Ahead of him, but no longer far ahead, Berry was beginning to despair. Not of her will, but simply of her body. She was young, true, but the unnatural and unaccustomed effort of crawling rapidly through the ducts had drained her strength. It had been years since she'd scurried like a mouse in Chicago's underworld passages—and, unlike her sister Helen, Berry had never been much attracted by physical exercise.

If I survive this, she told herself firmly, I'll have Daddy get me a whole set of gym equipment.

Victor's voice was back. "I need this one alive, Thandi. Don't argue with me, either. He's a Scrag, so Templeton wouldn't have let him know more than the minimum. And you've left enough dead bodies lying around here to satisfy even your precious captain."

The last two words had a slightly different taste to them, Thandi thought. An actual flavor, instead of Victor's usual calm, relaxed, self-confident tone.

Thandi savored the taste, for a moment. Savored it, because she recognized the flavor immediately. She'd tasted it herself, not so long ago.

My, how interesting. I do believe Victor is feeling a bit jealous.

It was a cheery thought. Also not a very sane one, since a romance between a Solarian Marine officer and a Havenite spy would be a picture perfect illustration of the phrase "star-crossed lovers." Still, Thandi was cheered by it. And why not? She'd never found the universe to be all that sane a place to begin with.

"Sure, Victor. But you'll need to define 'alive' for me. I warn you, my own definition is pretty stringent."

Victor's chuckle, like his voice, was that of a tenor. Nothing boyish about it, though, just the same melodious male sound that had thrilled so many women through the centuries. Thandi being one of them, in this instance. Again, she forced a sudden florid fantasy out of her mind.

"I can live with 'stringent,' Thandi. Just so long as he can talk. A croak will do, in fact."

"Consider him croaked."

When Berry turned the corner, she knew it was the end. She'd had to guess, at the last T-intersection, and she'd guessed wrong. This branch of the duct simply ended in a vent. There was no way she could break through the cover, even if she weren't exhausted.

So be it. Now her only thought was to get out of the ducts. Whatever else, she didn't want to be captured like a mouse in a hole. The T-intersection behind her, like several she'd passed, was an actual room. Not a big one, no, but it would be better to face capture there than anywhere else.

Summoning her last strength, she backed out as quickly as she could and, sighing with relief, slid out of the duct and plopped onto the floor of the little ventilation room. It was a tiny room, not more than three meters cubed—just enough to hold the air-circulation fans which filled a third of it, and still provide enough space for maintenance people to work. But, at the moment, it seemed like a glorious vista.

The vista seemed just as glorious to the Scrag, a few seconds later, when he slid into the room from the duct he'd been following her down. The princess was a pretty girl, and looked well-shaped—all the more so with her fancy royal apparel torn and dirty and ragged, and her face flushed and sweaty.

Lust came easily to the Scrag, never more than now. He didn't have much time, but not much would be needed. He wouldn't even bother to undress. He grinned down at the girl and opened the front of his trousers. He was already erect.

Then, hearing a slight sound behind him, he began to turn. But the girl's voice cut his caution down, fluttering, like a knife cutting down a banner.

"You're going to rape me with that ? Ha! Do I look like a chicken? Good luck, you pathetic shithead! Maybe you can dig up a pair of tweezers around here someplace. You'll need a magnifying glass, too, just to find it."

Rage came to the Scrag even more easily than lust. He took a step forward, raising his hand to strike her senseless.

An iron vise closed over his wrist.

"Not a chance." It was the voice of an ogre.

Mezzo-soprano, oddly enough.