Intrepid

''You will soon see we are different,'' he growled. ''I would say more efficient, but you might not find us as easy as those people.'' Kris hadn't found ''those people'' all that much fun, but she held her own counsel.

She and the State Security men put on quite a parade, to no one's delight or even notice. Again the halls were notably empty. They stopped outside a door that was unremarkable.

''Here you go, Longknife,'' the brigadier snapped, opening the door for her.

Kris moved, quickly enough not to be shoved, slow enough not to be mistaken for a threat, through the door. The general followed her into an outer office, empty except for two guards at an inner door.

''That is for you,'' the general said, but made no effort to lead her. Kris carefully marched across the outer room to the door, squaring her corners. At the door she paused for only a moment. The one-star general cackled.

She opened the door and entered.

The room was unlit. Kris closed the door behind her, and it went totally dark. Backing up to the door to keep her bearings, Kris felt around the wall for a switch.

She found none.

''Lights on,'' she said.

And the lights came on to show her a rather large office furnished in dull shades of tan. Its focus was a heavy wooden desk with a comfortable leather chair behind it. The only other chair in the room was over against the wall with the door.

Kris flipped a mental coin, decided that she would most likely soon be talking to someone seated at that desk … and moved the chair to the side of the desk. She took a moment to take in the other furnishings, which were mostly noticeable by their absence: no bookcases, no books, no other seating, no place to organize an informal meeting.

There were several oil paintings. Mostly landscapes and sunsets, two featured ancient gibbets with corpses hanging on them and crows feasting. Kris refused to flinch at the tastes of her host but noted them.

A door opened, and Lieutenant General Boyng entered. ''You are early,'' he growled.

''You are late,'' Kris said. She kept her words light but gave no ground.

''Generals are always on time. Lieutenants are early or late.''

''I'll meet your three stars and raise you a princess,'' Kris said, wondering how long she could banter words with a man who probably considered a day lightly started if he hadn't sentenced a dozen men to death before breakfast.

Just don't choke on a word, she told herself, swallowing hard.

''We'll see how you banter with your betters when you're wearing a pain collar,'' the general said, and, pulling one from a drawer, tossed it onto his desk. ''Put it on.''

''I'd rather not. It's not the fashion on Wardhaven. So why should I?''

''Because I ordered you to.''

''Our chains of command do go in somewhat divergent directions.''

''Then maybe your Wardhaven sensibilities would be better served if I told you it's the perfect fashion statement for a mass murderer.''

He pinned her with his eyes, challenged her to deny her guilt.

Maybe yesterday she would have accepted the punishment, but not today. She had been cleared by a court of her superiors. ''Sorry, you have the wrong princess.''

''Didn't your ship fire on the Dedicated Workers of Tourin? Aren't you responsible for the work of your ship's weapons officer?'' He smiled at that, sure of her entrapment.

''General, I was the gunnery officer.''

''You personally killed those five thousand innocent people!''

Kris leaned on the desk to go eye to eye with the shorter man. ''Yes, I did.''

''Oh,'' he said, and settled into his comfortable chair. He eyed Kris as one cobra might another, one from another territory … maybe threatening his … maybe not.

''My field agents seem to have misjudged your stomach for killing.''

Not likely, but this was no time to disabuse this man about her taste for blood. ''Your field agents may have misjudged me in many ways. It would be interesting to see how much is correct in the file I keep hearing about.''

That brought a laugh from the mouth of hell. ''No, no. You are in my power. Not the other way around. And no, I have no intention of playing with you. Didn't your mother teach you not to play with your food?''

''No, my mother taught me not to eat people. They are much more fun to rule when free and sovereign.''

''Words, words,'' he said, reaching into his desk and removing an ancient revolver from a drawer. ''Put on the pain collar.''

Without thought, Kris had put on a spider-silk body stocking that morning. Abby laid one out; Kris put it on. Just another day in the life of a princess. If the general shot her in the chest, he'd be surprised at the results.

Then again, if he shot her in the face, she'd be dead.

It was hard to tell exactly where he was aiming.

If Kris dropped for the floor, she might get facedown below the desk before he drilled her where she wasn't protected. No one had frisked her; her service automatic was still in easy reach.