Icons! The shields are simple icons that indicate what sort of things can be found further down the corridor.Phelan smiled to himself, pleased that his brain had started to function in something more than a random pattern. I haven't a clue to what the hexagon means, but I bet the chains mean prison. The red star and the colored ball are anyone's guess.

Phelan quickly pierced the secret of the blue-white ball as he moved down the corridor. The aroma of food started his belly rumbling, and several of the doorways on his right were emblazoned with shields showing wavy lines that looked like spaghetti gone mad. God alone knows what that symbol is supposed to be, but unless my nose isn't working, there's food around. If the ball corridor contains a place to eat, maybe it indicates living quarters or personnel services.

As they continued along the corridor, something else nagged at Phelan's mind. If all these doors with tangle-string icons lead into the galley, that's a fairly big room. That means there are lots of people aboard this Drop Ship. And so its got to be a big one—probably aBehemoth Class.

A bit further along, his guide stopped before a door on the left that withdrew up into the wall. Phelan caught the flash of a shield and a V-shaped symbol with a big ball in the middle and two smaller balls on either horn. He stepped into the room and around a partition, then winced at the bright light reflecting from the white tile walls and silver metal mirrors on the left-hand wall. As his eyes accustomed themselves to the light, he frowned. What in the world is this place?

Two of the three people in the room glared at him as though he had interrupted some sacred ceremony. Phelan felt a shiver run down his spine, but he quickly identified it as more than a normal uneasy feeling about wandering into a place where he was definitely unwelcome. I got used to that on Gunzburg. Here, it's as though I'm not even human.

The three people present were so unusual in shape and appearance that Phelan wondered if theywere human. Furthest away was a naked woman seated on a narrow bench that sagged deeply in the middle. It was not because she was fat, though Phelan guessed she would tip a scale at 150 kilos, but she was huge!Pale flesh stretched over thick muscles, and Phelan realized her physique was better than that of Kell Hound members who lifted weights in their spare time. Her shoulders are broader than seven of those lockers! She's two-meters thirty if a centimeter.

The woman looked over her shoulder at Phelan, her brown eyes cold. He saw her measure his limbs and study the muscles of his nearly naked body like a predator deciding if the prey would be worth the effort needed to kill it. Then she simply resumed braiding the long, red queue snaking down from the back of her head. If she and I never tangle, I won't mind at all. Where do they find 'Mechs to fit someone like that?

The man nearest Phelan looked equally strange. Between him and the amazon, they could have made three normal-sized individuals. A shock of yellow hair covered the man's large head, but his naked body seemed far too small to be attached to his neck. Still, the well-defined muscles hinted at a strength and power that belied his actual size. The man never turned to look at Phelan, but watched him with bulging green eyes in the mirror.

When Phelan locked eyes with the third person in the room, it felt as though he'd stabbed a metric incritometer into an electrical outlet. Pure hatred smoldered in the man's dark eyes. What the hell is eating him?The man wore a long, loose blue shirt, but Phelan guessed they were about the same size. Our hair's the same color, but he's got a widow's-peak. If not for that and his brown eyes, we'd almost look like brothers.

The middle man turned his molten stare on Phelan's guide. "Get him out of here. Take him down to the shearing pens."

She shook her head. "Neg. I am taking him to see the Khan and he must be cleaned up."

The amazon looked over. "But here, Ranna?"

Ranna raked slender fingers through her snowy hair. "Yes, Evantha, here. He has to remain isolated from the others." She shot Phelan a glance. "You couldn't have expected me to take him to my cabin to clean him up, quineg?"

"Certainly not that, Star Commander," mocked the middle man. "You should have taken him to the kitchens. They have tubs there for cleaning the grime off vegetables." The flesh around his brown eyes tightened. "Do what you will. I do not care. I am done here."

Something in the man's voice sparked recognition in Phelan, but he couldn't place why. As the man tucked his dark blue shirt into his trousers, Phelan noticed a flash of silver at the man's waist, and anger shot through him. "Hey, that's my belt buckle!" The mercenary reached his hand out for the onyx and malachite wolf's-head Tyra had made for him.

Phelan never saw any of the punches, but he heard and felt them well enough. The first blow caught him on the side of the head, over his left temple. It snapped his head around and started him going down, A left jab slammed into his stomach, doubling him over and blasting his breath away. His legs collapsed as though he were a rag-doll. The final hammershot smashed into his left ear and drove him into a row of gray lockers. Phelan hit hard and bounced to the ground. "Vlad!"

His head ringing, he barely heard Ranna shout the name, but he felt the menace overshadowing him withdraw. The world spun around him, and his lungs burned with the need for air. He tried to breathe, but his lungs refused to work. Shaken as he was, he understood why he couldn't breathe, but that did nothing to ease his panic. Air! I need air!

The small, blond man knelt beside him and rolled him over onto his back. He grasped the waistband of the shorts Phelan was wearing. Lifting up, he forced Phelan to arch his back and some precious air seeped into the mercenary's lungs. He continued elevating and lowering the mercenary's middle while looking up at Phelan's assailant.

His expression furious as a thundercloud, Vlad looked ready to spit. "Do not gaze upon me in that fashion, Carew!" He shifted his gaze to Phelan's guide. "Nor you, Ranna. I will not be spoken to in that tone of voice by an inferior, nor will I suffer the likes of him touching me. This buckle is mine!" He thrust a finger at Phelan. "He was my kill and I took the buckle by right. It is the least I am due, given the Khan's uncharacteristic action."

Ranna brought her chin up. "You forget yourself, Vlad. The Khan has not often exercised his right to claim what his people have won, but it is, nonetheless, his rightto do just that. Your action brings shame on the sibko. You were raised for better."

Ranna's stinging rebuke brought color to Vlad's cheeks. He stared at her, then looked down abruptly. Without another word, he stepped around Carew and left the room. As the door shut automatically behind him, Carew and Ranna both sighed.

Having his lungs working at least marginally had put out the fire in Phelan's chest. He stared at the door and spat hair and dirt from his mouth. That voice! The one they called Vlad was one of my interrogators. He was Hothead.Phelan's fingers itched to throttle the man who had battered him, but the quivering weakness of his limbs left him no illusions about his fighting ability. I've been juiced up for days and weeks—probably months—and been kept cramped in a small room with no chance to exercise at all. Back in trim, I might be able to do something, but damn, he movedfast And he hit hard, too.

Carew shifted around to get his hands under Phelan's right arm as Ranna came over and grabbed his left. They heaved him to his feet, then plopped him down on the bench. Evantha stood, gave Phelan a disgusted look, and stalked deeper into the room. The mercenary steadied himself, then looked up and found himself staring at a stranger in the mirror.