p." Willis'
grip was tighter than usual, echoing the tension on the bridge, and it
gave the Ranger the distinct impression she didn't expect to see him
again. Honesty compelled him to admit to himself that he was less
optimistic than he tried to appear.

"It won't be suicide, you know," he said, speaking now to the entire
bridge crew. "As I said earlier, if they just wanted me dead, they'd
have vaporized the Lindner as soon as we out-transitioned." He
hesitated, remembering something. "Oh, yeah. Mister Olorun, how much
did we miss their phony beacon by?"

"Twelve point nine kilometers, sir," the young officer replied,
subdued.

Tarlac whistled softly in honest admiration, then dug into a beltpouch
and flipped the Helmsman a five-credit piece. "Empress Lindner?"

"Yes, Ranger?" The ship's voice was feminine, slightly metallic.

"Log my commendation for Ensign Olorun's piloting, and have a shuttle
ready to take me to Personnel Lock Three."

There was a barely-noticeable pause, then the ship-comp said, "Done,
Ranger," as one of the three bridge doors slid open. Tarlac left the
silent control room and entered the intraship shuttle that was waiting
for him.

With the ship at General Quarters, the Ranger found the personnel lock
deserted. That was fine with him. Suiting up was easier with help,
but he didn't care for company just then; he began the ten-minute
process of donning and checking his suit alone.

That the Traiti spoke Imperial English, even ungrammatically and with
an accent, didn't surprise him. It was fairly common knowledge that
the so-called Sharks took prisoners--although those were even less
common than bodies--and nobody had doubted that the Traiti were smart
enough to realize the value of learning their enemy's language.

That was an intelligence coup the Empire had been unable to match.
Traiti too badly wounded to fight, or those hit by stun-beams and taken
prisoner, never lived for long. Once they decided escape was
impossible, those who were able to committed suicide, usually by
clawing out their throats. Those who for one reason or another
couldn't actively kill themselves simply lost the will to act and then
to live, dying usually within a week of capture. The Empire had
learned that they called themselves Traiti, little more.

Once he had his suit on, the Ranger fortunately didn't have to walk
far. A standard spacesuit was considerably less massive than a Marine's
power arm