'Lay low?' Leni thought, squeezing through the narrow hallway that led to the bathroom. 'Like there's anything else to do around here!'

Not that she minded a little downtime, but a factory planet was not her idea of a place for some dirtside fun. She peeled off her battlesuit and leaned across the sink to turn on the shower. Nothing happened. She got in and rattled the handles, slapped the wall with her hand. Suddenly the whole enclosure began to shake.

"Black holes on fire!" she exclaimed, catapulting back onto the tile floor, after getting hit with a blast of hot air. A loud gurgle and groan, followed by a spray of rust, spewed onto the floor and a thick brown glob began oozing out of the shower head.

"Hey? What's goin' on?" Tarin called, pounding on the bathroom door. "You all right in there?"

"Yeah, yeah," she responded, with a look of uncertainty. She crept closer. "I think there was something dead in the pipes. . . ." She watched as the last of the foul-smelling sludge slithered down the drain, pushed along by clear water, then stripped off her tank top and tentatively stuck first one foot, then the other, onto the shower floor.

Five minutes later, the disgusting incident forgotten, she stood with her hands on the walls and her back to the nozzle, letting the hot, stinging spray wash away the grime and sweat garnered from eight days in a Security Force battlesuit.

Lathering up her hands, she attacked her hair and thought about the briefing she'd just attended. Apparently her squad was the third and last to arrive dirtside. The Tuvaren Rangers had been here a week, and the Omena Hawks had been aboard the orbiting Veleza for more than a month.

Something was up, but for the time being her unit was purposefully being left in the dark. Leni resented that. In all likelihood they'd been called in solely as an 'expendable' source of firepower. Not that she hadn't been part of a front line before, but here she didn't even know where the front line was. She shook her head, turning her back to the water to rinse the suds from her shoulders. As a soldier it was not her job to question her superiors. Still, that didn't mean she had to walk into a situation blind either; she'd searched the online news links and discovered that Luis Odt, Commander of the Veleza, had been chasing a particular group of pirates since Gisell day of last year and almost had the leader on two different occasions. Both times, he'd managed to slip out of their grasp.

Leni knew that reports of scavengers-turned-pirate were increasing, especially with their recent civil war on the planet Yosa. Attacks on outgoing transports had quadrupled this past year and each assault was worse than the one before. Sixteen soldiers had been lost and sixty-eight civilians, almost half of them in the past three months. The days of small-time passive pirating were clearly over. Now even the older, unmanned transports had to be reinforced with security measures that went above and beyond customary procedure.

Her mental computations took her back to the Veleza. Nearly a lead long and half as wide and high, the colossal SF transport was scheduled to take on a fleet of the best brand new Dex star fighters that boolean could buy. An attack on a ship of this caliber would be a virtually impossible, if not clearly impressive, feat. She estimated the hazards of such an attempt and decided that, if indeed--and it was highly unlikely--there were a plot to relieve the Veleza of her cargo, then the mastermind behind it was either insanely desperate, suicidal, or both.

Leni shut the water and stepped out of the shower. She wrapped a towel around her and headed back down the hall to her tiny room.

"Almost makes me wish I were back in a battlesuit," she muttered, thinking again of living for a week in such cramped quarters with four noisy men. She fished around in the bag that had been thrown at her when she stepped down to the landing field. She pulled out a pair of grease-stained, baggy brown jeans, frayed around the edges, and two sizes too large in the waist, a ripped, black tee shirt, a pair of wrist cuffs studded with faux cerulean stars and a leather jacket with the arms cut off.

Their only orders had been to 'Enjoy the break but blend in with the locals and keep a low profile.' In other words; stay out of trouble. She slipped the pants on over her briefs and tugged on a clean tank top then pulled off her dripping wet ID tabs and stuffed them in her pocket. She scowled at the cuffs and tossed them back in the bag, then donned the tee-shirt and heavy boots and headed out to the common area.

The guys were all in different stages of dress, ogling one another's new outfits with loud cat calls. Gaman saw her come in and fell to his knees in front of her, wrapping his hands around her legs and pulling her close. Leni wondered why the movement didn't split his skin tight plaztek pants all the way up his backside.

"Come to me, baba ta," he crooned in his thick, Reurkian accent.

Leni grinned down at him then yanked on the industrial size chain around his neck, lifting him back to his feet.

"Take care!" he cried, pulling free and rubbing his throat. "I have much loving to do tonight."

"You be careful, Gami," Leni said, laughing. "I have the feeling the women on this planet are more than you can handle."

"No, no, baba ta! Never enough for me!"

Leni sighed. This was going to be one long week.

A moment later the five of them were pushing down the hallway, shouting loudly and laughing.

Leni tried to ignore both the buildings and the people passing them on the street. Dex One was an industrial planet and its workers were the scourge of the Galaxy. They worked hard, they played hard, they drank hard. Mostly illiterate and on probation, they spent their downtime in the local bars and their days in the giant factories that covered most of the planet's surface; a monstrous assembly line for every transport imaginable. If it rolled, flew or floated, chances were it came from Dex.

The soldiers made their way from one bar to another before returning, inebriated and exhausted, to their cramped, fifth floor quarters, Leni tagged along behind, in much better condition. She waited at the end of the line, holding her breath in the musty hallway as Gaman escorted his two lady friends through the door, Tarin and Loki right behind them, their arms draped over one another's shoulders, singing a loud rendition of 'Lady in the Cockpit'.

Deciding sleep would be impossible with the boys still trying to make up for eight days in the deep, Leni turned around and skipped down the stairs and back out onto the wooden sidewalk. The sky was a murky smear obliterating the stars. Smog, illuminated by the neon lights from a thousand smoke stacks, lay thick and rank, and what could be a quiet evening, was broken by the raucous calls of drunken men and women.

Leni shuddered, glad that she had the freedom to travel. She could never be happy, tied to a planet like this. She made it to the end of the street and noticed a small, squat building set back from the rest. She traversed the narrow alleyway, cautious, but not afraid. The crooked sign above the door announced her entry into The Greasy Wrench with a flickering display of light and the loud pop of electricity.

The interior was dim, filled with the stench of alcohol and second hand smoke. Some things were the same no matter where the travel took you, Leni thought. Be it Kwaminle Space Port or a small system hunk of rock like Dunaker Nine, music, drink, and people always managed to find each other. She made her way to the back of the room and slid into an empty booth. When the server came she ordered a glass of Demaris Blue and then set aside the turquoise liquid, her stomach heaving at the sight of the glass; its rim crusted over with something besides the buildup from hard water.

Bored, but reluctant to go back to her meager lodging, she examined the crowd of mostly men and tried to enjoy being alone. A small group of women arrived and Leni sank back into the shadows, feeling very overdressed. Raucous sounds of laughter drew her attention to a group in the corner playing an unfamiliar game. She stifled a small gasp when her gaze fell on the man who'd just missed a shot on a hole in the center of the yellow table.

He saw her and approached. "Well if isn't Leni Ome!"

She forced a smile to her face. Stig Rutter was a know it all and a bully. She'd spent several miserable seasons plagued by his presence at two different SF Training Centers and would never forget the pleasure he'd taken in degrading her over not passing her first flight test.

She picked up her glass. "So tell me-- what brings a guy like you into a nice place like this?"

He laughed and sat down. "Still endowed with that odd sense of humor, I see," he said, glancing over his shoulder at the group he'd just left.

Leni wondered if he had more specific reasons than she did for being there. "Friends of yours?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow toward the gamers.

"Keep your voice down!" he admonished. "They might hear you."

She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Don't worry," she said. "I look as much like a local as you. Nice tattoo, by the way."

"It's not real," he answered smugly.

She picked up her drink, shrugged. "Should be, if you want to do the job right."

He laughed gruffly. "I am doing the job right. I found them, didn't I?"

She nodded. "Gotta give that to you, Stig. Out of all the holes on this trash heap, you ended up in the right one. Maybe I better take off, leave you to it. Don't want to mess with all your hard work."

He looked around, then leaned forward. whispering hoarsely. "Hooked up with them two nights ago. I'm pretty sure they're in on the big hit. But--no sign of Rik Banta."

Leni nodded like she knew what he was talking about. "He'll show, give him time."

Stig swore. "Time's the problem! I'm sick of sitting on my hands, I want some action."

"Maybe I could help," Leni suggested. "Maybe--"

"Maybe you'd better stick to your own assignment--if you even have one," he huffed.

"Maybe this is my assignment."

He laughed loudly and slapped the table. "You're not the right caliber person for this type of job, Leni, and you know it," he said. "Besides, I know why your squad's here. What's the name of it again?"

Leni felt her face burning. "SF 325."

"Oh that's right, you haven't earned a name for yourself. Don't worry. The Force needs people like you too." He laughed again. "I think you better move out now. This mission is too important to be screwed up by a--"

She was on the table in an instant. Planting her foot against his chest, she gave a shove that sent both the chair and the man to the floor. She jumped down, hands up, waiting for him to get to his feet so she could let him have it again.

A loud whistle had her spinning on her feet. She found herself face to face with a rough, but ruggedly handsome man. Dark, shoulder-length hair framed a square face with overly large, brown, and clearly intelligent eyes. His face and arms were free of tattoos, and without the black leather that was most predominant in the room, he looked out of place and almost exotic. Leni dropped her hands and backed through the crowd, then hit the door and headed back to her squad at a dead run.

"Whoa baba ta! What have you done with our Leni-girl?" Gaman squeezed through the narrow doorway and flopped down on the bed.

"Go away," Leni said, putting on another layer of dark mascara and eying herself in the mirror.

"Hey, everyone," he called, ignoring her. "Come take a look at our baba ta!"

She turned around and grabbed the leather cuffs from his hand, slipping them onto her wrists.

"Whoa!" Loki said, sticking his head around the door post. "Is that tattoo real?

Leni lifted her hand to her mouth and licked the freshly needled symbol on the back of it. She stuck out her tongue at him then enjoyed the ripple of shock crossing his features.

"Aren't you taking this local stuff a little too seriously!" Loki cried.

"Lemme in," Tarin said, pushing his way into the tiny room. His eyes widened at the sight of Leni's bare mid-drift. "Is that real, too?" he asked, brushing his fingertips over the cerulean naval ring peeking above the waistband of her pants.

She slapped his hand. "Whatcha see iz whatcha get, slimer."

Tarin laughed. "You got the Dex girl accent down perfect!" he said. "Who you been hanging with out there?"

Leni tugged on a black, cutoff tee-shirt and grinned, then reached up to feel her stiffened, spiked tresses. They were dry and standing on end. She grabbed the leather jacket and slipped it on, careful not to smudge her black nail paint, then squeezed out of the room. "I'm just having a good time," she said. "Like the Commander ordered."

"Yeah, but why you wanna spend your downtime without us?" Gaman asked, following her to the back door.

"I'm guessing she got herself a hot date with a local bolt boy," Tarin said.

"No, no, no," Gaman crooned, slapping his hand against the door and pinning it shut. "Tell me it ain't so, baba ta, or I will not let you go!"

Tarin and Loki sucked in their breaths.

"If you value your life, Gaman," Leni said through clenched teeth, "get it out of my way."

One look into her flashing eyes, and he backed off. "At least you got the tough-girl attitude now, to go along with that outfit. That's all I was after."

Leni headed straight for The Greasy Wrench. If the others knew what was good for them, they wouldn't follow. She didn't really know what she was doing there, other than to annoy Stig Rutter. She just hoped payback would be sweet.

He was sitting at the bar this time, his eye on the onta table. That was the name of the game, she'd learned, while she was having her naval pierced. She plopped onto the stool beside him. "Gimme what this slimer's havin," she told the bar keep.

Stig gave her a scorching look. Leni leaned over and whispered in his ear as she stroked the tattoo on his left cheek. "Stig, dear, I thought they taught Rangers the difference between left and right. . . ." She spun around on her barstool , looking pointedly at the maybe-pirates . "But that's okay. Those fellas probably won't even notice you got the wrong side."

Stig's smile was quickly replaced by a frown as he realized his mistake. Swearing, he rocketed off the barstool and practically flew out the door. Leni brushed off her hands and winked at the bar keep. "Got ridda him, I did!" she said. "But doan yous worry, he'll be back!"

She took her drink, forcing herself to take a swallow from the dirty glass as she wandered over to the boys playing onta. "Heya," she said. "Mind iffen I watch yous?"

Two of them shrugged, three ignored her completely but the last patted the edge of table. She jumped up and watched the game, stealing covert glances at the men. Up close she could see now that they weren't locals. None of them had calloused hands or grease on their brown denims and only one sported a tattoo. Their long hair fit in, as well as the various leather apparel and heavy chain jewelry, but that wasn't what gave them away either. These were not men enjoying themselves for a few hours after a hard day's work; they acted like little kids waiting for an End-of-Season festival.

Leni drank her blue, laughing with them, learning their names. None of them claimed the moniker; Rik Banta, and after Stig came back freshly tattooed, she slipped away and headed back to the bar. He gave her a dirty look and took a booth near the onta tables.

She was ordering another glass when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She picked up her drink and turned around, half expecting Stig again, or even one of the pirates. It was the man that had whistled at her last night. "Heya," she said, remembering the appropriate greeting.

"Mind if I sit?"

"Goa head." She took a drink, eying him over the rim of the glass.

"You look different, tonight," he said.

She shrugged, unable to come up with a response.

"You don't come here often." It wasn't a question.

"Jus got transferred," she said.

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh." It was then that she realized he wasn't talking with a bolt-boy accent. She glanced casually over at Stig who was doing his best to ignore her. "Yeppers," she went on. "Movin on up. Theys put me on an aerobelt over on quad four." She swallowed, hoping she'd made some amount of sense.

"That right?"

"Thas right."

He raised his hand, motioned for service. "So, what's your name?"

"Leni," she answered without thinking.

"Okay, Leni." He leaned back and his jacket gaped open, revealing a bare chest and. . . a glimmer of ID tabs! She drew in her breath.

He paused as he accepted his drink from the server. "Something wrong?"

"No. . .I. . . juss hate dirty glasses." She stuck her fingers in the liquid and came up with a small black chunk which she wiped on the table top.

He laughed. "I see what you mean." He pushed himself back from the table and stood up. A few steps away, he turned around. "I liked your hair better last night," he said, then disappeared into the crowd.

Leni tried to gather her wits. Who was this guy? He couldn't be the pirate leader, because Stig hadn't eyed him once. And if he was, wouldn't he be with the men at the gaming table? More importantly, why was he wearing SF ID? Could he be one of the Omena Hawks? But if he was SF, wouldn't Stig have joined them, warned him to stay away from her? She sat down her empty glass. She'd had too much Demaris Blue. She no longer even knew what she was trying to do. Was it really Stig Rutter she was trying to impress? Or did she need to prove something to herself?

With one last glance in the direction the mystery man had taken, she left the bar.

"Leni?"

She turned around. "Heya." She patted the chair next to hers. "Sit. Taka load off."

Unable to answer her own questions, she'd returned to The Greasy Wrench for the fourth night in a row. And, she told herself, the fact that she was between relationships and that the guy now sitting across from her was about as irresistible as a week-old xrinsi pup, didn't have a thing to do with her decision to find out who he was and maybe one up Stig Rutter in the process.

She forgot the Ranger and turned her attention back to the man across from her. He was staring at her with knitted brows and the thought crossed her mind that he'd checked out her story about being an aerobelt operator in quad four--or three--or--whatever she'd told him. Her heart began to pound and she tried to open her eyes a little wider, thinking that maybe she shouldn't have had that last glass of blue.

He leaned over the table. "Can I ask you something?"

She took a sip from her glass, shrugged, and then looked him in the eye. "Maybees."

"That a no?"

She shook her head. "Maybees if yous asks me somethin, I gets to ask yous something back."

He seemed to think a moment about it, then nodded. "Fair enough. Me first."

"Kay."

His gaze strayed over her shoulder and then back to her face as he lifted his chin towards Stig. "You know him."

Her head turned in slow motion. Uh-oh, she thought. This probably meant he wasn't part of the Security Force. She stared at the Ranger for a long time. "Know he's a pudsky," she said finally. "He bonked my sister then disappeared. Him with a good jobber too, high pay on the specter belts." She nodded enthusiastically and took another drink. "Thought he was gone for good this time. No sucha luck."

He seemed satisfied, looked at her expectantly.

Leni smiled, felt her eyes rolling. Definitely shouldn'ta drank that last blue, she thought. Lemme see. What can I ask him? His name? No, no, no. Don't want to know his name. He might be Rik Banta. Don't want him to be Rik Banta. He's too damn cute to be a pirate. She found herself giggling.

"What's so funny?"

Her hand came to her mouth. "Nuttin," she said, pinching her thigh under the table to bring some clarity to her thoughts. She cleared her throat and sat up straight. "Kay," she said. "Where's yous from? Yous no local boy. Yous doan got the talk. Yous doan got--" she reached over and took his hand, rubbing it gently. "--Doan got workin' man's hands."

He stared at her intently. "You're a smart girl," he said. "I'm not from Dex-- just passing through."

"Oh." She felt her eyes closing and she dropped her head to the table and moaned.

"Leni?"

"Uh-huh?"

"I think you need to crash. Tell me where you live, I'll see you home."

"Nos," she mumbled. "Canna do that."

"Can't tell me where you live?"

"Canna walk. . ."

"I'll help you. Come on. Stand up."

She felt herself being pulled to her feet, felt air on her face. Then they were inside again, he was helping her up stairs.

He got her to the bed, tugged off her shoes and her jacket. She lay there quietly, eyes closed, listening to him banging around. The sound of water running almost put her to sleep, then the mattress moved. She forced herself not to stiffen, to breathe deep and evenly, could picture him laying beside her, raised on one elbow to stare at her face, then he reached for the light and, pulling the covers over them both, sank down beside her and slept.

In the darkness, Leni smiled. Come morning, she had the feeling life was going to get very interesting.

The gray light of dawn fell in through the window, illuminating the cracked and peeling ceiling over her head. She lay there staring at it, silent and still, and wondered what to do.

Biting down on her lip, she turned, a breath at a time, until she was facing him. He was laying on his side, knees drawn chestward, away from her, one shoulder bared. A cool shaft of air separated them. She listened to his breathing; a murmuring rumble threatening any moment to interrupt the silence of the morning with a full blown snore. Braver now, she snaked her hand from under the covers and reached closer to brush aside the thick, brown hair that fell down his neck, searching for the chain she had seen there that first night they spoke. His skin was warm and soft beneath her fingertips and she shivered involuntarily. He startled at her touch, murmured and stirred. She froze, waiting with breath held until he fell still again and she moved her fingers in a trail around his collar bone, stopping just below his adam's apple. He rolled onto his back and reached for her hand.

His chest was smooth and bare-- completely void of the sought for ID tabs. She wondered if she had imagined them. The bar had been dark, she could easily have been mistaken . . . Her eyes traversed his smooth skin, rising over well defined pecs to a dimpled chin, covered with just a shadow of dark beard. His lips were parted, his eyes open. His hand, clasped lightly over her own, suddenly pressed her fingers against his neck, the pulse there beating an urgent question, and her own heart quickened in response. Their eyes met and locked then she pulled herself up and met his lips.

Later, he whispered in her ear. "Do you want to get out of here, Leni?"

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Wattya mean?" she asked, pressing her back against his chest, glad that she'd remembered the accent.

He cupped a hand around her bare shoulder and raised himself up. "I'm leaving Dex soon," he said, dipping his head to place his mouth against her ear. "You could come with me. . ."

"Where woulda we go?" she whispered.

"A beautiful place," he said, "A paradise. . . or it will be soon."

His hair tickled her cheek and she smiled. "Doan even know yer name," she whispered.

Before he could answer, a knock came at the door. They both sat bolt upright, Leni clutching the covers around her. The knock came again, accompanied by an excited voice. "Rik-- open the door. It's Meek, I got news!"

Leni's hand rose to cover her mouth. She jumped up, her heart nearly stopping mid-beat. She grabbed her clothes and scrambled for the door beside the bed. She dressed quickly, then stared into the bathroom mirror. You already knew, she told herself silently. Deep down, you knew who he was.

Rik Banta. The man Stig Rutter wanted to find. She sighed and closed her eyes, then turned on the water and splashed her face. Reaching for the towel, she saw the tabs glinting where they lay on the edge of the sink.

She picked up the chain. There was more than one of them. Her lips moved silently over the printed names. Security Force soldiers, every one. Reeling, she caught herself. Slowly, her shock was replaced with anger. What were these lives to him? Proof of his kill-- trophies to be flaunted? She slipped the ID tabs into her pocket and cracked the door.

Rik was looking at his wrist com. "Get everyone together. We'll meet at the landing strip at noon."

Leni opened the door and stepped into the room. Both men turned. Careful not to meet his eyes, she said, "Canna be late for work," and pushed past them.

"Wait," Rik said, but she flung open the door and raced down the hallway. Ducking into a doorway, she pressed herself into the shadows and waited as he flew by, shouting her name. His footsteps sounded on the stairs, a door slammed below. She didn't move until after he came back, listening momentarily to the conversation that followed.

"Who was she?"

"Her name's Leni," Rik answered, out of breath. "I asked her to come with us."

There was a pregnant pause. Finally, "Does she know what you are?"

"Didn't have a chance to tell her, but I think she'll be okay with it."

Leni heard muttering. "Forget her, Rik. She's just a factory Dex."

"She deserves better. Just like we do, Meek. She said she works in quad four. I'm gonna find her."

"Quad four? That's across the river-- you'll never make it there and back to the landing strip by noon!"

Leni didn't wait to hear a response. She slipped from her hiding place and skipped silently down the stairs. She had to get to the Veleza before the pirates did. Once her feet hit dirt, she raced down the road, back to the squad's building and up the stairs, taking them two by two, her long legs flying over the dusty treads. Barely stopping to open the door, she burst into the room.

Loki jumped up and grabbed her by the elbows. "Leni! Blazing stars! Where have you been!"

"We've been looking all night for you!" Tarin exclaimed.

"Never mind that!" Loki cut in. "Odt is here! He's gonna to have your head!"

"Odt is here?" Leni cried, catching her breath at last. "Where? I need to talk to him!" She didn't have to look far, Luis Odt had appeared in the doorway with a grim look on his face.

"Ome?"

Leni pushed her way out of the gaggle of men surrounding her and faced him squarely. "Sir!" she cried, saluting. "Permission to speak!"

"Permission denied!" the Commander yelled. The squad all backed against the wall, giving the man room to pace. Leni stood at attention.

"What were you thinking, soldier?" Odt shouted. "Stig Rutter has filed a complaint against you for interference with an undercover mission! Do you know what that means?" He didn't give her a chance to respond. "Then I come down here to retrieve you and you're nowhere to be found!" He glared at the rest of the squad. "Gradamere!"

"Yes, sir!" Tarin answered, snapping to attention.

"Give me the definition of Squad!"

"Yes, sir! A squad is a small group of people bound by a common duty, sir!"

"And what was this duty while planetside?"

"To lay low and stay out of trouble, sir!"

"That is correct." Odt walked a full circle around Leni. "So, explain to me, Soldier, why you failed to follow orders!"

"Yes, sir!" Leni stared straight ahead. "I ran into Stig Rutter the other night in an establishment named The Greasy Wrench. He was watching a group of men playing onta. I did not interfere. We exchanged. . . pleasantries. . . and then went our separate ways. My interest lay elsewhere; in a man I went home with last night. This morning I learned that his name is Rik Banta and that he and his band of pirates will be hitting the Veleza sometime after noon today." She looked Odt in the eye and grinned, not forgetting to add a jubilant, "Sir!"

The Commander swore loudly. Someone whistled. The squad came forward, all talking at once.

Rik came down the stairs, his battlesuit buckled and snapped, his helmet under his arm. His footsteps echoed over the litter strewn floor of the abandoned hangar as he made his way to the rows of men standing in front of their ships. The Red and Blue Leaders stepped out of the ranks and positioned themselves on either side of him.

"Did you find her?" Meek asked from the corner of his mouth.

"No," Rik responded. He'd spent over an hour on Quad four without finding a single Aerobelt lift. Either Leni had lied to him about who she was or he'd remembered incorrectly what she'd told him. Neither explanation satisfied him, but he had other things to worry about now.

He looked at Roonal. "What's the latest?"

"Our bribes paid off. The fighters were loaded last night. Starboard, deck 129. The Veleza just left orbit. Both teams have been briefed and are ready to fly.

Rik gave a quick jerk of his head. "Get your men into position, he said. "Blue will follow. You know the drill."

He watched as Roonal held a fist in the air and stepped forward. 22 men in red battlesuits fell into line behind him. "Let's fly!" Roonal shouted. With a roar, the men rushed forward to their ships.

Rik turned to the remaining men, seasoned veterans of the Yosa war.

"What is it, Rik?" Meek asked.

"I've. . . got a bad feeling about this one," Rik said, looking the blue team over. "I can't shake it."

"It's just the girl. Forget her, man. This is our best hit yet, it's gonna go off without a hitch!"

Meek was right. Rik hated loose ends and that's what Leni was. That and the fact that he was missing his lucky charm. His hand strayed absently to his neck where the chain should be. He still couldn't understand why she'd taken it. The SF ID tabs were a symbol of his status among the men. They reminded them that he was in control, and that his leadership would make the difference in winning the battle back on Yosa.

Hitting the Veleza was a complicated mission, his most daring yet, but if all went according to plan, it would be their most valuable pay off. Two factors attributed to this. One-- the SF was not involved. In the month and a half that they'd been on Dex, there'd been no sign of the Security Force fighters, and two-- the first jump on the itinerary would bring the Veleza to the Xedex system.

Not only did Xedex contain several Non-League planets, it was only one of two systems in the entire Omena Galaxy with belt of runnergem asteroids. Gem mines made good hiding places. Should something go wrong they could lay low there and easily secure passage on an outbound freighter.

Just before the jump the hyperspatial dispersal patterns that surrounded all activated shield walls would come down. Rik and his men would have a small window of opportunity to approach the Veleza. Once inside, they'd have a very short period of time to get the fighters out before the emergence into Xedex. Not an easy task, but after running drill after drill, they knew it could be done. Based on inside shots of the cargo room floor and position schematics from bribed factory workers, they should be able to get their shuttle in and then the pilots could fly the fighters out the wide bay doors and make a run for the asteroid belt.

He watched the last of the reds board their fighters. Meek was staring at him, waiting on the word. "Let's go," Rik said and, with a loud shout, was caught up by the pilots and propelled on their shoulders to the waiting shuttle.

Rik held his breath as they broke through the atmosphere, the red fighters forming a phalanx around the small transport. It was a trick they had used many times in the past. Flying in perfect formation, just quips between the ships' wing tips, tails and noses, they would appear on a sensor screen as a single ship; a small freighter in this case.

Meek leaned over the controls, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Steady. . . steady. . ." Rik said, his hand on his friend's shoulder. He watched as the gargantuan SF ship set a course for the jump target, the pirates easing along behind it. Now the wait began.

Stepping into the ice-cold cargo hold, Rik closed the airlock securely behind him and looked through the white puffs of his breath for Evie. The little ship didn't appear big enough to hold a small child, let alone a full grown man-- it wasn't much more than a glass bubble with an engine. But together, Rik and Evie were like a hand inside of a glove. He put on his helmet, opened the glass dome and folded himself into her single seat, the shuttle floor already beginning to vibrate beneath them. With a snap of his head, the helmet visor fell over his face, shielding his eyes.

"Meek?" he asked into his helmet com, "Let's get this baby girl into the void!" The cargo hatch opened and, like a feather on the wind, the tiny ship floated out into the black of space. As Rik maneuvered Evie to a small maintenance hatch a deck below 129, he glanced at the chrono on his wrist. They were right on target. The effects of the shield's hyperspacial dispersal patterns would hide them from all but the naked eye. Adrenaline surged through his veins. It was a perfect plan! His best yet!

He slipped into the external gloves and extended his hands beyond Evie's bubble, deploying a small drill bit on one of the finger's tips. It did not take long to puncture a plate on the side of the Veleza. It was just a small hole, a tiny nick, not unlike those caused by a speck of space debris. When a maintenance hatch slid open and a repair bot emerged, Rik scooted inside. He maneuvered Evie up the tunnel to the air lock at the end. A moment later he was headed toward a cargo bay full of brand new SF fighter ships.

The pitch black of the bay area made the sound of his echoing footsteps seem louder than usual. His head lamp barely penetrating the darkness, Rik climbed the ladder to the control room. "Meek, I'm in!" he said, forcing himself not to whisper. Whispering was ridiculous when there was no one there to hear. . .

"Right outside your door Rik-o!" came the reply, crackling like a gun shot in his ears . A sudden and inexplicable feeling of a hundred pairs of eyes on his back made his skin ripple. He peered into the darkness, half expecting to see the amber glow of animal eyeshine. Unable to shake the eerie feeling, he watched as the transport slid into the bay, illuminating a small part of the floor with an electric blue light, then he started back down the ladder. The hatch opened with a clank and he could hear the men's laughter as they emerged, the knocking of helmet against helmet as they congratulated themselves.

He swore under his breath. They were wasting too much time. "Meek, get them-" he began but was silenced as, one by one, the lights in the bay ceiling snapped on and the enormous area exploded into a cacophony of laser and projectile fire mixed with men's screams. Rik slid down the ladder, shouting into his helmet com, "It's a trap! Fall back! Fall back!"

Several of the men returned to the shuttle, but for the others, there was no place to fall back to. Cut off by gunfire, they scattered across the empty bay like insects skittering over a forest floor; not even a leaf to hide behind.

Rik watched in horror as his best friend went down. He screamed the man's name, watching for movement, for any sign that the man was was still alive. "Meek?" he said again, his voice a bare whisper against his com unit.

"Open the door," came the faint response. "Let them. . . out."

Rik stared at Meek and then at the ladder above him, caught between the need to help his friend and saving the men in the transport. "I'm sorry, Meek," he whispered. He wrenched himself from his hiding place and began to climb. He was almost at the top when the bullet grazed his shoulder. With a grunt of pain, his feet slipped off the rung and he dropped his gun. It clattered to the floor below, bouncing off the ladder rungs as it fell. For a moment, he dangled, dazed, and then another bullet bounced off the wall beside his head and he sprang back into action.

He entered the control room and watched the SF soldiers from the window. They were all shielded and he cringed as the bullets veered away from their magnetic armor and ricocheted off the walls and back into his own men. Swearing, he slammed his hand down on the red button that would open the bay door.

Nothing happened.

He swore and hit it again, realizing with growing agitation that it was even worse than he'd thought; the bay door had never been at his command. "Damn!" He didn't have time to ponder the implications.

"Roonal! Do you read?" he shouted, his eyes on the surrounded shuttle.

"Rik-o! It's bad out here!" came the reply from the red leader. There was a pause and the sound of weapons fire as Roonal manned his guns.

"I know and I can't get the doors open from here. Save yourselves. Live to fight another day!"

"Orders acknowledged! We'll see you in the mines, Rik-o."

Rik took one last look out at the carnage below him and then threw open the door on the back wall of control room and raced away down the hallway. He took a lift to 128 and started down the corridor that would take him to the maintenance hatch he came in on.

"Hello, Rik."

He skidded to a sudden stop and turned slowly. His eyes widened at the sound of the familiar voice. "Leni?" It-- couldn't be! But the SF soldier holding a gun pointed at his chest was none other than the Dex factory girl that he'd awakened next to just hours ago.

Leni motioned with the gun. "Take off your helmet. I want to see your face," she said.

Rik pulled it off, let it fall at his feet. He took a step forward. "Leni, what are you doing?" he asked.

"Stop!" She brought up her other hand to steady the gun, but took a step backwards when he kept coming. "I mean it!" she said, planting her feet wide, and fingering the trigger.

Rik held up his hands, wincing with pain. "Hey," he said. "You wouldn't shoot an unarmed, wounded man, would you. . . Leni?"

Her eyes darted to his bloodied shoulder. It was the moment he was waiting for. In an instant he was on her, knocking the gun from her hand. She fought like a demon, a blur of kicking feet and punching fists, but Rik reached the gun first. He held it on her, panting for breath.

She rose to her feet. In a single swift motion, she yanked her ID tabs from her neck and threw them at him. Rik caught the chain, a glint of metal dangling between his fingers.

"There you go," she sneered. "A new set of trophies for your neck."

"Come with me," he said.

"Come with you? Are you crazy?"

"No. Not crazy. We can do this together."

She shook her head. "Do what, Rik? People are dying!"

"Yes," he answered. "My people on Yosa are dying by the hundreds every day because the SF refuses to help us. I can't sit back and watch it happen. I needed these fighters to turn the balance, to end the war, to stop the death and destruction. Help me, Leni!"

She stared at him, the line between them suddenly blurring. She shook her head. "So what are you waiting for? Shoot me."

Rik looked at the chain in his hand, at the woman standing before him. "I can't," he said. Slowly, he squatted and placed the gun on the floor. He stood up. "Come find me, Leni."

She scrambled for the weapon, brought it to bear on him. "I'll shoot. I swear I'll shoot! Rik. . ."

"Yosa," he said. "I'll wait for you there." He turned and started walking, heard the catch in her breath and kept going, expecting any moment, for the sound of a gun shot in his ears, for the sharp burning pain in his back.

Leni stood for several minutes after he had disappeared, her arms aching. At last, she lowered the weapon and, turning, ran back down the corridor as fast as she could.