Nyha watched Veld stride in and out of the canteen, directing the first batch of hostages off Cepi with a smug glee she found false. It was as if he was playing a game, or had studied a few space pirate stories and was throwing himself into the role of the villain.

No one had spoken to or approached her and the girls since they'd been separated from the other hostages, although she could see the archeological team and its support staff through the massive open canteen doors. They stood in small groups, shocked and frightened, and in some cases, furious.

Some of the artifacts had been catalogued and removed weeks ago, but at least half of them still remained, and that was a loss she was sure Professor Faro would not take well.

It was no surprise he was in the first group to be ferried away. If anyone was going to foment dissent, it was Faro.

Garett hadn't been taken, though. Nyha could see him standing mulishly to one side, staring around him with narrowed eyes.

The girls had initially sat in silence, shocked and scared, but with nothing happening they'd started talking softly to each other while Nyha kept watch.

She'd arranged the chairs so they sat behind her in a tight circle, tucked into a corner of the room, and she put herself between them and everyone else.

The canteen was the biggest single room on Cepi--whoever had created the curved buildings with their smooth black surfaces had either been much smaller than the people of the Verdant String, or they'd liked small spaces--but even so, Nyha felt too close to the laz guns and the hard-faced hostage-takers gathered in the room, and needed a barrier between them and the girls.

She wanted to talk to Mak, let him know they'd been taken, but the canteen was too open, and while no one had spoken to them since they'd been moved here, she was under no illusion they weren't being watched.

She tensed, then curled her hands into fists on the table when the young hostage-taker who'd fought with Faro sauntered over to them.

“Boss says you need to join him over there.” He pointed to Veld, who'd come back in to the canteen and was setting up a scanner on one of the tables near the doors.

Nyha stood and looked over her shoulder at the girls. “I'll just be--”

“Quiet!” The guard reached out and slapped her, and she turned back to him, jaw slack with surprise, the sting of his handprint on her cheek throbbing in time with her heartbeat.

The crack of sound seemed to act like a switch, plunging the canteen into silence.

He smirked at her, and in his face, just for a moment, she saw the smuggler who had terrorized her on her journey from Halatia to Arkhor fifteen years ago.

It was extraordinary.

She'd spent her life since then, since she was twelve, coming to terms with what had happened to her, to her family, to everyone she knew. The greed and corruption that had led to her being assaulted by a group of criminals, and the moral bankruptcy that had put her in the position in the first place.

She had been saved, she made herself remember. She had been rescued and given a home, and the girls behind her, infants at the time, had been too young to know the terror and the fear of the smuggler ships.

But if they had, they would see this asshole was of the same breed.

A hand landed on the smirker's shoulder, heavy enough to make him wince and dip down on one side.

“What did you just do?” The voice was surprisingly neutral.

Nyha looked up, and her gaze clashed with Veld's.

“Put her in her place.” The smirker tried to move to one side, get out of the hold, and winced when it tightened.

“I'm about to get Dr. Bartali here to speak to the cordon officials. I'm going to tell them that if they do as I say, Dr. Bartali and her girls won't be harmed. And now, I'm going to have to do it with a massive red mark on her cheek.”

The smirker cried out and buckled, trying to escape downward now that he'd realized escaping to the side was not an option.

“I was only following the creed,” he said, voice high and over-loud in the still-silent room.

“The creed?” Veld's voice deepened.

“The ruins are ours to command, and none can naysay us when we stand upon them.” He spoke in quick, sharp bursts, breathing hard.

“What's your name?” Veld asked him.

“Hamand.” He got it out on a squeak. “It's an honor to be chosen--”

“Cors.” Veld interrupted, keeping his grip on Hamand's shoulder, but turning to look behind him. One of the big, older men in the group hunched his shoulders.

“He slipped through.”

“Deal with him.” Veld pivoted Hamand around and shoved him in Cors' direction.

Cors sighed and moved forward, faster and quieter than Nyha would have guessed from someone of his size. He grabbed Hamand by the neck and dragged him out the room.

Nyha watched the other members of the group as they avoided Veld's gaze, looking down, or at the retreating backs of Cors and Hamand.

“Are you all right?” Veld turned to her, and she lifted a brow.

“No. If you're concerned about my well-being, let me and the girls go.”

Veld smirked, his eyes gleaming with humor. “I'm afraid that isn't possible. Come, I want you to talk to the cordon authorities.”

“What do you want me to tell them?”

“The truth.” Veld put a hand on her arm and pulled her toward him, but he wasn't rough and his grip was light enough.

“Nyha . . .” Vik's voice wobbled.

Nyha turned, and saw all the girls were out of their seats. There was a readiness about them, the Kal Maroo training she'd forced on them over the years apparent in the way they stood, ready to spring.

She gave a tiny shake of her head so they would stand down, and tried to smile. “Sit. It's okay. I'm just going to where they've set up the scanners.”

They lowered themselves slowly, and Nyha saw they were all focused on her face.

She brushed her fingertips over her cheek and forced herself not to wince.

“Time's wasting, Dr. Bartali.” Veld started walking to the table where his crew had set up the comm equipment.

She followed him, took the seat he held out for her.

“I want them to see your hair.” He leaned over her and lifted the hair that hung down her back and flicked it over her shoulders so it hung on either side of her face.

She looked up at him, confused, but he'd turned to watch the pick-up as it lifted up and disappeared into the sky above, carrying away the first set of hostages.

About two thirds of the Cepi staff where still left standing in the docking bay. Of everyone they could have chosen to speak to the authorities, why choose her? Professor Faro would surely have been a better spokesperson. He was known throughout the Verdant String as public interest had focused on Cepi in the months before it was scheduled to be blown up.

She rubbed a lock of her hair between thumb and forefinger, looked down at it, and it came to her.

Anger rose up in her, so hot, so searing, she had to blink away scalding tears of emotion.

They wanted her blue hair tumbling around her. They wanted her to look as Halatian as possible.

They were going to use a fifteen year old tragedy to manipulate the Verdant String into not daring to even attempt a rescue, in case either she or the girls were injured.

She'd had cause over the years to resent some of the baggage attached to her arrival in Arkhor. She was aware of the difficulty some had dealing with Halatians, as the guilt made them uncomfortable and edgy.

But those people were the exception.

Her adopted home wasn't perfect, but it was hers now, and she loved it.

That her personal trauma, and the terrible arrival into the world that the girls behind her had endured, was being used by Veld and his crew for their own purposes burned through any fears and doubts she'd had before.

They would not get away with this. She'd do whatever she could to make sure of it.

“Ready?” Veld asked her.

She looked up at him, trying hard to appear calm.

“I still don't know what you want me to do.”

“I'm going to connect to the Cepi cordon battleship. You're going to confirm that you and your girls are our hostages. That is all.”

Nyha raised her shoulders. “All right.”

But it wasn't. It wasn't all right at all.