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detested the uniform, she could still admire the physical package. Languidly she let her eyes communicate this ambiguity. He responded with more contradiction: instead of swelling under her unspoken compliment, or following up its implied half-invitation, he seemed to be struggling not to blush.
    But Captain Stanton had no patience for their emotional fencing match. “Perhaps the commander would like to start with the formalities. We have a narrow window if we wish to capture one of those mines.”
    Daspar was unhappy with being rushed. His face flashed a grimace, which she assumed indicated violent outrage, given how tightly he had a lock on his emotions. She could feel his repression, like you could feel the energy of a tight spring just by looking at it. It was a state she was all too familiar with.
    Just to provoke him, she played into Stanton’s hands. “You’re going after a mine?”
    Stanton nodded. “Thanks to you, we disabled all seven. Once blind, they went on null trajectories. Capturing one and dissecting it constitutes a level-one military goal. We need to know who did this, how they did it, and what else they can do.”
    Noticeably missing from his list was “why” someone would do it. But she couldn’t really hold it against him. He was Fleet. “Why” wasn’t part of his domain.
    “You need to get some rescue operations here, too,” she reminded him.
    “Yes,” he agreed, “but that constitutes a level-two humanitarian goal. We don’t even have a mutual defense treaty with Kassa.”
    She ventured a tiny piece of bait. “After this, you might get one.”
    Reassuringly, he didn’t take it. Looking at her with a slight narrowing of eyes, he said, “I don’t think that is particularly relevant, Captain Falling. I’m just pointing out that it’s not a level-one problem. The populace here is not in immediate danger. My military goal will delay humanitarian aid by no more than a few hours.”
    “Thank you, Captain Stanton.” She let her real gratitude inflect her tone.
    He responded with a ghost of a smile. Probably the closest a Fleet officer was allowed by regulations. “I’m offloading what medical supplies we have. I can also offer you two armed guards. You’re the only operational vessel on the planet right now, which puts you at an undue risk. Especially while you’re flying relief missions for strangers.”
    No doubt he thought he was being generous. But she didn’t want a couple of goons hanging around. “That’s not necessary, Captain Stanton. We’re known to these people, and we trust them.”
    “As you wish, Captain. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He stood there, waiting to be excused.
    “Captain Falling,” Daspar said. “My directives do not overlap with Captain Stanton’s. I understand your ship is legally registered out of Altair?”
    Daspar was reaching into his jacket for papers, terrible papers that would place her ship under Altair’s orders, while Stanton waited eagerly. All of Prudence’s sympathy for the captain of the Launceston evaporated. The bastard wasn’t being nice to her, he was just happy to get rid of the cop.
    “I’ve busted my ass helping these people,” she snapped, “for sixteen hours and no pay. I’ve dumped a cargo to help them. You are not going to commandeer my ship now .”
    “I have the authority to do so.” Daspar tried to hand her the papers. In disgust she knocked them out of his hand, and they fluttered to the ground.
    “No,” she said, fighting back tears. It felt too much like being trapped, too much like being chained. Too much like losing everything. What the League took, it might never give up again. That was its way.
    “Captain, I must insist,” Daspar said, and his tone was not what she had expected. Hard, yes, but underneath, something else. Something striving to reach out to her, make her understand. “At least this way you can get paid for your efforts. I can make sure Altair reimburses you, for time lost, for