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without breaking a sweat.”
    “Well, then we know that. But you don’t think that’s likely.”
    Saahren stared at his old friend. No, he didn’t. More likely a guidance system, something to break through security in some way. Choices, damnable, impossible choices. He stood and went back to the window, his fingers absently tracing the scar on his right cheekbone. He wished he could see her, talk to her. But right now, he’d probably just make things worse.
    He turned back to Leonov. “All right. But make sure she gets some training in how to look after herself.
    Send her to Werensa. And don’t let her out of the compound until she’s had a week with him. And make
    sure she always has an escort—a team that won’t make mistakes.”
    Leonov nodded. Saahren saw the relief in his eyes. “Werensa’s a good idea. And don’t worry; we’ll keep her safe.”
    The door closed behind Leonov. Saahren stared around the apartment, opulent as a penthouse in a premium hotel. With even less soul. If there was no hint of Allysha in her apartment, there was no hint of him here. The place provided him with a convenient bed, nothing more. He probably didn’t need another drink but he was going to have one, anyway. He poured another generous measure of Lochandor into his
    glass. He sat, stretched out his legs and swirled the liquor around.
    Kira.
    Years had passed since he last relived that day. He had suppressed the memory, forced it into some dark corner of his subconscious, caged and impotent, until that stupid boy unlocked the fury. The images rolled in his mind like a news broadcast, himself as a skinny twelve year old.
    “Mother,” he shouted as he burst through the front door, “we have to go. The mercenaries are coming.”
    “Your father will take care of it, Chaka.” She sat in a chair, rocking her grandson to sleep.
    “No.” He shook his head and grabbed her arm. “No. Father’s been captured. I think Haldar is dead.”
    The hand rocking the cradle stopped. At least he had her attention.
    “How do you know this?”
    “Mother, come on.” He pulled at her arm. “I followed them. I saw it. Come on, we have to go.”
     
    Kira came in from a bedroom. “What’s happening?” Her eyes flicked between Chaka and her mother.
    Chaka turned to his sister. Kira would help. “We have to go. The soldiers are coming.”
    She stared at him for a moment but she believed him. Chaka took the baby out of the cradle before his mother could stop him and started for the door.
    “Chaka,” his mother snapped as she stood.
    “Now, before it’s too late,” he urged.
    At last she seemed to understand. The expression on her face turned from disapproval to concern. A vehicle approached, then another, the roar of their engines loud and incongruous in the sleeping village.
    She glanced nervously at the front door.
    Chaka handed the child back to his grandmother and almost shoved her out the back door, Kira at his heels. They hurried down the path toward the forest just in time. A soldier burst through the door behind them.
    “There,” shouted the man. “Two of them.”
    Two of them. So they hadn’t seen his mother. She ran on ahead, burdened by the baby. Chaka slowed a little, touched Kira’s hand and dived down a side track. “Come on. We can out-run them.” She followed.
    From other houses Chaka heard screams and shouts, the hiss of energy weapons. He ran along the overgrown path, leaping over rocks and fallen timber, Kira at his shoulder. The soldiers followed, swearing. A little bit further and they’d be safe. Kira stumbled and fell. He turned back to help her up.
    And then it was too late.
    “Well, well,” gloated the one who held Kira. “A juicy little female. Just the way to end a successful campaign.” He groped her body with one hand.
    Chaka struggled, affronted, disgusted at what the man was doing to his sister. The soldier who held him laughed at his efforts and cuffed him around the head. “You can come too,