“But he would recognize you out of this disguise.”

“Yes.”

Kiva reached over to Marce, grabbed his hair, and tugged. Marce yelped in pain and surprise. “Stop it! It doesn’t just come off. You have to dissolve the glue.”

“Where is this asshole now?” Kiva asked Pinton.

“He’s in the passenger ring section,” Pinton replied. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to find out what he’s up to.”

“The Yes, Sir is underway,” Blinnikka reminded Kiva. “Whatever you plan to do, I have to approve. I don’t want this asshole damaging the ship.”

“It’ll be fine,” Kiva promised. She turned back to Marce. “So this asshole is a marine.”

“Was a marine, yes. Is now a bodyguard.”

“You think you could take him?”

“What? No.”

“Does this asshole know that?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, good.”

* * *

They waited until Chat went on a walk and then positioned a couple of security crew at the end of a corridor they knew he was casing, giving every appearance of just having a conversation with each other. Chat saw them, decided to consult his tablet about something, and then headed back in the direction which he had come from, to find two other security crew there. He stopped and appeared to be calculating his odds when Marce stepped into the corridor, his Kristian Jansen disguise removed, and walked toward him.

“Hello, Chat,” Marce said, and that was as far as he got before Chat materialized a blade out of fucking nowhere and rushed directly for him.

And then was on the floor half a second later, twitching, three stun bolts in him.

“Did you pee yourself?” Kiva asked Marce ten seconds later, when the all clear had been given. She and Pinton had been waiting a bit down the corridor and had been watching through the corridor camera, feed piped into a tablet.

“Maybe a little,” Marce admitted, looking at the downed Chat, who was now being bundled up by security.

“There’s no shame in pissing yourself like a goddamned fire hydrant when a trained killer is about to knife you in the throat.”

“Can we change the subject?” Marce asked, plaintively.

“Why don’t you take the rest of your shift off and shiver in your bunk,” Kiva suggested. “In your shoes that’s what I’d do.”

Marce motioned toward Chat. “What are you going to do with him?”

“I’m going to encourage him to talk.”

“That’s not going to work.”

“You know nothing of my methods.”

“He’s trained not to talk.”

“He was also trained to kill, and look how he fucked that up.”

“I want to be there when you question him.”

“No you don’t.”

“I really do.”

“Let me put it another way, Lord Marce. Fuck you, go away.”

“He almost killed me. I think I deserve to know why.”