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By Root 641 0

that night of the attempted assassination. Jekri had called up a list of every person on the Tektral, and together she and Verrak had discussed them all: their loyalty, possible areas of blackmail, any incidents that might have seemed to be insignificant but might reveal something quite dark. Jekri had ordered mat their doctor bring them stimulants, so that they might not lose their edge. Using stimulants was something she was not fond of doing; the practice had its own price to pay afterward, but right now it was imperative that they remain alert and awake.

Even as they discussed, person by person, the crew of the ship, Jekri wondered if it was not an exercise in futility. Certainly Sharibor would have been regarded as a highly trustworthy individual, and look what she had been. Still, there was precious little else they could do at the moment.

They were deep in conversation over a low-ranking crew member when Jekri's console beeped. They both gasped, startled. For a long moment, Jekri stared at it. It beeped again.

She rose and went to her desk. On the screen there was a message:

Is she dead?

"Sharibor's master," said Verrak, whispering, though there was no one to hear.

"Or my unknown ally," said Jekri. " 'She' could refer to either of us." Messages were almost always verbal and visual in this day and age, but there was a keyboard for instances when the chairman of the Tal Shiar wished to receive and send messages without revealing her identity. Sometimes a sender felt the same way. She had made use of this nonrevealing technology, though under better circumstances. Jekri took a deep breath and typed in an answer:

Yes.

For a long, tense moment, there was no reply. Jekri was ashamed that her hands trembled. She punched a few buttons so that the conversation would be recorded. There might be a chance they could trace the message if the conversation failed to reveal the sender's identity.

That was foolish.

Jekri swore.

You cannot trace me. It is safer that way.

Safer for whom? Jekri tapped in furiously.

For both of us.

"And who is that?" Jekri muttered under her breath. This was the deadliest game she had yet played, conducted on a computer with primitive keys to type in words. It was ironic. What to ask without revealing herself?

So, what is next? she typed.

That is entirely up to you.

A long pause.

Little Dagger.

The person at the other end obviously knew who she was, but Jekri was no more enlightened than before. She searched her mind for questions, but then a beep alerted her that the signal had been terminated. She slammed a fist down on the desk and swore.

"It could have been anyone!" she cried in frustration. "And now whoever it is knows I survived."

"Everyone will know that in the morning," Verrak said logically, "even the one who sent that message. Sharibor was not operating alone, in all likelihood."

Jekri turned to gaze at the corpse on the floor. Verrak was right. And now the word was out. Every bounty hunter hi the Empire would be after her now. How many were on this ship alone? Her victory over Sharibor proved that she had not lost her edge, but how many could she evade before simple probabilities won out?

"I know you have a particular fondness for the Empress," said Verrak haltingly. "And a particular dislike for Lhiau. But you must consider all possibilities, Chairman. Could the Empress have sent this?"

Jekri shook her dark head. "It is not her way. I could believe that she would want me dead, but she would execute me in a very public manner. She would wish to shame me before she killed me if she wanted me to die."

"The Praetor? The Proconsul?"

Jekri thought back to the recent conversations she had had with the Praetor. "He tried to warn me on two different occasions," she said, "but that could have been a false face, to lull me into trusting him. After Sharibor-after the assassination attempt, I do not know who to trust anymore."

"I am honored that you trust me," said Verrak