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works, only it can jerk a ship out of hyperspace when it works right. When it works wrong, there's nothing to pick up. Anyway, it worked, and there your ship was, and there we were, ready to trail and take it. Which we did. The other slaves—and there's two from Myriad, by the way—are being sent back to Sector HQ, where they'll go through Fleet questioning and court procedures to reestablish their identities. They're innocent parties; all we do is make sure they haven't been planted with dangerous hidden personalities. That's happened before with freed slaves; one of them had been trained as an assassin while under drugs. Freed, and back at school, he went berserk and killed fourteen people before he could be subdued." He shook his head, then turned to her.

    "You, though. You're our clue to what's really happened, and you know where the slave depot is. You've told us what you know—or what you think you know—but I'm not sure your Fleet friend put all he had to say in one implanted message. If you were willing to come along when we go—"

    Sass pushed herself upright. "You're going there ? Now?"

    "Well, not this instant. But soon—in a few shipdays, at the most. The thing is, you're a civilian, and you're underage. I have no right to ask you, and no right to take you. But it would be a help."

    Tears filled her eyes; it was too much too soon. She struggled to regain the discipline Abe had taught her, slowing her breathing, and steadying against the strain. The officer watched her, his expression shifting from concern through puzzlement to something she could not define. "I . . . I want to go," she said. "If . . . if Abe—"

    "If Abe is still alive, we'll find him. Never fear. And now you, young lady, need more sleep."
    * * *

    There had been another implanted message, one that came out under the expert probing of the ship's medical team. This one, Sass realized, gave details of the inner defenses, descriptions of the little planet's surface, and the name of the trading combines which dealt in the slaves . . . including the one which had purchased and trained her. She came from that session shaken and pale, regaining her normal energy only after another long sleep and two solid meals. For the rest of the journey, she had nothing to do but wait, a waiting made more bearable by the friendly crewwomen who showered her with attention and minor luxuries—real enough for someone who'd been a slave for years. Although the captain would not let her join the landing party, when the cruiser had cleared the skies and sent the marines down, she was on hand when Abe returned to the Fleet. Scarred and battered as he was, wearing the ragged slave tunic, and carrying nothing but his pride, he marched from the shuttle into the docking bay as if on parade. The captain had come to the docking bay himself. Sass hung back, breathless with awe and delight, as they went through the old ritual. When it was over, and Abe came to her, she was suddenly shy of him, half-afraid to touch him. But he hugged her close.

    "I'm so proud of you, Sass!" He pushed her away, then hugged her again.

    "I didn't do much," she began, but he snorted.

    "Didn't do much! Well, if that's the way you want to tell the story, it's not mine. Come on, girl—soon's I've changed into decent clothes—" He looked around, to meet the grins of the others in the bay . . . kind grins, Sass noticed.

    One of the men beckoned to him, and he followed. Sass stared after him. He belonged here; she could tell that. Where would she belong? She thought of the captain's comments on the other freed slaves . . . Fleet questioning and court procedures . . . hardly an inviting prospect.

    "Don't worry," one of the men said to her. "There's enough wealth here to give every one of you a new start—and you most of all, being as you found the place."

    Still she worried, waiting for Abe to reappear, and when he did, clad in the crisp uniform and stripes of his