since Van Mere's star had an asteroid belt that could skin the shields off a battle cruiser.

    Jensen squirmed and managed to cramp his left thigh. He could not stretch to relieve the discomfort, but only sweat with the pain. The closet quickly became stifling, and somewhere between nausea and frustrated tears, he missed the shift to FTL. He knew the transition had happened when the cramp eased off, and he realized the vibrations from the condensers had subsided back to a whisper.

    A light tread crossed the cockpit; not Kaplin's, Jensen determined. She tended to slap her heels down, result of a flirty, provocative hip-sway she habitually used to distract. Most men were not immune, but James would prove the exception. Jensen knew the skip-runner to be formidably focused in his actions. The steps paused, and the couch by the com station creaked.

    'You'll tell me Sail's security code schedule,' James suggested in his gravelly bass.

    Silence. Jensen squeezed his eyes shut and moaned. Kappie, he thought desperately, you'll go the way of Harris. He tensely awaited the shot.

    'Godfrey, girl,' said James. He sounded strangely tired. 'Don't shake so hard. I only shoot on sight when somebody's fixing to kill me. Your pilot kept a gun in the pocket next to his jock strap, or didn't you know that?' A pause. 'No, I see not. His whores shared the secret, and for a pitiful bit of change, they talked.'

    In the closet, Jensen drew a shuddering, sweat-stinking breath. He had not known Harris packed a pistol, never mind under that ridiculously baggy coverall. Jensen's worst nightmare had never allowed that James might run a network that extended so deep, into the back streets of who knew how many worlds. The haunts of pilots on leave were notoriously varied, and scattered as stars to scope out. That this criminal's interest had focused so intently on Sail's crew was a most unsettling discovery.

     'The codes,' reminded MacKenzie James, his voice gone strangely steely. Above the subliminal hum of FTL, the cockpit beyond the closet seemed gripped in waiting stillness.

     Kaplin gasped as if hit. 'I can't tell you,' she lied. 'I don't know them!' Her bravery held an edge of hysteria.

     Jensen braced for a shot that never came. The chair by the corn console creaked again as Mac James shifted his weight.

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