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  The chief’s expression turned grim. “I suspect you’re right, Master Enforcer.”

  The meeting wrapped up ten minutes later. Galar gestured to catch Dyami’s attention, then walked over to join him off to the side for a low-voiced conversation.

  “We can’t afford to send Kelly to the Rehab Center,” he told the commander. “Security at that facility won’t have a prayer of stopping Marcin if he comes after her again.”

  Dyami folded his powerful arms and frowned. “And he’s not the kind to give up on a target.”

  Galar nodded. “He’d find it a lot more difficult to get to her here, behind the Outpost’s shields.”

  The chief gave him a sharp, cool look. “This isn’t a halfway house, Master Enforcer. We need to bounce this one to GUII. Let them protect her.”

  A chill of pure, elemental fear crept down Galar’s spine, not for himself but for Jessica. With an effort, he managed a cool tone. “They’ve lost a dozen agents to Marcin, Chief. Kelly would be dead inside a week.”

  “You think you can do better?”

  Galar blinked. “Me?”

  “We can’t let her run around loose. And if you’re right, Marcin’s going to try for her.”

  He shifted uneasily. “I thought Dona Astryr and Ivar Terje could keep an eye on her. Given their cybernetic enhancements . . .”

  “Sorry, Master Enforcer, this is your job,” Dyami interrupted. “From what I saw in that house when we Jumped in last night, you already have a rapport with the girl. She’s going to need a friendly face to help her get through this with her sanity intact.”

  Every instinct Galar had howled a warning, but he knew a direct order when he heard one. “Aye, sir.”

  Dyami sighed. “You’re a damned good investigator, Galar. Steady, coolheaded, disciplined. And there’s no other officer I’d rather have leading my people into a combat situation.”

  Galar’s brows flew up as he stared at his commander. Where had this conversational detour come from? “Thank you, sir.”

  “However, you do have one serious flaw. A good leader engages his people’s loyalty, and you don’t. In fact, you’ve got a reputation for being an icy son of a bitch.”

  He stiffened. “I wasn’t aware winning popularity contests was part of my job.”

  “No, dammit, but you do have to be open enough to your people to understand what makes them tick. You’ve got emotional shields three feet thick, and until you can learn to drop them, you’ll only be half the leader you could be.”

  The statement stung just enough to show it had an element of truth. “What does this have to do with guarding Jessica Kelly?”

  Dyami gave him a slight, wintry smile. “You’ll figure it out. Now, I suggest you swing by the infirmary and check on your new charge.”

  Galar gave him a stiff nod, turned on his heel, and stalked away.

  Just what he didn’t need. Too much time with a woman who was already too far under his skin.

  4

  Sometimes he liked to entertain himself by imagining how they’d all react if they knew what he was. That rigid fuck Galar, for example, or Chief Enforcer Dyami.

  He could just imagine their incredulous rage, their fury that he’d fooled them all so throughly for so long. Just the thought of it put a grin on his face.

  They’d destroy him if they could, arrest him, charge him. Shame him. He’d be paraded before the public, branded a traitor and a spy. If, that is, he survived to go to trial. The Xer would do their damnedest to see him dead in an effort to protect both themselves and the spy ring they’d so painstakingly created.

  His life balanced on a knife blade. And he loved it. The hot exhilaration of spying, of knowing that he could be discovered at any time, that his life could be dashed apart if he wasn’t quick enough, clever enough, strong enough. . . . It was all sweeter than any drug.

  They’d assume it was the money—the truly outrageous sums the Xer funneled into his carefully buried accounts. But money had nothing at all to do with it.

  So it was that when the courier ’bot appeared at the door to his quarters that afternoon, he relished the familiar kick of excitement that stormed through his blood. Wearing an expression of no more than mild interest, he ordered the door open and let the little globe dart inside.

  He knew who it was from, of course. Given this morning’s briefing, he’d been expecting it.

  The courier was a nondescript little device with just enough juice to manage a time Jump. It could as easily have been carrying a message from his mother.

  It stopped in front of his eyes and floated there while it scanned his retinas and confirmed his identity. A moment later, a slot opened in its belly and a tiny capsule dropped into his waiting hand.

  He popped the capsule between thumb and forefinger and smeared it across his forehead, leaving a streak of cool liquid on his skin. In seconds, the nanobots in the liquid seeped into his skin and started their voyage to his brain. The ’bots were keyed to his DNA; they would disgorge their message to no one else.

  He moved to the bed and lay down, anticipating the disorientation the message would bring. Soft, sibilant, a voice began to whisper in his mind—his spymaster, the mole buried high in the upper echelons of Temporal Enforcement. He had no idea who the mole was, though he meant to find out.

  He could use the insurance if everything went to the Seven Hells.

  Holt has infected the primitive Jessica Kelly, the mole began in that sexless, unidentifiable mental voice. You’ve got to kill her now before she activates. Try not to reveal yourself if you can help it, but take care of her regardless. Our Xeran friends consider it a priority.

  He opened his eyes as his eyebrows rose in interested surprise. They wanted him to kill the girl right under Galar’s nose?

  A slow, deadly grin of pure anticipation spread across his face.

  The infirmary took up one entire level of the Outpost, and there were times it needed every centimeter of the space. The offices used by the doctors and nursing staff surrounded a soaring open central ward, softly lit and filled with gentle, soothing music. When Galar walked in, he counted fifteen glowing globes arranged in the ward’s center. An unusually high patient count, though admittedly there’d been more after that tourist group had gotten caught in the earthquake.

  Each globe held a bed inside a sterile field designed to both protect its occupant from infection and maintain privacy. On the outside of the globes, shifting three-dimensional images displayed the patient’s vitals.

  He found Chogan standing in the center of the ring of globes, sipping a cup of stimchai with the greedy relish of a woman who has been craving one far too long.

  “You seem to have a full house.”

  Chogan curled a delicate lip. “Two stagecoaches full of tourists collided while being chased by an Apache raiding party. Both of ’em overturned. I was just barely able to dispatch a team to get them back before the whole lot got kacked. It’s like I always say . . .”

  Galar grinned and finished the sentence for her. “. . . Time travel is not for morons.”

  “And yet, they always think it’s some kind of goddamned game. I keep telling people, the temporals don’t play. And this bunch brought kids. I spent the morning digging an arrow out of a ten-year-old.”

  He winced. “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. Ouch.” She shook her head with a sigh of pure disgust, then straightened her shoulders. “But you’re here about your vic. Given the morning’s adventures, I haven’t had a chance to put in a request to transfer her to the Rehab Center, but . . .”

  “We’re not sending her to the Center, Doc. She’s got a Xeran military assassin after her. We’re keeping her here.”

  Chogan froze with her cup half-lifted to her mouth, staring at him over its rim. “I’m not trained to provide temporal rehabilitation to a native, Master Enforcer. Besides, I’ve got my hands full as it is.”

  “Nobody expects you to keep an eye on her.” Galar managed not to snarl. “That
’s my assignment.”

  “Yours?” Dr. Chogan’s iridescent green brows flew up as she regarded Galar in surprise. “Do you have any idea how delicate it is to rehab someone who’s been temporally displaced? Besides, I’ve already started the EDI. She’ll be unconscious until it’s finished.” Almost to herself, Chogan added, “I’d rather keep her out until we transfer her to the Center. She’ll find all this traumatic enough as it is.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not an option.” Galar ran a thumb along his lower lip in thought. EDIs—educational data implants—were imprinted directly onto a user’s memory. Once the brain integrated the EDI’s information, it could be used just like knowledge acquired through reading or personal experience. Galar could download and use EDIs instantly through his computer, but with humans like Jessica, nanobots had to do the cerebral imprinting. “What’s included in the basic ed program, anyway?”

  Chogan shrugged. “Galactic Standard, an elementary knowledge of twenty-third-century technology and science. The same thing any kid knows by the time he’s ten.”

  “Can you add an unarmed combat routine? And basic weapons use too. I have a feeling she’s going to need it.”

  Chogan swallowed a mouthful of stimchai and meditated over the taste a moment. “Well, yeah, but she’s not going to be able to use it unless somebody works with her to get those skills integrated. She doesn’t have a neuronet computer like you Enforcer types to help her absorb what she’s downloaded. Somebody’s going to have to help her. That’s what rehab is for.”

  “So I’ll help her.”

  Chogan looked at him. “Oh, yeah. That’ll work.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Empathy and a delicate touch are vital in rehabing a native. Neither are phrases that leap to mind when I hear the word ‘Warlord.’ And you . . .” She snapped her teeth together with a click. “Never mind.”

  Stung, he glowered at her. “Look, I don’t like this any better than you do, but the Chief Enforcer gave me a mission, and I’m going to carry it out. Implant that combat data and call me when you wake her up.”

  Chogan’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not one of your subordinates, Master Enforcer!”

  He drew a deep breath and hissed it out between his teeth. “Dr. Chogan, please add the combat EDI.” Without waiting to see if she’d agree, Galar swung around and stalked out.

  And pretended not to hear Chogan’s muttered “Dickhole. ”

  The dream was confusing, frightening. Starkly vivid. An incomprehensible babble of alien language that gradually became understandable. First a word here, a word there, then sentences streaming through her consciousness in liquid, musical phrases.

  Next came images. Strange shapes flashing against the stars, oddly beautiful forms she suddenly realized were ships. People with skin colors she’d never seen before—matte black, metallic gold, a shimmering emerald green. Hair like flame, peacock feathers, or filaments of silver tinsel. Too many fingers, too many toes. Tails. Aliens that couldn’t possibly be human, and yet were unmistakably intelligent as they stroked controls with delicate frond fingers, their eyes huge and opalescent.

  Dragons soaring against a double sunrise, long reptilian tails whipping.

  The dream darkened then. A brutal face, inches from her own, slit pupils glaring, moonlight glinting off horns. “You’re like her now!”

  The flash of a blade, an explosion of pain . . .

  Charlotte, standing over her with a knife. Pricking her finger. Blood dripping, one slow, hot drop at a time. . . .

  A shape screaming toward the curve of Earth, so blinding white, her eyes ached. . . .

  “Nooo!” Jessica’s eyes flashed wide as she jerked awake.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay.” The voice was deep, soothing. “You were having a nightmare.”

  Cautiously, she turned her head and found a big blond man sitting beside the bed. After a moment of disorientation, she recognized him. The cop who’d saved her. Galen? No. Galar.

  Her mouth felt like sand. “Water?” she croaked. The word sounded wrong somehow, but she didn’t know why.

  “Of course.” He stood, and she blinked. She hadn’t remembered him being quite so . . . stunning. He had to be a good six inches over six feet, with the leanly powerful build of a professional athlete. The scaled suit he’d worn had been replaced with something in a dark blue fabric, also piped with silver. The stark color called attention to the bright gleam of his blond hair and the translucent gold of his eyes. His face was just as striking, narrow and angular with an aquiline nose and a firm, aggressive chin. His cheekbones were chiseled and elegant, his blond brows thick over intelligent eyes that searched hers intently.

  She watched him turn to a console by the bed. He murmured something to it, and a cup appeared through a small doorway in the console. He handed it to her.

  Jess took it, staring at the console with a frown. A word teased her tongue, and she spoke it. “Vendser.”

  Galar gave her a faint smile. “That’s right. It’s a food vendser.”

  But the words still sounded wrong, composed of strange syllables and odd, lyrical grammar. Jessica froze in the act of lifting the cup to her mouth. “We’re not speaking English. ”

  “No.” He sat down in the chair again and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.

  A shaft of cold stabbed through her. “But I don’t speak anything except English.”

  “You do now.”

  Words crowded to the tip of her tongue, but they made no sense. She drained the cup in one long, desperate gulp, hoping to clear her befuddled mind. “Galactic Standard.” Both hands curled around the empty cup in her lap. “We’re speaking Galactic Standard.” The knowledge was suddenly right there, but she had no idea what it meant. Galactic Standard? It sounded like something from a science fiction novel.

  He nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

  Fear clicked down Jess’s spine on icy claws. Flashes of imagery filled her head, things she could almost understand. Things that made no sense, words she had no frame of reference for.

  “Stop it!” Jess didn’t know if she was talking to him or to her own suddenly rebellious brain. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but stop it!” She flung the covers aside and rolled out of bed.

  Alarm widened Galar’s remarkable eyes. He came out of his chair and moved to block her. “Jessica, calm down. It’s all right—you’re safe.”

  “Fuck that!” Jess bared her teeth, breathing hard as she fought to control the panic that threatened to send her into pointless flight. “There are things in my head that don’t belong there! Did you do this to me?”

  “It’s just an educational data implant. There are things you need to know if you’re going to . . .”

  “Take it out!” Alien images and strange words flashed through her head, building to a blinding, incomprehensible roar. Panic clawed at her. “Take it out!”

  “Jessic—”

  She danced forward and slammed a punch right at his chiseled jaw.

  Galar blocked the punch by sheer reflex—not that it would have hurt him if it had landed. He couldn’t help but notice she’d executed it perfectly. Apparently she’d integrated the combat EDI—at least if you pissed her off enough to use it.

  Lips peeling back from her teeth, she went for his eyes with clawing nails. He grabbed both wrists and forced her back down on the bed, riding her body with his, trying to control her wild, writhing struggles with his greater weight. “Jessica, calm down, dammit! You’re all right! It’s just an EDI. It’s not going to hurt you!”

  “I didn’t tell you to put that in my head! I don’t want it there!” Fear and rage blazed in too-wide blue eyes. “You’ve got no right to tamper with my brain!”

  Running footsteps sounded behind him. “Move, Galar!” Dr. Chogan snapped.

  He twisted aside. The doctor snaked a hand past him and clapped it against Jessica’s forehead. Galar smelled the sharp, medicinal scent of a caps
ule breaking, spilling its drug cargo onto the girl’s skin. A moment later, her eyes rolled back, and she went limp under him.

  He rolled off her to find Chogan staring grimly at the two of them. “I warned you.”

  Galar raked a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you did.” Feeling helpless, he stared down at Jessica as she sprawled unconscious on the bed.

  She looked delicate in the thin infirmary sleep suit, particularly compared to the lean, muscled strength of the Warfems and female Enforcers he was used to. The memory of her terrified rage made something ache in his chest. He rubbed an absent circle over his heart. “Why did she react like that?”

  Chogan sighed. “You and I grew up absorbing implanted knowledge; it’s natural to us. But to a temporal native, data implants are an inexplicable mental rape. Some of them even go insane.”

  Galar stared at her, sickened. “Why in the hell do we do it, then?”

  “Because when you take somebody from the past and stick them in the twenty-third century, surrounded by tech they’ve never seen and don’t understand, they don’t do well,” Chogan explained patiently. “A good rehab specialist can trigger the integration gradually enough that they can cope. Which is why we need to send her to the Center.”

  “We can’t do that, Doctor. The Xeran would kill her, half the staff, and anybody else who happened to get in the way. He’s a heavy-combat battleborg. They wouldn’t have a prayer.”

  She frowned at him. “Why is somebody like that after this poor girl?”

  “Believe me, we’ve all asked that question.” He rocked back on his heels and ran a thumb over his lower lip, his mind racing. “Do we have a rehab specialist EDI?”

  “Probably, but it would take me too long to integrate and use it. Unlike some, I don’t have a neuronet combat computer. ”

  “I do.”

  She stared at him, visibly startled. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

  “When I’m given a mission, I carry it out.”

  “Warlords.” Chogan scrubbed both hands over her face. “You’re all crazy. All right, I’ll call it up for you.”