She is more spheroid than Clan.

He could see her self-loathing. His new understanding of her weakness should have made him sick. Instead, he smiled gently.

She turned her face away, though her shoulders lost some of their slump. Give acceptance with one hand. Take away self-respect with the other.

Everything is a compromise, Coleen. Everything.

But Sha knew she’d known that much longer than he. Reminded now, he firmed his resolve.

He felt more committed than ever.

Halifax DropPort, Halifax

Vanderfox, Adhafera

Prefecture VII, The Republic

10 September 3134

Petr tried to decide if the torrential rains were preferable to this soupy mist. Because moisture was not actually falling, you believed you would not get wet; but in the brisk walk between buildings or vehicles on the hard tarmac of the DropPort, the dampness built up until you were covered in a fine layer of water. Most of the drops maintained their cohesion for a certain period, then suddenly soaked your head, and everything else.

He was not sure his mood could be more foul.

“ovKhan,” Jesup said, coming up from behind him as he stepped into the Command HQ vehicle, which sat almost three hundred meters from the closest of Delta’s DropShips.

He noticed that Jesup somehow managed to keep mostly dry and cursed under his breath. “What?”

“Most personnel have reported in. We have an exercise running out beyond Tumbled Heights, but word has gone out to all troops.”

“About time. What has happened to our discipline? How did we grow so lax?” He moved around inside the main briefing room and squelched into a seat at the holotable, disregarding the water saturating the seat and now soaking through his pants; he waved a hand at his aide to take a seat as well.

“Sha lifted off in, what, less than six hours? We should have done the same.”

“He did not take all of his forces with him.”

“Aff, but I wager he could have if he intended to. We have been here too long.”

“Then why would he wait to leave until the sabotage by Adhafera terrorists? I disagree. He could not have lifted off so quickly.”

The musk of their warm, damp bodies quickly pervaded the interior, mixing with the stale sweat of years of use, creating a miasma he’d almost gotten used to. He shivered.

Aff, a sure sign he’d been downside too long.

He ignored Jesup’s insistent belief in the Adhafera terrorists. Petr had broached the topic at least a half dozen times with the man, and he refused to acknowledge any other possible explanation. Considering what they had seen together over the years and the impossibilities made truth before their eyes, Petr was infuriated by his obstinate refusal to even entertain an alternative. It confused him, made him wonder, briefly, if Jesup needed to believe in the terrorists for some reason.

In fact, it dawned on him that his aide’s usual sarcastic mockery no longer echoed in his every word. It was as though something had stripped away, or at least blocked, his capacity for looking at the world with cynicism.

The cacophony of a thousand autocannons burst across the tarmac and drove all such thoughts from his mind. He jumped for the door, ignoring the rain; Jesup followed.

Outside, the first of the DropShips began to lift off, illuminating the late-night darkness.

“About time,” he said again, aggravated by his reaction to the liftoff. He had ordered it, and the captain had informed him it would occur soon, so he should have expected it. He was jumpy. Upset.

After a moment, Jesup said glumly, “I hate gravity. I cannot bear to think about how horrible two gravities will be. Stravag Sha for pushing his DropShips to such extremes.”

“He must believe we would pursue him as soon as we knew he had secured the Stewart information.” Does he have a clue about the rest of what I know—what I suspect? Is that why he ran so fast?

But he must know I will follow him to Stewart. I have to wring information from him I can present to Sennet. Or is Stewart a diversion and he flees elsewhere?

He shook his head, moved back inside and sat down, turning on the holographic table, which sputtered to life, showing the entire Adhafera system with the estimated whereabouts of Beta’s ships; both the first group with Sha himself, as well as the smaller group that departed later. He ran some numbers and realized Sha’s JumpShip transport must be available to depart the system immediately upon his DropShip reaching the nadir jump point, leaving a second ship to depart with the second group; he hoped—vainly he was sure—that Sha would not be able to remove all of the forces from the system for another two days.

It would take Petr ten days, perhaps a day less, to intercept Sha, but pushing at two gravities for the entire haul. Petr rubbed his hands together, almost wincing at the aching tendons and joints that would result from such punishment, especially for a Clan used to long years of microgravity.

A small price to pay to stop Sha’s plans. To stop him from shattering Clan Sea Fox.

“What are you going to do once we catch him?” Jesup asked in a small, deadly serious voice.

Gazing up into his aide’s serious eyes, Petr wondered the same thing himself. Had been wondering since he made the decision to lift all available forces off world and head out after Sha.

He felt pulled. He was reacting to events as they unfolded rather than controlling the situation; he had felt this way for weeks. He hated that sensation and knew such strategies always lost. If he hoped to find victory, hoped to do something beyond following Sha around as though led by the nose, failing utterly to stop him, he must seize the initiative again.

But how? That question did not yet have an answer.

He opened his mouth to reply and blackness stepped into the doorway, as though detaching from the night itself.

Jesup glanced over his shoulder to find the source of the absurd look on Petr’s face and immediately threw himself out of his seat toward the back of the room, spun into a low crouch and sized up the situation.

Clothed in a pitch-black sneak suit with night-vision goggles dangling around the neck, totally drenched (probably why none of the area’s IR sensors squawked), the short, stocky intruder moved with lethal grace. The Shredder heavy needler pistol swung in perfect arcs, one-two-three, checking the room, placing targets, before sliding back on straps to a hoisted position under the right arm, easily pulled into position if needed. Though the gun almost looked too large for the intruder’s stature, Petr didn’t doubt for a moment the efficiency with which this person could use such a weapon. Every action, every muscle movement radiated competence and lethality.

Death dressed to kill.

Though the intruder’s eyes were difficult to see in the shadows playing across the doorway, they were visible.

Smoky eyes.

“Savashri,” Petr breathed, unable to restrain himself. He had known all along, though he never admitted it, what she likely must be. But her profile, the body that did not fit her movements, all allowed for easy denial. Allowed him to lead himself astray.

Now, however, the strange emotions he had felt at their last meeting coalesced into something more, something he could not ignore. Respect? Admiration? Esteem?

Aff. And more.

Though the traditional Clan warrior within warred with the vision of the obvious special forces persona before him (such dishonorable tactics!), the tough merchant-warrior respected any acumen, under any circumstances.

And acumen she held in abundance.