Tobias pushed his hauler closer to the Alliance of Corporations region's main trade flows, toward Perina. What remained of Audrey and her crew wasn't worth much—especially after dismantling their old cutters and brigs for transport. But since everything had gone as planned—four weathered tubs docked at the asteroid outpost, equipment intact—he meant to sell it all at Perina's orbital station, the region's trade hub. First, though, he had to reach it.

  Audrey's crew had based near the Alliance-League border, where he'd scouted earlier and been ambushed by her remaining free hunters. He'd barely escaped in a half-wrecked ship, freedom nearly gone, ready to call for help—but fired the A-K drive and made it to Oriando. After days waiting, Toby returned for the loot and now headed back to Perina. But the signal density gave him pause. Unwilling to tempt fate, he ordered the pilot to dock at an industrial station near his warp exit and wait. Something was happening.

  Boarding a shuttle, Toby left the freighter's belly and flew toward the signals, cursing the weak, standard-issue gear.

  "You did right docking my little hauler, Monsieur Le Cheron," he muttered.

  Signals massed from an unremarkable point in the gas giant's asteroid ring—a mining fleet under pirate attack, but on staggering scale. Miners weren't just resisting; data showed fierce pushback. This wasn't a skirmish but full battle. He'd never seen so many ships outside military clashes.

  "Well, Monsieur, you'll loiter awhile."

  Lazily turning toward the station, a bright logo caught his eye: authentic pickaxe on yellow crest. He'd seen it in employer lists, but association clicked now. Name familiar, connection elusive. Descending to docks, Le Cheron sought a hotel. Logo with office sign again: "Amatin Mining." It hit him. Tablet out, contacts rummaged.

  "Athra!" he exclaimed, smiling.

  That's where he knew it. Was she one of those Amatins? No reason not to chat. That short, awkward meeting—that stunning, severe, brave girl. She'd offered nothing to his profit-driven nature, so despite her beauty, Athra hadn't piqued interest then. Cafe stop, hot tea and sandwich ordered, Toby called.

  "Athra, hello! Tobias Le Cheron. We met days ago..."

  "I remember, Tobias. Hello."

  "You remember? Called by chance. Flying to main station—battle in ring! Docked Indus-2, saw yellow logo with your name, remembered you."

  "That battle's our mining fleet. What can I do for you, Tobias?"

  No warmth, no joy. Toby pondered, glanced at cafe walls for inspiration. Then her words sank in.

  "Athra, you're nearby? Stuck till calm. Meet at cafe, chat?"

  "Why not?"

  "Where?" Toby brightened, rising.

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  "Same place as you. Customs post."

  Paying untouched order, Toby rushed to docks. Excitement surged. If her family's corp—obvious—and not some hole-in-wall but boldly marked, defending fleets so fiercely sparks flew—new goal!

  Alpha fed him the public Amatin Mining dossier as he walked. His pulse quickened.

  He'd remembered Athra beautiful, innocent. At customs post, late evening recalled—dim room, small unconscious liberty, reluctant rebuff. Not just pretty: calm, direct, brave. Why forgotten? Nothing worth effort, Le Cheron answered.

  "Tobias," Athra smiled, extending hand.

  Le Cheron stared—unexpected from young lovely—then seized with French fervor, shook passionately.

  "Mon cher, enchanted once more!"

  "No improvised 'streets' like some stations. Processing station—slim pickings. Nice cafes, though. Let's go."

  Tobias offered arm; Athra took with practiced ease. Too routine. Boyfriend? Brother? Toby thought. Compliments land like unread weather reports. Minute silence. Then:

  "Those dropped items intact? Called if broken?"

  "Welding crystals? Fine."

  "Those... welding crystals? Forgot production role. Mon Dieu, beauty with such mind shocks."

  Athra's skeptical smile.

  "Why here?"

  "Station or region?"

  "Here."

  "Brought ships, equipment to sell."

  "Ships? Far from production—or markets, from last meeting."

  Tobias shook head, gestured to decent cafe:

  "There?"

  "Yes."

  Le Cheron hoped she'd forget; she didn't. Seated, question repeated:

  "Ships from where? Not class-A shuttles, or risked our station."

  "Athra, beauty and intellect shouldn't combine," he smiled. "Debt payment."

  "Debt?"

  Wrong track. He steered talks. Why trapped by those sharp, dangerous eyes?

  "Gambler?"

  "No. Place bets sometimes," Toby lied smoothly—Anachron Battles qualifiers raged.

  "Whose win earned ship components, 'miscellaneous equipment'?"

  "Always like this?"

  "Like what?"

  "Persistent," nearly slipped; caught. "Meticulous," charming smile. "Feels like interrogation. Just wanted pleasant time with beautiful, intelligent woman."

  "Interrogated before?" Athra wondered.

  Le Cheron's lengthening face drew bright laugh.

  "Joking, Toby," palm raised, calming. "Don't know what beautiful, intelligent women discuss pleasantly."

  "Afraid I don't either," hands spread, "previous company now insufficiently beautiful, intelligent."

  Athra mock-lifted chin.

  "Fiasco with compliments."

  "Seems so," softly.

  "No idea how hard when truth sounds banal, mere fact. Your reaction—full alpha strike. Pity me once..."

  "Need pity?"

  "Mon Dieu! No!" serious.

  "Stop or endure."

  "First. But if slips, stay yourself. Cosmic as is."

  "Oh!" finger raised. "Beautiful. Banal, but look, voice sold sincerity."

  Le Cheron shook head, bewildered. Speechless, content. Luck she didn't avoid. Lonely? Work breather? Last didn't please.

  "Small favor, Toby?"

  "Anything, mon cher!"

  "Hold cargo from sale."

  "Please! Wait if daily meets... here! Why?"

  "Pilots attacking fleet need shuttles—no ships on market."

  "Triple price! Mon Dieu, what's happening?!"

  "Bought everything attack-capable—not just Perina, system-wide."

  Toby swallowed.

  "Bought... everything?"

  "Grateful if no sale, whatever cargo."

  Le Cheron speechless. Buy every combat vessel in Alliance home system?!

  "You'll do that?"

  "Transfer cargo to corp now if hurry."

  "Not necessary. Word enough. Or quick offload if needed."

  "Not hurrying. Nowhere now, Athra. Perceptive why."

  "Thank you, Toby." Warmth deepened voice. "Order?"

  "Yes."

  Two hours chat, light meal, station stroll. Le Cheron listened, admired openly. Hotel parting, fidgeted boyishly, lips brushed hand gently. Long since such conversational pleasure; feared breaking fragile bond. Yet knew: talk anything, any tone—except personal. Understood perfectly. Calmest comfort since closest friends. Impossible to offend, upset, anger. Knew strong women; Athra surpassed at her age. Should frighten; enchanted, awed instead. Wolf rarely senses dragon's den.