she might
make it.

Bare minutes later, though, her hopes fell as she heard the patrol
cruiser approaching again. It stopped in front of her and three
gray-kilted Sanctioners got out.

Besides the usual sporran and soul-blade everyone carried, the
Sanctioners wore their collars of office, gleaming gold bands snug at
their throats. And their blasters, normally worn on belt clips, were
all pointed in her direction. Pitting around the muzzles showed
Corina, as if she had needed the confirmation, that the weapons had all
seen use.

She made her body relax. These Sanctioners were big, and they were
treating her as cautiously as they would a dangerous criminal. From
the Order's point of view, though, that was now an accurate
description.

"All right, Losinj," the oldest one said. "Hands on your head, and do
not move."

Corina obeyed, moving slowly to give herself time to think. These
three would have tight mind-shields, and anyway, the most she had been
able to handle in practice was two--which Thark, of course knew. She
was in no position to fight. Her only chance was to get them to relax,
drop their shields voluntarily. Unless they were simply going to kill
her here . . .

Which they were apparently not going to do. Two stood back, perhaps
three meters from her and an equal distance from each other, their
blasters steady on target. The leader, staying carefully out of their
lines of fire, approached her. He unclipped the soul-blade, sheath and
all, from her belt and attached it to his own.

"It will be returned intact to your family for their Hall of Memories
after your execution, as Senior Valla has ordered," he told her.

"My thanks to Senior Valla," Corina said, her voice shaky. So Thark
had turned her case over to Valla. That wasn't good news at all. She
knew Valla well, had in fact gotten much training from her, and they
were friends, though not close ones. But Valla didn't let friendship
interfere with her work, and she had a well-earned reputation for
thoroughness and efficiency. At least, Corina thought, Valla did not
dishonor her by ordering her blade broken.

The Sanctioner moved behind her. "Put your hands down, behind your
back."

She obeyed, felt cool metallic bands close around her wrists. The
Sanctioner took hold of her arm just above the elbow.

"Into the cruiser, youngling."

She got in, was seated between him and another Sanctioner, both with
blasters aimed at her. Th