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leaked into the atmosphere over Rysalia Prime. Only forty-one men among the eight

hundred and seventy-nine thousand Rysalian men and boys.

R4V7, she had named it: Revenge for the V-7.

Kym glanced up at the memorial plaque that the Daughters of the Multitude had

commissioned after the Plague had destroyed the entire female population of the Rysalian

Empire more than forty years ago.

"Two hundred twenty-three thousand, six hundred and fourteen," whispered Dr.

LeJong Kym. Every woman from eleven worlds knew that total.

"The men of Rysalia condemned us to a lifetime of hell," Hael Sejm had once said.

"They made us pay for their mistakes. Their desire to be the masters of the universe! If we, in turn, can find a way to sterilize them without them knowing it, then we can stop

this insane program of warrior making! We can stop the forced abortion of innocent

children! We can stop the killing of men who want to stay on Earth and live with the

women they have come to love! We can stop the heartache of our Terran sisters who are

brought here against their wills!"

"We can fashion a retrovirus similar to V-7, but with safer results," Dr. Dean had

suggested. "Our virus will sterilize the males, not kill them as theirs did the Rysalian women. Wouldn't you call that tit for tat?"

LeJong lowered her head. Tit for tat wasn't how she would describe the retrovirus that

had come out of Dr. Sejm's lab. The virus that was about to be released on the Empire

was even more destructive than V-7. It did not sterilize; it destroyed. The virus Hael Sejm

had designed in her lab of horrors would kill within a matter of minutes. Men would drop

like flies and neither Beryla Dean nor any of the other men and women involved in the

Resistance knew that.

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"I wish for the son what I have set in motion for the father!"

Dr. Kym looked down at the syringe that had shot its payload into Drae Cree's body.

The liquid inside the syringe was lethal. It would take several hours to thoroughly

saturate the Admiral's body but when it did, there would be no antidote for the virulent

poison that had been given to him. It would appear as though there had been an intense

reaction to the antitoxin; there would be no telltale signs that the man had been murdered.

"Drae Cree must not survive the Rebellion," Sejm had declared months before. "He can and will cause us great trouble if he is not put out of commission early on. We will

inoculate him first and he will die in agony, Beryla at his side to keep her out of our

way!"

"I wish for the son what I have set in motion for the father!"

Kamerone.

The name invoked a shiver of delight through Kym's body. For years, she had studied

the Empire's Prime Reaper and lusted after his strong body and dark good looks. Once,

she had even taken the place of one of his sexual surrogates just to know the feel of him

inside her. The experience had been all that she had imagined it would be although he had

barely glanced at her. Just having her hands on his body as briefly as she had, would

sustain her for a lifetime. Her dreams were filled with fantasies of what she wished could

be; she envied Bridget Dunne.

LeJong shook her head. "I will not let you harm him, Sejm. I would rather die myself

than see him hurt!"

Getting up from her desk, she went to the refrigeration unit and took out a vial of the

antitoxin. She loaded a syringe and placed it in her pocket before loading nine more.

Let the world disintegrate around her. Let the mighty fall and the worlds collide. If it

was the last thing she ever did, she would save Kamerone Cree from the end Hael Sejm

wished for him.

"MASSAGE HIS arm, Bridget," Hael instructed. "Work the liquid into his muscle."

"How sick is this going to make me, Lady?" Tylan had always feared his mother and

had given her the title long ago.

"You should feel nothing at all," Hael replied. "If you do, call me immediately."

Bridget saw Kahn's head snap up sharply. She stopped rubbing his arm. "What's

wrong?"

"He's back," Tylan said suddenly.

"He landed twenty minutes ago," Hael confirmed, taking pleasure in her son's psychic ability.

"Cree?" Bridget breathed.

"It's almost over," Hael said, smiling. "In a matter of hours, we will be free."

Bridget turned away from the others and went to stand in front of the port windows.

She stared sightlessly out into the black void and hoped with all her heart that the only

thing that would be over would be the Empire's power.

"WELCOME HOME, Lieutenant," the Vid-Com greeted him. "Did you have a

pleasant trip?"

"Get purged," Cree grumbled. Why the hell hadn't Bridget been at the door to meet

him? Stalking through the living area, he rapped on her door, then slapped his hand

against the control panel. She wasn't in her room or his or the bathing unit. He stomped

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back through the food preparation center, and then went to the Vid-Com.

"Where is Bridget?"

"She's not here, Lieutenant."

"I can see that, Helen!" he snapped, irritated that he had used Bridget's name for the AIU. "Where is she?"

"With Admiral Kahn."

Stepping closer to the Vid-Com screen, he stared straight into the photophase filament.

"Why is she there?"

"He outranks you and she had no choice."

A chill passed down Cree's spine. He knew beyond any doubt what had happened. He

put his hands to either side of the screen and hung his head. "Why is she there?" he repeated in a soft, hurt whisper.

"The Admiral revoked your ownership of her and has sought permission—"

"Where is Konnor Rhye?"

There was a hesitation as the Vid-Com checked on the Keeper's whereabouts.

"Commander Rhye is at this moment being given his yearly antiviral inoculations."

"When is Kahn planning on giving her to him?"

"He isn't, Sir."

Cree's head came up. "But you said—"

"You did not give me a chance to finish what I was saying," the Vid-Com chastened. "I was going to say that the Admiral sought permission from the Tribunal to Join with Dr.

Dunne, himself. The paperwork went through this morning."

His world screeched to a halt and his knees nearly buckled from under him. He had to

grab hold of the screen's edge to keep from collapsing. "When did he do this?"

"The day you left for Terra, Sir."

"Five months ago?" he whispered. His heart was beginning to shatter in his chest. "Did she go willingly?"

"She objected most strenuously to leaving these quarters, Sir, but Dr. Dean—"

Cree pounded the wall with his fist. "What about Dr. Dean?"

"The Director advised her not to cause any more trouble for you. If Dr. Dunne had

refused to do as the Admiral commanded, you would have been targeted for another

reinforcement. Dr. Dunne did not want that to happen, Sir."

Burning rage put a fissure straight down the middle of Cree's being and he spun

around, jerked up his utility jacket and ran from the room.

The Resistance wanted him? Well, they had him! All they had to do was give him back

his gods-be-damned woman and he'd tear the Empire down with his bare hands!

THE SIGHT that greeted Dr. LeJong Kym as she stepped off the private elevator

onto Level Twelve where the Ranking Staff were quartered was one that would stay with

her forever; it brought her up short

"Kym!" she heard Beryla Dean shout to be heard over the commotion. "Over here!"

Dr. Kym stepped over the prone body of a Keeper, flung herself back to avoid being

bowled over by a stumbling Shepherd, and reached Dr. Dean's side.

"Did you bring it?" Beryla asked, holding out her hand.

LeJong nodded. "And this also." She placed two objects in Beryla's palm. "It's the antitoxin."

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"Good. I had forgotten about it."

"I had not," LeJong said firmly. She pointed to the melee before her. "He is certainly unhappy."

She stared as twelve Keepers, and just as many lower-ranking Shepherds did their best

to keep an enraged Kamerone Cree from making his way down the corridor to Tylan

Kahn's private quarters. Three men lay on the floor with broken jaws slung to one side;

two nursed broken wrists, one a twice-broken arm; and three more were bent over,

retching on the floor as they gingerly cradled their private parts in trembling hands. Not

one of the security enforcers had been left unscathed by the swinging feet and punishing

fists of the Reaper. Blood was splattered on the walls from smashed noses and broken

teeth and the floor was slick with sweat and something the chemist didn't want to name.

Even as she gaped at the ruckus taking place before her, Kym saw four men attempting to

bring down the enraged warrior with their energy prods.

"He is very impressive," Kym whispered.

"Yes, but I have to put a stop to this before he kills someone," the Director stressed. It was unthinkable to her that two dozen men couldn't bring down one. She uncapped the

two syringes, gripped them in her fists—needles pointed toward the floor, her thumb over

the two plungers. She waited until Cree had been driven to his knees from a dual jolt of

two energy prods then stepped forward and drove the needles deep into the flesh between

his shoulder and his neck.

Cree felt the sting, slapped a hand up to his injured neck and bellowed with rage as he

twisted beneath three quick jolts of electricity going through him. He saw Dr. Dean

standing over him, he saw the syringes in her hand, looked up into her eyes with surprise.

He shuddered and began to go numb all over. "What did you do to me?" he asked before the lights went off and the floor dropped out from under him.

CREE CAME to on Dr. Dean's couch. His head was splitting and there was a

sickening taste in his mouth that left him afraid to move lest he puke on the pristine white

carpet at which he found himself staring. Not that he cared if he did, but he thought if he

were to start heaving, he would bring up his guts.

"The symptoms will pass, Kamerone," he heard a female voice tell him. "Here, drink this."

He was unable to prevent the cool hand from lifting his head and unable to stop the

too-sweet liquid from oozing into his mouth. The taste wasn't as bad as what was already

lingering there, but never let it be said the brew was palatable, either. He promptly

gagged on it.

"Help him to sit up before he throws up." The Director chuckled.

Rough hands dragged him up from his prone position on the couch, swung his legs

down until he was slumped in the middle of the plush cushions. His head lolled along the

back, then swung down to his chest, his dark curls hiding his tightly shut eyes. A grim

laugh bubbled out of his dry throat as he thought about his helplessness: He felt like a

bird with a broken neck.

"At least he finds his predicament humorous," said a woman with a Chrystallusian

accent.

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"Gods-be-damned bitches," Cree muttered, trying to lift his head and failing.

"We could strip him and mount him and he wouldn't be able to lift a finger to stop us,"

another said. He knew that voice! Dorrie Burkhart! "Would you, Cree?"

"Try it," Cree growled. Once more he strove to raise his head, but only managed to

make the world tilt away from him again.

"Poor baby," the Director said as she lifted his head and placed it where he could see her blurred face hovering above him. "Is that better?"

"Dean—" he mumbled and was humiliated as drool dribbled unchecked from the

corner of his mouth.

"Here, Beryla. Let me," the Chrystallusian woman suggested.

A wet cloth was dabbed at his chin; a cool hand smoothed the hair back from his

sweaty forehead, lingered as it stroked his cheek.

"Bridget?" The one word was both an accusation and a plea for help.

"We'll get to that in a moment," the Director answered. "Get him to drink some more of this, LeJong."

The glass was placed to his lips once more. The taste still left him with an urge to

vomit, but at least his vision was beginning to clear as the liquid slid down his unwilling

throat. He looked up into the flat face of the little woman sitting on the couch beside him,

tried to lift his hand to push the glass away, and found he couldn't.

"I think he's had enough," the Director remarked. She came to hunker down in front of him, putting her hands on his spread knees. When he tried his best to grab her, she shook

her head. "Temporary paralysis, thank goodness!"

"Good for you," he snarled. "Not for me."

She smiled at the effort it took for him to lift his head enough to see her. "You are such a stubborn man, Kam."

"Determined." Dr. Dean nodded. "That, too."

"You are going to be the death of me," he said flatly. "Does Bridget know what you have done to me?" Sensation was returning to his fingers and toes and he flexed his