Niles O’Bannon was one of the most powerful men on the planet, and despite the veneer of legitimacy and respectability, she understood now just how deadly dangerous he was.

  He controls the Vulcan City drug trades, too. Maybe the ones in the other cities, as well.

  Drug dealing was a profit center, of course, a big one, but now as she thought about it, she realized there was much more to the whole sordid system. Blast and other dangerous drugs offered more than just a massive flow of profit. They were a population control mechanism, for one thing, one that preyed most heavily on the disenfranchised and the down and out, precisely those of the least value to the industrialists…and the government. And, also the most likely to cause trouble. The drug trades created excuses for aggressive law enforcement activities and curtailments of individual liberties, especially useful when such things could be directed at crushing protests and dissent, instead of actually trying to meet the ostensible goal of reducing the flow of illicit drugs. The industrialists wanted people focusing on their work, and remaining obedient and pliable while they did it, and the government wanted that, too.

  Andi felt sick to her stomach. She’d been cynical already, or at least she’d thought she was. She hadn’t thought she believed in anything. But just then, she realized how much faith had lingered in the back of her mind, how much desire to believe…in something. Anything. That understanding was particularly clear at that moment, because she could feel every bit of it falling away.

  Her face hardened, and her hands curled up into tight fists. She didn’t care who was involved, or how powerful or wealthy they were. If Niles O’Bannon was responsible for the Marine’s death, then Niles O’Bannon had to die. If the president of the Confederation Senate had killed her friend, then she would have found a way to get to Megara…and put that bastard down, too.

  Niles O’Bannon had to die. He had to die now.

  She’d come over the fence right where she had years before, exploiting the same weakness in the security system. She was appalled at the carelessness that allowed such gaps not only to exist, but to remain for so long unaddressed. She imagined how much the O’Bannon’s paid annually on their security operations, and she drew a hint of satisfaction from the idea that someone was robbing them in that way, taking their money and doing a shoddy job.

  Your tech people are lazy, Niles. They let you down on this one…and not even you, I’m sure, every imagined what the consequences would be…

  She moved cautiously, as quickly as she could, trying to minimize the time she had to spend in the open, while staying as quiet as she could. There were scanners everywhere, but she’d scoped them all out three years before, and she remembered the course she’d plotted then. It was rough—and she was far from sure her memory was perfect—but it was the best she could do.

  She moved up, toward a large walled garden, and she hopped over the low masonry wall, ducking behind a large, flowering tree. She was close to the house now, and she could hear the sounds of boots on the ground up ahead. She peered through the branches, taking care not to move anything enough to draw attention. There was one guard for sure, close to where she was, and it looked like a second one, about fifty meters farther down, in the back of the house.

  When she’d been there before, she’d waited, probed for a chance to rush toward the house when there was a blind spot between the guards. It had taken hours then, waiting for the sentries to get careless, but this time, she didn’t have that much time to waste.

  She moved slowly, carefully, through the garden, doing all she could to ensure any view from the guards was obscured. She watched them go through their rounds, three times, four. Five.

  Then, there was an opening. Not enough to sneak all the way to the house, but a few seconds when the closest guard was around the edge of the building, out of visibility of the other. Maybe enough time. Just.

  Enough time to kill the guard.

  There were still scanners everywhere, and no doubt AI’s watching and controlling them. She knew that once she moved, the clock would really start. She’d have minutes at best, and possibly a lot less.

  She’d imagined pulling off the job, taking her revenge, and then fleeing, slipping back into the anonymity of the streets. But now, she began to realize how slim her chances of escape truly were. The likelihood of hitting her targets, of getting all those she’d come to kill, was poor enough. But getting out afterward, when every alarm was going off, every guard rushing to answer?

  The fear she’d controlled with such discipline surged back against her defenses, and she thought seriously about turning and simply trying to get back out. That would be dangerous enough, but she figured she had a good enough chance. It’s what the Marine would have wanted, too. She knew that, almost without a doubt. The last thing he would have wanted was her dying to avenge him.

  But she couldn’t do it. Whatever the chance of success, whatever the risks to herself, she just couldn’t let the Marine’s killers escape retribution. Not while she drew breath into her lungs. It just wasn’t her, who she was. There was a coldness inside her, a dark and hard core that drove her…and right now, that part of Andi Lafarge demanded blood.

  She watched the guards make their rounds twice more, counting off the seconds. They were a little sloppy, which was good in one sense, but it also made the amount of time she’d have more unpredictable. She waited, watching the guard move around the corner again, continuing his path along the side of the house.

  Suddenly, she sprang forward, almost on instinct, not giving herself time to hesitate, time for fear to intervene. She raced across the short expanse of neatly trimmed ground cover, her hand whipping the knife out from her belt as she approached her target.

  Her eyes focused on the guard’s back. She was going to jam the knife into the man’s heart. It had to be an immediate kill. The press of an alarm button, a shout, almost anything that alerted others would cost her the miniscule amount of time she was starting with.

  Ribs…remember the ribs. Shove hard, but let the blade give, to slide off the bone and push through…

  She remembered the Marine’s words, the lessons he’d taught her on how to survive, which all too often meant how to kill.

  She rushed toward her victim, and even as she closed the distance, she could see him starting to turn. He’d heard her, and he was reacting.

  She’d gotten close, but she wasn’t quite there yet, not in striking distance. She moved her hand over, tried to adjust to the aspect change of the target. And she pushed forward with all the strength and speed she could muster.

  She slammed into the man, about a third of the way through his turn, and she jammed the blade into his back. She missed her intended spot, by a few centimeters, but she shifted, and even as she felt the blade strike something hard and then slide around, she knew she’d done what she had to.

  The guard grunted, once, and then his body went limp, even as she was still pushing the blade in to the hilt. She tried to hold him up the best she could, to lower him slowly to the ground, and then she yanked hard, retrieving her blade and letting loose a torrent of blood.

  The other guard had not reacted—yet—at least not that she could see, but she had no idea what the surveillance system had picked up. For all she knew, fifty guards were grabbing weapons even then, and heading out to find her.

  To kill her.

  She grabbed the guard’s gun, and she jumped up, slipping around the corner, toward the window she’d forced her way into the first time she’d been there. Just like the fence, the defect in the lock had not been repaired. She was always amazed at the degree to which laziness and incompetence permeated so much human activity, not to mention arrogance. The house was like a fortress, guards everywhere, scanners, alarms…but no one paid attention to small imperfections.

  The O’Bannon’s think they’re invincible, that no one would dare to strike at them…

  If she survived the next moments, if she got away from Parsephon to live a new life somewhere, she promised herself, she would never overlook small details. She would trust nothing, rely on nothing. She would believe only her own eyes, and then no more than halfway. That was the way to stay alive.

  She moved quickly, again, almost totally on instinct. She remembered the layout of the house, at least the parts she had seen. She’d passed a room that first time, one that had looked like an office or a study of some kind. It was a wild guess that such a place was where Niles O’Bannon would meet with his underworld associates, but she didn’t have anything else, and she was taking the gamble.

  It was a bet with large stakes, she knew. Revenge for the Marine.

  And, on the other side of the table, her life.

  She could hear a commotion, first shouts coming from outside, and then, a few seconds later, alarms going off.

  Damn!

  She’d hoped to have more time. But whatever chance she was going to have, it was now.

  She broke into a run, down the hallway and out into a large gallery. There were open archways leading into several other rooms, all magnificently decorated. And all empty, at least at that moment.

  She turned right and moved quickly across the room, retracing her recollection of the route toward the study. Halfway across the room, she heard voices…and then two men walked into the room from the far side.

  Her eyes locked on them instantly, her mind racing, focusing on the details. Then confirmation. The man in front was definitely one of the ones she’d seen coming back from the warehouse, one of the ones she’d pursued all day.

  One of the men who’d tortured and killed the Marine.

  She had held back earlier, when she was tracking her targets, fought to restrain the almost irresistible urge to kill the bastards on sight. But she’d needed them then. She’d needed them to lead her back to their paymaster. Whoever was in charge.

  She didn’t need them now.

  The man in her steely gaze had done all he could to serve her purpose. His value was exhausted.

  He had reached his expiration date.

  She whipped up the guard’s gun she had taken, and she fired twice. The first shot hit her target along the top of his head. It was a nasty wound, and blood mixed with bits of bone and tiny chunks of brain in a grotesque spray. The second shot was cleaner, neater. Right between the eyes.

  The man fell with a hard thud, but by the time he hit the ground, she was already firing at the second. He had been partially obscured, and she hadn’t completely recognized him yet when she fired, delivering two more shots, again, both to the head. Her victim was dead by the time she got a decent look at what was left of his face, and confirmed that he too was one of the three men she’d followed there.

  She felt satisfaction at the kills, at putting down the vermin who had murdered her friend, but there wasn’t time for celebration. She had more people to kill, and then she had to figure some way—any way—to escape. That last goal was beginning to seem nearly out of reach.

  There were guards everywhere now, running around outside on the grounds. But she could hear some in the house as well. They were getting closer. She was down to her last seconds.

  She caught movement ahead, in the direction of the study. The third man? And Niles O’Bannon?

  She moved forward, but she stopped after a few steps, her ears and instincts combining to dictate the action. To save her life. She spun around, just as a guard stepped into her line of sight in the gallery just outside the room where she stood. She had a clean shot, and before she had conscious thought of what to do, she realized she had already fired, and the man was crumpling where he stood, dropping to the floor with a loud thud.

  The gun bounced across the wood floor, landing perhaps a meter from where she stood. It was a small automatic of some kind, one that looked pretty high-end. She raced back and scooped it up, another instinctive move. She wasn’t sure if the impetus was training the Marine had given her, or her own instincts, acting on their own, surprising her again, even without the involvement of her conscious mind?

  What did he turn me into?

  She turned back and ran toward the study. The third man was standing there, weapon drawn, partially hidden by a bookcase. He fired once and missed.

  Never let fear distract you. Not when you’re fighting for your life.

  Andi opened up with the automatic rifle, not entirely sure how to use the thing. She sprayed the entire area around the bookcase, and she could see that at least three of her shots had hit her target. He slumped back, and then he fell to his knees, dropping his weapon and hanging onto the edge of the bookcase to hold himself up. He was trying to hide as much of his body as he could, but he was still exposed.

  Andi stared at the wounded man, whimpering, sobbing, begging for his life, and she felt no remorse. None. She wondered how the Marine had died. Had he done the same? Had he begged for his life?

  She brought the rifle up to finish the job. No mercy…not for you…

  But something was wrong. The weapon didn’t move. Her arm didn’t move.

  And there was pain.

  She glanced down, startled, biting back on the panic rising within her. Her shoulder covered in wet redness. She’d been hit. She hadn’t even noticed the man getting off a second shot. She’d been so pumped up on adrenalin, so focused on killing her prey, she hadn’t even felt the bullet slam into her.

  Now, the pain radiated out like fire. The sixteen-year-old girl inside her wanted to turn and run, to find someplace to hide. To try somehow to stop the pain.

  But only the smallest part of her was still that sixteen-year-old. Inside her, completely dominant, lived what the Marine had created. The fighter, the warrior. The angel of death. Determined, focused. That part of her—most of her now—would never yield. Not while she still drew breath.

  She caught the movement in the corner of her eye. The fourth man in the room, the one who’d been hiding behind the desk. He had a pistol in his hand now.

  She was uncertain what to do, but only for the slightest fraction of a second. Then the discipline slammed down. Her shoulder was a mess, and she knew she’d never manage to aim the rifle. But she pushed through the pain, jerking her ruined arm forward with every bit of force she could muster, throwing the gun at the man with the pistol.

  The weapon hit the man’s arm, pushing it aside, and two shots rang out, both far wide of Andi’s position.

  What had been Andi’s position.

  She was already in motion, leaping across the desk. There was something lurking in her mind, a faint realization of how much pain would explode in her shoulder when she hit the man she was lunging toward. But fear hadn’t stopped her. It hadn’t even delayed the instinctive action.

  She got the first good look at the man as she came down on top of him. He was old, to her standards at least, a shock of thick gray hair covering his head. She’d heard the name Niles O’Bannon, of course. Everyone had. But she had no idea what the magnate looked like. Still, the age was right, and the location.

  Was this the man who’d sent his minions to kill the Marine?

  Yes, she decided. At least with enough certainty to decide he was going to pay for that crime.

  Her shoulder slammed hard into the man, hard, and the two of them fell back behind the desk, slamming into the chair and flipping it over, as they dropped hard to the floor.

  She’d been right about the pain. The initial impact had been sheer agony. She could feel her eyes watering, and a deep and guttural grunt escaping from her mouth. Then, more pain, even worse, as the two of them landed on the hardwood floor.

  It was agonizing, like a raging fire running down one side of her body, but she allowed none of it to interfere, to distract her from her deadly purpose. Her left arm was useless, immobile, but she already had her knife out in her right hand, ready to do what had to be done.

  Her mind was a torrent of thoughts—lust for vengeance, fear, rage, recognition of sounds, realization of approaching guards.

  She was out of time, certainly if she was going to escape, but likely in any event. If she was going to take her vengeance, if she was going to kill the rich and powerful man sprawled out on the floor next to her—the arrogant son of a bitch who had taken her only friend from her—it had to be now.

  She plunged the blade into the man’s side, reveling at his screams of pain. She knew a great deal about lethal spots, killing blows. She had discussed such things often with the Marine, just part of the training he’d given her in how to survive, how to kill her enemies.

  She’d struck this time, however, where she’d been able, and she knew it wasn’t a fatal blow. Not yet at least.

  The guards would be there in seconds, and Niles O’Bannon would get the finest medical treatment available. He would be airlifted to the hospital, and a dozen surgeons would work on him. If she was going to succeed, she had to make sure the bastard was dead.

  She twisted the knife, even as the man’s screams increased in volume and intensity. She’d enjoyed his pain at first, but now all she wanted to do was finish and get the hell out. Only seconds had passed, but each one had felt like an age.

  She jerked her hand back and forth, widening the wound, doing all she could to make sure her victim bled to death before anyone could help him. Then, her sense of self-preservation kicked in. The entire fight had been vastly shorter than it had seemed, but it had still been all the time she had.

  Maybe more.

  She pushed herself up, her teeth biting down from the pain, catching her lip, splitting it open. But she managed to get to her feet. He reached down, grabbed O’Bannon’s discarded pistol. She glanced quickly at the stricken magnate, her eyes moving rapidly, looking for any signs of breathing or motion.

  Nothing. He was dead.

  She turned abruptly, her eyes moving to the third thug, lying in the far corner of the room, badly hurt, possibly dying, but still alive. She looked at the man, for perhaps half a second, and thoughts of mercy drifted through her mind.