Dragon and Liberator

She reached the door and stepped between the two guards, "A minute, please, Ms. Davi," the sergeant said, holding his hand out to block her as she lifted her right thumb toward the waist-high reader.

"Fine," Alison said with an annoyed sigh. Turning around, she leaned her back against the door.

And as she did, she pressed her left thumb against the base of her left forefinger and slid her implanted lockpick out from beneath the fingernail. Keeping the hand behind her back, she eased the pick into the programming notch beneath the reader.

Private ship locks, which were usually only accessible by trusted friends and employees, were seldom very well defended. This one was no exception. Within a few seconds she felt the gentle snick that signaled that the lockpick had done its electronic magic. The lock was open to receive new data.

She looked down the corridor. Halberd was still talking quietly on his comm clip, but his forehead was starting to crease into a frown. Sliding the lockpick back beneath her nail, Alison reached her left hand a little higher behind her back and pressed her thumb to the reader.

Behind her, the door slid open. "Hey!" Halberd shouted, pointing toward her.

The other two turned to look. Their eyes widened as Alison took a long step backward into the office and slapped the lock control.

One of the guards lunged sideways, making a last-second grab for her. But the door was faster, sliding into his arms and batting them aside and back out into the corridor.

"That was close," Taneem murmured as Alison circled Neverlin's desk and headed for the door to the communications nook. The K'da lifted her head from Alison's shoulder, then bounded out through her collar. "What do you want me to do?"

"Right now, just stay out of the way," Alison said. She opened the door to the nook and sat down at the console. Keying for long-range radio, she hit the switch. "Attention, K'da/Shontine refugee fleet," she said into the microphone. "Attention. You're in danger. The ships coming toward you are not, repeat not, friends or allies. They're enemies attempting to get behind your defenses—"

"Identify yourself," a voice demanded in heavily accented English.

Not a human voice, Alison decided, or Valahguan or Brummgan, or even K'da. Shontine? "My name is Alison Kayna," she said. "I'm a friend of Draycos, poet-warrior of the K'da, who arrived six months ago aboard the Havenseeker."

"Let me speak with Draycos."

"He's not here with me," Alison said. "He's in another ship, whose communications have been cut off."

"Which other ship? Can you prove you are friend of Draycos?"

"He has golden scales, each with a red edge—"

"Not description," the other cut her off. "Can you prove you are friend of Draycos?"

Alison felt her stomach tighten. It had never occurred to her that the refugee fleet might not believe her story. From the way Draycos had talked, she'd assumed they would be coming in alert and suspicious and not trusting anybody or anything.

But of course, the Lordover on the Foxwolf had gotten to them first. In fact, he was probably talking to the fleet right now, feeding them his version of who and what Alison was. "No, I can't prove it," she gritted. "But you have to—"

And then, to her surprise, Taneem leaned over her shoulder, her gray-scaled snout pointed toward the microphone. " 'The sky was fair,' " she said. " 'The evil's lair

" 'Was scattered on the hill's black side.

" 'The warriors grim, in light so dim

" 'Were gathered like the ocean's tide.

" 'For evil they would not abide.

" 'Though death await, if death their fate,

" 'From this their faces would not hide,

" 'For evil they would not abide.' "

She seemed to shake herself. "The start of Troodae's Saga," she identified it. "Translated into English by the poet-warrior Draycos."

"Well?" Alison prompted.

There was no answer. "Refugee fleet?" she called again, looking over at the status display.

One look was all she needed. "Neverlin's cut us off," she said, standing up and crossing back into the main office.

There she came to an abrupt stop. There were voices coming from the corridor. Lots of them. None of them sounding friendly.

"What do we do?" Taneem asked nervously from behind her.

"We surrender." Alison eyed Taneem. "Or rather, I surrender. Come on."

Alison retreated again into the communications nook. "No time for subtlety," she said, pointing up at the room's ventilation duct. "Shear off the bottom two bolts, then get aboard."

Taneem leaped up, slicing the heads off the bolts with two quick swipes of her claws. She landed on the deck and bounced up again, touching the back of Alison's neck and melting onto her skin.

Alison reached up to the grille and managed to force her fingers under the now-loosened bottom. "Go," she ordered.

A moment later the K'da was safely in the duct. "Stay there until the cavalry arrives," Alison said. "Good luck."

"Wait," Taneem called softly. "What about you? And what cavalry?"