"I see lots of pain in your future, Del. Just do the job like a good mutt and maybe that'll change."

Del looked up at the big man standing next to him with soul-deep contempt. Stupid people always made him feel that way. "Fuck you, Brax," he muttered with a brand of weariness that came from frequent repetition.

It got the same response it always did. The man's shovel-like face writhed in a tortured grimace of anger, and he lifted one brawny arm, bringing it down like a sledgehammer.

Del didn't bother to dodge. That arm was too big to duck when he was on his knees with his arms locked behind his back in magnetic restraints. Blinding pain burst through his skull and he went down face first, unable to stop himself. Twisting, he managed to catch most of his weight on a shoulder, but he still cracked his jaw a good one on the metal floor.

A spurt of fury spiraled through him, momentarily erasing common sense. Without thinking twice, he mule-kicked Brax in the balls and was gratified to hear the man give a short, hoarse cry of pain. He would pay for that, but when he maneuvered himself back to a kneeling position and saw Brax doubled over, he decided it'd been worth it.

"That's enough," someone murmured out of Del's range of vision, but he recognized the voice and tensed. Brax was big, but simple and obvious. The man who walked around to crouch in front of Del was neither. He eyed Del with cold, pale blue eyes and a gentle smile. "I believe what Brax is trying to get through to you is that you are out of choices. Do the job or give us what you owe. It's that simple."

"You want me to kill somebody. That's not gonna happen, Trev," Del answered in patient tones.

Trevani's eyes flashed with something dangerous, but his smile didn't waver. "Squeamish are we? Well, who'd have guessed? Then all you have to do is pull about a hundred thousand credits out of your empty account and we'll part ways. Think that's gonna happen, Del?"

Del stared into the man's pale eyes with a combination of fierce hatred and black despair. He had no answer that wouldn't get him in a world of hurt. Brax was recovering pretty well and though he wasn't very creative, he was good at following directions. Trevani was very creative when it came to pain—and very good at giving directions.

Trevani's smile widened. "I see we understand each other. We'll give you four standard days to follow through." He flicked one hand at Brax without looking at him, and Del felt the big man release his restraints.

Rubbing his sore arms where the restraints had been, Del slowly rose to his feet.

Trevani followed suit, studying him with an expression that had gone as cold as his eyes. "The job or the credit, Del. There's no other option."

Del didn't bother to answer. Trev wasn't expecting one anyway. He turned and strode towards the exit, gingerly feeling the swelling behind his ear from Brax's blow.

They didn't move to stop him, but before he reached the door, Trevani called to him, "And, Del?"

He paused and glanced over his shoulder with weary resignation. He knew what the man was about to say.

"I know you're thinking of skipping out on us and the job, but my heartfelt advice is this: Don't run."

He ran.

* * * * *

Four standard days later, Del had run about as far as he could, the job not done and the credit only a possibility. He was out on the Fringe, a ragged area of space on the edges of civilization, far away from the influence and interest of the Federated Planetary Alliance. And far away from Trevani and Brax, though not out of range of their influence or interest. He wasn't hoping to disappear forever, just stay ahead of them long enough to build the credit he owed to their mutual employer, Quasicore.

And build credit he would, now that all his time wasn't taken up with running the Core's nasty errands, doing its dirty little jobs, and paying its arbitrary penalties and fees. In all the years that he'd ruined lives in the Core's name, he estimated that he'd paid back nearly twice over what he'd owed, or more specifically, what his father had owed. But somehow the ledger still had him deep in the red. It wasn't like he could dispute the claim in a court of law, though. To the law, he was as black with sin as the beast that had sunk its claws into him.

Desperation was a sour tang in the back of his throat and a shadow at the edge of his sight, a gloom that darkened his every step, his every breath. The Core haunted him, even here on the Fringe.

"Man, I know you can slice. I've seen it. But how am I s'posed to trust you?"

Del turned his head and stared at the little grease ball next to him. He thought there was a hell of a lot of irony in that question, considering the reputation the small man had for backstabbing and cheating. It's why he was racing slicers out on the Fringe instead of legitimate slicing circuits—he'd pissed off some powerful people.

"When's the last time you trusted anybody? Look around, Hec. Ain't exactly the peak of human civilization out here."

Hector scowled and shifted in his seat. He looked insulted, which was laughable considering that he stank like he hadn't sanitized in over a week and he was wearing black blood spatter across his chest from the Krell fight that was going on in the crude pit right below them. The spiked beasts were coming down to the last of it. The reddish one had been cornered by the blacker Krell, which was going for its throat in a rabid sort of way. The yells and cheers of the crowd nearly drowned its dying squeals.

Del supposed Hector's scowl might also have been because he'd had credit riding on the red. He waited patiently while his companion cursed and screamed insults at the animal that now lay in pieces below them, before asking, "So, am I in?"

Distracted from his loss, Hector sighed heavily and shot Del a disgruntled look. "I got a slice goin' for tomorrow night, but nobody in your caliber."

"I don't like winning easy, but I need the credit."

"Hey, I get a cut either way, so no grind on my bones." Hec felt around in his grimy shirt for a second with the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth in a look of squinty concentration, before pulling out a worn data crystal. "This is the location. You lose this, show it to anybody, or let somebody follow you, and they'll tear you apart like a pack of Krells. You catch me?"

"Yeah, I catch you," Del muttered, taking the crystal with a barely concealed wince of disgust. A quick list of the diseases he could get from handling the little man's property skipped through his mind.

"See you then," Hector said before getting up and heading for the exit, giving the dead Krell a last insulting gesture as he passed the pit.

Del decided he was going to run the crystal through a sterilizer—hell, maybe his hand, too—before he did anything else.

The location on the data crystal was an abandoned processing station on the edge of a used up asteroid field. The next night when Del first approached the place in his slicer, he was sure that Hector had played him. At first glance, it looked completely deserted, but when he did a closer run, he saw lights deep inside one of the service hangars and a glimmer from a functioning atmosphere shield. Piloting his slicer through the shield, he entered the hangar with caution.

Ships in a variety of sizes and shapes were clustered at the far end of the hangar, and Del could see a crowd of people gathered close to a row of slicers. He counted the racing ships as he maneuvered his own to land on the next pad in the row. There were six slicers to race against him—his made the seventh.

"Lucky seven," he muttered as he disconnected himself from the slicer's controls, quickly adding up the potential winnings in his head. At four thou a head, the total winnings would be only a quarter of the amount that he needed to pay back the Core. But it would be a damned good start, he thought with a glimmer of hope. That was, if Hector didn't take too large a cut for himself.

Del agilely levered himself out of the slicer and began working his way to the center of the crowd. The slicer groupies let him through without protest, and he supposed his size had as much to do with that as being a slicer pilot. Though not as massive as Brax, he was muscular enough to intimidate and tall enough to see Hector in the middle of the crowd.

"Del, where in the twelfth hell've you been?" the grease ball yelled over the excited rumble of people. "Been waitin' on your ass."

"You found such a nice out of the way spot, thought I'd go sightseeing," Del replied with enough sarcasm that even Hector caught on.

The little man gave him a hard grin, beady eyes narrowed like a weasel's before it bites. "This ain't no legit slicer circuit, big man. Even shootin' the Fringe, we gotta keep low."

Del inclined his head, letting Hector think what he wanted of that response. It must have satisfied him, because he turned towards the loose semi-circle of what had to be the other slicer pilots. Del could see obvious data ports—the cybernetic neuro-implants necessary to pilot a slicer—behind the right ears of several of them.

"This is Del Tower. He makes the last slicer. Got any objections or you can't ante up, now's the time to back out."

They looked him over and several began grinning. Del knew exactly what they were thinking. His size would be a disadvantage in a race where speed was essential and the lighter the craft, the faster it would go. But they'd never seen him slice.

He eyed them in turn. Two were female, and though they both looked capable, the bald-headed one might give him a challenge. She was a tiny little thing, and her gaze was rock steady. She had the size and the nerves to push him, but he wouldn't know how she sliced until they were into it. Of the four men, two were awful jittery—either they were new to this or high on something, which pretty much put them out of the running. But if they were willing to give away credit, who was he to complain? The other two weren't so easy to dismiss. They both looked confident, one with a cocksure attitude and the other with a steady, quiet calm. Of the two, Del thought the quiet one would give him the most trouble.

When no one said anything, Hector continued briskly, "Right then, time to bleed out credit. I hold and give over to the winner, minus my cut. The track'll get downloaded to your slicers when I got the ante—it's a run through the 'roids and it's gonna be a twist and a half, kiddies. Any problems with that?"

One of the nervous pilots grumbled, but not loud enough to be heard, and Hector grunted in satisfaction. Pulling a creditor from one of his grimy pockets, he held it out like a priest at communion. Del was first to stick his finger in the slot and feel the sting of the extractor taking a sample of blood from him. His DNA registered, he tapped the amount of credit to transfer, and when the creditor flashed green acceptance, he stepped back to let the others do the same.

They were down to the last two pilots when Del was distracted by the hum of slicer engines—very powerful, very expensive slicer engines, the perfectly tuned hum almost subliminal, making the hair rise on his arms and the back of his neck. He looked up to see two sleek, black slicers coasting towards them and fell instantly in love. Those ships made his beauty look like a lump of used up metal. Piloting one of those, he thought lustfully, would be like having sex with a goddess—all smooth, profound ecstasy. Their black surface reflected the light in opalescent gleams as they settled lightly and in perfect synchronicity on the next pads in the row of slicers.

"Oh shitballs, the Shadow Twins!" Hector moaned next to him.

Del realized that his grungy companion was sweating beads of fear. And he wasn't the only one. The crowd's reaction to the new arrivals was a mix of dread and awe, if he was reading the whitened faces, worshipful eyes, and muted whispers right. There was also a new, greedier current of energy running through the crowd, and Del watched for the two pilots with increased interest.

The new arrivals levered themselves out of the sleek slicers with liquid ease, and when Del saw them, he began to understand the crowd's giddy yet fearful reaction. One male and one female, they were dressed in unrelenting black, the clothes casual, but unmistakably expensive. They carried with them an air of unconscious arrogance that only the rich and powerful can manage, but there was also an edge of real danger in their movements. They moved like predators coming into view of their prey, and the crowd parted before them as if they knew they were the next meal.

As they came closer, Del also realized that they were extremely attractive, with the kind of striking looks that made people stare involuntarily. They had blue-black hair, hers in a severe braid between her shoulder blades and his in short disarray over his forehead. They both had high cheekbones and straight noses, but there the resemblance seemed to end, and Del wondered about Hector calling them twins. The male's brow was heavier, jaw thicker, and his skin had a dusky quality, while the female had skin like smooth cream and a much more lush curve to her mouth.

Del was staring at that mouth when she entered the circle around Hector and the pilots. He noticed the sardonic curl to her lips and lifted his gaze, only to collide with the most beautiful pair of green eyes he'd ever seen. "Sun's blood," he muttered and saw Hector snap a look at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Don't do it, man. She's poison," Hec whispered hoarsely, as the two arrivals stopped and looked around the circle with casual propriety.

When the woman's eyes came to rest on Hector, she smiled like a shark, all sharp edges and bloodlust. "Hector, my slimy little friend! You don't look happy to see me," she said, her voice smooth, cool, and edged with dangerous humor. She stepped forward, but her companion stayed where he was, folding muscular arms across his chest with a faintly amused expression.

Del guessed that this was her show.

Eyes bright with something that looked like malice, she paused in front of Hector. "How's the hand?"

Del had never seen anyone quail before, but he watched Hector do that now, his eyes falling and his shoulders hunching as he tucked his hands into his armpits in a protective gesture. Whatever had happened to Hector's hand, Del would lay odds that this woman had either done the work herself or been responsible for it.

"Fine, fine," Hec rasped. "Healed up real good."

"That's great," she said with false enthusiasm. "So it looks to me like you're running an illegal slicer race here, Hector. Can that be possible?"

"You know it is," he snarled softly, shooting her a look of pure hate from under his eyebrows.

"Well, you're in luck. As it happens, I haven't had a decent race in a long while. Can you give me a good slice this time, friend?"

Her eyes slid with narrow speculation over the group of pilots, and Del caught his breath when her gaze once again met his. It only lasted a second, but he snorted inaudibly at his lustful reaction. Down boy, he thought to the part of his anatomy south of his waistband. This one's way out of your league and your timing couldn't be worse. As usual.

"Y-you're here to slice?" Hector asked with a hopeful note. Greed was making its usual appearance in the grimy lines of the little man's face. It looked more natural there than the fear had.

She shot him a quick, hard look, and he quailed again. "Yes, Hector. Try to keep up. Is there anyone here who can give me a good run?"

Del wasn't surprised to see the cocky pilot take a half step forward. The man had an ugly scowl on his face, though. "You expect us to slice against one of those black demons?" He pointed to the pair of powerful slicers at the end of the row.

"The skill of slicing is in the pilot, not the ship," she stated coolly, looking the man up and down. "But for those who need added incentive, I'll double the winnings if I lose."

There was a quick wave of whispers through the crowd, and Del found himself adding up the potential winnings greedily.

"Nice! Very nice. I'm sure there won't be an objections," Hector said, his demeanor doing an about-face.

"I'm sure there won't," she murmured in reply, but without taking her eyes off of the other pilot.

He nodded curtly and dropped his gaze, stepping back again.

With a cold smile, she turned away, placing hands on hips as she gave Hector an inquiring look. "So? What do you have for me?"

"Many good slicers," he hurried to assure her like a farmer trying to sell his best meat stock. "I think you'll get a good run out of these."

"We'll see," she answered cynically and started to make a slow circuit around the ring of pilots. She paused for a second before the small bald-headed woman and gave her a short bow, the expression on her face turning almost respectful.

The woman flushed bright red, but returned the bow, and Del took a closer look at her, puzzled. He noticed the small blue tattoo at the corner of her left eye and cursed under his breath. She was an ascetic, of the Order of the Blue Sun, dedicated to mastering the balance between the mind and body. They believed that balance was the only way they could truly live in harmony with the universe and thus ascend to the next plane of existence. With their mental and physical discipline, a Sun ascetic would make a formidable slicing opponent. What the hell she was doing out here on the Fringe, Del had no idea, but he wasn't pleased. She would be more of a challenge than he'd originally thought.

Hector's black clad tormentress had moved on, and the rest of the pilots appeared bitter about being inspected like a rack of meat, shooting each other sullen looks. She paused again and pointed to one of the jittery fellows.

"He goes," she announced, and a louder whisper made its rounds through the crowd.

"But he's already paid—" Hector started to say weakly, but she waved him off.

"He's rejecting his wetware."

"W-what?" the man in question squeaked in protest.

She ignored him, addressing her comments to Hector. "You can see it in his leaky eyes and the red bands around his data port. He might also be on something, but his implants are definitely going to go critical in short order. He's a walking time bomb. If he's slicing when that thing scrambles his brains, he's going to take out someone else besides himself, and I certainly don't want to be that someone else. Do any of you?"

The other pilots shifted uneasily and muttered to each other. She watched them with an amused smirk on her face, and Del thought she was expecting just this kind of reaction. He saw her exchange a cynical glance and a hard grin with her silent companion.

"Yes, kiddies, that means less credit in the pot. Never fear, I have a solution. I'll double the winnings—again."

Quadruple the credit. Del surreptitiously wiped at his mouth to make sure he wasn't drooling, his heart thudding a wild rhythm of hope. That would mean he'd make enough in this one race to pay back the Core. If he won, that is.

He was pulled out of his dreams of freedom from the Core when she moved to stand in front of him, looking him up and down with a frown.

"This one's a mountain! How does he even fit in a slicer, let alone get it off the pad?"

"Del's a hit and a half, Lady Shadow," Hector interjected breathlessly. He looked like he might have come in his pants when she'd mentioned quadrupling the credit. "In my opinion, he's your best chance for an exciting slice."

She hummed doubtfully and met Del's gaze, gesturing towards the row of slicers. "Which is yours, then?"

Annoyed by her high-handed manner and stung by her implication that he wasn't worthy, he stepped close, forcing her to tip her head back to meet his gaze. "As you said, the skill is in the pilot. Try me."

The corners of those incredible green eyes crinkled and her lips compressed as though she was trying hard to suppress a smile. A scent wafted up from her skin that was a mysterious combination of sweet and spice, and Del was alarmed at the sudden, powerful stab of lust that went through him.

"The red X780 series, then," she murmured, her eyes assessing as she stared into his.

He hoped like hell she couldn't see the hunger storming through him.

"A good model—and it's been lightened."

He wondered just how she'd known that he'd modified his ship to take his weight, but he didn't bother asking. He had a strong feeling that she would only curl that luscious mouth in a smile and dismiss him, as she did a few seconds later without any prompting from him.

"He'll do," she stated and turned away as if he'd ceased to exist. "Here's how it's going to run, Hector." She snatched the creditor out of the little man's fingers, making him jump and quiver. "My brother holds. You'll get your cut after the winner has the take. That way you won't be tempted to just make off with the whole thing."

"I would never—" Hec started to say in a high, prissy voice, but she cut him off.

"I know that you know how dangerous that would be to your health, but I also know that greed is an illness with you, my stinky friend." She slipped the creditor under his hand and raised it in front of his face, her voice softening menacingly. "And some lessons need to be learned twice."

He snatched his hands behind his back with a round-eyed stare of pure terror and stumbled back from her. "N-not me, Lady! You want him to hold, he holds!"

"Very prudent of you, Hector. Also, we'd like to see the run you've laid out."

"I'll download that into—"

"Now," she barked and pulled a flat disc from her jacket the size of her palm. Pressing the center of it, she flipped it into the air. It defied gravity and paused in mid-arc, spinning so rapidly that it seemed to disappear. Above it, a ghostly stretch of the asteroid belt became visible.

Del stared at it, impressed. Holodiscs were not cheap. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hector pull something out of his grimy clothes, but he didn't take his eyes off of the hologram. In another moment, a red line began to squiggle through the spinning rocks, marking the course of the slice that Hector had devised for them. When the line terminated, he heard his green-eyed temptation snort in what sounded like disgust and thought he could see why. The course was by no means simple, but it also wasn't the most difficult run Del had ever taken.

"You call that a run? Why don't you just have us chase each other in a big circle?"

Hector was still being prudent and kept his mouth shut, eyes lowered.

She shook her dark head and turned towards the other pilots. "Has everyone bled credit?"

Del nodded when her eyes rested on him, gritting his teeth and trying to ignore the increase in his heart rate. Damn it, he was acting like a teenager on a first date. When the last two pilots stepped forward to ante up, Del edged closer to Hector. "Who is she?"

The little man gave him a look full of miserable contempt. "You don't wanna know, believe me."

Del thought about that for a second. "Is she Core?" he asked with what he thought was credible nonchalance. They were the only ones he could think of who might have this kind of influence out here.

"You wanna live?" Hector hissed urgently, gripping Del's arm with panicky force. "Don't ask those kinda questions!"

That meant yes. Maybe. Del frowned. "What'd she do to your hand, Hec?"

"Broke it," the little man mumbled, beady eyes narrowing on her with black hate. The crediting had been done, and she was handing the device over to her brother.

"Why?"

Hector raised his gaze and studied Del with a kind of greasy calculation that made his skin crawl. He abruptly decided that he didn't want to know what the slime ball had done to deserve a broken hand. The pilots were moving towards their slicers, and Del started after them.

Hector paced him, almost skipping to keep up with Del's longer stride. "She's never lost a slice, you know."

That wasn't something Del needed to hear. He watched brother and sister as they had a short conversation and shared a predator's grin before she moved to her slicer.

"But I've got my credit on you, big man. You don't lose much either." Of course Hector wanted Del to win, or at least, some other pilot besides the green-eyed beauty. It meant his cut would be four times its normal size.

Del was on the verge of telling the little man to get away from him, but curiosity made him pause before his own slicer and look down at him. "Why Shadow?" He didn't bother asking if it was their real name. He knew it wasn't.

Hector eyed him with that squinty calculation again before saying, "Have a good slice," and walking away.

Del wondered for a second if the little man was protecting himself or Del with his silence, but then he scoffed. Hector's middle name was self-interest. If he ended up protecting Del, it was by accident or a way to shield himself from harm.

With practiced ease, Del lowered into his slicer, feeling as always the fierce pride and pleasure of knowing that this machine was his and his alone. In all the time he'd been enslaved to Quasicore, they'd never once tried to make his slicer part of the debt. He knew part of the reason was that he'd made credit for them with it. But another part was that if you break a dog down to the ground, it wouldn't run as well for you anymore—maybe it wouldn't run at all. They'd known that, the devious bastards.

Del started her up and smiled at the sweet hum of the engines, a sound more felt than heard, like a current under his skin. He settled into the cushions and slid the connector into his data port, bracing for the rush of disorienting information that flooded his mind and senses.

A slicer pilot didn't just fly a slicer; he became part of it. Del not only knew how the engines were running, but could feel them, feel each system and part running smooth and sweet. The slicer's skin became his skin, and her eyes became his. The slicer became an extension of himself, and he welcomed it as a lover who has returned home. Some were unable to handle the dichotomy of being a human and a ship at the same time, or the constant flood of information from the ship's systems, its inner workings and its sensor readings of the surrounding environment. It took a very cool, focused mind and a confident personality to be able to handle a slicer.

With a thought, Del lifted the slicer from her pad, sensing as he did the others rising with him. The navigational systems drenched his mind with the specs of the course as it was downloaded into the slicer. He let it soak into him until the run was as familiar to him as his skin and then firmly bottled the information.

Moving with the other slicers, he headed through the atmosphere shield and out of the hangar, carefully watching how the others flew. More precisely, he was watching how Lady Shadow and her black demon flew. They were beauty in motion, and he forgot to breathe as she dipped into startup position at the head of the course. He slid into position next to her, trying not to gawk like a novice at her vessel. The others arrayed themselves around them like a wheel at the very edge of the starting line.

Waiting for the signal that began the slice, Del took several deep, calming breaths, clearing his mind of clutter and settling into the cold, focused part of him that always took control in a race. He became more of a creature of instinct and intuition than thought, a necessary metamorphosis in a race where a second was an eternity—taking the time to think at best would lose him the slice and at worst would get him dead.

When it came, the signal was not audible, but more of a sting on his nerves. Before his conscious mind could even register that yes, that was the signal to go, he was on the move. Right off the line, the slice became a race of not seven slicers, but four, as three of them took too long getting their start. Del registered the pilots with a small sliver of his mind—his Shadow beauty, the ascetic, and the quiet man dodged the first of the asteroids with him in a close bunch. But the course narrowed abruptly as two massive 'roids spun together, and Del found himself squeezing in behind the black slicer, flipping his own ship on its edge to slide in between the rock monsters.

Past the duo 'roids, the course took a ninety-degree to the left, which shouldn't have been a problem except that a small rogue asteroid bulleted at them with suicidal intent. It wasn't big enough to smash a slicer, but it could still take somebody out of the running if it hit right.

These things only registered after Del had twisted out of the asteroid's way sinuously, never losing his spot behind the Lady, and became aware that the ascetic had dropped back a little. The rock had hit her, but she was apparently still in the slice.

There was a short straight stretch, and Del goosed the engines, rolling under the black slicer and trying to pull ahead of her. But her ship outmatched him for sheer power, and he couldn't manage it before the next turn, which was a loop like a twisted ribbon through an obstacle course of spinning 'roids. Even the smallest miscalculation could send any of them smashing into the dead rocks.

Del didn't slow and neither did Lady Shadow, but he sensed the other two dropping back further. After the first turn, he was aware that they wouldn't catch up. It was now between him and the Lady. Belly to belly, the two of them spun, twisted, and danced through the 'roids with almost perfect synchronicity, as if they'd been practicing this course together for days. As if they were one creature, one mind.

Del felt exaltation running through his body in a liquid sparkling stream, making every part of him tingle with wild abandon, but he ignored it as best he could. Now was not the time to get distracted, even by such an exquisite flight. The finish line was drawing near, and he hadn't won yet.

One more loop to go and a small straight stretch—he hoped not long enough for her more powerful ship to really growl—and then it would be over. He had a chance in the final turn around the last great 'roid. If he could cut on the inside between her and the rock, he might just get the edge he needed to come out in front.

The decision was made before he'd gone through the process of thinking about it, and as they came into the spin around the 'roid, he slid between her and it with steely determination. There wasn't enough room; he would be lucky not to scrape the hell out of the ship's skin. Or if there was an unexpected outcropping of rock on the asteroid, he could wind up smashing himself on it.

But suddenly, there was more than enough room. The why didn't register until after they'd cleared the 'roid and he was out in front of her, his slicer screaming for the finish. She was right on his tail and steadily gaining, but he knew he'd win.

She'd moved over. She'd given him the room and opportunity to gain on her. He crossed the finish knowing that she'd lost to him on purpose. Why?

Together they moved back towards the docking bay and his winnings, but he didn't bother contacting her to ask that question. He wanted to see her face when he did. They swung into the hangar, and Del could see the crowd going wild. This must be the high point of their groupie lives, he thought with a large amount of cynicism. The underdog takes out the unbeatable Queen of Shadows. The ones who'd bet on him were now rolling in credit. And none had seen; none of them knew.

She'd lost on purpose.

Settling his slicer onto a landing pad, he shook his head in confusion. Why would she do that? As he opened the slicer and levered himself out, he could hear a hush descend on the crowd, and he glanced up to see her sliding out of her own ship with breathtaking grace.

Wasting no time, he stepped up to her and asked, "Why?"

She lifted her eyebrows slightly and gave him a slow, mocking smile. Then she turned away and headed towards her brother and Hector. Over her shoulder she said, "Great slice." And that was all.

The crowd took that as a good sign and became rowdy again, a roaring many-headed animal that converged on him as he tried to follow her. He dragged his way through the congratulations and the well wishes, some of which were crudely intimate. He had hands touching him in places that usually got him in trouble in public, and he struggled with them until he heard the Lady call to Hector. He shouldn't have been able to hear her, but it seemed the crowd was still her animal. It quieted immediately.

"Come congratulate the winner," she told the little man as she and her brother made a path back to him.

That mocking smile was still on her face, and he saw that her brother wore the same one. They stopped in front of him as a bubble of space formed between them and the crowd. Hector stepped into this clearing hesitantly, but his beady eyes shown with what could have been love for Del.

"Thank you for an exciting slice, pilot," the woman said with careful formality, and her brother stepped forward, hand outstretched. Between the tips of his first two fingers he held a credit chip, the receipt of the transfer.

"Your reward," the man murmured in a deep voice, green eyes sparkling with amusement.

Del took it warily, looking between them for the catch. There had to be one. The man also handed him the creditor so he could confirm the transfer. His account was now a very nice number with lots of zeros. It spelled freedom, and he stared at it for an incredulous moment.

"And now for my reward," the woman said with a mischievous smile that made an enticing dimple appear next to her mouth.

Confused, Del watched her glide towards him, a vague sense of alarm tightening his skin at the look in her eyes. But she still managed to catch him completely off guard when she slid the cool fingers of one hand around the back of his neck, placing the other on his ribcage, as she leaned up and kissed him. The crowd loved it, roaring its approval, but he stopped hearing them after the first instant of contact.

Barely aware of what he was doing, he dropped the creditor and closed his hands on her small waist, his entire focus on her mouth and what it was doing to him. Her lips were as soft and luscious as they looked, and they moved with his in a playful glide that threw every system in his body into the red. He tasted her with the tip of his tongue and was instantly starving for more. She was indescribably sweet, and he slipped his hands down to her hips to shift her closer as he deepened the kiss, tasting her again with a low groan of hunger. Her own tongue teased his for a heart-stopping moment before she pulled back a little, stretching up to whisper in his ear with small, tantalizing puffs of air that made him grind his teeth.

Del was in a hot cloud of lust, feeling a kind of animal hunger he couldn't remember ever experiencing before at the soft press of her breasts against his chest and her hips brushing his arousal. The hand on his ribcage slid down as she whispered until her fingers slipped into his waistband, making his breath catch and his head swim. He didn't actually register what she was saying until she called him by his real name.

"It won't be enough. It won't ever be enough, Adelmo Givliani. They'll take the credit, but they won't let you go. If you want to be free, come see me."

Then she pulled out of his grasp and spun on her heel, walking away from him without a backward glance. His heart was thundering louder than the crowd in his ears and his head was spinning, so it took him a moment to realize that he could feel something sharp and hard biting into the skin at his waistband.

She'd tucked a data crystal there.