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  “Stand by,” Reever told the drone.

  I went to the helm and checked the exterior sensors that were still working before gazing out at the surrounding surface. Outside the ship, curtains and spires of rock dust danced with languid speed, forced into the airless dark by our violent landing.

  “We will need weights and tethers if we leave the ship,” I said to Reever. “The planet has almost no gravity.”

  I couldn’t see the domes of the colony from here, but there were some shelters at the end of the plain, built between ragged pillars of carbonized rock and what appeared to be gaping black holes descending beneath the surface. Behind them, I could just make out several huge, motionless machines covered in dust.

  “What are those things?”

  “Ore conveyers and crushers. In the old days, Alek used the abandoned mining operation here to hide his slave runners,” Reever told me. “There are thousands of tunnels on this planet.”

  The mention of Davidov’s name made my fingernails dig into the edge of the console. “I would like to drop him down one of them.”

  “Stay here.” Reever picked his way back to the droplift. The controls sparked when he punched them, and the door panels to the air lock only slid open an inch before jamming.

  I heard the sound of an incoming relay and straightened. “Reever, someone is signaling us.”

  “Signal transmitted by trader vessel Renko,” the maintenance drone said. “Originator is Davidov, Aleksei, Terran, current position ship’s owner and flight captain—”

  “Shut up,” I told it as Reever and I hurried back to the helm.

  None of the displays worked, but the audio portion of the relay from the Renko came over the console with perfect clarity.

  “I’m reading two life signs, and you’re moving around the interior, so I know you’re both alive and ambulatory,” Davidov’s voice said over the com panel. “I felt sure you would make it, Duncan. Remember the time you brought down that crippled fighter with all those slaves crammed in the weapons hold? You have to admit, this was a cake-walk compared to that.”

  My husband muttered something ugly under his breath.

  “I regret that I had to be the one to shoot you down this time,” Davidov said, “but you will recall that I did offer to smuggle your wife onto Trellus first.”

  Reever tried to relay a reply, but the console did not respond.

  “I imagine you have a lot to say to me,” Davidov continued. “That’s the other thing, old friend. I took out your transmitter before I forced you to land. You won’t be able to signal me or any of your friends on Joren. I also used a small charge to rupture your power couplings. I’m afraid that the only way you’re getting off Trellus is on my launch. I’ll be happy to transport you and the wife, but you have to do something for me first.”

  “He wants the bounty,” I said, my throat tight.

  “It’s simple: Find the shifter.” Davidov’s voice grew harsh. “Find it, capture it, and put an end to the games it’s been playing down there.”

  Reever frowned.

  “Is he talking about the Odnallak?” I asked, but my husband only gave me a blank look.

  “It won’t be difficult,” Davidov told us. “When it learns about your wife’s unique physiology, it will not stop until it can play with her. I suggest you dangle her in a prominent place. One more thing: Don’t kill the Hsktskt. I’ve become very fond of her.”

  I wondered if Reever’s former friend had gone mad. He was speaking as if he had.

  “Find the shifter and kill it, Duncan,” Davidov repeated. “You and the lovely doctor are the only ones left who can. Because if you don’t, I will bombard the surface of Trellus until I kill you, Jarn, the shifter, and every other living thing on this planet. You have thirty solar days. Renko, out.”

  Five

  Davidov’s threat echoed in my head, which was starting to spin. I tried to take a deep, cleansing breath, and found that I couldn’t. My ears suddenly popped rather painfully, as if someone had clapped their hands over them.

  “Something is wrong with the air,” I told my husband, who was staring down at the ruined helm. His back and shoulders were rigid. “Duncan.”

  He straightened and turned to me. “The air?” He breathed in and touched one of his ears. “The cabin pressure is dropping.” He summoned the maintenance drone. “Report the current levels in the environmental supply tanks.”

  “Working.” The drone made more of its noises, and then said, “Atmospheric supply levels at twenty-seven percent.”

  “Is the hull leaking atmosphere?” Reever demanded.

  The drone fell silent for a few moments. “Negative.Supply tanks two, six, and nine empty and no longer functional. Estimated repair time, three solar days.”

  “We have to get into suits,” my husband said. “We’ll run out of air in an hour.”

  We couldn’t stay with Moonfire or try to make repairs without air. “Do we have enough oxygen in the suit tanks to walk eleven kilometers?”

  “We’ll have to carry spare tanks with us.”

  Movement outside the ship drew my gaze. Shadows, enormous ones, converged on Moonfire from all sides.

  “We may not have an hour,” I told him. “I think colonial security has found us.”

  The machines surrounding the ship stood ten feet tall, and were covered from top to bottom in heavy, dark blue armor. The armor plates seemed to absorb the light from the ship’s exterior emitters rather than reflect it. Tight bundles of shielded power cables ran the length of their frames, feeding into hydraulic boosters and weapons ports.

  They had been designed to appear somewhat humanoid, with two upper extension grapplers like arms that ended in four-pronged, claw-shaped grips serving as hands. Instead of two legs, they had three, which formed a jointed tripod base.

  “Drednocs.” Reever came to stand beside me, and I looked at him. “A type of battle drone developed by the League during their war with the Hsktskt. They were used during the heaviest surface fighting. Very little can stop them.”

  I recalled what Davidov had said about the Hsktskt. “Why would they be used here, on a trade colony?”

  “I don’t know.” He stiffened as something struck the hull outside. “They’re fitted with sonic torches and are going to cut their way in. We have to put on suits, now.”

  We found two intact envirosuits, and I removed the supply tanks from two others. As we dressed, Reever issued terse instructions.

  “Do not identify yourself to them,” he said, “or relate that we met with Alek, or that he and I have any connection. If they wish to know why we were in orbit, say that we were surveying the planet when we experienced engine trouble.”

  “Can’t we just hide somewhere until they go away?” I asked as I pulled the envirosuit up over my legs.

  Vibrating, squealing metallic sounds shook the hull.

  “Thermal scanners are standard on all security drones,” Reever told me as he fastened the air seals at the back of my suit, and turned to let me do the same with his. “They’ll pick up our heat signatures wherever we hide. If they’re ATD programmed, they won’t harm us.” He saw my expression and added, “Security drones are usually programmed to apprehend, transport, and detain.”

  “Usually.” The word hardly comforted me. “How can they be stopped if they are not?”

  His eyes went gray. “Let me worry about that.”

  I prepared to argue the point, but the sounds of grinding metal grew louder. I fastened the breather over my mouth before closing the suit’s helmet.

  “Can you hear me?” I said over the suit com.

  “Yes.” He closed the collar gasket on my helmet. “Turn around.”

  Reever and I had just enough time to check each other’s seals before we were flung across the cabin into the breached air lock with every bit of debris that was not secured.

  As a viselike device attached itself to my leg, I looked out through the open air lock panels. The security drone
s had not bothered to board the ship; they had simply reached in with their grapplers extended to drag us out.

  And drag us out they did, lifting us from the deck so that our legs dangled several feet from the planet’s surface.

  The drednoc holding me brought me up to its cranial case and scanned my helmet. “Identify,” it said in Jorenian.

  I barely remembered in time what Reever had told me. “I am Resa,” I said, borrowing my old friend’s name again. “Our ship’s engines malfunctioned, and we were forced to land here. We are not armed.”

  I hoped the natives were friendly toward accidental visitors. Before the rebellion on Akkabarr, the harsh winds of my homeworld forced down many ships. Any crash survivors were killed, and their faces, along with those of the dead, were skinned and delivered to the Toskald as tribute.

  “Terran, female,” the machine soldier said, switching to that language. “You are claimed under colonial charter by Mercy House.”

  Claimed and mercy were two good words. Under the circumstances, ones that I liked very much.

  “Terran, male,” the drone holding Reever said. “You are claimed under colonial charter by Games Master Drefan.”

  “I don’t think they’re going to harm us,” Reever said. “We may be considered salvage, or property, until we can identify ourselves to the colonists.”

  “Wait,” I said as the drone holding me and two others began to move in one direction, and the one with Reever and its companions went in another. Both went toward the colony domes, but Reever’s drones were headed toward the west section, while mine turned to the east. “We are together, husband and wife. We can’t be separated.” They did not stop. “Duncan.”

  “Don’t fight them,” Reever said over my suit com. “They are taking us to different domes. As soon as I can free myself, I will come for you. I will find you.”

  That was the last thing I heard him say as the drones separated and took him out of com range.

  The drone carrying me and two others traveled across the plain to the largest of the eastern domes. We entered the pressurized shelter through a series of airtight corridors. In each corridor we were scanned and subjected to various forms of intensive biodecon, including energy sweep, vacuum, and surface spray. Although the drednocs were not living beings, and would be difficult to contaminate, they were treated as if they were as alive as me.

  Something was very wrong here.

  At last we entered the main area under the dome. The colonists had built their shelters in various sizes on elevated foundations, forming walkways beneath them. This collection of shelters ranged from single-level dwellings to more elaborate multiplexes.

  I was brought to the largest structure, near the center of the dome, and taken on a lift to the lowest level. There the drednocs escorted me to a large empty room, where we waited for several minutes.

  My com relayed a warning buzz indicating the low level of oxygen in my air tank. I tried to persuade the machine soldier holding me to release me from its grip so that I could remove my helmet, but it did not respond. My lungs had begun to burn when at last someone living came in.

  “What have you brought me today, boys?”

  The small, dark female who came to stand in front of the drednocs appeared to be Terran, so I addressed her as such. I had to speak loudly to be heard through my breather and helmet. “Tell them to release me. My air is running out.”

  “Hang on.” She released my collar seal, lifted the helmet away from my head, and removed the breather covering the lower half of my face. She did all this while standing as far away from me as she could.

  “You’ve got air,” she said. “So say something.”

  I dragged in delicious cool air scented with some sort of alien spice. “I thank you.”

  The other woman wore fitted black garments and a blade belt strapped around her hips. Three small, thin circlets of gleaming silver pierced her face in interesting places: the side of her nose, the top of one ear, and the center of her left eyebrow. Her eyes were the color of a d’narral blossom, pure, strong violet, with dark golden stars around each pupil. She had applied some cosmetics to her face, judging by the enhanced tone of her cheeks, lips, and eyelids. Thick, shiny brown hair fell over her shoulders down to her hips. She looked to be equal in height and weight to me.

  “Salvage item four-oh-seven-B,” the drednoc reported. “Terran, female, living.”

  “I can see that for myself, bolt head. Lights.” As the emitters brightened, the woman tipped her head to one side and studied my face. “Well, now. You look like you could be my little sister.”

  I didn’t know how common my attributes were among Terrans. I had only shared a superficial resemblance to one Iisleg female: Resa, the healer who had been like a sister to me.

  I didn’t see myself in this woman’s narrow features, but I thought it better not to insult her by stating such an opinion.

  “I doubt we’re siblings,” she told me. “The lizards ate my parents before they could make me a little brother or sister. Perhaps we’re distant cousins. What’s your mother’s name?”

  I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t tell her that I had been cloned from the cells of a madman and incubated in a machine. No one ever reacted favorably to hearing that.

  “None of my business. Gotcha.” She lifted the edge of the makeshift bandage I had tied around my head. “Nasty-looking cut.” She pinched my cheek, painfully tugging the skin out. “Anyone else in there?”

  “She scans clean,” a disgruntled male voice said. “Thanks so much for waiting for my signal, Beautiful. “

  Beautiful glanced at the wall. “She did just crash a ship out there. Her skin is tight, she’s lucid, and she hasn’t tried to kill anyone. I don’t think we need a full workup.”

  “No, let’s permit her to run amok instead,” the wall said back. “It’ll make life around here that much more interesting.”

  “You worry too damn much.” The female directed the drednoc to release me, and helped me out of the suit. “She’s wearing Jorenian gear. Borrowed, or stolen.” As I stiffened, she eyed me. “She doesn’t like being called a thief. Have you got a name, or should we just call you ‘salvage item four-oh-seven-B? ’ “

  Reever had told me not to identify myself, but if I did not answer her, she might grow hostile. I swallowed to ease the dryness of my throat. “I am Resa.”

  “Are you?” Something shifted in her eyes. “I’m Mercy. This is my place.” She took a step closer. “Now, what are you doing here, besides crashing on my planet?”

  “We did not mean to intrude on your territory.” I immediately realized that I had said the words in Iisleg, and quickly repeated it in the pure Terran that my husband spoke.

  “I understand you,” she said back to me in perfect Iisleg. Then, switching to Terran, she added, “Half the slaves I started out with were bred on your ice ball, thanks to some of your friends.”

  Her hostility puzzled me as much as her references. “It is not my ice ball. I have no friends involved in slavery.”

  “We’ll get to that.” She braced her hands against the insides of her arms and tapped her fingertips against her sleeves. “Why did Davidov shoot you down?”

  She knew we had not crashed by accident. I tried to think of an excuse, but fear for Reever clouded my head. Then an idea occurred to me.

  “I do not know anyone named Davidov,” I said. “But my husband might. The drones that came to our ship took him to another dome, on the west side of the colony. If you would bring him here, I am certain he can explain everything.”

  “If your husband is young and healthy, then Drefan owns him until his salvage debt is repaid. And you’re a terrible liar.” She tilted her head. “Davidov and his thugs haven’t let anyone near Trellus for the better part of a year. He barely drops enough to keep us alive, so no way would he force down your little ship just for kicks. What’s the deal?”

  Why would Alek blockade the entire colony? “No one kicked us, and
we made no deal. I had thought the colony was under quarantine.”

  “We are. Davidov’s quarantine.” Bitterness tainted the smile she offered me. “How did he put it? No one lands, and no one leaves. He’s destroyed every transport we’ve tried to send out, and jams every distress signal we’ve transmitted.”

  In the future I was going to pay very strict, devoted attention to what the hair on the back of my neck did. “Why is Davidov forcing the colony to live in isolation like this?”

  “No one knows. He won’t tell us.” She gave me a long, measuring look. “If you’re part of his game, I’m not playing it. Cat, forward that crazy bastard’s relays in here. I want the ones on the bounty, with the images.”

  The voice from the wall protested. “Mercy, if you show your hand—”

  “What’s she going to do?” she snapped. “Cry? Beat up the dreds? Bite my head off? She’s maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet.”

  “So are you,” Cat said, his voice growing. “We won’t know anything about her until we do a full workup.”

  “Later. Forward the relays.”

  The display screen on the wall flickered, and began showing a series of relay vids written in multiple languages. On each one was an image of my face as well as Reever’s. I assumed they were from the time he and Cherijo resided on Kevarzangia Two.

  When the Terran captions appeared, I saw they spelled out the terms of the bounty being offered for me.

  “So, Resa.“ Mercy moved in until her breath touched my cheek, and her eyes bored into my own. “I’ll be generous and assume that gash on your head made you momentarily forget that your name is Cherijo Grey Veil. The bounty, though, that’s going to be harder to explain.”

  I sighed. “It is complicated.”

  “I can only imagine.” She folded her arms. “Davidov has been offering four million stan credits to anyone who brings you and your husband to him, but the minute he has you, he forces you to crash-land here. Did something change? Why did he want you in the first place?” When I began to reply, she lifted one finger. “Don’t make up any new stories. I’m really not in the mood.”