A bug whined overhead, disrupting the quiet of the moment.

Jancel pressed his head to his left shoulder and took in the tall trees around him, their crowns flirting with the clouds in the sky. Shifting his hand to his nape, he held his head down, chin against breastbone, and admired the flickering shadows of foliage on the ground. Stretching to the right, he breathed in the scent of pine, wildflowers, and moss. Releasing his neck, he focused on the feel of the grass under his bare feet.

The headache was there, still as bad as an hour ago when he parked his vehicle at home and headed to the clearing. But Jancel willed himself to ignore it so he could concentrate on the fight.

“Ready?” Iyatt asked.

“Ready.”

Without further ado, Iyatt lunged at Jancel to unbalance him. Jancel dodged and countered the attack, aiming for Iyatt’s solar plexus. A right jab hit him so fast he had no time to sidestep it. Iyatt’s fist felt like steel against Jancel’s body. Jancel tucked his chin, guarding his head, and rolled forward. He straightened up and he kicked Iyatt, who stumbled back.

“Not bad but chamber your leg next time to give it more power,” Iyatt said.

Right. He knew that. Iyatt had explained and demonstrated the kick several times already, but Jancel still failed to do it right, the greenhorn that he was. The martial art of Rateh didn’t come easy to him. He’d much rather box or—even better—throw knives.

But he was determined to learn.

Taking a step toward Iyatt, Jancel spun with his leg outstretched low and tripped his opponent. Iyatt fell but lunged into Jancel, causing both of them to tumble to the ground in a messy heap.

Iyatt quickly rose and motioned to Jancel to get up. The instant Jancel was on his feet, Iyatt kicked him in the stomach and twisted his arm down, forcing him down. Jancel threw his leg up and whipped Iyatt’s face.

“Good,” Iyatt said.

He loosened his grip, allowing Jancel to escape from the hold. Jancel rose and kicked again but Iyatt gripped his leg midair and spun him. Jancel lost his balance. Grappling him, Iyatt pinned him to the ground, face down.

“Enough for today.” Iyatt let go of him.

They bowed, put their shoes on, and drained their water flasks.

Tonight’s practice had been shorter than usual. In less than two hours, Iyatt had to be back at the police station in Iltaqa. He was on night patrol this week, a duty he often volunteered for.

“You were distracted today,” Iyatt said. “Something wrong? I mean, besides Ultek shifting up a gear to grab the army and Nyssa Sebi from you.”

Jancel shook his head. “Just the headache. You?”

They’d updated each other before practice, as usual, but Jancel had a feeling there was something else on Iyatt’s mind. Something his friend was hesitant to share.

“There’s a rumor,” Iyatt said. “But it’s too crazy to be true.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Last night I went out for a drink with some other cops, including an officer named Qur. He was recently admitted into Ultek’s inner circle, so I’m trying to befriend him, even if I suspect he’s as rotten as his boss.”

“It would take a lot of rot to be like Ultek!”

“True. So, Qur had too much to drink. When the conversation veered toward women, he said Ultek has a basement full of them. Then he realized he’d said too much and changed the topic.”

Jancel stared at his friend.

“Do you think it’s true?” Iyatt asked. “I hope it was just Qur’s sick, alcohol-boosted imagination.”

Jancel hesitated still.

Iyatt shook his head. “Ultek is corrupt, all right, and a lecher, but keeping women locked away in his basement?”

“It’s true.”

“What?” Iyatt searched his face. “Have you seen it?”

“No.”

“Could he… could he be the girl snatcher?”

“I think he is.”

“Really?”

Jancel nodded. “I believe Achlins Ghaw’s independent inquiry will arrive at the same conclusion. That is, if Ultek doesn’t eliminate him first.”

“We should do something.”

Another nod. “I tried my best to get Boggond to order Ultek to stop, but he doesn’t give a shit. Besides, even if Ultek quits kidnapping, he’ll never let the ones he’s holding go. Except feet first.”

“Do you think Boggond is involved? Could Ultek be taking the women for him?”

“I honestly doubt it.” Jancel rubbed his temples. “But he looks the other way.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open.”

“Be careful.”

Iyatt’s smiled. “I always am—unlike some other people.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s see.” Iyatt quirked a brow. “I traveled to another solar system on a scholarship to study Rateh. Spent five years in a reputed school. You got there incognito for a few months when everyone back home thought you were on a spiritual retreat at a monastery in the East Rocks.”

Jancel grinned. “Instead, I trained in knife throwing on Norbal.”

Funny how he always felt younger and lighter around Iyatt. Perhaps it was because his oldest and best friend had grown even graver than Jancel over the years. Jancel knew his own reasons—loss, duty, and power—but Iyatt’s life hadn’t been encumbered with any of it. He was happily engaged to Unie, did what he loved, and had chosen to enroll as a Rateh instructor for the police force to add spice to his life and help out Jancel.

“Your teacher was a shady guy if I’d ever seen one,” Iyatt said.

That he certainly was.

By extension, that made Jancel sound like a rascal. Which he wasn’t, not by a long shot. Especially not since he lost Hawina and joined the army. Still, his friend’s twenties had been so much more straightforward and purposeful than his.

Back in the orphanage, Iyatt had set himself a goal, and everything he’d done since then was a step toward that goal. He’d decided to become a samurai—a Rateh master. Not only did he qualify for the title, but he’d also obtained the much-coveted certification to teach the art.

The little orphan from the North District, raised by vestals and destined for the mines or the fields, had become a certified samurai. It was a title few in Eia possessed.

Even the word itself was fancy—a Terran Heritage word.

It might or might not have meant “master” back on Mother Terra, but in Xereill it had come to signify “master of Rateh”—the galaxy’s most advanced martial art. Its core techniques had been developed by the Ra millennia ago. Over the last thousand years, those techniques had been combined with the martial arts humans had brought along from Terra.

When they were on Norbal, Jancel, Unie, and Iyatt often argued about the original Terran meaning of the word “samurai.”

Jancel believed it meant “soldier.” Unie opted for “knight,” and Iyatt favored “teacher.”

Shame they’d never know who was right. The space wormhole had closed and jumping to the Via Lactea galaxy was no longer possible.

“Yes, well,” Jancel said, reacting to Iyatt’s last remark. “That’s a very slanted account of the events.”

“Which part?”

“My teacher wasn’t shady. He just preferred to live off the grid.”

Iyatt pulled a face. “Of course. That’s what honest people with nothing to hide generally do.”

“Don’t you get all self-righteous on me,” Jancel said. “If I remember correctly, studying Rateh wasn’t the only thing you did on Norbal.”

Iyatt hung his head, not even trying to deny it.

“You dated a pretty young bionic called Unie Thraton, eh?” Jancel said.

Iyatt grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

Iyatt and Unie were a match made by Aheya. Back on Norbal, Jancel had been convinced they’d get married and start making babies in no time. But he was wrong. Unie dreamed of becoming a LOR enforcer, which was why she’d enrolled in the Norbal Rateh School. Iyatt respected her ambition and was prepared to wait as long as necessary, until she felt ready to start a family. He was still waiting.

“When you guys announced your plans,” Jancel said, “I didn’t think both of you would actually be able to wait this long.”

“Yet here we are.” Iyatt smiled.

Except his smile was off. It looked… unsure.

“Is Unie all right?” Jancel asked.

“I hope so.”

“What do you mean you hope?”

“I pinged her on the first of the month, as always, but she didn’t respond or ping me back. At first, I thought she was on an intervention or maybe undercover. It’s happened before. I expected her to get in touch later, when she had a chance.”

Jancel frowned. “Has she?”

“No.”

“How long has it been?”

“Over a week.”

“Have you tried her boss?”

Iyatt shook his head. “I will tonight, when I get home.”

“Try now.”

“I don’t carry my commlet around with me.” Iyatt shrugged. “Not that it would surprise anyone on the force that a cop has an illegal device. Most of them do. But I prefer not to take chances.”

Jancel patted his friend’s shoulder. “It’s probably nothing. Unie can take care of herself.”

“She certainly can.”

That unsure smile again. This time was different from the earlier occasions he and Unie couldn’t talk. Iyatt was worried. Unie was his beacon, his rock, his hope for a happier future. His everything. Except his lover.

Because he’d been raised by vestals, Iyatt was exceedingly strict in the moral department. And, by consequence, in the sex department. According to him, Unie shared his views. Their relationship was a platonic one with both determined to abstain until their wedding night as Tradition demanded.

Jancel closed his eyes and said a quick prayer for Unie. Then he and Iyatt agreed on the time of the next practice and parted ways.

By the time Jancel got home, it was past eleven. There was still light in Nyssa’s window. He stared at it from the yard for a long moment before he strode inside.

His head pounded, but he hoped the headache would let up soon. He clung to that hope when he grabbed a bite in the kitchen, climbed the stairs to his bedroom, washed, and changed into his home slacks.

A half hour later, he admitted defeat. The headache was there to stay. Lighting a bedside lamp, he tried to read, but even that turned out to be a challenge.

That was when someone knocked on the door. The tap was gentle and brief but confident. It wasn’t any of the servants or Memeen. Nor was it Mother.

Jancel didn’t ask who it was—he knew.

He swung his legs down, pulled on a shirt, and opened the door for Nyssa.