Niko helped herself to one of the other cups. The substance inside was bland but with a touch of sweetness that went with its warmth. She could feel energy returning as she took another sip and suddenly wondered, When was the last time all of us ate? Had the day gone as planned, by now they would have all been cleared away and sitting in Niko’s office, celebrating or commiserating, depending on how the evening had gone, and eating the last of the eggplant.

This was not at all how she had envisioned the day going.

This was not at all how she had envisioned anything going.

She looked at the other curiously. A simple but elegant body, probably a natural-born gene expression rather than something designed for transfer. That implied someone of importance, someone with a hereditary position.…

“Who the fuck are you?” she demanded.

The arrival raised her head. “My name is Atlanta Ekumbe. I’m an heir to the Paxian Empire.”

9

Niko and Dabry both stared at her.

She returned their look, defiant and angry. Niko had to admire someone who could emerge from a crate, naked and dripping, and still maintain that look.

“Okay,” was all Niko said. She searched the bed for blankets and finally grabbed a jacket from Dabry’s luggage and tossed it to Atlanta, who set the drink down long enough to pull it gratefully around herself.

“Okay?” Dabry said. “Okay? An heir to the Paxian Empire, here?”

Niko shrugged. “I told you as soon as you opened that crate, you became responsible for whoever was inside it.”

“Not me, us! It was delivered to you, after all. I had no way of knowing it was an Empress’s heir!” Dabry snapped. He turned back. “Who sent you? And why to us?”

Before she could reply, Niko said, “Empress Rep of the Paxian Empire, of course. How many Empresses do we have in the Known Universe?”

She’d never seen the Empress in person but in looking at the woman, she could see traces of the same heritage shown in publicity pictures—the same black eyes, the same sharp nose. She wondered who the father was, but certainly his blood, whatever it might be, would be less important.

Niko rarely saw Dabry at a loss, but this was one. “But why…?” he managed.

“You are Captain Nicolette Larsen?” Atlanta asked Niko dubiously. Niko sensed she was not living up particularly well to whatever image of her the girl had possessed in her head.

“Niko,” she said shortly. “Niko. I’m not your captain. Why were you sent to me? Where did you come from?”