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as well.
    “Praise the stars. Blessings of the hour.” I kept my voice bland, uninteresting.
    Megan Sybil Baker - 24
    Sully had booked passage on one of the Chalford fleet supply ships, a squat short-hauler contracted to M.O.C. service. The ship had come in a few hours before; might even be the one that had punctuated my first conversation with Sully with its booming entry. The ship was berthed at Cargo Dock One.
    Moabar Prison Spaceport had three docks; one passenger, two cargo. Dock One was down a short corridor the jutted off to the right. A solitary window just before the rampway afforded me my first view of the ship.
    Chalford’s Lucky Seven was a B10-Class ‘load-up-and-go’ or ‘lugger’ as they were called in the freighter trade. Compact ships with dirtside capabilities, which the larger starfreighters lacked. What wasn’t cargo holds were engines; heavy-air and sublight. Luggers had no jump drives.
    And no passenger cabins. A ruddy-faced crewmember escorted us to the lounge. His suitpatch said Chalford Cargo Services. Wilard, P.—Navigation.
    “Bulkhead seats got harnesses.” He pointed to three pairs of fold-downs. “Don’t unstrap ’til you hear the all-clear from the bridge.”
    I watched him leave. This is too easy. Much too easy . Pull a robe over my head, flash an ID card with a religious symbol, walk off Moabar and into freedom.
    This is too easy . I chose a seat from the pair nearest the exit out of habit, folded down the armrests. My throat suddenly seemed dry, my hands cold.
    This is too easy . I tried to think about what P. Wilard was doing on the bridge at nav. The captain would be running through his or her preflight, doing a last minute systems check. I knew the routine well.
    But that little voice in the back of my mind wouldn’t shut up. This is too easy .
    Sully unfolded the seat next to mine. “You’re frowning, Sister. Don’t tell me flying makes you nervous.”
    I was about to remind him of all the hours I’d logged at the helm when I realized our conversations might well be heard on the bridge. I answered as I hoped Sister Berri would. “I was trying to decide which of the Twelve Blessings I’d recite for our departure. Perhaps you have a suggestion, Brother Sudral?”
    I snapped the harness across my chest. Sully glanced at Drogue and Ren on his right. Bright orange straps crisscrossed the front of their pale robes.
    “I’m fine,” Ren said.
    Sully hadn’t asked. Ren must be used to Sully’s almost protective attitude by now, anticipated it. He stared straight ahead, one hand resting lightly on his cane tucked through the straps.
    “I always enjoy the Blessing for Good Fortune through Purity of Effort,” Drogue said. “Permit me to lead.”
    “That was about to be my suggestion as well.” Sully turned back to me, dropped his voice to a low rasp. “However, perhaps later we could perform the lesser known Invocation for the Convergence of the Male and Female Physical Essences—”
    Intraship chimed twice. It was followed by a man’s voice, sounding bored. “This is Captain Newlin. We’ve got clearance. Push-back coming up.”
    I closed my eyes, leaned my head back against the padding of the seat, waited for the jerk-and-thump as we were towed to the taxiway.
    Megan Sybil Baker - 25
    All hatches were sealed. Ship was secure. I was either headed for freedom or into a trap. Either way, there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it right now. I listened to Drogue recite the blessing. Purity of Effort. I guess the road to—and from—Hell was paved with good intentions. The tow disengaged from us at the taxiway with a final shimmy. The heavy-airs, which had
    been idling, were thrown to full. A muted roaring rumbled through the ship. Then we were moving, rising, my back flattening into the seat. I was free. Or I was dead.

Chapter Four
    Artificial gravity kicked on with a thud. Something, somewhere, hadn’t been strapped down. I only hoped someone hadn’t been