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bloody nails packed with his flesh. There had been fury in their eyes until his name began

to repeat from one mouth to another to another until they were all silent. He had cringed

on the ground, bleeding and torn, and waited for them to kill him.

"You are a lucky man, Konnor Rhye," the Prophetess-Mother had said as she pushed

through the crowd.

"Don't burn me," he pleaded, coming to his knees, his hands clasped as though in

prayer. "I beg you, please don't burn!"

The woman had come to him and stood over him, smiling down at him. "You are

Bridget's betrothed," she said.

For the first time Konnor felt a faint glimmer of hope. "I was," he said.

"And will be again," the woman assured him. "Do you still want her?"

"With all my heart," he swore for it was the gods' truth. He flinched as whispers started from mouth to mouth to mouth among the women.

"Then rise, Konnor Rhye," the woman ordered. "And go to her while you still can."

"You are going to let me go?"

"There is a ship ready for you on FSK-14. I will send four of my best warrioresses to

help you. Take Bridget and leave this place." She stroked his dirty hair. "Take her back to Earth where she belongs. She is responsible for us gaining our freedom and we will grant

hers."

As Konnor Rhye placed Bridget's unconscious body into one of the Khamsin's E.S.U.'s

and injected her with hypersleep, he could not believe his good fortune. There were four

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women waiting for him on the ship and they would help him fly the starcruiser to Terra.

They were looking at him with respect and admiration and he basked in their warm,

friendly smiles. He realized they considered him a hero.

"Where are we going, milord?" one of the women asked.

Konnor thought about that for a moment. Should anyone ever come looking for

Bridget, they would surely go first to her home in Iowa. That would be the most logical

place to begin.

He picked a name at random.

"Georgia," he said, his decision made.

No one would ever think to look there.

RAINE MCGREGOR had turned over the controls of the Vortex to Tealson Hesar

with the stern admonition that the man not fly them into hell. Scrambling aboard The

Tempest, The Vortex's runabout, the young Serenian nobleman had no time to brief the

second man who joined him. Together, they got the ship out of its docking pod and were

arcing away from the prison ship before bothering to introduce themselves.

"McGregor," Raine said.

"Noll," Alexi responded. "Cree's 2/IC now."

Raine grimaced. "Not unless we get his ass off that scaffold!"

The third man of their little crew grunted and began to type in coordinates on his

transporter console. "I am Taborn, Prince of Necroman," the dark man stated. "I have the jackal locked in."

"I would suggest you hurry then," Noll advised.

"Vortex to Tempest."

Thorne, the last member of the crew, flicked on the Vid-Com. "Tempest," he greeted.

"We have Kahn inside the obelisk. Repeat: inside the obelisk."

"I read you, Commander," Thorne acknowledged. "Do you have numbers?"

"Aye."

Lares Taborn's fingers danced over his keyboard as Tealson Hesar gave him the exact

position of the Admiral. "Got it," he said.

"Bring them aboard, Your Grace," Raine ordered.

Lares grinned at the title he had not heard in a long time. Not that he cared that much

for titles. He glanced at his screen, made sure what he had typed was what he wanted,

then hit the enter key.

"Tempest?"

"Aye, Commander?"

"FYI, gentlemen," Hesar announced. "We have all but one of our targets on board the Vortex."

Raine and Alexi exchanged a look. "Which one don't you have?" Raine asked.

There was a pause, then: "His lady."

Before Raine McGregor could reply, the transport beam clicked on and the cabin filled

with icy blue light. Two figures—one standing, one reclining—appeared on the

transporter pad.

"Got them!" Lares shouted and he reached out to shut the transporter down

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immediately should someone try to beam on board. He shoved his chair back and rushed

toward the pad, drawing his dagger as he ran.

Kahn was dazed, staring about him as though he couldn't quite comprehend what had

happened. One moment he had been sitting in a locked room inside the Titaness, the next

he was standing in a runabout. He opened his mouth to speak, but never got the chance

for a bull of a man shoved him off the transporter pad and Kahn went crashing into a

chair and fell over it. His head slammed into a console and he went out like a light.

Cree was struggling to breathe, his hands digging at the noose that was constricted so

tightly around his neck, the hemp was embedding itself in his flesh. He was gasping,

heaving, his legs pushing at the floor as his nails gouged into his throat. He couldn't pull

the rope loose and he was turning blue as he jerked with all his waning strength to free

his windpipe. Choking sounds came from his tortured throat and his eyes were wide with

fear and hopelessness.

"Get that gods-be-damned rope off him!" Noll bellowed.

Lares dropped down beside Cree, jammed the handle of his dagger between his teeth

and reached out to pull Cree's hands away from the rope. He was fighting Cree's hands,

trying to push them away so he could get to the rope; but Cree was beyond realizing there

was help at hand. He was suffocating, strangling to death, and he was aware of nothing

but the encroaching blackness that was spiraling around the edges of his vision and the

crushing pain lodged over his windpipe.

"Cut it off him, Lares!" Raine shouted.

Taborn threw a leg over Cree, straddling him, and was valiantly trying to pull Cree's

hands away. He looked up, his own eyes wild. "Someone help me!" he grated around the dagger clenched between his teeth.

Thorne moved with the speed of a weretiger, skidding to his knees at Cree's head and

reaching out to grab the man's clawing hands. It took all his strength to pull the Reaper's

arms up and over his head and anchor them to the floor so Taborn could slip his knife

under the hemp and cut it away.

Kahn came to, shook his head, and sat up slowly, putting a hand to the growing knot on

his left temple. He winced at the touch, and then groaned. Instant fury filled him for he

realized the headache he'd had all day and had finally gotten rid of was now back full

force. He looked up, fully intending to mutilate whoever had brought the gods-be-

damned thing back to him and saw what he thought were two men trying to murder

Kamerone Cree. With a bellow of rage, the Admiral threw himself at the man holding a

knife to the Reaper's throat and they went crashing against the bulkhead.

"What the...?" Raine shouted.

Thorne looked down at Cree and thought he saw the man breathing as well as could be

expected. He got up to pull the enraged Admiral off the dark man.

"Tempest?"

Raine ignored the hail from the Vortex. He was watching Cree struggling to breathe.

The Reaper had turned over on his side, his hands to his throat, and desperately gasped

for air. The horrible choking sounds told the young Serenian, Cree was not getting air

into his lungs. His face was still blue and he was so weak from lack of oxygen, his

movements were becoming feeble as he kicked at the floor. Even as Raine watched, the

Reaper went limp.

"Tempest? What is your status?"

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"Noll!" Raine yelled. "Take over!"

"Tempest! What is your status?"

Alexi took the flight controls and reached over to switch on his Vid-Com screen.

"We've got a situation, Vortex. Hold your gods-be-damned water!" He flicked off the Vid-Com.

Thorne had managed to pull Kahn off Lares before McGregor reached Cree. The dark

man was snarling, his meaty fists bunched, and he was about to charge his opponent

before he realized Raine was kneeling beside Cree and doing the unthinkable: he was

kissing the man! The sight brought Lares Taborn to a shocked standstill. Cree wasn't

moving and the Serenian bantling was kissing him!

"There will be none of that!" the Necromanian roared. He started forward only to be brought up short again, by the fool who had attacked him.

"He's trying to save his life, darkling!" Kahn bellowed, shoving Lares away.

"Darkling!" Lares thundered, his eyes narrowing.

"We'll discuss it later," Kahn threw at him before dropping down beside Raine.

"We
will
discuss it later!" Lares said emphatically.

Raine breathed into Cree's mouth again and realized there had to be an obstruction to

the airway. He didn't even look up as he held out his hand. "Give me your blade, Lares!"

he demanded.

"For what?"

Thorne reacted just as quickly as he had before. He snatched his own dagger from his

belt and flipped the blade over, extending the handle to McGregor. "What else?" he asked instinctively knowing more was required.

"Something hollow," Raine replied, putting the blade to Cree's throat.

"A breathing tube?" Kahn asked, wincing as Raine drove the tip of his blade into the hollow at the base of Cree's throat.

"Aye."

"Will this do?" Lares asked. He pulled at the necklace he wore, broke the string and pulled off one of the reeds. He held it out to Raine.

Raine looked down at the reed, glanced up at Lares, who shrugged, then inserted the

bamboo tube into Cree's windpipe. Black blood bubbled around the incision as the

Serenian bent over his patient and breathed air into the reed, clearing it. There was a

gurgling sound then a whistle as air flowed into Cree's lungs.

Every man there held his breath, waiting for Cree to draw his. When he did, there was

a collective sigh of relief.

"Tell Hesar..." Raine stopped, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, not

surprised to find his hand trembling. "Let The Vortex know we need a Healer ASAP." He took off his jacket, rolled it up, and lifted Cree's head to place the jacket beneath it so the unconscious Reaper could breathe better. "Tell him to hurry."

"You can beam one of the women from FSK—" Kahn started to say, but Lares cut him

off.

"We have it under control, you Rysalian stinkcat!" The dark man resumed his seat at the transporter and activated the signal.

Kahn glanced at Taborn, knew he'd have to fight the Necromanian eventually if there

was ever to be peace between them. He looked down at the huge hands and wondered if

he'd survive the meeting.

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"Vortex? We need a Healer stat," Noll radioed.

"She's on her way," came the reply.

Kahn's brows drew together. "There are women on the Vortex?"

"Aye," Raine acknowledged. "As soon as we heard there was a problem on Rysalia Prime, we snatched them up." He sighed. "There was nothing more they could do

anyway. There is no longer a need for the vaccine. The only Rysalian men left alive are

on these two ships."

"No, you're mistaken. There is one more," Kahn snarled.

"Who?" Thorne queried, hoping against hope it was his best friend, Brelan Hascom.

Before Kahn could answer, the beam clicked on and Dr. Dean was standing there,

Dorrie Burkhart beside her. The women hurried to their patient and began to assess the

damage done to him.

"We've got a little bit of a problem here," Noll remarked, looking around. "McGregor would you care to join me?"

"What kind of problem?" Kahn demanded.

"We've a starfighter in pursuit," Noll replied. "Weapons armed and locked in on us."

"Get us the hell out of here, then!" Kahn thundered.

Raine McGregor slid into his console chair and began typing in commands as fast as

his fingers could move. "Shields up!" he yelled.

"Tempest!?"

"We see èm!" Noll responded to Hesar's worried inquiry. "Get èm off our tail!"

The ship was jolted with a hit from an energy blast before the shields could drop into

place. The Tempest cantered to port with a sickening lurch that slammed Kahn, Thorne,

and the two women into the bulkhead.

"Gods-be-damned hell!" Kahn shrieked, his head colliding hard with a light array. He staggered, caught Dorrie before she could crash into him and swung her into a chair.

"STRAP IN!" he ordered.

Dr. Dean pushed away from the wall and scrambled to her patient, nearly falling over

him as the ship was righted and another energy blast punched against the hull.

"Get that bitch off my ass!" Noll screamed into the Vid-Com.

"Hold your water, Tempest," came the amused reply from the Vortex. "We've locked on."

There was an explosion aft that shot The Tempest forward about forty meters. The

runabout tilted from side to side slightly in the wake of the concussion wave until

McGregor got her under control.

"Ah, Tempest? We suggest you get back to Mother as fast as your little legs will run.