"Will your government let them come? With this policy of hate the offworlder..."

Berenir made an impatient gesture. "If there's one thing I've learned in three hundred threedays on the Streets of Merchants, it's that business will turn again. How long do you think Trellwan will get along without the traders from the stars, eh?"

"I don't know. You have water here... you grow your own food... you could do without them." What Grayson didn't say was that, by his standards, Trellwan's level of civilization was scarcely removed from barbarism. They had no electronics technology to speak off. Power was drawn from tidal generators powered by burning petroleum distillates. Why, transportation in the streets was as likely to be by harnessed desert laniks as it was to be self-powered.

Berenir made an impatient gesture. "The government doesn't care about food and water. It's tariffs, import duties, and taxes they're concerned about. Give the politicians oh... ten... maybe 20 threedays, and the ships will come again."

Berenir rubbed his chin ruefully. "But in the meantime, we're going to have a bit of trouble figuring out what to do with you."

Listening to all this, Grayson had suppressed a groan. Ten Trell threedays was something like two and a half standard years. In the past six months, the only commercial DropShips to set down on Trellwan had been from the Mailai trader that had been handling the runs between Oberon and Trellwan. How much longer would it be before another called? And how could he reach it, with Hendrik's bandits at the port, and the people of Sarghad ready to kill him on sight?

Berenir looked thoughtful. "I have contacts in the government," he said. "A merchant in my position has to, nowadays. The Chief Minister is a friend of mine..."

"Stannic? Chief Minister Stannic?"

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"I... know his daughter. Quite well. I've met the Minister a time or two..."

"Stannic is one of King Jeverid's most trusted aides. He's also the man to know for trade licensing, that sort of thing."

"Will he help?"

Berenir pulled at his lower lip. "He has always approved of Jeverid's policies of strengthening ties with the Commonwealth. Lately, it's been Stannic and Jeverid against the rest of their government, and their desertion by the Castle garrison — no offense, young Lord — their desertion has left the government up against something of a wall. I... trust him as much as I trust any of that pack of animals. You say you know his daughter?"

Grayson nodded.

"Well, I'll see what I can do."

A meeting had been arranged at Mara's apartment to avoid attracting atttention to the merchant. Berenir's son gave Grayson clothes to replace his grey Commonwealth 'Mech uniform, a plain, light brown tunic, loose-fitting pants, and halfboots that were at least a size too small. Though it was getting well on towards Periasteron and the heat was rising rapidly, he also wore a cloak and hood that covered his light hair. There had been some discussion about whether or not to dye his hair to match the glossy black of most native Trells, but Grayson had decided against it in the end. He would see Mara as himself.

The people along the Third Street of the Merchants seemed totally absorbed in their own comings and goings and ignored Grayson. The merchant stalls were lightweight, easily assembled affairs of wood and canvas. Each crowded into the street in competition with its neighbors, turning the walk along the arrow-straight avenue into a zigzag around milling shoppers, piles of produce, stacks of woven cloth, and the merchants themselves vying with one another in a cacophony of bleated pleas for attention. But Grayson noticed that even the street merchants seemed to have lost something of their enthusiasm.

Sarghad was gripped by fear, waiting for Hendrik's bandits to turn their attention to the city.

Little was known about the bandit forces that now occupied the spaceport, and less was known about their intent. Berenir had said that no demands or threats had been made by the invaders, and that City Council representatives sent to the port had been turned away by sentries at the defensive perimeter that had been erected there. Hendrik's men had driven off the Commonwealth garrison Lance, thrown up the perimeter, and now were simply waiting.

For what?

The hub of the wheel of Sarghad embraced the Palace grounds, with the clustered domes of the Palace itself half hidden from public view by the lush, flowering vegetation of the irrigated gardens. The household of Minister Stannic was quartered in a line of luxurious three-story row houses that fronted the Royal Circle just across from the Palace entrance.

He'd been told Mara would be home. He knew she worked for her father, serving as Stannic's social secretary since her mother's death. Berenir had promised that she would be waiting, that she and Stannic would arrange for a place for Grayson to stay out of the public eye.

He was looking forward to seeing her again, despite his having already gone through a lingering set of last goodbyes with her. She was not as shy — or as protected — as most girls on a world that made a practice of sheltering its women by denying them much freedom. Stannic and his family had lived offworld for a number of years, according to Mara, and were not so set in Trellwan's social conservatism as their neighbors.

He was just mounting the steps in front of her apartment when a voice caught him from behind. "Stop, you."

Grayson stopped, and turned slowly. He found himself facing a young man in the dress uniform of Jeverid's Palace Guard, green jacket and trousers richly chased and edged with gold, and a white helmet polished to a dull shine ringed by a transparent blast shield. He held a functional-looking automatic rifle in white-gloved hands.

"Identify yourself," the soldier said. Beyond the man's shoulder were two more green-and-gold uniforms.

"Ah... Grayson, my name's Grayson." Trells did not use patronymics, and he dared not use his. "I'm here to see Mara. She knows me... she's expecting me..."

The rifle muzzle did not waver from its position centimeters from Grayson's sternum. "But I don’t." The guard squinted at Grayson's face under the heavy cowl. "Take that thing off."

He did so, reluctantly. The guard's eys widened at the sight of Grayson's fair hair. "So," he said, tightening his finger on the trigger. "Looks like we've captured ourselves one of those bandits!"

7

"Nonsense!" Grayson drew himself erect. "I am Grayson Carlyle, of the Commonwealth garrison Lance, and I'm here to see Minister Stannic... at once!"

The direct approach failed him. The rifle barrel jabbed forward, prodding Grayson in the chest and knocking him backward, off balance.

"You're not seeing anybody but the Guard Commander, offworlder. The interrogators will want to discuss some things with you, I'm thinking..."

Grayson had heard of Jeverid's interrogators. The methods of the Sarghad's police force were a frequent topic of speculation in the garrison barracks. The fear that had been growing in Grayson ever since he'd awakened at Berenir's house exploded. He turned and ran, panic driving him back into the street and along the Royal Circle. Even after colliding with several Trell citizens walking under the overhanging eaves, he kept running. Behind him, Grayson heard a shouted "Halt!" and the terrifying crack of a single rifle shot. The round must have been aimed into the air, though, as the street was too crowded for indiscriminate firing. He didn't think the guards would risk killing civilians just to get him. But he ran harder nonetheless, his back muscles bunched hard as though anticipating a rifle bullet.