Seven Years Earlier…

I.

VANDELIA TRIED TO CONCEAL her astonishment when her rescuer’s face fell off.

She had not been expecting a rescuer at all, much less one whose visage suddenly abandoned him. Only five minutes before, her situation had seemed utterly hopeless. Not that it was in Vandelia’s nature to admit that any situation was hopeless or in any way outside of her control. It wasn’t that she was eternally optimistic. She was just too damned stubborn, not to mention extremely fierce-natured.

She was a sinewy Orion woman, with thick green hair that cascaded about her slim, bare green shoulders. She was scantily dressed, as was the custom of her kind, in a clinging outfit that concealed almost nothing and accentuated that which it hid. Orion females preferred such attire because it made them more formidable fighters. After all, how was an opponent expected to concentrate fully on his own defense when there was so much exposed flesh coming at him? A male never quite knew where to look first, and consequently he never quite reacted properly to an assault. Before he knew it, razor-sharp fingernails would be slashing across his face, or filed teeth would be ripping a chunk of his jugular from his throat. Even Orion men were daunted by their females. Indeed, it explained the serious population problem that Orions were having. Granted, each new generation of Orions was stronger and tougher than the last. That was out of necessity, since only the hardiest of Orion males dared to try their luck with their females. Survival rate of such engagements was roughly 83 percent…less if the female in question happened to be in heat, a biological drive that was probably the only reason Orions hadn’t vanished from the face of the galaxy centuries earlier.

The sinewy Orion girl pulled with renewed determination at her bonds, but she had absolutely no more luck in severing them this time than she’d had the previous times she had tried to muscle herself free of her imprisonment. Even her formidable fingernails were incapable of severing her restraints. More out of a sense of pure frustration than any true belief that success would result from the efforts, she strained against the bonds, her clearly defined muscles undulating beneath her dark green skin. Still nothing. She was held tight.

Matters might have been slightly improved if she had only had an idea of where “here” was. Unfortunately, she had no clue at all. She had been captured, in her sleep of all things. How cowardly was that? How craven on the part of her captors.

Vandelia was a business woman, a professional entertainer. She danced at parties and social functions, and not only was she very good at it, but she had been extremely canny in investing the financial gains that her performing had garnered her. She had millions of credits stashed away as a result of her seven-plus years of playing to a crowd, plus additional activities on the side.

She had been dancing this night…except she realized that she had no reason whatever to assume that this night was the same night. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. One night, two, five…no clue at all, really. The only thing she knew was that when she had woken up, she had been ravenous. Nevertheless, when some flunky had shown up in her bare-bones room to bring her food, she had spat it back in his face. He had cleaned the food off himself without a word. The next time he came to her, he had two assistants along, and they had pried open the woman’s mouth and poured the food straight down her throat. Obviously the actions did not endear them to her. They could not have cared less.

The flunky was not of a race that she recognized. He was short and squat, wider than he was tall, bald and jowly and with bright red skin. The assistants he brought with him had similar coloration, albeit different builds. But as far as Vandelia was concerned, if she never saw any members of the entire race again, she’d be the happier for it. She did, however, feel some degree of alarm when she started wondering what the coloration of any offspring would look like. She hoped like hell that she wasn’t approaching her heat cycle. Being out of control of her mating instincts was simply not aggravation that she needed.

They (whoever they were) didn’t have to keep her trussed up. There were, after all, various electronic devices capable of controlling her. Collars, wrist bracelets with shock devices, and many other options. But they had chosen none of those, instead going for something barbaric and debilitating to the spirit such as total immobility through heavy-duty ropes. It was as if her captors were almost daring her to slice her way free. If what they were trying to do was totally muck with her head, then they were succeeding. She was becoming angrier, more frustrated, more of a seething volcano with each passing day. The most frustrating thing of all was that she knew they were doing it just to anger her…and yet she couldn’t help herself, couldn’t do anything to fight back the mounting ire.

On her third day of captivity, she met her host.

He was red-skinned, like the others, but he sported a series of elaborate tattoos on his forehead and also at the base of his throat just above the collarbone. He had high cheekbones and deep set eyes that glittered fearsomely. He dressed primarily in loose-fitting black clothes, with a loose-sleeved tunic and black pants tucked into the top of knee-high black boots. He had an air about him, Vandelia thought, that made it seem as if he didn’t care one way or the other whether the individual he was looking at was dead or alive. Furthermore, he didn’t seem to care whether he was the one responsible for that death or not. Vandelia was most struck by his hands, which were huge in comparison to his admittedly muscular arms. Every so often, as he spoke to her, his hands twitched slightly as if he was envisioning what it would be like to be crushing someone’s windpipe.

“Greetings.” His voice was amazingly soft-spoken for one so large and apparently threatening. She had to strain to hear him, and she realized that that was partly his purpose for speaking so quietly. “Have you been enjoying your stay?”

She said nothing, merely snarled at him.

“You are a feisty one. That’s what I like about you. There’s not enough feisty females in the galaxy.”

This time, she spoke. “Come to my home world,” she said between clenched teeth. “You’ll find more than enough feistiness to keep you busy.”

“I daresay.” He bowed slightly at the waist as he said, “My name is Zolon Darg. And you are Vandelia.”

“And you are dead.”

The smile never wavered from his thin lips, but one of his meaty hands swung around so fast that she never even saw it coming. One moment his arms seemed relaxed and at his sides, and the next the hand was smacking her in the face. She lowered her head a moment, trying to compose herself and failing utterly. When she glared back up at him, it was from between strands of hair that lay upon her face, and her lips were drawn back in a snarl revealing her sharp teeth.

“Mind your manners,” said Zolon Darg. “This will take as long as it has to take.”

“What is ‘this’?” she asked.

“Why, to make you mine, my dear,” Darg told her. “I saw you dance. I was one of your many customers, your many admirers. But unlike others, I choose not to admire from afar. I wish to draw close, to be…personal.”

“Go to hell,” Vandelia said.

“Yes, yes…I’m sure you would like that,” he said in a condescending tone that made it sound as if he were addressing a child. “That will not be happening anytime soon, I’m sorry to say…for your sake.”

“So that is all that this is about?” Vandelia demanded to know. “You kidnapped me because you find me attractive? How pitiful. How mundane.”

“You misunderstand me.” He smiled, and although he did not have sharpened teeth as Vandelia did, his smile looked no less threatening than hers. He looked perfectly capable of biting a piece out of her if it suited his purposes. “It is not simple attraction. You are a challenge. There are few enough true challenges in this galaxy, and I take mine where I can find them. When I saw you dance, I knew instinctively that you’d be impossible to tame. But I thrive on impossibilities.”

“Then think about some impossible things you can do with your own anatomy.” Then she spat at him.

He hit her again. And again. The smile never wavered, his pulse never sped up. Three, four, five times and more, and again and again, across the face with those huge hands, first one cheek and then the other. The first couple of times she tried to voice, at the very least, a snarl of inarticulate rage, but when he’d slapped her the twentieth time, she’d stopped. She simply sat there, her head hanging, trying to breathe and laboring because of all the fury that had tightened her chest. She couldn’t get a sound out. He folded his arms and stood there with a quietly smug expression. He had the air of someone who was utterly confident as to precisely who was in charge.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he told her, although he didn’t sound especially sorry. “I very much wish that I could tell you that there is some deep, greater meaning to your being here. That in fact you have something I need, or that you’ve actually got a microchip with secret information hidden beneath your skin, or you’re actually a long lost princess, or perhaps you and you alone are capable of finding the cure for a terrible disease. But it’s none of those things. You’re an amusement, a diversion.” He crouched down then, going to one knee so that he could regard her at eye level. “A pleasant diversion, granted…but that’s all.”

“Is this what you do?” Her lips were starting to swell up a bit from the pounding she’d taken, but she was determined not to acknowledge the pain. Even so, when she spoke her voice sounded thick and a bit uneven. “Divert yourself? Is this how you…pass your days?”

“Not at all,” said Zolon Darg. He straightened up and then bowed slightly at the waist as if presenting himself in most courtly fashion. “I will have you know that I am one of the premier weapons suppliers in the territory.”

“Are you now.” She didn’t sound impressed. “So what. You help people kill each other. As if that makes you someone of consequence.”

“You do me a disservice, woman. You oversimplify. I have supplied freedom fighters who battle for their crippled rights. I have supplied governments who fight to protect themselves from evil and unappreciative mobs of rebellious ingrates. I am always, always, on the side of those who are in the right.”

“And what makes one right and one wrong?”

“Money, my dear girl” he smiled.

She spat in defiance once more. But this wad didn’t even manage to cover the distance before it splattered impotently to the floor. Darg didn’t give it a glance. “You amoral pig,” she growled.

“The moral high ground, my dear Vandelia, belongs to whomever can afford to pay the toll.”

She said nothing, merely glowered at him. He smiled thinly, clearly finding the entire encounter very amusing.

Since she was seated, he naturally towered over her. But he took the opportunity to crouch and bring himself to eye level with her. He studied her thoughtfully, and then said, “Let me tell you what’s going to happen. We’re going to start putting you on a somewhat erratic eating schedule, for starters. Sometimes you will find yourself starving, your belly aching so pitifully that you’ll feel as if it would gladly rip through your body and go off in search of food on its own. Other times we will suddenly feed you in such copious amounts that we will literally be shoving it down your throat. The five or so gentlemen who have been overseeing your trips to relieve yourself in delicate lady-like fashion will be assigned other duties. We will simply leave you tied up at all times, so that you can wallow in your own waste products. When you begin to fall asleep, loud noises will be blared at you, blinding lights shined directly into your face. We also have one or two fairly belligerent empaths at our disposal…individuals who will be able to project into your mind whatever emotions it amuses me to have you feel. You have a very strong mind, Vandelia. At the outset, you’d likely be able to resist them. But that will only be at the outset, and we have a very long time available to us. We will, in short, do all that we can to disrupt you, discommode you, and utterly break you.”

“And once that’s done?” she asked levelly.

“Why then, at that point…you will be reeducated. Reprogrammed. The personality, the attitude that you have now…that will be like a bad dream. It will go far, far away where it can never be of any harm to you again.” As he spoke, his voice almost seemed soothing in its confidence. “Instead, it will be replaced by a calmer, more loving personality. Oh, but don’t worry. You will continue to dance. But you will perform your seductive dances…only for me.”

She looked at him with utter contempt. “You have no idea, do you.”

“What do you mean?” His head was tilted in a curious manner.

“My dancing. You think somehow that’s separate from who I am. That is, after all, what attracted you to me. You poor, pathetic fool, Darg. When I dance…that is an expression of my personality. And that personality holds you, and all your kind, in the utmost contempt. When I dance,” and she lowered her voice to an almost sultry tone, “I know that you all caress me with your eyes. I know that you think of what you would like to do to me. How each of you envisions possessing me. But you’re all too stupid to realize that in my gyrations, I’m letting you know just how little I think of your desires. I don’t dance to seduce. I dance to let you know what you can never, ever have. Let us say,” she continued as if warming to the topic, “that you somehow manage to break my personality. Make me less than I am. Do you seriously think that if I’m even capable of dancing again, it will bear the slightest resemblance to anything you saw before? You will sit there and shake your head in frustration, wondering what happened to the passion, the fire, the sheer raw sexuality that drew you to me in the first place. And when you sit there in discouragement, when you mourn the loss of something that you truly adored…why then, my friend, you will have only yourself to blame. Only yourself. And even if you manage to have your way with the body you see before you now…” She grinned ferally. “Even if you manage that…you will never have me. I will be long gone, beyond your ability to touch or harm or seduce or even interest. Do we understand each other now, Zolon Darg? Have I made things sufficiently clear for even a brainless pig such as yourself?”

He smiled mirthlessly. “Abundantly clear, yes.”

“But it is still your intention to hold me here?”

“Yes. You see…it doesn’t particularly matter to me if you wind up being destroyed as part of my endeavors. At least I’ll know that I was able to bring you down, and I will allow myself to take some pleasure in that.”

Then he slapped her several more times. There seemed to be no particular reason to do so. But he did it anyway. Vandelia, for her part, couldn’t even muster the ability to spit.

That was when the alarm went off.

Vandelia was positive that that was what it was the moment she heard it. The loud, screeching klaxon jolted Darg, and he looked around in confusion as if he weren’t quite certain that he was in fact hearing the noise that was threatening to deafen the entire place. For the first time, Vandelia saw a momentary bit of uncertainty pass across Darg’s previously smug face. She was extremely pleased to see it. Her only regret was that she wasn’t the cause of it.

He tapped a comm unit that he wore on his wrist and said, “Central. This is Darg. Report: What is the cause of the alarm?”

“We have an intruder, sir,” came back a voice crisply.

“How do we know that, Kapel?”

“We found Dikson down on level three. Apparently he’d been in a fight. Someone broke his neck, and they did it very cleanly and very efficiently.”

Clearly, it took a lot more than the discovery of a corpse to throw Zolon Darg off his stride. “Will you shut that damned alarm off? How is anyone supposed to concentrate on anything with that godawful noise howling in our ears?” A moment passed and then the alarm, obediently, was shut off, although the lights were still rapidly dimming and glowing. Vandelia viewed the flickering with grim amusement. Since the alarm had likely made everyone in the area deaf, dimming the lights was probably the only remaining means of alerting all concerned to the fact that there was a problem.

“Now then,” Darg said slowly, once he seemed satisfied that the alarm was no longer going to assail his ears, “We don’t know absolutely for certain that Dikson’s death means that we have an intruder. He had a history of gambling, as I recall. Could this be retaliation of some sort for money owed?”

“Sir” came back the voice of the one who’d been addressed as Kapel, “his debts were his protection? Who’s going to kill someone who owes them money? Rather difficult to collect.”

“Hmm. Yes. Yes, you’re right,” Zolon Darg said after a moment’s consideration. “All right, then. I want everyone throughout the base on full watch. Have all shifts report in. I want tech teams scouring level three. Perhaps Dikson discovered this possible intruder performing some sort of sabotage act. If so, it has to be found and rooted out immediately. Is that clear, Kapel?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will be right up.”

“Yes, sir.”

He clicked off his comm unit, and then turned to Vandelia. “I have to leave, darling. But rest assured, we will have time together. Not only that,” and he ran a finger along the line of her jaw, “but you will dance for me…and only for me.”

Her head struck forward like a serpent’s, her sharp teeth clacking together, but he deftly moved his hand away lest he lose a finger. “Feisty” he said once more in approval…and then swung a vicious roundhouse punch. He connected with her on the point of the jaw with such force that it knocked her completely over. The chair crashed heavily to the floor. Vandelia’s head lolled back, her eyes closed.

He turned and walked away from her. When he got to the door, it slid open…and standing there waiting for him was another of his race. The new arrival was slightly shorter than Darg, and slimmer. He seemed momentarily startled, apparently not having expected the door to open right up. “Zolon Darg,” he said, recovering quickly. “The…the alarm…”

“I heard it” Darg said impatiently. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the other Thallonian. “What is your name again?”

“Qadril, sir” said the Thallonian. “We met not long ago. I’m a friend of—”

“Yes, yes, I remember. Qadril…attend to her.”

“To her, sir?” He looked uncertainly in Vandelia’s direction. “Are you sure—?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Darg told him, his temper not becoming any gentler with the constant need for repetition. “Haul her chair upright so that she’s not simply lying about on the floor like that. And keep your fingers away from her teeth, would be my recommendation.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Darg headed out.

Qadril glanced right and left. Vandelia knew this since she was watching him carefully. Her eyes were narrow slits as she saw him draw closer, closer. She suspected that he would be of no more use in freeing her than anyone else, but she looked forward to sinking her teeth into him during an unwary moment. His howls of pain would bring her great pleasure, and be a further reminder to Darg that she was going to make every moment that he held her captive as much of a living hell as she could manage.

Qadril hesitated a few feet away, and then he went around her and gripped her chair from behind. She was mildly surprised when he did not grunt under the weight of hauling her back into an upright position. He didn’t seem all that strong. Obviously he had some muscle, although one wouldn’t have known it to took at him.

But, just as obviously, he was remarkably stupid, for the poor fool was actually in the process of exhibiting something akin to concern for her. He walked in front of her and took either side of her face in his hands, tilting her head back so that he could try and see into her eyes. “Can you hear me?”

When he said that, there was something different in his voice. He sounded rougher, more brusque than he had mere moments ago when speaking to Darg. Darg he had addressed in a manner that was fairly simpering. But not now. Now he sounded more dynamic, more confident and sure of himself.

It was probably, she assumed, because she was unconscious. In fact, he was probably trying to determine if…yessss. Yes, that was it. He wanted to see if she was still out cold so that he could have his way with her with impunity. Oh, and wouldn’t that be something for him to boast to his friends about. She could practically hear his weasely voice bragging of how he had “tamed” her, made her beg for his attentions. Her fury began to bubble over the imagined liberties that he was about to take.

He had momentarily distracted her from her purpose with his feigned concerns as to her well-being. She was annoyed with herself that she had allowed that to happen, no matter how short a time her determination had actually wavered. As if to make up for it, she attacked with speed and viciousness that would have done any Orion female proud.

Just as he was making another inquiry as to her wakefulness, her head whipped around and she sank her teeth into his left forearm. She had envisioned chomping through his flesh, all the way down into the bone if she were lucky. If not, then at least she would take some pleasure in tearing out a large, dripping hunk of the man’s arm and spitting it back into his face while his blood trickled down the sides of her face.

But she did not come into contact with flesh or bone. Instead her teeth bit through the cloth of his sleeve and hit metal.

“No!” he shouted.

What in the world? The thought flashed through her mind even as she quickly yanked her head back. Perhaps, she thought, he was some sort of cyborg or android.

Sparks flew from the section of his arm that she had mutilated, and she saw a few quick sparks dancing along his shirt sleeve. He tore at the sleeve, pulling off some sort of device that had been strapped around his arm.

It was at that moment that his face fell off.

Vandelia gaped in confusion as the red skin cracked and crumbled away, cascading to the floor in a powdery heap. Not only was his skin color different, but the very shape of his visage had altered.

The man who only moments before that been calling himself Qadril had gone from having a fairly round face to one that had a good deal more definition to it. His chin was cleft, his nose somewhat irregular, as if it had been broken. Instead of being bald, he had a thick mop of black hair. His skin was no longer red, but instead a paler shade that was more evocative of human beings. Even his eyes had changed color, going from a sort of pale blue to a vivid purple. Most striking about him to Vandelia, however, was a scar that ran the length of his right cheek. Considering the skin graft and dermaplast techniques that were so readily available, Vandelia couldn’t recall ever having seen a facial mutilation that was quite so severe.

She found it rather attractive.

“Perfect,” he growled, dusting away the remains of the red material that had been obscuring his true features. “Just perfect. You had to do that. You just had to.”

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“The one who was going to get you out of here. At this point, though, I’m half-tempted to leave you.” He made an impatient noise, blowing air from between his clenched teeth, and then he seemed to make up his mind. “All right,” he sighed, “we’ll just have to make the best of it. If I free you, will you give me your word that you won’t attack.”

For a moment, despite the fact that he was offering her aid, she couldn’t hold back a contemptuous sneer. “Are you that afraid of me?”

“No” he said reasonably. “But you’re a splendid looking woman, and I try to minimize the number of splendid looking women I kill in the average day.”

The words were light, the tone quite flip, but she looked into his eyes and there was something in there, a flat, cold stare that caused her to realize that there was nothing cavalier about his attitude. He really did believe that he was capable of killing her. Moreover, she began to get the impression that he might actually be able to accomplish it.

“You would take the word of an Orion?” she asked after a moment.

“Look,” and it was clear from his tone that his patience was starting to wear thin, “I’m not interested in passing judgment on a species just now. I’m asking you, personally, if—”

“Yes, yes, all right, you have my word I will not attempt to hurt you,” she said at last.

He had a knife hanging from his right hip. He pulled it out and briskly cut through the ropes that bound her. “You use that knife as if you really know what you’re about,” she commented.

He said nothing, but instead simply slid it back into its sheath. He glanced around the room they were in as if he were trying to see if anything could be used as a weapon.

“What was that device you were using to disguise yourself?” she asked.

“A Zynterian Camouflage Field” he replied as he went to the wall and run his fingers along it. He seemed to be probing for something. He had been wearing gloves, which one would have thought was simply for ornamentation, but now she realized it had been to hide the true color of his hands.

“Zynterians? They’re a passive race. They have no espionage interests that I’ve ever heard of,” said Van-delia. She was busy rubbing her wrists, trying to restore circulation to them. She was a bit unsteady on her legs as well, but was determined not to let the weakness show.

“True enough. But they don’t use it for espionage. It’s a sex aid.”

“A what?” She didn’t quite think she’d heard him properly.

He cast an impatient look at her, as if he couldn’t quite believe that he was wasting time explaining it to her. “They believe sex in any form is inherently evil, and so they use the camouflage field to disguise themselves as members of other races when they’re…involved. That way they can pretend that they themselves are remaining pure. It’s a sort of ritual.”

“I see.” She didn’t, actually, but it seemed the thing to say.

“Generally Zynterians are the only ones who can use them. Other races who have tried to employ the device for other pursuits—such as espionage, as you mentioned—find that the device tends to sear the flesh from their bones. However, we Xenexians are close enough biologically to Zynterians that we can get away with using them. It causes considerable pain, but otherwise no lasting damage.”

“Pain? You were in pain the entire time you were using that thing? I couldn’t tell.”

“I’m very stoic,” he said, never taking his eyes from the wall as he continued his probe of the room. “For instance, my impulse is to throw you to the ground and take you like an animal right here. But you’d never be able to tell.”

His voice was so flat, so lacking in inflection, that it was impossible for her to tell whether he was joking or not. She felt a headache coming on just trying to keep up with him. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“Call me Mac” he said over his shoulder. “Ah.”

“Ah?”

He had his hand against a section of the wall that looked no different from any other. However, he pushed it and suddenly the wall swivelled around, revealing what appeared to be some sort of passage. She couldn’t quite make out any details, although she did see small, flickering lights lining the upper section.

“Come on,” he told her.

“But…where does this go?”

“Away from here. For the moment, that’s good enough.”

She mentally shrugged as she realized she had nothing to lose. This strange individual, whoever he was and wherever he was from, at least seemed to have some idea as to what he was about. She really couldn’t be much worse off than she’d been a few minutes ago.

They headed down the narrow passage. Moments after they’d entered, the wall had slid back into place on noiseless hinges. The action dimmed the corridor slightly, but not significantly.

“How did you know that was going to be there?” she asked. “That false wall, I mean.”

“I didn’t. Not for sure. But we’ve done a good deal of research on Darg, and it seemed a reasonable guess. He had a similar hideaway on Estarcion IV, and he’d laced it with catacombs with similar entrances. He likes to get about unobserved and show up unexpectedly. He feels it keeps his people on their toes.”

“It probably does.” She paused and then said, “Who are ‘we’? I mean, the ‘we’ who did this research?”

“You don’t need to know that either,” he said brusquely.

“Listen,” and her temper started to flare, “I’d better start getting some answers, or—”

“Or what?” He turned to face her there in the confines of the passage, and there was unmistakeable danger in his tone. “Look: You weren’t in the plan. I found out that you were here when I was already inside. You’re an innocent bystander who’s in the wrong place at the wrong time. I decided that it wouldn’t be right to simply leave you to die. So I am risking myself to save your neck. I didn’t have to. I still don’t. If you want to go off on your own and take your chances, go right ahead.” He flattened against the corridor wall so that she could pass by him. “My guess is that it branches off just ahead. You can go on and take your chances. I’ll give you a five…no, three…minute head start. You’ll go your way, I’ll go mine, and that’ll be that. Or tell me now if you’re going to stick with me but are going to continue to irritate me, because if you are, then I’ll put you down right now and be done with it. I don’t need the distraction or the grief. Life’s too short and on the verge of getting even shorter. Your only other option is to shut up so I can get both of us out of here in one piece. Once we’re out of here and safe, you can be as arrogant and irritating as you wish. It won’t bother me then because you won’t be putting us at risk. Now

have I made myself clear?”

“Yes” she said tightly.

“Now are you going to be quiet?”

No reply.

“Good.”

She took some small measure of satisfaction in the fact that he actually appeared surprised that she had quieted down.

As she followed him, she said softly, “May I ask a less inflammatory question?”

“If you must.”

“You’ve been talking as if we have a deadline. Why is that?”

That was when a massive explosion rocked them.

She stumbled against him as the passageway vibrated uncontrollably around them. He steadied her and muttered, “Idiots. They must have found it and tried to defuse it.”

There was now an unmistakeable rumbling all about them, and he grabbed her wrist and yanked. “Come on.” There was urgency to his voice, but he didn’t sound close to panic. Clearly this was someone who was accustomed to handling difficult situations with aplomb.

She picked up speed and now they were heading at a full dash down the corridor. There was the sound of a second explosion, and a third, and they staggered as they ran. From a distance they could hear shouts and the sounds of running feet, and voices being raised in alarm.

There was a sensation of heat from directly behind them. “I wouldn’t look back if I were you,” the man called Mac warned her.

She looked back.

A gigantic ball of flame was roaring down the passage behind them.

She looked forward once more, suddenly wishing that she’d done as he suggested.

The seam in the wall that indicated a door barely had time to register on her and then Mac was pushing both of them through. They stumbled out into a main hallway that hardly seemed to be much better in terms of being a safe haven, for men were running about in total panic and any one of them might notice the escaping prisoner. Giving no heed to the danger that being spotted presented, Mac slammed the door back into place just as the jet of flame caught up to them. The wall instantly became super-heated, but Mac had blocked off the passageway just in time, and the flames within passed them by harmlessly.

“Come on,” and he pulled her roughly. “We’ve got to get to our ride. This place doesn’t have much longer.”

It was the first opportunity that Vandelia had had to see anything of her place of capture aside from the one room in which she’d been imprisoned. The place was massive, stretching upward as far as she could see. There were crosswalks and catwalks far overhead and then, when she looked down she saw that they descended to a great depth as well. Everything had been constructed so that everything was visible to some degree from elsewhere within the complex. It was all rather clever; it meant that Darg could keep his eye on just about everything from any point.

Under ordinary circumstances, she and Mac wouldn’t have had a prayer of getting ten feet without attracting attention. But these circumstances were far from ordinary. She continued to hear explosions, some further away, some closer, and the entire place had spiralled into chaos. “What did you do?” she cried out over the shouts of others who were running around without noticing them.

“I’ll tell you later, provided there is one!”

“You!”

Vandelia’s heart sank. She recognized the voice immediately, of course.

It had come from behind them, and they turned to see Zolon Darg. He was on a catwalk above them, looking down, and he had half a dozen men with him. He had spotted Vandelia, and more, he obviously realized that it was Mac who was the intruder. Perhaps it was the fact that Mac was wearing the same clothes as the supposed red-skinned guard had been sporting a short time earlier. “You did this! You! Stay where you are!”

“You don’t have time for this, Darg!” Mac shot back. “These explosions you’re hearing so far are nothing! A chain of bombs to distract you from the real threat: The fact that I set two of your main boomers in your central weapons room to overload. Once those go, you can say good-bye to this entire place! You’ve got only a couple of minutes to get clear! Are you going to waste them coming after me, or are you going to save your own neck?”

The choice seemed fairly straightforward to Van-delia. Unfortunately, it was less clear-cut to Darg, who did not hesitate to aim a fairly lethal weapon squarely at Mac and fire.

Mac yanked Vandelia forward, barely getting them clear of the shot. “Get them!” they could hear Zolon Darg shout after them, but they didn’t look back. Instead they bolted as quickly as they could along the catwalk. “Get back here!” Darg’s voice came, and a disruptor blast exploded just ahead of them, missing them but blowing the leg off a hapless individual who was trying to save his own skin. He hit the ground, crying out as he clutched at the stump of his knee. Mac and Vandelia did not slow down, but instead simply vaulted over him and kept going.

They angled left, then a quick right, and they were on a rampway that was heading downward. Vandelia had no idea whether Mac truly knew where they were going, or if he was simply guessing with sufficient confidence to allay her concerns. But she was quite certain that the source of the explosions which were wracking the entire area was below them, and heading toward that source was the height of folly. She yanked her hand from his. He turned and looked at her in confusion. “Come on!” he called to her.

“We’re going the wrong way! We’re heading towards the explosions! It’s suicide!”

“There’s no time for this!”

But she wasn’t listening. Instead she turned and ran.

Her legs moving like pistons, she charged back up the ramp, found another turn-off and took it. Someone tried to get in her way. She didn’t even slow down, didn’t take time to look at his face. She just slashed out with her fingernails and ripped across his face. He doubled over, blood welling up from between his fingers, and she shoved him aside and kept going.

Suddenly she was hit from the back, a flying tackle as someone took her down. She hit the floor, taking most of the impact on her elbows which sent a shock straight up her arms. But she did not cry out, instead keeping the pain within. That was how she was going to get out of it, she had decided. She would focus all her anger, all her agony, and it would drive her forward to safety. At least, that was the theory.

Unfortunately, the weight of the person atop her was such that, not only had the wind been knocked out of her, but she couldn’t get the leverage to thrust upward and knock him off her back. She struggled, she snarled, and then rough hands grabbed her by either arm and hauled her to her feet. She tried to angle her head around to bite one of her captors, but another pair of hands came in behind her, grabbing her by the back of the head and snapping her skull back. Her attempts to pull her head forward simply resulted in her nearly tearing her hair out by the roots.

Zolon Darg stood in front of her. He was staring at her with enough cold fury to peel the skin off her face just with the force of his glare. “Where’s your friend?” he demanded.

“What friend?” From closer than she would have liked to hear, an explosion sounded. Several of Darg’s men flinched or looked about nervously. Darg didn’t even glance in the direction of the noise.

“I understand now,” he said evenly. “Very elaborate. Very clever. You trick and seduce me into bringing you here so that your mysterious associate could follow you and track you to our hidden location.”

“You idiot! I’m the victim here! You’re giving me entirely too much credit. You’ve created some elaborate conspiracy theory where none exists!”

Darg circled her. “Then why did he stop to rescue you?”

“I don’t know! Ask him!” She tried in futility to pull free. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this entire place is going up!”

“I have my best people on it,” Darg replied confidently. “They will locate whatever further boobytraps your partner has laid and dispose of them. As for you…” And he aimed a disruptor squarely at her forehead. “Call your partner. Summon him, right now.”

“He’s not my partner!”

“Call him.” His tone didn’t waver.

“He’s probably long gone by now, because you’ve been too busy playing games with me!”

He fired a warning shot to her right. It grazed her upper thigh. To her credit, she still didn’t cry out, as much as she wanted to. The bolt almost struck the man who was standing behind her, holding her immobile. Aware of the near-hit, he cast a nervous glance at his associates.

“Last warning.” This time he aimed it straight at her face. The man who was holding her head steady angled around so that Darg would have a clear shot.

Realizing she had nothing to lose, Vandelia called out, “Mac!”

“That’s better. Call him again.”

“Maaaaac!”

“Mac what? What is his full name?”

“I have no idea.”

He activated the disruptor’s energy feed, preparing for another shot that would take her head off.

“Mac Morn Michelity” she said without further hesitation, reasoning that they likely weren’t going to be around long enough for Darg to learn that she had no idea what she was talking about.

Suddenly there was a brief clatter from further down the rampway. Vandelia couldn’t help but notice that Darg and his men were well-trained: Half of them looked in the direction of the noise, but the rest of them looked instead behind them, just in case the noise was a diversion to allow Mac to get in behind them.

Nothing, however, seemed to come from either direction.

Darg waited impatiently for another noise, and when none was forthcoming, turned back to Vandelia and said—with very little trace of sadness—“It appears your friend has deserted you. Farewell, Vandelia.” He levelled the gun right at her face.

That was when the deafening roar sounded from behind them.

As one, they turned just in time to see a monstrous creature, reptilian in aspect, with leathery skin and a huge mouth filled with teeth that seemed capable of rending or shredding a shuttlecraft. It was poised above them on its hind legs, its whip-like tail snapping about with such ferocity that anyone within range of it would have been crushed instantly. When it roared, the hot, foul vapor of its breath washed over them, and the sound drowned out yet another explosion in the near distance.

The response among Darg’s men was instantaneous. With a collective shriek of terror, they broke and ran as the creature advanced on them, each stomp of its massive feet causing the rampway to shudder beneath it. In doing so, they released their hold on Vandelia. Her immediate instinct was to try and attack Darg, but the shot he’d taken at her leg had done her more damage than she’d first realized. It went out from under her and she found herself barely able to walk, much less capable of lunging to the attack.

The only one who did not break and run was Darg himself. He stood precisely where he was, utterly paralyzed. His mouth hung open, his eyes were wide and looked almost lifeless as he stared at the monstrosity before them.

Suddenly Vandelia’s view was blocked…by a rope which had just dropped directly into her line of sight. She glanced up and saw, on a rampway above her, Mac. He was holding the other end and mouthing the words, “Hurry up!”

She did not hesitate, but instead grabbed the rope with both hands and held on as tightly as she could. Mac pulled, and she was surprised how quickly and effortlessly he hauled her aloft. He had looked rather unprepossessing, but there was clearly more than ample strength in his arms if he was able to yank her upward so easily. He drew her upward, hand over hand, one foot braced against the hand railing, his mouth set and his eyes burning with a quiet intensity. He did not grunt, nor make any sound to give away any strain he might be feeling.

Darg still hadn’t budged. He was indeed so frozen by what he was witnessing that he didn’t appear to have noticed that Vandelia was no longer there. The monster roared once more, a particularly high-pitched shriek, and something in the piercing nature of the howl caused Darg’s finger to tighten spasmodically on the trigger. The disruptor ripped out a shot and it went straight through the creature without the monster even acknowledging that it had been hit.

It took a moment for Darg to register for himself what he had just seen. Then his eyes narrowed and he fired again. Once more the creature was utterly unharmed by the disruptor blast.

He shouted a profanity and suddenly looked around…and then up. He did so just in time to see Vandelia being pulled over the railing of the overhead rampway, and he caught a glimpse of Mac looking down at him. Vandelia saw the two of them lock eyes, two enemies truly knowing each other for the first time.

“Get back here!” bellowed Darg, and he fired. Vandelia and Mac ducked backward as the blast sizzled past them.

“Come on! And stick with me this time!” Mac admonished her. The last thing Vandelia wanted to do was admit that her thigh was throbbing, so she gritted her teeth and simply nodded. Mac grabbed her wrist and they started to run. It was all that Vandelia could do not to limp in a most pronounced fashion. “What was that monster?” she called out.

Without glancing behind himself to address her, Mac said, “Holo unit. Pre-set monster, emanating from a disk about the size of my palm.”

“That was the noise we heard…you activated it on a time delay and then tossed it down—”

“You’re going to hear more noises than you’ll want to hear if we don’t hurry—”

The rampway shook beneath their feet. There seemed to be a series of seismic shocks building, one upon the other, throughout the structure. Mac glanced around. There was a network of ramps some thirty feet away from them, and between them was a deep well that seemed to fall away nearly into infinity. The ramp trembled once more.

Suddenly there was a screech of metal and the ramp started to twist at an angle. “Hold on,” Mac said with a sort of resigned calm. He yanked off his belt buckle, twisted it, and suddenly he was holding a device that looked like a small gun. He tapped a button on the side and the end of the device was ejected, trailing a cord behind it. It “clacked” onto an upper rampway across the well.

At the far end of the ramp that they were upon, Darg was suddenly there. He was howling with fury, heedless of the chaos around him, as he charged straight toward them. He was firing his disruptor indiscriminately, no longer aiming but instead just shooting in their general direction. He lurched toward them, gripping the handrail, apparently not even aware that the ramp was in danger of collapsing.

Mac didn’t even bother to glance at him. Instead he gripped the device in his palm, threw an arm around Vandelia’s waist, and launched off the ramp-way. Vandelia had a brief glimpse of the ground, unspeakably far below, but it was all a blur, and suddenly they were on the other side. Mac snagged his legs around the railing and shoved Vandelia onto the ramp.

Zolon Darg brought his disruptor to bear, aiming at them across the divide, and then with a roar of metal the rampway that he was standing upon gave way. He tried to clutch onto something for support, but couldn’t find anything. The sounds of the tearing metal drowned out Darg’s shrieks as he tumbled downward and landed with a thud on the rampway below. He had about a second’s respite before the falling metal of the upper rampway landed on him. The last that Vandelia saw of him was his face twisted in fury before he was completely obscured by the mass of twisted metal that crunched down atop him.

Mac, for his part, didn’t appear to give it any notice. He seemed far more concerned about other things, such as survival. “This way,” he said, and pulled her wrist. She limped after him.

“But we’re heading toward the explosions!” she cried out to him, the same objection that she’d been raising before. But she was at that point somewhat resigned to her fate, convinced that she had only moments to live anyway. As if to underscore the point, there was another explosion, even louder than before.

“Here. Right here!” Mac called out to her. He hauled her over to a spot near a wall that was quivering from the most recent explosion. Then he stood perfectly still. “Don’t worry” he said confidently.

“Don’t worry!”

“That’s right. Don’t worry.”

From deep within the well that the rampways surrounded, there was an explosion that was so loud Vandelia felt her teeth rattle.

Orion beliefs had one aspect in common with human theology. They shared a belief in an afterworld for the evil that was a scalding pit of torment. At that moment, Vandelia was suddenly convinced that she was within that very pit, for the air around her started to sizzle. She found it impossible to breathe, the air searing her very lungs. The entire area seemed bathed in light. She looked down into the well around which the rampways hung, and she saw a massive fireball roaring up toward them. Within seconds it would envelop them.

Part of her wanted to scream, to curse, to agonize in loud misery over the hideous and unfortunate set of circumstances which had brought her to this pointless end of her life. Instead, somewhat to her surprise, all she did was turn to Mac and say, sounding remarkably casual, “Can I worry now?”

He sighed. “If you must.”

And she saw a flash of amusement in his purple eyes…at which point his eyes abruptly started to haze out in front of her. Then she realized that she, too, was disappearing, as the entire area around them demolecularized. Considering the circumstances, it was understandable that she didn’t quite realize at first what was happening. So this is what death is like went through her head before she truly had a chance to register that she was not, in fact, dying, but that instead she was in the grip of a transporter beam.

Then the world reintegrated around her and she found herself in the back of some sort of small transport vehicle. Somewhat larger than a runabout, it seemed like a small freighter more than anything, designed for short runs with cargo that was generally contraband. The smaller the vessel, the less chance there was of attracting attention. Then she fell, for Mac was no longer supporting her. Instead he had moved quickly off the transporter pad and was at the helm. “Hold on!” he called.

“Hold on! To what?!” she cried out. Ultimately it didn’t matter; the freighter suddenly leaped forward, sending Vandelia tumbling backward, her feet up and over her head. She clambered to her feet, her leg still throbbing but starting to feel improvement.

She could see that they were on the surface of a planet, but the freighter was already firing up and leaping skyward. Vandelia lurched to the front and dropped into the copilot seat next to Mac. He barely afforded her a sidelong glance as he checked readings on the control dash. “How’s the leg?” he asked. Considering the circumstances, he sounded relatively calm.

“Getting better.”

“Good. Let’s see if we can keep the rest of you intact.”

He urged the freighter forward, and it rocketed upward, faster and faster.

“That place you had us stand. It was a preprogrammed transporter point,” she said.

“Yes” he said tersely. “I didn’t know the exact layout of the place, but I knew they had scanners that would detect transporter homing beacons or comm units, as well as any beamins. So I had to sneak in on my own, and make a guess as to coordinates when I set a time and place for a beam-out.”

“You could have explained that.”

He didn’t reply. The chances were that he wouldn’t have done so anyway, but he was actually handed an excuse for not continuing the conversation as several explosions around them caused the freighter to rock wildly.

“Oh, now what?” demanded Vandelia.

“We have company,” Mac muttered. “Computer, rear view.”

A section of the screen in front of them shifted. It was only then that Vandelia realized they weren’t looking through a window, but instead through a computer-generated representation of what was outside. Most of that view remained, but now part of it had altered to present the view from behind them. Three small vessels were approaching them most rapidly. They were so small that they appeared to be one-man fighters each, but because of their diminutive size, they were fast and very maneuverable. The odds were that they would be able to catch up with the freighter in short order.

But that wasn’t the only thing that attracted Van-delia’s attention. What she noticed in particular was a tall tower in the distance. It was surrounded by rich and green forest, but stood high above it, almost a mile high, it seemed. It had a wide base, becoming progressively narrower as it got higher. It was silver and gleaming and would have been far more impressive if it hadn’t been for the huge gusts of black smoke wafting out of a number of places. Then, as Vandelia watched, the lower third of the tower was engulfed in flame. She saw the upper two thirds start to wobble, teeter, and then tumble over in excruciatingly slow motion.

“Impressive,” was all she managed to say.

Then the pursuing vessels began to fire. Mac’s fingers flew over the board, handling the freighter’s course with astonishing confidence, sending it zigzagging one way and then another, dodging a number of the blasts with facility even as he continued them on their upward course. Nevertheless, the freighter shuddered as several of the shots got through.

“Rear deflector at eighty percent and dropping,” the computer informed him.

“Concentrate all deflector power to rear shields. Shore it up,” he ordered.

“We’re not going to make it,” Vandelia said.

The vote of no-confidence didn’t seem to perturb him. “Then we don’t make it.”

“You seem rather sanguine about the prospect.”

“Would you rather I started to panic?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but came to the realization that perhaps shutting up would indeed be the smarter course of action.

The freighter angled down abruptly. The ground seemed to be approaching them at horrifying speed and Vandelia was certain that there was no way, absolutely no way, that they were going to forestall a crash, at which point the freighter zoomed upward once more. Mac tapped the control board again, and Vandelia was surprised to see on the rear view that a suddenly great gust of white was billowing behind them. “Are we hit? Are we leaking something?”

“No.”

For a moment she could see nothing on the rear view, and then the pursuing vessels burst through the mist and continued after them. But then Vandelia noticed something: Their hulls were starting to change colors.

“What’s happening to them?”

“Watch,” he replied. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the front view, but she could see a touch of amusement at the edges of his mouth.

The vessels that had been pursuing them were slowing, and then Vandelia looked on in amazement as she saw their lower hulls start to be eaten away. Huge spots of corrosion appeared on them and then rapidly spread. With each moment it spread faster and faster, eating through the exterior of the ships with the greed and velocity of a hungry child being handed a handful of sweets. Breaking off the pursuit, the three vessels dove as quickly as they could for the ground, but they didn’t quite make it in time. Within seconds the ships had fallen apart completely, and Vandelia watched with smug delight as the erstwhile pilots of the vessels tumbled toward the ground, waving their arms and legs in a most entertaining manner. She felt as much remorse and pity for them as they likely did for her…which was to say, of course, none.

Seconds later, the freighter tore lose completely of the planet’s surface, spiralling into space. “We’re clear of the planet’s atmosphere and gravity,” Mac announced. “Taking her to Warp One.”

“This ship has warp capacity?” Vandelia said in surprise. But then she reined in her surprise with clear amusement. “Well, why shouldn’t it? Apparently it packs some sort of gas that eats ships.”

“Only unshielded ships. We were lucky. Vessels that small don’t pack enough power or equipment to generate anything beyond the most minimal of shielding. They count on their speed to avoid attackers. Leaves them vulnerable. Warp on line.”

Space twisted slightly around them and the ship leaped into warp space. Vandelia leaned back in her chair, shaking her head in amazement. “I still can’t believe it,” she said. “An hour ago, everything seemed hopeless.”

“An hour ago, it was. Things change.”

She turned to face him. “I owe you my life.”

“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly, without even looking at her.

“And what do you want.”

At that point, he did afford her a glance. “Want?”

“Yes. Want.” She cocked an eyebrow.

To her surprise, he seemed to laugh slightly to himself, and he shook his head. “It’s some world you live in. People do things because they want something in return. Everyone’s out for themselves. No one does something for the common good.”

She seemed puzzled by what he was saying, “That’s right. That’s my world. Yours, too.”

“And it’s impossible that I could have helped you just because it seemed the right thing to do at the time.”

She sat back in the chair, her arms folded tightly across her breast. “Everyone wants something in exchange. No one does anything if it doesn’t serve their interests, first and foremost.”

“You’re probably right,” he said with a sigh.

“Which brings us back to what you want.”

He appeared to give it a moment’s thought, and then said, “There’s a changing area and hypersonic shower in the back.”

Now here was something she understood. In a way, it was almost comforting to her. Her entire world view was predicated on the selfishness of all those around her, particularly males. The last thing she needed was someone coming along and shaking up the very foundations of her philosophy. “So…you want me to strip and shower, is that it?”

“Yes. You’ve been slapped around, tortured, shot at…you’ve worked up quite a sweat, and it’s detectable. So please shower it off. And there’s a jumpsuit you can change into.”

She was stunned. There was no interest in his voice at all. He wanted her to stop smelling. Beginning, middle, end of interest.

Then, of course, she understood.

“I see. You prefer men.”

Mac looked at her, and then laughed. He didn’t even reply, but instead continued to laugh softly to himself while shaking his head.

Without another word, Vandelia went to the shower and washed herself thoroughly. Even though it was merely a hypersonic shower, it was still a tremendous relief to her. It was particularly soothing for the injured thigh, the hypersonics caressing it so that, by the time she was done, there was not the slightest hint of pain in her leg.

She put on the jumpsuit, and walked back into the main cabin. Mac didn’t even appear aware that she was back. Instead he was finishing issuing some sort of report as to the completion of the “mission.” When he did notice she was there, however, he ceased the recording, or perhaps it was a transmission. Vandelia couldn’t be sure.

“Who are you?” she asked as she dropped into the seat next to him. “Are you some sort of spy?”

“If you wish,” he said.

“Who do you work for?”

“Myself.”

“Someone must be sponsoring you. You must report to…”

“Get some sleep. We’ll be at Starbase 18 before too long. I’ll be dropping you off there. There’ll be a connector flight there which will take you wherever you wish to go.”

“I…do not know what to say.”

“ ‘Thank you’ will suffice.”

She considered that a moment. Then she rose from the chair, went to his, and draped herself across his lap, straddling it.

“What are you doing?” he inquired.

“Saying ‘thank you.’ “She undid the fastenings of the jumpsuit and slipped it off her shoulders. It dropped to her waist, leaving her nude from the waist up.

He stared at her. “Apparently it’s cold in here,” he said.

“We’ll warm it.”

“Vandelia…”

She put a finger to his lips, and grinned in a most wolfish fashion. “I’m going to return the favor you’ve done me, Mac. And when I’m through,” and she put her hands behind her head, arching her back, “you’ll never think about having sex with men.”

“That’s probably true,” Mac said.

And she began to dance. And for the first time in her life, she danced only for one person…only for him.

It was not possible that anyone should be able to haul himself from the wreckage of the tower. Not possible that anyone should have been able to survive. Particularly when one was considering that the candidate for survival had had his body crushed by falling metal.

All this, Zolon Darg was most aware of. Nonetheless, as he lay there on the ground, staring up at the twilight sky that was rapidly becoming night, it was impossible to overlook the fact that he had, in fact, survived.

It was also impossible for him to move. Sheer fury, pure force of will, had pulled him from the flaming wreckage that had been his headquarters. That, and the memory of a green woman with a defiant gleam, and a man…a man with purple eyes and a scar on his face. A man he would never, ever forget.

He tried to feel something below his neck, but was unable to. Nothing would move, nothing would respond to the desperate commands that his brain was issuing.

He drew in a breath, and it was an agonizing effort. But it was worth it, for it allowed him to exhale, and when he did so, what he breathed out were the words, “I’ll…kill them…”

Then he lay there, a sack of broken bones and bloodied meat, and wondered when the dark gods he worshipped would see fit to do something about his condition.

He remained that way for three days before he received his answer…