Captain Vorpatril's alliance

The staccato buzz of a stunner beam came not from the Komarran, but from the shadows of the darkened hallway. Two pulses, two direct head‑hits, the most effective if you could make the aim. The range was short. The invaders dropped like sacks of cement.

Ivan controlled his involuntary flinch. “About time you two woke up,” he said cheerily, swiveling his head.

Rish padded into the light, followed at a more cautious tiptoe by Nanja. Neither woman wore filmy nightwear, Ivan saw to his disappointment. And apparently neither slept bare, more’s the pity. Instead, both wore body‑hugging knits suitable for the gym. Or for snapping awake in the middle of the night and dealing with unpleasant surprises.

“You know, if anything I said maybe led you to think I didn’t quite believe you, I mean, about being a touch twitchy about uninvited visitors, I take it back,” Ivan began. He nodded to the two lumps on the floor. “Anybody you know?”

Rish knelt and turned them over. Nanja followed to stare down into their faces.

“No,” said Rish.

“Local rental meat,” said Nanja, in a more disgusted tone. Her face grew suddenly tenser. “They’ve tracked us. Not only to Komarr, but all the way to here. Rish, now what do we do?”

“Follow the plan.” The blue woman rose and stared down at the unconscious pair. “Kill them first, I suppose.”

“Wait, wait!” said Ivan, a twinge of panic running through him. She meant that, even if she didn’t sound very enthusiastic about it. “I mean, I agree with your diagnosis, local hirelings. Suggests they probably don’t know much. And I don’t think they were assassins‑cappers. They were kidnappers, I bet.” He added after a moment, “And don’t I get any reward for saving you from them, just now? I mean, a kiss would be nice, but untying me would be more practical.”

Nanja, after long look at him, nodded. Under her blue companion’s disapproving glare, she knelt and undid Ivan’s bonds. He vented a whoosh of relief, rubbing his wrists and ankles before carefully standing up. The room only spun a little.

He really shouldn’t push it, but faint heart never won, and all that. He bent his head and presented his cheek to her, just to see what would happen.

A hesitation. A widening of her eyes, which, close up, were a clear sherry color, lighter than her skin, very striking framed with her long black lashes. To his unconcealed delight, she stretched her neck and bestowed a neat peck on his cheekbone.

“See?” he said, in an encouraging tone. “That wasn’t so hard.” The spot tingled pleasantly.

He poked an invader with his toe in passing, as Rish knelt to go through their pockets, then stuck his head out the big rectangular hole in the window through which a faint draft now coursed. A float pallet of much the sort used by techs to effect repairs on tall building faces hovered just below the frame. It bore a large plastic bin, typical of receptacles used to haul away soiled linens in hotels or hospitals. Empty. You could just about fit two stunned women into it, Ivan judged, if you folded them up snugly. Ah, the classics. But a cheap, common object; no one would look at it twice, so long as it wasn’t trundled through some very inappropriate location.

He drew back inside and turned to the two women. “Yep, kidnapping. Not murder. Unless they meant to kill you and then cart away the bodies, tidily. Any guesses which?”

Nanja stood hugging herself, looking cold. “It could be either, I suppose. Depending.”

“Any idea who would be sending you budget ninjas in the dark before dawn? No, silly question, belay that. Would you care to share with me who would, and so on?”

She shook her head. The clouds of curls bounced in a forlorn fashion.

“No IDs, no money, no nothing,” reported Rish, rising. “Just stunners, gloves, and pocket lint.”

The invaders, Ivan noticed for the first time, did indeed wear thin transparent gloves. Cheap, commercial, millions used to protect hands from dirty jobs all over the planet. Nothing unique, nothing traceable, which pretty much went for all of their equipment. Low rent, or cleverer than they seemed?

“You know, those goons could well have some sort of backup waiting outside,” Ivan opined.

“We have an escape route. Over the roofs,” said Nanja.

“Have you ever practiced it?”

“Yes,” said Rish, scowling at him, which was no clue, as she pretty much scowled at him all the time. “Start packing, Tej.”

Tej? Well, Ivan had known that Nanja was an alias. The blue woman hadn’t made that slip of the tongue in front of him before. Starting to trust him, or just rattled?

“Do you know where you’re going? That is, do you have a place to go?” Ivan asked.

To which Rish replied, “No business of yours,” and Nanja‑Tej said, “Why do you ask?”