I imagined how I looked through the officer's eyes: armed, standing over the victim, and holding incriminating evidence. I'd royally screwed myself in the ass by not calling it in right when I'd found him.

If the data dot contained what I thought it did, Jarrett had likely bent a few laws digging up that information for me. It would take them days or even weeks to clear me. By that time, the trail would have gone cold. If it hadn't already. The only way to find the ones responsible for Jarrett's death was to do it myself. I owed him that much.

"Clear right!" the DECA officer called to his partner. Two sets of footsteps circled the living space in opposing directions—standard procedure.

"Doorway left," the second officer called at the bathroom entrance. "Clear!"

I palmed the data dot and sprinted for the bedroom window. With no time to disengage the locking system, I struck the corner of the pane with the butt of my blaster and winced as the sound of shattering glass announced my location to the two officers. I raked away the remaining milky-white shards with the barrel and stuck my head through the opening.

"Halt!" a female voice commanded as I threw one leg over the sill.

Two stories weren't an impossible drop, but it still hurt when I landed. I absorbed most of the shock with my knees and tucked into a roll. In seconds, I was up and shouldering my way through the crowded street. The officer wouldn't risk shooting into the throng of people, even with the blaster on stun. A bystander being hit would be a public relations nightmare. She leaned out the window to watch me and then yelled my direction to her partner.

As soon as I was out of the officer's line of sight, I darted into a group of people gathered around a merchant's stall. "Felix, begin timer."

I threaded my way through to the center of the group, stripped off my black leather jacket, and shoved it in my cross-body bag. Underneath, I wore a simple, white, short-sleeved shirt. My hat and hair clip followed, letting my coffee-brown hair fall loose around my shoulders.

A young woman placed her order with a guy selling some kind of slow-roasted, cubed meat on a stick. A bright-orange shawl lay bunched up at the top of her shopping bag—a concession to the late afternoon heat, no doubt.

My hand slipped in and out without her notice. I tied it around my waist at a jaunty angle, like a skirt, to alter my silhouette. Finally, I flipped my messenger bag around to expose the smooth backside, tied a quick knot in the strap, and slung it over one shoulder like an oversized purse. By the time I came out the other side of the knot of pedestrians, I'd gone from Suspect-on-the-Run to Woman-out-Shopping.

Both officers converged at the intersection behind me. They were hard to miss in their black tactical pants and forest-green jackets. The woman climbed on top of a merchant's folding chair to see over the crowd. She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

I kept my pace to a brisk walk since running would only draw their attention. As the officer's head turned in my direction, I fell in step beside a portly man in his midfifties and accidentally-on-purpose bumped into him.

"Oh, excuse me!" I placed my hand on his pudgy forearm. "That was so clumsy of me."

His expression of annoyance morphed into an appreciative leer while his eyes dropped from my face down to the front of my shirt.

"No trouble at all," he assured me. "The path is rather uneven here."

It wasn't, but I took his arm when he offered it. A couple was less conspicuous than a single woman. He commented on the streak of hot temperatures they'd been experiencing, and I responded with something equally inane. It took all my willpower to keep from looking behind me.

"Perhaps you could help me," I said. "I'm looking for a cafe near here. It's supposed to have excellent raki dumplings." They were a local specialty, and chances were good that half the restaurants in town served them.

He smiled. "You must mean Zee's. It's around the corner. I'd be happy to escort you."

"Oh, would you?" I beamed up at him.

Fifty paces later, I disentangled myself from my prop outside the front door of a tiny restaurant sandwiched between a holovid store and a place advertising guided tours out to the salt flat. Not my idea of a holiday, but to each her own.

The man cleared his throat and pulled himself up to his full height. "Since we are here, perhaps you would let me buy you dinner?"

Crap, I'd laid it on too thick. "I would, but I'm meeting my husband."

"Your husband?" he stammered, thrown by this unexpected revelation.

"Mm-hmm." I smiled. "But thank you so much for showing me the way. I wouldn't have found it without you."

He stared after me as I slipped into the cafe, his expression somewhere between confusion and indignation.

"Felix, time."

"Two minutes forty-six seconds. May I ask what we're timing?"

"My freedom."

"What did you do now?"

"Nothing. I can't talk right now. Mute." I flagged down the nearest server. "Excuse me, do you have a back entrance I could use? I think that man is following me."

The server glanced out the window at my former escort, who was still staring at me. "Do you want me to call law enforcement?"

"No, no," I assured her. "I'm probably overreacting, but it doesn't hurt to be careful, does it?"

She gave me a knowing nod. "Isn't that the truth? Here, come with me, honey."

Through the window, I saw the two DECA officers take position and scan each passing pedestrian. I ducked my head and followed the server through the kitchen to a back alley. It reeked of old garbage and urine.

As soon as she disappeared back into the restaurant, I broke into a fast jog. I'd slipped by the initial perimeter, but I wasn't in the clear yet. Because of the restricted parking around the market, I'd left my bike a half-klick away.

"Felix, unmute. Time."

"Five minutes, twenty-three seconds. Are we speaking again?"

"Mute." He'd make me regret that later.

Sticking to the labyrinth of alleys, it took me another five minutes to reach my bike. Too long. By that time, the DECA officers would have contacted the Andaress-4 Central Command. How long did that give me until they grounded all planet-to-orbit transports? Thirty minutes, if I was lucky, and luck hadn't been my friend in a very long time.

My hoverbike purred to life, rising two meters off the ground while I secured my helmet. The UV-reflective face shield had the added benefit of blocking my profile from the city cameras. I glided into the skylane and matched the speed of other LAVs—low altitude vehicles—until I reached the Brin city limits. Then I swung north toward the barren salt flats and punched the throttle to full blast.

The setting sun transformed the stark-white desert floor into a golden sea. A plume of salt dust arced behind me. It would be visible from kilometers away, but there was no helping it. Cutting through the salt flats was the fastest way back to the port city of Salin where I'd docked my ship and the only way I'd make it off the planet before the authorities performed a ship-by-ship inspection.

"Felix, display timer as a visual." The software in my helmet connected with my cuff and the timer displayed in the upper-right section of my visor. 13:58. It would be tight.

The city appeared as a tiny speck on the horizon and grew larger as I neared. Sunlight glinted off the metal and plastiglass surfaces of the buildings. Salin sat at the edge of an ancient salt-water sea that was drying up, due in part to the large desalinization plant on the west side of the city. A tangled mass of pipes and storage tanks rose into the sky. I remembered the spacedock was near it and veered left.

"Felix, unmute. Scan all frequencies for the words homicide, barricade, detaining ships, fleeing suspect, in pursuit, or Jarrett Viorel. Use the decryption program JV10. Report in audio."

He didn't respond. I swore to the great dark void that I'd kill whichever programmer thought giving simulated emotions to a ship's computer system was a good idea. "Felix, I'm in a jam here."

"Scanning . . ." Felix replied, his synthetic voice sounding hollower than normal through my helmet but still as pouty. "Your search yields one hundred and twenty-six results. Shall I play them in chronological order?"

"No. Limit search to the last fifteen minutes and sectors eight and nine."

"Seven results."

"Transcribe and display. Continuous update."

Text scrolled across the bottom third of my visor. "Next. Next. Next. Wait! Stop. Go back and play the third one."

A woman's voice came on. "This is Officer Patel. We have a homicide at the intersection of Eighth and Market. Suspect fleeing on foot. Female, midthirties, black jacket, cap. Last seen heading west on Market. In pursuit."

Midthirties! Officer Patel needed her vision augmented. "Felix, add Officer Patel to the search. Prioritize her communications. Play."

"Patel to Dispatch. Lost visual of suspect . . . Patel to Dispatch. Unable to track the suspect. I'm returning to secure the scene . . ."

"Dispatch to Officer Patel. Lead Agent Grayson Wright is assigned to this case. Coordinate efforts with him."

"Pause," I instructed Felix and slowed the hoverbike to merge into traffic. My close-quarters cutting technique didn't thrill the LAV behind me, and the pilot gave me the traditional three-fingered hand gesture to express his displeasure. I returned the sign as I accelerated past the next vehicle. My eyes flicked to the timer. 20:22.

"Felix, I'm coming in hot. Begin preflight check."

"Initiating preflight check. Systems coming online."

The spacedock came into view. Nothing more than a glorified parking garage, but all ships capable of interstellar travel landed there to refuel. Central Command controlled arrivals and departures and handled customs issues for incoming cargo. Normally, all great things. I loved Central Command. Happy to work with them. Except for today. Today, they were going to be a giant pain in my ass.

"Felix, lower the cargo door and patch me in to Central."

"Central Command." The woman's tone was curt and efficient.

"Hey, Central. This is Captain Reliance Sinclair of the Soteria, requesting permission to launch." I counted the seconds waiting for Central to respond.

"You're cleared for takeoff in ten minutes, Captain Sinclair. We're waiting on a passenger ship ahead of you to vacate the launching zone."

"Thanks, Central. Sinclair out."

I slowed to a near crawl as I passed through the security gate. Above me, an armed security drone swept for explosives and contraband. My heel bounced against the gearshift.

"Come on, come on," I muttered as pilots ahead of me leisurely split off in either direction toward their own ships. Now wasn't the time to draw attention to myself.

The guard inspected my bike, scanned my cuff, and waved me through.

The Soteria was docked at the end of row G. Felix already had the rear cargo door lowered, so I flew straight in and landed the hoverbike in its stand on the port side. I cut the engine and tossed my helmet on the handlebars.

I scrambled up the metal-rung ladder to the upper deck and sprinted down the short corridor to the bridge where a thigh-high metal cat greeted me. "Talk to me, Felix."

The computer interface switched over from my cuff to the ship's avatar. "Preflight check is complete. Electrical systems go. Guidance systems go. Communications go. Environmental levels go. Oxygen and nitrogen tanks at eighty-seven percent. Batteries at twenty percent. Sinnafuel cells at thirty-four percent. Recommend additional fueling before takeoff."

Well, that wasn't going to happen. "We'll have to tighten our belts."

"Reliance?"

"Never mind. Close the cargo door and begin cabin pressurization sequence." I woke the console from standby mode, synced my cuff, and aerial scribed in my authorization code. The dashboard lit up. "Update on frequency recordings."

The playback continued with a man's voice, low and with a Ritruvian accent. "Wright to Patel. Pull surveillance feeds from satellite 62AC-B . . . Patel here. We found her, sir. She's on a hoverbike heading toward Salin. Officers redirected to the city's southern limits. Sending you visual recordings now . . ." I checked the time stamp. They were seven minutes behind me.

I felt the rear hatch lock into place and began the launch sequence. The floor vibrated when the engine engaged, then the entire ship rocked back and forth as the thrusters lifted us the first meter off the ground.

"Come on, baby, you got this," I coaxed. The Soteria was as space-worthy a vessel as they came, but that didn't mean she wasn't a drama queen. She eased out of our hangar into the open air.

Felix jumped into the copilot's chair, his metal-scaled tail curling around the armrest to secure him to the seat.

Agent Wright's voice came on over the playback, sounding rough and annoyed. "Patel, she's not going into the city. She's making for the spacedock."

I powered up the boosters and eased us down the row to the launch pad.

An announcement from Central Command interrupted the recording. "All ships are grounded until further notice. Power down and await further instructions. I repeat, all ships—"

The roar of my engine drowned out the rest as the Soteria lifted off and blasted toward the sky.

My body slammed into the seat. "Harness, harness," I said, clicking the straps into place.

Energy rolled up from the engine, shaking the walls, floor, and chairs. That was always the worst part. The force increased, and I felt like a dry, brittle leaf clinging to the end of a dead stick in a gale-force wind.

Red lights blinked across the dash. My baby was not happy about the cold start. Teeth rattling, I forced my skull away from the headrest and input manual adjustments to keep the princess ship from throwing a full-blown tantrum.

Within minutes, the sky transitioned from evening blue to deep indigo and then the blackest of blacks. When I broke through the thermosphere, I went from a cacophony of noise and lights and being tossed about so hard my bones felt as if they might shatter—to nothing. It was as if I'd gone deaf; the silence was so absolute. And then, for the briefest moment before artificial gravity kicked in, I was weightless. It was my favorite part of flying.

Today, however, I had zero time to enjoy it.

"Star chart, now. And prep the warp drive. Skip the safety checks while you're at it."

Felix threw a sector map on the main screen. His heterochromia eyes stared at me without blinking. "There are seven recommended safety—"

"I said skip it, Felix. Authorization Sinclair-Foxtrot-Mike-Lima-Ten-Four. And stop judging me."

The drive kicked on, sending a shiver of anticipation through the ship. My panel lit up like the sky on Exploration Day. I aerial scribed in the commands to make the warning signals go away. Then I peered down one last time at the blue-white ball of Andaress-4.

"I promise I'll find who did this to you, Jarrett, and I will make them answer for it."

The indicator light for my warp drive turned from red to blue, signaling it was ready. I turned back to the sector map to choose a destination, and my screen went dark. So did my control panel, the main cabin light, and the auxiliary lights, plunging the bridge into total darkness.

"Felix, what just happened? Where's my power?"

Felix didn't respond, and I stuffed down the fear threatening to overwhelm me. No power meant no lights, no comms, and no air exchange. Heat would also become a problem, as the thermal control system ran off the batteries.

Hoping it wasn't a full-system failure, I felt around for the lever that would release the backup interface from its nesting place within the desktop. It was created for emergencies like this and connected to an independent power source. I found the lever on the outside wall near my knee and pulled. A tray dropped, coming to rest centimeters above my lap. My fingers brushed over the square buttons, trying to recall which ones did what. I hadn't used a physical keyboard since I tested for my pilot's license as a teenager. My fingers struggled to find the correct keys.

Not that it mattered. Nothing I tried worked. Not flicking the power toggle back and forth, not stabbing my finger at the buttons, not even kicking the stand with the toe of my boot. That only left one other option.

Gah! I'd been so close. Another minute and I would have been out of the system. I hadn't thought such a backwater planet like Andaress-4 would have remote ship-disabling technology. Salt thieves couldn't be that big of a problem to justify the expense.

Darkness settled around me like a living, breathing thing. It had a weight. A presence. Without my console screens, I couldn't even see the light of the planet. My fingers felt stiff, and the tip of my nose itched with cold. I told myself that was ridiculous. The ship wouldn't lose heat that fast. Even though it seemed longer, it had only been a few minutes.

Logically, I knew it was a power move, carefully timed and orchestrated to manipulate my emotions. That didn't make it less effective.

Finally, my main screen lit up with an incoming communication link. The staccato notification sound echoed throughout the bridge.

I squinted in the sudden light, waiting for my eyes to adjust. When I was sure my face wouldn't betray my emotions, I accepted the comm.

The hard-edged face of a man appeared on my main screen. Midthirties, clean shaven. He had a regulation uniform, a regulation haircut, and a regulation stick shoved so far up his ass I was surprised he could still sit in a chair. Intelligent eyes gave nothing away, and there was an air of authority about him that likely made all the little rookies swoon and piss their pants in turn.

"Captain Sinclair," he said. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Lead Agent Grayson Wright, and I'd appreciate a word with you."