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uneasiness as they neared the prisoner's cell. It was an intricate part of their training: the interception of alarming currents floating through the ether around them. The implants

buried deep within their brains were giving off danger signals. They looked at one

another, delving the depths of each other's discomfort, then, almost in unison, their hands

strayed to the phasers on their utility belts; they switched the settings to heavy stun.

Onar came to an abrupt halt about four feet from the door when one of the Guards held

out a barricading arm into which the old man walked. "What are you doing? Get out of

my way, you imbecile!"

"Your pardon, Lord Onar, but we are concerned," the Chief Guard answered. He

nudged his chin toward the door and the three other men moved into defensive positions

to either side of the cell opening. The Chief Guard unhooked a phospho light from his

utility belt and thumbed on the switch.

Onar stayed where he was as the greenish-yellow light bobbled at the threshold of the

cell door. He trusted his guards; their psychic abilities were something he never

questioned.

At the Chief Guard's nod, the man on the far side of the door reached up to slap a hand

at the door pad entry button. The door shushed back.

Ensign Graz shifted the phospho light from his right hand to his left, then drew his

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phaser. So far, there had been no movement from the cell, no sound, and it was now

obvious to all five men that something was very wrong. Graz pointed the light into the

cell and nodded. His men raced in: one to either side of the door, one straight into the

space between.

"What the hell was that?" one man cursed. He had tripped and fallen, his hand sliding into something sticky and thick.

Graz stepped through the door with his light and the beam fell on the thing over which

his man had tripped. The Ensign could not stop himself from gagging any more than his

Sergeant could keep from turning and puking up his morning meal when he found what

he had landed in.

"By the gods!" Onar heard a guard gasp then there were more sounds of retching.

"Graz?" Onar questioned.

"Don't you move!" a guard roared. "Don't you fucking move or I'll fry you, Cree!"

Onar, more concerned that he would be denied the exquisite pleasure of hanging

Kamerone Cree than with his own personal safety, rushed through the cell opening, but

was brought up short by the horrific sight that met him.

The missing guard's body was lying just beyond the opening; his head, trailing torn

arteries and ragged chunks of flesh, was lying about two feet away. The eyes were gone,

as were the ears, and the dead man's gaping mouth was an obscene hole where two rats

played hide and seek.

"Urghhhhhh!" Graz groaned, no longer able to keep the hot surge of vomit from

erupting. The contents of his stomach splashed against the wall on which he leaned, his

light still trained on what was left of another dead man's body.

The other body—Onar thought it might well be Deon Inse—was propped against one

wall, his head tilted impossibly flush with one shoulder. His glazed, milky-white eyes

would stare forever at whatever horror they had last seen. Where his throat should have

been, there was a ragged, gaping hole; the upper portion of spine was missing, allowing

the head to recline at its grotesque angle. Also missing were his hands, snapped off at the

forearms.

Onar shuddered. He wasn't so much affected by the sights upon which he gazed as he

was by the brute strength it had taken to rip Inse's hands from his body. "Where is Cree?"

he asked.

"He's there," Graz croaked, swinging an arm behind him to the dark shadows of the

cell. He gagged, then convulsed as more bile left him.

Slipping the phospho light from Graz's rigid grip, Onar swept it over the damp walls

until it came to rest on the thing hunkered down in the corner of the far wall. For once in

his life, Traye Onar was speechless and he took a step back.

"Hungry, old man?" A throaty gurgle of laughter erupted from the Reaper. "Here, try this!"

A yelp of disgust piped from the Justice as he leapt back from the grizzly offering that

was thrown at his feet. He stared down at one of Inse's missing hands, stripped of its flesh

all the way down to the bone on all but the ring finger where the Keeper's signet ring still

banded the flesh.

"Too lean?" Kamerone Cree chortled. "Try this one!"

Inse's other arm—chunks of flesh chewed away—was flung at Onar's head.

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to the floor. The guard's eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped to the floor in a dead

faint, his head hitting the stone with a meaty thud.

Cree howled with laughter and the blood-curdling sound echoed through the nine by

twelve cell, sending chills of terror through the other men. Slowly, he began to rise, his

gaze riveted on Traye Onar.

"G-Graz!" Onar screeched. "D-do something!"

Graz armed the vomit from his mouth and turned. He stared at the Reaper who was on

his feet, his lips skinned back from sharp, wicked fangs.

"Graazzzzzz!"

Still trying to swallow the bitter vetch lingering in his throat, Graz aimed his phaser

and ordered his men to fire.

The shrill tones of four phasers set on heavy stun pierced the space of the small room,

nearly deafening those gathered inside. Cree was picked up by the quadruple blasts and

flung back against the wall, his arms to either side of his body as though he were being

crucified. He slid down the wall, and then fell to the floor. What would have killed a

human man merely rendered the Reaper unconscious.

KULLEN WAS the first off the ship, his long red hair blowing in the crisp wind. He

sniffed the air, frowned at the heavy scent of lavender, and then turned to Feis Coure. "Do you smell that?"

Coure lifted his head, inhaled. "Aye. Not an unpleasant scent, but very thick."

Kahn came off The Sirocco behind its Captain. He stopped. "Merciful Alel," he

whispered. "That must be the gas we're smelling."

"But how?" Kullen growled.

"My surrogate mother is here," Kahn replied, knowing it as surely as he stood in the deserted loading bay.

Feis Coure put a hand on Kahn's shoulder. "If that is the case, perhaps Cree is safe."

"If Dr. Dean was correct, the Retrieval crews and those men loyal to the Resistance

were the only ones inoculated against the death virus," Kahn replied. "But does that mean the Tribunal and its guards are dead?" He shook his head. "We can't be sure."

"Then we go on to the Interrogation Center," said Kullen.

The Keepers and Shepherds preceded their six Reaper captains and Kahn. With phasers

set to kill, they moved down the corrugated corridor into the main docking station, the

hub from which eight docking bays projected. An eerie silence hung over the station and

their footsteps rang out on the metal flooring.

"Where the hell is everybody?" grumbled Kullen.

"Smythian," Coure said quietly, pointing.

Beyond the Ops counter, there were bodies lying scattered on the floor in pools of

drying blood. From the agonized expressions on the dead men's faces, the passage from

their world to the next had not been an easy one. The men counted twenty-nine corpses.

"The gods be good to them," Tohre, the Reaper captain of The Chinook, sighed.

Kahn looked away from the bodies, his face set, his fists clenched. The woman who

had given him life was responsible for this mass atrocity. At that moment, he hated her

more than he had ever hated anyone in his entire life and he vowed to find her if it was

the last thing he ever did. Her and her vile partner, LeJong Kym.

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Reapers had. "There is protection for them there."

"There will never be protection for them," Tylan Kahn snapped.

Tohre and Belial, the most superstitious of the Reapers, exchanged a look, but it was

Belial who spoke. "These women are magi, Admiral. They can—"

"Die just as other women can," Kamahl Gehdrin, the Captain of The Levanter, barked.

He swept an arm around the room. "Look at this! Is this not to be avenged? Does no one

pay for this obscenity?"

"We didn't say that," Tohre put in. "But to attack the stronghold of the Multitude? That is folly, Kamahl!"

"Stow the argument!" Kahn ordered. "We have more important matters at hand." He cast one final look at the dead, then turned resolutely away and headed for the transporter

room.

There were more bodies lying juxtaposed on the floor of the Ministry of Engineering.

Unlike the docking bay where the smell of death had dissipated quickly with the opening

of the air lock, the stench of blood was thick here and the Reapers growled, their generic

hunger goading them.

"Are any of you near Transition?" Kahn grated, his hard gaze shifting over the dark warriors.

"By the gods, I hope not!" one of the Shepherds grimaced.

"I think I speak for us all," Kullen stated. "It is safe for a few days more." He pointed at Belial. "He is close."

Kahn nodded. "All right, then. Let's get the hell off this floating graveyard." He looked at one of the Keepers. "Wynth, isn't it?" At the Keeper's nod, the Admiral asked him to stay behind to operate the transporter. "Should there be the first sign of danger, get us out of there ASAP. Understood?"

"Aye, sir!"

Kahn looked around him. "How many of us are there?"

"Thirty-two," Tohre replied.

"We'll transport down in four groups then," Kahn suggested. He pointed at eight

Keepers. "You will be First Team. Once down, move into position to secure the transport

site."

"We'll go next," Tohre put in, indicating Belial, Gehdrin and himself. "Just in case."

"Kiel, you and Coure will follow Kullen and myself as fourth team," Kahn said,

waiting for the first three Reapers to leave. He stepped onto the platform as soon as the

beam came back then nodded at Wynth. "Let's do it, Ensign."

By the time Kryn Kiel and Feis Coure transported down to Rysalia Prime's Fleet Ops

center, the area had been secured and scouted. Hundreds of bodies—some lying on top of

one another—littered Ops. The stench was nearly unbearable and the floors were sticky

with congealing blood. The men had to wade through the gory mess to leave the Ops

center for the doorway that would lead them to the outside.

"Why don't we take the tram from Ops to the Tribunal Hall?" Tohre inquired, moving

so that he was walking in pace with the Admiral.

"I don't want to signal our coming, Tohre, just in case any Empire warriors are left

standing," Kahn said.

Kullen snorted as he swept his hawk-like gaze over the masses of bodies lying

everywhere around them. "I don't believe we have to worry about that, Admiral."

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"Where are the women?" Belial queried. "I haven't seen the first gods-be-damned woman since we docked." He hunched his massive shoulders. "I don't like it." He glanced around. "I don't like it one gods-be-damned bit!"

Kahn had to agree; the silence was uncanny and the absence of the women was

beginning to concern him. He looked up at the cameras that were cosmetically hidden on

trees and lamp posts and wondered if anyone was watching their approach.

He didn't have long to wonder.

As soon as the men moved onto the Boulevard of Tears, the wide thoroughfare that

ringed the religious center of Tethys, the women began to filter out from the surrounding

buildings. The verdigris gates of the center swung open and more women began to filter

out, moving into position to line the cobblestone walkway that lead into the compound.

The women were silent, their attention riveted on Kahn and his companions. Everywhere

the men looked, there were women, standing five and six deep in the circle that was

forming around them.

Kiel looked behind them. "They have cut off any escape," he said softly.

The men turned to find themselves hemmed in from behind, the women closing the

cordon around them. Looking in every direction, they could see no way to escape the

throng short of firing their phasers and even then there were far too many women. At full

capacity, the phasers could take out no more than a fourth of the silently shuffling

females.

Tylan Kahn's mouth became dry. He felt the animosity—as he knew the Reapers did—

that was coming off the women in waves. As he scanned the crowd, he could see hate in

many colors glaring back at him from eyes that were hard and brittle. He swallowed,

knowing they had walked into a trap.

"I don't think this is a welcoming committee," said Coure.

"I will take as many of them with me as my belly will hold," Tohre announced. He

despised females and took great pleasure in slaughtering them when the need arose. The