She looked away, a wry smile curling her full lips. "I'm sorry. I suppose old habits die hard. I'd like to know more about the Seddi since it appears both Tybalt and I have underestimated them." She paused. "And I would like to know more about you, who surpassed so many incredible challenges."
Sinklar gave her a more complete study, noting the finely formed bones of her face, and how her pale skin appeared delicate in the sunlight. The rich black tones of her hair shimmered. This day she wore a close-fitting black jumpsuit. She walked with a sensual swing to her hips. In his mind he could hear Gretta's voice wryly warning: "Watch it Sink!"
"What do you know so far?" he asked neutrally.
"The Seddi assassin killed Gretta Artina — the woman you loved. You found the body and barely resisted killing Fera then and there. You continued by torturing her to obtain information on the Seddi with no results."
"Yes," he said coldly, "That's essentially the story. Let me provide a fact you don't know. Gretta went to see her, to console her about Butla Ret's death. and maybe earn her confidence in order to gain information on the location of Makarta. I watched the tape. Gretta ordered Fera brought to the interrogation room. They talked for a while. Gretta. " He clamped his jaws against the hurt. "Gretta tried to be her friend. Then the alarm went off. Rysta's Divisions were dropping all over the planet. Gretta ordered the guards to join their units. Fera waited until Gretta punched in the code for the security door — then she rushed her."
Sinklar gritted his teeth. "Gretta was a little tougher than Fera realized. She got the door closed and put up a fight."
"And you saw the end?"
"I saw the end." And something inside me died with my Gretta.
Ily snapped an order into her belt comm and the ramp to her LC dropped. Sinklar followed Mac and Ily into the craft.
Fera was dropped on an acceleration bunk in Ily's LC. Mac bound her legs and arms securely and stepped back, distrustful eyes still on Ily.
The Lord Minister removed a small kit from her locker. She placed an ampoule in an injector and smiled down into Arta Fera's violent eyes. "Now, dear woman, you will tell us what you know."
"I'll see you in Rotted Hell first, you Terguzzi—" Fera yipped as Ily fired the injector into her neck.
Ily straightened and replaced the injector in her kit. "Takes it to the brain faster that way." She pointed to Fera's slackening features. "See, it's already beginning to take effect." Ily turned to the small dispenser. "Stassa? Kaffe? Choklat? I'm afraid there's not much else to offer."
She handed out cups. "Be seated, gentlemen. The recorders are running and it might take a while to completely wring her out." Ily smiled at Sinklar and arched an eyebrow triumphantly. "And when we do, we shall know everything about the Seddi that your Arta Fera knows."
"Dock twelve, bay six," a woman's voice called. The crate swayed and Staffa peered out through the hole he'd once cut. Now, instead of bleeding through it, he kept track of their progress through the Targan spaceport in Kaspa.
"Doesn't look like things are too out of hand," he muttered while Kaylla waited in the darkness. "The soldiers I see are few and far between. Most seem on good terms with the dockhands."
Above them the gantry whined, sending vibrations through the thick syalon crate.
"God, I'll be glad to get out of here," Kaylla whispered. The crate swayed wildly as it changed directions. Darkness closed around them. Staffa's hole faced to the rear after the last change in direction. They were lowered with
a thump. The huge gantry howled into high gear, retreating along its rails.
Silence.
Staffa pressed his eyes to the hole and watched as two big warehouse doors began moving, squeezing sunlight ever thinner until they clanged shut in darkness. Lights flashed on.
"All right, people," a man called, "let's see what we've got."
The syalon walls shivered as tools sprang the boomers that held the crate together. A crack of light grew above Staffa's head. He crouched and pulled his blaster as the wall lowered. The womb had been breached; he stood, blinking into the light.
A semicircle of grim-faced men and women watched him, weapons at the ready, clearly nervous. Young to middleaged, they wore either buff or bronze robes. Then the old man stepped forward and drew his attention.
Old? No, indeed, ancient better described his thin reedlike body, sunken within white robes. His bald head gleamed like a pale orb. lesh hung on his face and neck in wrinkled folds. Yet the eyes glittered with a vibrant strength to belie the age and worry in his features. He clasped birdlike hands before him in a stoop-shouldered unassuming pose.
The old man smied and bobbed his head before speaking in a reedy voice. "After all these years Lord Commander, welcome to Targa."
"Magister!" Kaylla cried reverently as she walked unsteadily forward to stand before the old man. Then she placed her arms around him in a gentle, loving hug.
The Magister's face lit, a gleam in his eyes, as he pulled her close, patting her back, running his fingers through her hair.
"Dearest Stailla, you have returned to us! How wonderful to see you. But wait, could it be? You've come back to finally warm my bed at night?" he cackled. "And here I'd finally given up hope that you really loved me."
She pulled back, but as she saw his dancing eyes, her man-horror melted to be replaced by an anxious laugh. She shook her head, clucking her tongue. "You never change, do you Magister Bruen? Honestly, one of these days—"
"Magister," the black-skinned man interrupted pointedly. "We must get out of here, it's no longer safe to. "
Bruen lifted a hand, sighing, and turning to Staffa. "If you would Lord Commander, we have much to discuss, and I'm afraid the building is under surveillance."
Staffa still stood in the crate, legs braced in a combat stance. His eyes darted warily to each of the guards.
"Lower your weapons, people." Bruen stepped forward, offering his hand. "Come, Lord Commander, I offer you my word that you shall not be assassinated while in my presence. Please, holster your weapon."
Staffa stared into the old man's watery eyes and nodded, reholstering the blaster. A wry smile curled around his lips. "A man in my position can't be too careful, Magister. You might say the rug has been pulled from under my feet more than once in the last couple of months."
Bruen grinned. "I have a great many questions to ask you. You, no doubt, have a great many to ask me. The Seddi have worked long and hard to bring you into our talons. Now, we find, after all these years and all our careful plots, you come not as a corpse, but perhaps as an ally?" The old man shook his head in amazement. "You've always been special, Lord Commander. Once again, you have defied prediction. It has been hinted that you became aware. If that is indeed the case, the ways of the quanta— and God — treat us all like the fools we are."
"I imagine we're fools more often than not."
"Come, follow me to the office, and we'll sit over a cup of stassa and talk." Bruen pointed out the way and Staffa wound through stacks of gray syalon crates to a small office that jutted out from one wall. The entire way, the nerves in his back prickled. How many weapons covered his every move? Did snipers lurk among the shadows overhead?
And what if they did? Death had been his companion from the moment he'd set foot on Etaria. Each moment after Broddus gassed him had been borrowed.
Bruen opened the door to the office. It contained four desks, computer consoles, stacks of manifest flimsies, and a stassa machine on a counter to the rear. Windows looked out into the warehouse on one side and outside on the other. Staffa stepped over to look out onto an empty street. From the angle of the sun, night would fall soon. A scarred