Like Cato, Phelonious was at least partially disguised by a robe that hung to his mechanical knee joints, and was carrying an assault rifle plus ten clips of ammo. The problem was that Phelonious had only been able to fire a dozen practice rounds on the way up the trail and, outside of some bar-room brawls, had never been in combat before. Phelonious was determined to help, however, and would be an asset, so long as he didn’t fire on his friends.

  Cato knew that the sniper rifle would be of limited use in a close-quarters firefight and had chosen to carry an assault rifle instead. Would the additional firepower combined with the element of surprise be enough to carry the day? There was only one way to find out. “Okay,” Cato said. “Let’s get going. . . . And remember, it’s very important to deal with the sentries quietly, because a single gunshot will bring the entire clan down upon our heads.”

  “Don’t worry,” Belok said stoutly, as he sat down. “We know what to do.” Cato closed the pack but left the flap undone so Belok could push the top open when the need arose.

  Cato and Phelonious positioned themselves at the front of the column of pack angens, knowing it would probably be necessary to tackle the sentries as a team. The rope-and-wood suspension bridge was a simple affair that consisted of wooden planks supported by two sturdy cables, with two more located at waist level, where they doubled as hand ropes. Woven side lashings served to bind all of the elements together and prevent people or things from spilling out over the sides into the river gorge below.

  At first Cato was hesitant to put his full weight on the structure. But Phelonious seemed oblivious to the potential danger, and the angens were not only familiar with the span, but eager to reach the food that waited beyond it. So, with the animals pushing from behind, Cato had no choice but to accompany Phelonious onto the span.

  The rope bridge began to sag once they were out on it, the cables creaked in response to the additional strain, and when the wind hit the pack train from the side, the entire assemblage began to sway. That, plus the fact that the wooden planks under Cato’s feet were covered with a thick layer of ice, made it difficult to remain upright. Cato discovered it was all he could do to move himself ahead, never mind looking out for Belok, or the heavily burdened angens.

  But the span held, and as they passed the halfway point Cato saw the far end of the bridge and the stone hut positioned next to it. Judging from the wisp of smoke that issued from the chimney, it was heated by a dung-fed fire. Did that mean the sentries were lounging inside? Drinking whatever cold warriors drink? Or were they waiting at the bridgehead with weapons at the ready? Squint as he might, Cato’s eyes couldn’t penetrate the murk, but by swiveling the assault weapon around so that it hung across his chest, he was ready for anything. Cato knew the shit would truly hit the fan if he was forced to fire the weapon, because at that point he and his companions would be forced to retreat across the bridge while the Lir attacked from above. Not a pleasant prospect.

  The question of how many sentries were posted at the bridgehead soon became clear. As Cato and Phelonious neared the north side of the span, a robe-clad warrior became visible. But only one. That suggested others were inside the hut taking a break. The sentry came forward as if to greet his returning clan brothers, and opened his beak to speak. Then he saw the Uman face, took a full step backward, and was about to fire his weapon when Cato threw the knife.

  It wasn’t a skill that Cato had mastered, partly because there had been no need to, and partly because of the considerable practice required. As a knife blade flies through the air it turns end over end making it necessary to be just the right distance from the target in order to score a clean strike. And that takes a good eye plus lots of experience.

  That was why Cato’s knife failed to hit the sentry point first in the middle of his scrawny chest, but hilt first between the eyes instead. Though not what Cato intended, it had the desired results. The blow knocked the Lir off his feet and onto his back. Phelonious was there to pounce, and a bone-crushing thunk was heard as the android’s assault rifle came down on top of the Lir’s crested skull.

  Meanwhile, having opened the pack and jumped to the ground, Belok waddled over to the hut. The Lir were shorter than the average Uman, but taller than the average Kelf, so Belok had to tuck a pistol into his left armpit in order to reach up and pull the door lever. Then, with a fully charged weapon in each fist, Belok kicked the barrier open. As the door swung out of the way and the incoming air caused the fire to flicker, three Lir turned to complain. One of the warriors was standing, having just removed a kettle of hot water from the swing hook over the fire, so he took the first energy bolt. Because the Kelf was so short, it hit him in the crotch.

  The warrior dropped the kettle as both of his clawlike hands went to cradle his badly damaged sex organs. He then uttered a birdlike scream as boiling-hot water splashed onto his right foot, and fell silent when Belok shot him in the head. Fortunately, energy weapons produce very little noise, the stone walls were enough to contain the scream, and no alarm was given.

  The other two Lir were in motion by that time and going for their weapons, as Belok fired both pistols at once. The shots weren’t aimed, but they didn’t have to be, not in such a confined area. The stench of ozone filled the air as blue bolts flashed across the room. They hit one warrior, quickly followed by the other, who went down in a flurry of feathers as a pulse of coherent energy tunneled through his chest and scorched the rocks beyond. So, as Cato entered, assault rifle at the ready, there was nothing for him to do but stare. “Damn,” Cato said in amazement. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “What?” Belok inquired dully, as his eyes panned the room. Then, as the reality of the carnage hit him, the Kelf ran outside to throw up.

  Cato took note of the handheld com set that was sitting at the center of a crudely made wooden table, gave thanks for the fact that none of the Lir had been given a chance to use it, and took a quick inventory of the room. There were more assault weapons, of course, but the real find was a box containing eight fragmentation grenades. Just the thing for defending a bridge against a determined enemy or evening the odds as the threesome pushed up to the fortress above.

  Conscious of the fact that the dead warriors were no doubt expected to report in from time to time, Cato hurried to explain the way the miniature bombs worked to Phelonious and Belok before providing each of them with two grenades. Then, having appropriated the remaining bombs for himself, Cato went outside. The first part of the assault on High Hold Meor was a success. But the main part of the fortress loomed above, and there was no way to know how many warriors awaited him there, or how the invasion would go. But a promise had been made to those who had been slaughtered at Station 3, and having failed them before, Cato was determined to honor it.

  The city of Solace, on the planet Dantha

  Having witnessed a violent abduction the night before, Alamy rose, expecting to hear other slaves talking about it, except that, in marked contrast to what Alamy had seen with her own eyes, the word on the palace grapevine was that Lea had run away and was hiding deep inside The Warrens.

  Alamy wanted to correct that version of things, but couldn’t do so without admitting where she’d been, and why. A story one of her peers would no doubt sell to Hingo in return for a favor and thereby set Alamy up to receive twenty-five lashes.

  So once the morning dishes were done, Alamy took advantage of a fifteen-minute biobreak to stop by the hallway table that she and Persus used as a message drop. But, as Alamy opened the drawer, she saw that a scrap of paper was already waiting inside. Persus had marked it with an “X,” which meant that the need for a meeting was urgent. And that was curious indeed. Did Persus have information pertaining to Lea? And her disappearance? Or did the other slave have something else in mind? There was no way to know.

  Having been granted the fifteen-minute break, Alamy dashed down a flight of concrete steps and opened a door marked MAINTENANCE PERSONNEL ONLY. She entered a space dominated by a maze of overhead ducts as well as the color-coded pipes that carried freshwater into, and wastewater out of, the palace.

  After a quick check to make sure she was alone, Alamy slipped along the right-hand wall to the distal end of a huge pipe. It was no longer in use, not since the new pumping station had been brought online, which was why the terminating end had been severed. By climbing up into the pipe and walking bent over, Alamy was able to make her way to the old pumping station without being seen. Persus was waiting and offered a hand. Alamy took it and jumped down onto the floor, which was bare except for some metal brackets to which huge pumps had been bolted. What light there was slanted down through a skylight high above. Dust motes rode the air, shadows commanded the corners, and there were no sounds other than the ones the women made.

  In marked contrast to her normally sunny disposition, Persus was clearly distraught, so Alamy put an arm around the other woman’s shoulders, and gave her a hug. “What’s wrong, Persus? What happened?”

  Persus shook her head. “I’m scared that’s all. Early this morning, one of the overseers rousted me out of bed and sent me down to clean up a mess in Storage Room 3B13. I assumed that the plumbing was leaking, or something of that sort, but the walls were splattered with blood! Even the ceiling had blood on it! And as I went in two of the groundskeepers were carrying a garbage can out. I think there was a body inside. . . . Or parts of a body.”

  Persus was sobbing by then, and as Alamy sought to console her, something akin to ice water trickled into the slave’s veins. Because even though people claimed that Lea had run, Alamy knew it wasn’t true, and based on what Persus had seen, it seemed logical to believe that Lea had been murdered!

  But why? Having witnessed the scene in the hallway, Alamy had assumed that Hingo was going to rape Lea, but that seemed trivial now. Alamy sensed that something even darker was afoot—something extremely dangerous.

  High Hold Meor, on the planet Dantha

  Cato and Phelonious followed a trail of snow-blurred foot-steps up a narrow passageway toward the fortress above. Six angens, all eager to return to their stable, followed along behind. Just as he had been earlier, Belok was hidden in a saddlebag, with a pistol clutched in each fist.

  Having successfully crossed what amounted to an air moat, and dealt with the sentries posted at the end of the bridge, Cato knew the next task was to penetrate the keep’s defenses and find the Lir named Hybor Iddyn.

  His plans were somewhat vague after that, since prisoners would be hard to guard with such a small force, and the march out of the mountains would be difficult. Especially if vengeful warriors were attacking from above, but there was no point in dwelling on such issues until such time as they became real.

  And right then, in that moment, Cato and his companions were walking through what felt like a slow-motion dream. There were no sounds to be heard other than the rhythmic crunch, crunch, crunch of the snow under his boots, the soft whir of the android’s servos, and the occasional creak of a harness as the angens plodded upward.

  Meanwhile, snow fell like a silent veil around them, hiding their true identities from High Hold Meor’s citizenry, some of whom had emerged to watch the incoming caravan. One of them issued what might have been a greeting, and Cato waved, as if to acknowledge it. The warrior raised his arm as well, the magic held, and the intruders climbed higher.

  The keep was built on a series of hand-excavated terraces. Each blocky warehouse, shop, or home stood wall to wall with the rest and was stacked vertically. The structures had slitlike windows plus plenty of balconies, terraces, and verandas from which the locals could launch themselves into the air without having to beat their way upward. All of it was now covered by a thick blanket of white, which acted to soften otherwise harsh lines and make High Hold Meor look picturesque.

  All dreams must end, and the one Cato had been walking through was shattered not by a gunshot, but a ten-year-old Lir who ran out to greet her father. But he was dead, having been buried in a shallow grave many miles to the southwest, right next to his war brothers. So what she saw instead was a monster, just like the ones the elders told stories about, which elicited a high-pitched cry. That caused all of the adults to take another look, as Cato yelled, “Run!”

  The plan was to take cover between two files of angens, with Phelonious bringing the last three up to parallel the lead animals. This strategy worked as warriors opened fire from all sides. Including from above, which was Belok’s responsibility, as the Kelf directed his fire toward the lead gray sky. The effort produced immediate results, as one warrior took a bolt through his left wing and went spiraling down, while another was killed outright and fell like a stone.

  Meanwhile, as the sturdy angens were struck by bolts of energy and dozens of bullets, they squealed pitifully, and one of them fell. The body was like an anchor that brought the rest of the string to a halt, forcing Cato, Phelonious, and Belok to make a run for it.

  The Kelf was up on the android’s shoulders by then, firing his pistols at the Lir who circled above, as a force of six warriors rushed out to block further progress. Two of the defenders went down immediately when Phelonious fired short three-round bursts at them, and the rest were torn apart as one of Cato’s grenades landed in the middle of the group, going off with a loud bang. The echoes of the explosion were still dying away as Cato pointed to the blocky building that sat atop the rest, and yelled, “That looks like the place we want. Get inside!”

  Incoming energy beams stuttered past, and bullets pinged off stone pavers while the threesome dashed across an open area, making for what Cato believed to be the “roost” where Chieftain Hybor Iddyn and his family lived. The habitat wasn’t undefended, however, and, when warriors spilled out through the front door, it was necessary to open up on them.

  Lir bodies danced and jerked, and a steady stream of bright casings arced through the air, as Cato felt something hot nick his side. He’d been hit, he knew that, but there was no time in which to inspect the wound as one of the defenders fell back against the half-open door. That served to push the barrier open, which gave Cato an opportunity to throw a grenade into the space beyond. The otherwise-dark room was momentarily illuminated by a flash of light as the bomb went off, sending chunks of jagged metal in every direction.

  The explosion had the desired effect, with Cato and Phelonious able to enter the structure and pull the door closed behind them. It was extremely thick and secured by a sturdy crossbar that was intended to keep attackers out.

  There wasn’t a lot of light, but what there was came from both narrow slitlike windows and chemical glow strips that dangled in among dried foodstuffs suspended from a smoke-stained ceiling. Once Cato turned his back to the door, he was confronted by a gruesome sight. Because in addition to the warriors who lay dead, four or five females had been slaughtered as well, along with half a dozen juveniles—all of whom lay in a pool of blood.

  The scene was very reminiscent of what Cato had seen inside Station 3. But it wasn’t what his dead team members would have wanted, or what he wanted, for that matter, with one of the older females cradling a warrior’s head in her lap and making soft keening sounds in the back of her throat. A form of communication that required no translation.

  Cato was not only sickened by what he’d done, but effectively frozen in place as a series of thumps were heard. “They have axes,” Phelonious observed dispassionately. “And they are trying to hack their way in.”

  “Hybor Iddyn,” Cato said desperately, as he looked from face to face. “I’m an Imperial police officer—and I’m looking for Hybor Iddyn.”

  The statement was met with silence except for the muffled chopping sounds, but all eyes shifted to the female at the center of the room, and the dead warrior who lay beside her. The misery in her big yellow eyes was clear to see, and Cato could not only “feel” what she felt, but the sorrow, anger, and rage that boiled around him. It was almost overwhelming, and while most variants could suppress it, Cato lacked that ability. Slowly, as if choosing each word with care, the female spoke. “Hybor Iddyn, here. He dead. You kill.”

  Cato looked at the body, wondered if the female was lying to him, and knew she wasn’t. Because he could “feel” that she wasn’t lying just as he could “feel” how much all the rest of the Lir in the room hated him. Iddyn was dead—and it was his fault. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Cato as he swore under his breath and swiveled toward Phelonious. “Fire a couple of rounds through that gun port. That will force the warriors with the axes to back off and buy us more time.”

  The android obeyed, the chopping sounds stopped, and Cato turned his attention to Belok, who was standing on a tabletop with both pistols aimed at the group of survivors huddled at the center of the room. “Explore this place,” Cato ordered. Look for another way out. And for any point where the Lir warriors could break in. Hurry!”

  Belok’s feet made a soft thump as they hit the floor, and he took off at a fast waddle. There were half a dozen weapons lying around, so Cato hurried to collect them, as survivors gave each other first aid. His side hurt, but there wasn’t much blood; that was typical of wounds inflicted by energy weapons.

  “We have a visitor,” Phelonious said, from his post next to the door. “A single warrior with his hands on top of his head. Should I shoot him? Or let him in?”

  “Ask him what he wants,” Cato replied, as he put the last of the captured weapons down.

  Some muffled conversation followed as Phelonious spoke to the Lir, turned his back to the door, and delivered his report. “His name is Issit. . . . And he wants to talk to you.”