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Zabb hesitated. “We’re in a pretty mess,” Taj nudged. “I think an orderly retreat in the midst of complete disaster is indicated.”

“We must take the defense center,” Zabb caviled.

“And I would be charmed to do it for you, sir,” said Taj in a tone of abject humbleness. “But there are fifteen of the Morakh monsters at the bottom of those stairs. Also, the finest armor can be breached, and unlike an ace, I am not bullet proof -”

“All right, Uncle, I get the point.” With more haste than grace they regrouped and went charging across one corridor, and down the left branch of another. Laser fire snapped and snarled from the stairwell, licking at their heels.

Durg led his men at a quick trot. After landing at the compound, Durg had received the reports – the arrival of a Vayawand ship carrying him. Ah, Cosmic Traveler, the Morakh correctly identified – the sudden assault on the defense center which thus far the Vayawand were repelling. Sifting through the reports of actual contact with the intruders and readings by the menspies, it seemed that Ilkazam had not come in force, and the defenders had already accounted for eleven of them.

Durg had rushed to Blaise’s office prepared to guard the young man and had received the inexplicable and dangerous order to take the remaining invaders alive. The boy was seized with the notion that his grandfather was among the invaders. Durg thought it unlikely. Who was present among the attackers was Durg’s former master. The very boldness and audacity of the strike screamed of Zabb. Which left Durg with an interesting problem of how to effect this capture. Anything obvious like sleep gas Zabb would have already addressed.

Then Blaise had tossed his final bombshell. “Go to Kelly’s suite. Get my brat. Bring her here.” So with one of the finest military minds on Takis roaming at large through the House, Blaise had sent Durg and a squad to the human’s chambers to take custody of a three-month-old infant.

They had almost reached the door to Ackroyd’s suite when a slender figure disengaged from the shadows. A hand closed down hard on Durg’s chest, stopping his breath and filling him with pain.

“I always seem to be protecting the Doctor from you,” said Isis Moonchild in her delicate wind-chime voice.

From the corner of his eye, Durg caught sight of a gun being raised. His hand lashed out, gripped the barrel, bore it down. The beam cut a ten-inch hole in the parqueted marble floor.

“You abandoned me,” Durg said in a voice so ragged he didn’t recognize it as his own.

“I never meant to.” Soft and sad. “It is probably far too little, and far too late, but I am sorry.” They continued to stand and regard one another for several more moments.

Behind Durg the squad shifted nervously. There was not a telepath among them, so Moonchild was safe from an attack so subtle that even Durg could not sense it. Confusion rippled through his nerves and muscles, fluttered deep in the gut. Protect her? Kill her?

Moonchild flexed her knees, shook back her midnight fall of hair. “If we must fight, let us get to it.” And then she waited. Challenging him to bring the fight to her. Refusing to harm him except in self-defense.

The memory was so strong, it replaced reality. Shone like a waking dream across the shadowed corners of his mind and heart. The Cosmic Pumpkin Head Shop and Organic Deli. Durg wiping down tables. Sprout riding his shoulders, shrieking with delight. Mark struggling to assemble a tofu burger for the lone customer in the restaurant. But what overrode the memory was the emotion it raised. He had been happy there.

The barrel of the laser rifle was still gripped in his hand. Durg ripped it out of the soldier’s hands, swung it up. Firing from the hip, he mowed down the troops clogging the hall behind him. Screams of pain and terror ripped the air. Those left standing put their feet to good use and fled down the corridor. Durg pursued them, sobbing and shooting. Behind him came her quick steps, like a shadow’s dance. He tried to outdistance her… and memory.

“What’s happening?” Jay asked.

“I don’t know.” Tis was peering cautiously into the hail. “There are a number of dead Vayawand soldiers out here.”

“A promising sign,” said Bat’tam.

“I would feel better if I knew who killed them.”

“Any enemy of theirs is a friend of ours. Right?” Jay pushed the door shut again with the stumps of his fingers.

“Far too simplistic an attitude for Takis,” Bat’tam said.

Hastet snapped the flap on a self-heating bottle and handed it to Tisianne, who was pacing and rocking her child. “Personally,” Hastet said, “I’m beginning to feel rather like left luggage. I hope someone comes and claims us soon.”

“But it may be Blaise,” Kelly said.

“We can’t just keep waiting here. If we can get through a gate, we can take our chances in the open country,” Tis said.

“How did you all intend to get out of here had the plan gone as planned?” Hastet asked.

“Take out the defense center. Call in our ships.” Tis slipped the nipple into Illyana’s tiny mouth. Despite the graveness of their situation, she couldn’t help smiling. The baby’s eyes snapped open. There was a very wise expression in those beautiful aquamarine eyes.

“Why can’t you do that anyway?” Kelly asked.

“The defensive equipment is designed to detect genetic markers that are unique to enemy ships. They’ll be destroyed on entry.”

Kelly paced, nervously plaiting a small strand of red hair. “What about captured ships? What do they do to them?”

“Rebreak them and implant an artificial gene marker.”

“So they read like a Vayawand ship?”

“Yes.”

“So let’s call Baby.” For a stunned moment all they could do was stare. Kelly shifted selfconsciously. “I can’t do it alone, but you can coach me, and when she hears you, Doctor, she’ll come running.”

“Can you override her retraining?” Bat’tam asked.

Tis removed the bottle to push back a hanging strand of hair. Illyana registered disapproval with a sharp yelp. “We can but try,” Tis said, and shoved the bottle back into her demanding daughter’s mouth.

It hurt so bad. He had looked back once, realized his leg ended in a charred and ragged stump two inches above the knee. He crawled across the blood-slick floor in search of the missing limb. Maybe if he found it, they could sew it back on. He realized he was delirious. Then he realized he was dying. He wanted to find her before the end. To see if he’d done well. Durg began dragging himself up the stairs. The smell of blood and cooked flesh lay in his throat and threatened to choke him. He laid his head down on the edge of a step. He’d rest just for a minute.

The rattle of boot heels. Durg heaved himself up with a snarl, braced on his knuckles. He stared into the barrel of a rifle.

“No!” Her voice.

Men ran past, thundering down the stairs.

Another voice sang out, “Defense center secured, sir.” Then he added, in a little boy’s voice, “They’re all dead.”

Hands soft and gentle on his face. Durg’s arms were trembling with strain. Moonchild caught him as he collapsed. Blood from the wounds in his back smeared across her jumpsuit.

The perfume of her hair almost blotted the scent of death. “I turned… for you… I turned.”

“I know. Hush, now.” Tears clogged her voice.

“No one… weeps for a… Morakh.” He looked up into that beautiful face. “Grant me… your forgiveness.”

Moonchild nodded, bent, and softly kissed his lips.

How something as big and inflexible as a Takisian ship could wriggle with delight was a mystery to Jay, but Baby was managing. Light flared and coruscated across the whorls and folds of her outer skin. The lavender and amber running lights mounted on the spines of her back were bright enough to throw shadows.