibly buy me off? I won't do it. There must never be another Targa."
Staffa's heart jumped. "No, this has nothing to do with politics or war. I have to talk to you. about your parents. And it must be done in person."
"What do you think this is all about?" Mac asked, casting a nervous glance at Sinklar.
"I don't know, but I'm skeptical already." Sinklar shook his head. "If the Seddi are involved, it's got to be a trick or trap of some sort."
They sat in the empty shuttle, the only two passengers, as the craft slowed and matched with Chrysla. Sink craned his neck to peer over the lines of empty seats at the monitor that filled the space over the flight deck hatch. He studied the Companion ship's lines, trying to comprehend the differences in hull design and the weapons systems. Chrysla had been built like a huge three-sided wedge. Her black hull gave off little reflection, making her practically invisible against the stars.
The hatch clanged and the shuttle jerked as the grapple puled it close.
Sink rubbed his hot eyes and smiled nervously at Mac. "I wouldn't have done this if you hadn't vouched for him,"
"I was down there in the darkness with the guy. Sink, he didn't have to bring us out of that hole. And, to be honest, if it would have been me on top of him, I think I'd have left him to die."
The hatch beeped to indicate pressurization. Then gravity returned as the g plates powered up. "Well, let's see what the Star Butcher wants, but, Mac, I've got an eerie feeling that trouble's going to result from this."
Mac gave him a weary look. "Trouble? We're going back to Rega to deal with Ily Takka — and you're worried about trouble?"
Sink followed Mac into the lock, stepping out ito a very different ship than he expected. The inside of Chrysla gleamed — white and airy with space — unlike the claustro phobic mortician-gray Regan military vessels.
Two smartly dressed STO officers met them at the hatch, slapped out salutes, and stood at attention. Sink noticed that their equipment appeared more sophisticated than Regan issue. Microelectronics studded the helmets and shoulders. The armor looked different, too; it had a scalloped effect. A muscular black man, also in STO gear, approached.
"Good to see you again, Ark," Mac greeted.
The muscular black man smiled grimly. "Looks like the Regans cleaned you up, First. If you'll follow me."
Sinklar asked from the side of his mouth, "Hes Seddi?"
"Companion. He's Ryman Ark, bead of the STO bunch," Mac returned. "And you should have seen his peope deploy on the ground."
Ark led them down a well-kept corridor to a transport tube and motioned them inside. Sinklar couldn't even feel the acceleration. When the tube opened, it was to another polished white corridor. Soft music played through the ship's speakers.
"Not quite as grim an environment as the Regan fleet," Sinklar observed.
Ark smiled, bending the scar on his cheek. "There are advantages to being a Companion. But it's not all flash and
show. We go into combat feeling fresher than other troops. Those resources we don't put into training are put into morale. When we go into action, we want to be sharp enough to split a neutrino."
Sink glanced at Mac. "I'll keep that in mind."
Ark stopped before what appeared to be a standard hatch. "Sinklar Fist is here Lord Commander."
The hatch slid open with a hushed whisper.
Sinklar took a deep breath and passed through a functioning double airlock and into an opulently furnished room. He and Mac gaped. An Etarian sand leopard glared down at them from the wall. The rugs were unlike anything they'd ever walked on. Weapons, artwork, sculpture, and other bejeweled objects adorned the walls. Mac couldn't help but gawk at the fireplace. "We really on a ship? That can't work!"
"But it does."
Sinklar turned, seeing Staffa kar Therma step out of one of the carved doors that flanked the fireplace. Behind him came a beautiful woman with pale blonde hair and eyes of the deepest blue. Staffa wore a gray combat suit and high black boots. A charcoal cape swirled behind him. The woman wore white armor and had her long braid wrapped around her left shoulder.
"Good to see you again, Mac." Staffa shook MacRuder's hand and indicated the woman. "Allow me to introduce Skyla Lyma, Wing Commander of the Companions."
Sink's gut began to squirm. The Star Butcher seemed jittery. This wasn't going to be another Mykroft circus, was it?
"This is Lord Sinklar Fist," Mac replied in turn.
Sink waited, arms crossed, meeting Staffa's piercing gray eyes. "I don't think you invited us over for a social occasion. Could we get down to business?"
The Lord Commander nodded, a frown lining his forehead. He took several paces and whirled, staring frankly at Sinkar. He seemed agitated, nervous. "Tell me about your parents — that is, what you've been told about them."
Sink shot Mac an uneasy glance, seeing his friend's complete mystification. "They were Seddi assassins. About twenty years ago, they tried to kill Tybalt the Imperial Seventh. I talked with the Judicial Magistrate who tried the case. After their execution, I was placed in an institution as a ward of the state. "On Targa?"
"On Rega." Sinklar balanced on the tip of his toes, anxiety in his chest. "Does this have a point? I took your word that we'd be guaranteed safety, but my personal history doesn't have any bearing on-"
"Your mother was auburn-haired." Staffa said in a strained voice. "Do you remember? She had amber eyes, just like your amber eye."
"She had black hair," Sinklar said coolly. "The same as I do-and her eyes were gray."
Staffa rubbed his hands together. "Who told you that?" "No one. I saw them."
"Saw them?"
In Rega. In the Criminal Anatomical Research Lab. Both my mother and father are there. They're kept as …… He turned away.
The Lord Commander looked perplexed. "You say you saw your father? What did he look like?"
"Brown hair. He was the one with yellow eyes. He looked… kind. And maybe a little sad. But then, that was before I learned about the Seddi-and the way they trained their assassins."
Skyla Lyma looked at Staffa, a frown tracing her smooth skin. Mac shifted uncomfortably, clearly wishing he was somewhere else.
A fist seemed to tighten around Sinklar's heart. This was insane! "Lord Commander, I don't know what the game is, but-"