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mission? He found it easier to believe the rumor that the discovery of Earth had been made by accident. It would explain how this narrow-minded bureaucrat had been thrust into a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Unless Lahdo made an unholy mess of the initial proceedings with Earth, he'd be promoted, ensuring status and a life of ease for his family. No wonder he wanted to shoo Rom away.
     
    Crossing his arms over his chest and drumming his fingers, Rom gave a sidelong glance past the partition separating Lahdo's quarters from the bridge. The Lucre's engineer was in the midst of explaining the ship's propulsion control panel to the group from Earth. The one woman, Keiko Takano, was animatedly asking the translator one question after another, her black chin-length hair swinging with each movement.
     
    Something long dead inside him stirred.
     
    Rom cleared his throat and averted his eyes. He had been stunned when he'd first seen that woman, finally realizing through a haze of shock that she was not the angel from his long-ago vision on Balkanor. Three of the men in her party shared that hair color; it was common on Earth, if nowhere else, the shade he'd thought belonged solely to the ethereal being who had saved his life. Only to lead to your complete ruin.
     
    But was that her fault or his? He'd chosen to remain under her spell when he should have sought refuge from the radiation—squandering precious minutes to bury his fingers, his lips in those strands of midnight, reveling in the tousled silk, inhaling the fragrance that was her. He'd been driven half-mad by her sheer responsiveness, the way she'd sighed when he kissed the tender place under her ear, moaned when he'd whispered his need for her, how he would bring her pleasure, all the ways he would love her.
     
    She deserted you... when you needed her most. Vanished without a trace.
     
    "Great Mother!" He shook himself out of his trance He was exhausted, pushing himself and his men too
     
    hard. Only once had he allowed himself to succumb to his imagination, and look where it had gotten him. By all that was holy, if that woman from his vision ever dared take the form of living flesh, she'd better make damned sure she didn't find herself in his path.
     
    He took his irritation out on Lahdo. "I cannot waste time lolling about while you catch up on your trade history lessons. I will take my ship to Earth when the fleet goes in. It is my right." Tempered by the man's expression of abject dismay, he assured him, "I do not seek to cause you trouble. While on Earth, I will conduct my business apart from yours. I will not interfere. And when my transactions are complete, my crew and I will leave."
     
    The besieged commander sighed, then closed his viewscreen. "Very well, B'kah. I'll need your ship's name and registry number. Earth has requested the information. I must pass along yours, as well, since you will be accompanying us— if Earth allows us to land."
     
    "Ah, of course, Commander. Name and registry number." Rom's mood ratcheted up a few notches. He was going in with the fleet.
     
    Chapter Three
     
    Aboard the Quillie, his muscles tense, his combat instincts pulsing in readiness, Rom turned in a full circle, slowly, holding a sens-sword in front of him in a sure, two-handed grip. "It's over for you, Gann." His voice echoed dully in the cavernous room. "Give up now and I might show you a bit of mercy—you sniveling whatever-the-Earth-dwellers-call-those-subservient-furry-creatures. Ah, yes, you sniveling little dog."
     
    Rom froze. He was certain he'd heard a muffled laugh. Quelling his own, he stared wide-eyed into a wall of complete blackness. "It's over. I see you."
     
    Though not with his eyes.
     
    The neurons in his body hummed, pointing to his prey. Honed to a nearly infallible sensitivity from years of training in Bajha, the age-old game of warriors, Rom's senses guided him. Following their ancient, mysterious direction, he trusted his body in the way