Dragon and Judge

"I understand," Draycos said quietly, the images of his own places of great sorrow drifting like ghosts across his memory. "After the dinner tonight, once everyone's asleep, we'll take the shuttle and go back to the spaceport."

"Good." Abruptly Jack spun around on the path. "Let's get it over with."

CHAPTER 6

The long-range shuttle Alison was taken aboard had average engines, purely functional interior design, and standard if reasonably comfortable seats.

The starship the shuttle rendezvoused with flipped every one of those descriptives on its head. It was large and long and sleek, fast and powerful and elegant, with all the proper trim of a top-class corporate star yacht.

And long before the gold nameplate beside the docking station came into view, she knew what ship it had to be.

The Advocatus Diaboli.

Memories flickered back to her as Sideburns brought the ship to dock. Jack had been aboard this ship four months ago, when Arthur Neverlin tried to blackmail him into helping in Neverlin's scheme to murder Cornelius Braxton, founder and head of Braxton Universis. Jack and Draycos had managed to turn the tables on his plan and expose his treachery.

At the time, of course, everyone had assumed that it was just a particularly nasty attempt at a corporate takeover. Now that Alison knew the full story, though, she could see how much nastier the big picture really was.

And as far as she knew, the only thing standing in the way of Neverlin's plan was the fact that he didn't know where the refugee fleet was supposed to meet Draycos's advance team. That information had been carefully locked away aboard the four advance team ships.

They were apparently counting on Alison to get it for them.

The past four hours of contemplation on such matters had led her to the inevitable conclusion as to who she would find aboard this ship. But though her face was properly prepared for the encounter, she still couldn't quite suppress a shiver as the shuttle's docking hatch opened into the Advocatus Diaboli.

And she came face-to-face with Colonel Maximus Frost.

Fresh from the trouble on Rho Scorvi, too. Though he had long since cleaned off the grime of that world, there was still something of that encounter's fatigue around his eyes. It was a fatigue Alison knew all too well: the weariness of having pushed and schemed and fought, only to have victory snatched away at the last second.

But there was more than just tiredness in his eyes. There was also a deep, simmering anger.

"This is her?" Frost demanded, looking Alison up and down.

"This is her," Mustache confirmed. "Alison Kayna."

For another moment Frost studied Alison's face, and she found herself holding her breath. But the colonel merely grunted. "Fine," he said. "You two can go."

"Right," Mustache said. "A word of advice: don't let her near your locker." He stepped back into the shuttle, and with a thud both ships' hatches closed and sealed.

"I hope you're as good as they say you are," Frost warned. "For your sake."

"I'm good at what I do," Alison said, hoping that wasn't just bluster.

"We'll find out," Frost said. "It's going to take nine days to reach Brum-a-dum in this tub. Your meals will be delivered to your stateroom, and you'll be allowed out at my convenience and pleasure. Questions?"

"Not right now," Alison said. "If I do, I'm sure the room has an intercom."

"And feel free to use it," Frost said with an edge of sarcasm. His eyes narrowed slightly. "I've seen you before, Kayna. I know I have."

"I've just got that sort of face," Alison said, feeling her heartbeat speeding up. There had been no pictures taken of her for the past five years—her father had seen to that. And there were precious few pictures from previous years out where anyone could get hold of them.

But there was nothing that could be done about personal memories . . . and if Frost tracked down this particular memory, she was going to be in very serious trouble indeed. "I don't think I've seen you before," she went on. "You have a name?"

He took a moment to consider his answer. "Frost," he said.

"Nice to meet you, Frost," Alison said. "Or would you prefer I call you by your rank?"

"What makes you think I have one?"

"The way you stand." Alison nodded back at a group of humans and aliens loitering a little ways down the corridor. "Them, too. You guys are military of some kind."

"Military of the best kind," Frost said. "You can address me as 'Colonel.' " He gestured to the loitering mercenaries. "Dumbarton?"

One of the men came to full attention. "Sir?"

"You and Mrishpaw escort our guest to her quarters," Frost ordered. "Make sure she's comfortable."

"Yes, sir." Dumbarton and a typically ugly Brummga stepped forward. "This way."