"I know."
Why does she sound so sad? Who is she? "I suppose you're aware of the situation."
The weary sorrow in her expression melted im. "Staffa's coming."
Marston studied her from the corner of his eye. She'd said the Star Butcher's name with a wistful longing. "That's what we're told. But I assure you, you'll be safe here. The Lord Commander has never tried to crack a nut like Myklene before. We're not some half-starved backward planet. He has no concept of our power, or the capabilities of our orbital platforms. The finest technology has gone into making them the most sophisticated and deadly defensive weapons in all of Free Space. His tactics won't do him any good here. He's outgunned, and our tracking and targeting capabilities are like nothing he's ever dealt with."
Marston's soul swelled when she turned her doe-eyed gaze on him. Hard-bitten veteran though he was, he'd already fallen in love with her. He battled the desire to enfold her in his arms, to carry her off to his cabin and.
"Staffa knows that Captain." How could she talk about the man with such tenderness?
"Then he knows he'll be crushed if he tries us."
She placed a pale hand on his shoulder and an electric
thrill shot through him. "Run, Captain. Leave this place. Save yourself while you have time."
He forced a laugh. "I think you grossly overestimate the Lord Commander's chances, my lady. I give you my word, no matter what happens, I shall make sure you're safe. You needn't fear his slavers."
Her smile went crooked. "Believe me, Captain. I have no fears of Staffa. And slavery comes in many forms and fashions." Grief brightened her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if perhaps the only true freedom lies in death."
"My lady. can I help you? Is there something I could—"
"No, Captain." Her amber stare melted him. "But I thank you for your offer. It's too late to help me. But you still have time to flee, and perhaps to save yourself."
"Staffa kar Therma could never take Myklene. For the first time, he'll have to tackle a superior force head-on. I grant you, he's taken world after world — but never an advanced military power like Myklene."
"I hope the Blessed Gods give you a moment to remember your brave words, Captain."
"Here, look." He pointed to spots of light above the curve of the planet; they gleamed greenly against the starclustered darkness of space. "Those are the most powerful weapons platforms in all of Free Space — and perhaps beyond the Forbidden Borders. We can track, pinpoint, and hit as many as six thousand moving obects at once. It's all controlled by a master computer complex on the planet so even if we lose a platform, the others will compensate immediately."
At the doubt that troubled her perfect face, Marston grinned. "I'll tell you what. If the Star Butcher is foolish enough to attack, and if you're frightened, use this—" he handed her a medallion from his pouch—"and go down to the emergency evacuation pods. That's the safest place on the whole ship."
Her delicate fingers closed over the medallion, glimmerings of hope lighting her porcelain face. "It's a pass?"
He nodded. "The Praetor will have to okay it, since you've only got a ID clearance — use it only in an emergency."
She flashed him a brief smile that sent pangs through his
heart. "You're a blessing Captain. But I have to go. If I don't, the Praetor will. Well, that's not your problem. I look forward to seeing you soon."
"Who are you?" he asked as she swept past.
She paused at the hatch and looked back. "You can call me… no, I owe you, Captain, and, considering what is coming, perhaps it makes no difference anymore. My name is Chrysla, but forget I ever told you." She disappeared through the hatch.
"Chrysia — a wonderful name." Marston fingered his chin, barely noticing the grimy freighter that followed the traffic pattern toward the Port Authority. No matter what rumors of war crackled in subspace, the traders still flocked to Myklene, perhaps hoping to snatch a last minute cargo of Myklenian luxuries. He glared at the old scow and shook his head. Profiteers betting that Myklene would fall — that their last cargo would bring them uncounted wealth.
"But you've bet wrong, friend."
Marston glanced one last time at the planet and started for his quarters. A trace of a frown ate into his forehead. Chrysla. He'd heard the name before. Why did it sound familiar?
The shiny syalon door to the Head Regent's office slipped open with a faint hiss and Sinklar Fist straightened his dustblue student's jacket on his bony shoulders before striding through. The ceramic heels on his cheap boots clicked hollowly on the hard tiles.
Tall windows filled the spacious room with light. Data cubes rested in racks along one wall; the floor reflected a mirror polish. The Head Regent's desk dominated the room like a hulking flat-topped crab. A spiraling crystal sculpture poised like a lance on one corner of the desk and a commmonitor complex rose like a curved claw from the other.
Sinklar stopped before the desk, barely curbing the urge to spring from foot to foot with anticipation. He looked scrawny, and a thatch of unruly black hair crowned his long face. Given a few more years, he'd become a handsome young man, but, for the time being, the gangliness of the ate teen years dominated his frame. The most peculiar of his many peculiar traits were his eyes: one gray, the other yellow.
The Head Regent looked up from the monitor he studied and smiled warmly. "Sinklar. Good to see you, son."
"Yes, sir. I understand the scores are in for the Interplanetary exams, sir."
The Head Regent's smile weakened and he ran a freckled hand over the dome of his bald head. "They are, Sinklar." He paused, mystification creasing the wrinkles of his face. "But I don't understand what's happened."
Sinklar stepped forward, leaning on the forbidden territory of the Head Regent's desk. "How did I place? By the Blessed Gods, sir, tell me!"
The Head Regent pulled a flimsy from the top of a stack and stared at the printing with a scowl. "Third in the empire, Sinklar." He handed the sheet across. "But, Sinklar—"
"Third" Sinklar let out a whoop, leaping with joy as he studied the blocky letters on the printout. "I've done it!"
"Sinklar?"
"Third! I told you Head Regent! It felt right when I took the exam. I just knew I—"
"Sinklar!"
He turned, the flush of excitement fit to burst his skinny breast. "Sir?"
The Head Regent sighed and leaned back in his chair, a sadness in his eyes. "They turned down your application to the university."
Sinklar took a step forward. "They. what?"
The Head Regent shook his head. "I don't know why. I got the exam results this morning and called immediately. Nothing like this has ever happened before. I don't. wel, I'm sure it's a mistake."
Sinklar gaped, ebullience fading. "Turned down?" He shook the flimsy in his bony fist. "But I'm third. Third in all the empire! How can they?"
"I'm sure it's a mistake. I've got calls in—"
"No." Sinklar looked down at the crumpled sheet in his hand. "It's my background again, isn't it?"
"Sinklar, you can't—"
"Yes, sir. I can." He glanced up, the heat of anger rising. "It's like always, isn't it? The enrollment will consist of the
silver-spooned children of the nobility. The few positions remaining will go to wealthy merchants and the governors."
"Sinklar, I'm sure it's a mistake. That's all."
"Mistake? Sir, there's no room among the elite for a ward of the state. It's because of my parents again, because of what they did. Why do I have to pay for what they did? I never knew them! I only know where they're buried — and what the court records state. We Regans document everything, but I'm a random factor, a freak in the system." Sinklar dropped his head, pulling the flimsy through his numb fingers. "I understand too well Head Regent. We wouldn't want the fair-haired sons and daughters of Lord Ministers and governors in the university rubbing elbows with the likes of me, would we?"