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  “How did you get in here?”

  He smiled. “Just like you to ask how rather than who or what.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I was told you were like that. Uninterested in the person, only in the process. Unable to relate to people, but always to how things work.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “We’ll get to who later.”

  “What do you want? My claim is already registered, so you’d play hell taking that away.”

  He shrugged. “Not if you’re dead.”

  Which was true, of course. But if he meant to kill her so he could steal the claim, he would have done it already.

  Her mind could not grasp any other reason for this man to be on her ship, pointing a weapon at her. Where was his ship? It hadn’t shown up in the scan earlier or tripped the perimeter alarms. How had he managed to get aboard without the internal alarms sounding, be invisible for so long, or at all for that matter? The only oddity was the minute loss of oxygen.

  She didn’t know him, she was certain, and he’d mentioned having been told about her by someone. Did someone send him to kill her? That he or anyone would come this far to jump her claim wasn’t outside the realm of probability, but it was a long way to go without knowing exactly where she was, unless some large reward was to be had. Perhaps someone had bribed a clerk in the claims directorate. It didn’t make sense because she believed only she was willing to go so far into the black.

  “Are you here to kill me or rob me?”

  “I doubt there’s enough here to make the trip worthwhile.”

  “So, you’re going to kill me. Why?” It seemed best not to point out the worth of her claim.

  “Now we’re getting to the real questions.”

  “Stop with the philosophy or psychology, or whatever. If you’re going to kill me, I figure I have a right to know why.”

  “You will.”

  “Well, at least we know you’re here to kill me. “

  With him blocking the route to the living quarters and the work pod, she was pinned against the console. He seemed to have something in mind rather than simply shooting her. As familiar as she was with the ship, the only thing she could think to do to escape was to get into her p-suit and get outside.

  “I’m not unreasonable,” he said. “You’ll have a chance to beat me, thereby saving yourself. Although, as you can see, no one has been able to best me, yet.”

  She remained silent, waiting for him to tell her what he had planned. He seemed to like playing cat and mouse, psych his victims out, probably until they became so frustrated they would do anything to be rid of him. So far, she had no plan to save herself, other than playing along.

  “You may select the ground upon which we will fight, or the weapons we will use. I will make the other decisions.”

  “You’re talking about a duel.”

  He nodded.

  “Like in the eighteenth century?”

  He nodded again.

  “When will you tell me why?”

  “Once we have settled on the details of our... duel.”

  “You’re a hired killer, then.”

  “I prefer the word surrogate. It seems so much more inclusive.”

  “So, you’re a surrogate for whom?”

  “After you choose.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. It seemed she was destined to fight this man for whatever reason. Therefore, she had to give serious thought to what might give her an edge. Place or weapon? He had already given her reason to believe he was driven by an immense ego, probably believing he was invincible. Convincing her he was gave him an edge, if she were so susceptible.

  There was little maneuvering room in the ship. If they used guns of some kind, there was a good chance of damaging instruments or controls with a stray shot. He might not care, but she did. Swords were impractical and she didn’t have one, anyway. Fists wouldn’t work, either. He was five inches taller and thirty pounds heavier. So, it would be guns.

  That brought Ceola back to guns. Fighting inside was not an option and fighting outside meant pressure suits and limited amounts of oxygen, making a knife fight awkward.

  “Well? Have you come to a decision?”

  “We’ll take the fight outside. I guess that leaves weapons to you.”

  He nodded and lifted his gun as if to check it out.

  “Pistols at twelve paces. Old-fashioned duel. We stand back to back, take twenty paces, turn, and fire.”

  “You mean, we just stand and shoot at each other until one of us is hit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  “My choice.”

  She stared at him for the space of several heartbeats, calculating the distance, the accuracy of different pistols, and her skill with such a weapon. He looked back without expression. Clearly, he was serious, and she was left with little choice.

  “You said you’d tell me who sent you.”

  “Martin Exeter.”

  The name took her breath away.

  “Who?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

  “Martin Exeter.”

  She shook her head.

  “I heard you the first time. I can’t believe he still hates me so much.”

  Yet she could believe it. Martin, ex-lover, sociopath, and all-around bad guy. She had been fooled by the facade he’d developed for making a fortune in the galaxy. Rich, handsome in a dangerous sort of way, and passionate.

  They’d met when she worked for Captain LeFevre who taught her everything she knew about prospecting. A good man who warned her about Martin, with whom he was negotiating for the sale of the ores they’d collected on a desolate world. The work had been difficult and dangerous, but extremely rewarding. Ceola’s share alone was in the millions of credits.

  She’d banked her credits, left LeFevre, and moved in with Martin. He slid into her body, her soul, her mind with sweet words, kindness, and passion.

  During the first months, he was all of those things. He gradually changed to a controlling, unfeeling sadist, although it wasn’t even as if he enjoyed torturing her mentally and physically. He’d felt nothing. Everything he did, it was as if he was trying to feel some human emotion. Perhaps if he went far enough, the horror others felt would get through to him.

  Like most people who found themselves in similar circumstances, she’d felt she was doing something wrong each time he beat her. He apologized, swore it would never happen again. Finally coming to her senses, she escaped, not without difficulty. A memory she preferred to leave buried in the back of her mind, in the protective cabinet where such memories are kept.

  It had been seven years. Changing her name, she’d used her savings to buy her own ship, which she renamed Maat, meaning truth in some ancient language, and made her way as deeply into the black as she could. Few people went so far, and fewer still knew she was there.

  “It’s settled, then,” the assassin was saying. “Do you have a gun of your own, or would you prefer to use one of mine?”

  “What do you have?”

  “A Clarion .405 laser pistol with pinpoint sights. It’s accurate up to fifty feet. A duplicate of this one.” He held up the pistol again.

  The only firearm she had on board was an old Smithson .357 projectile pistol. She’d fired it once then stored it in the locker. As she thought of it, the intruder pulled it from the large pocket of his p-suit.

  “Heavy.”

  She nodded. Because of the recoil, it could be a danger to the shooter on an airless, near zero gravity asteroid.

  “I’ll take yours,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “Have you fired one before?”

  “Once.”

  “I’ll give you a moment to fire a couple practice shots. Don’t get any ideas,” he said as she was doing just that. “I’ll be right behind you with my pistol at your back.” He waved the gun.

  Of course he would. His self-confidence was beginning to grate on her nerv
es. That and his attempts to intimidate her. She simply found him irritating.

  He gave her a few minutes to take care of things which needed attention in case she didn’t come out alive. One thing was to leave a message to be broadcast the next day if she failed to cancel it. Someone should know if she was dead, although she wasn’t certain there was anyone who cared.

  Just as she finished everything and was checking her pressure suit, she heard a “Meow.” Oscar came out of the cabinet where she stored the suit, his favorite hiding place, and rubbed against her ankles. She hadn’t considered what to do about him.

  She picked him up and carried him toward the galley. He hissed at the intruder as she passed him. Setting the cat on the small countertop, she opened another pack of kibble and filled his bowl. He’d calmed enough to eat. She stepped into the p-suit, all except for the gloves and helmet. The assassin stood in the doorway, checking on her progress.

  “Can you take care of Oscar, if I don’t...”

  He nodded. She didn’t ask what he might consider “taking care of.” It only mattered that Oscar didn’t suffer.

  She stroked the tabby a couple of times, then turned away. He was the only other resident of the Maat and the only living thing she would regret leaving. They had been through a lot together, and he never failed to amuse her. She wondered if he would miss her.

  The assassin motioned for her to move to the airlock and put on his helmet. He stepped into it, crowding against her. When they were ready, the air was expelled. Stepping out onto the surface of the asteroid, he informed her the propulsion system was disabled. “If you kill me, it will take a while for you to find.”

  “So, you’ve rigged this charade so I can’t win.”

  He didn’t answer. She followed, wondering if he really did what he said. He was an assassin after all, and his only concern was doing what he’d been paid for.

  They walked a short distance and she finally spotted his ship, slightly smaller than hers, just over the horizon. Only half of it was visible. It looked new and expensive, probably with the new propulsion system and, without having to accommodate mining equipment, lots of room inside. The rugged landscape had either hidden his arrival from her own sensors or, possibly, he had a jammer to electronically mask his presence. She suspected the latter, since he clearly had all sorts of gadgets for sneaking around.

  A hundred paces from her ship, he called a halt, his voice metallic in her ears. She turned toward him, and he handed her the second pistol.

  “Try a few shots,” he said. “In that direction.” He waved his empty hand toward a rise in the rocks to her right. “Keep it pointed in that direction,” he reiterated.

  Or he will shoot me on the spot, she thought.

  The pistol was a military issue laser. She checked the settings, saw it was fully charged, then fired at a protruding bit of rock. It disintegrated in an explosion of dust and shards. She fired a second time with the same result. Before turning back, she rechecked and found the charge was nearly depleted. So, the duel was rigged. Keeping the barrel of the pistol pointing upward, relative to her own position, she turned back.

  “All right?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You choose location.”

  She looked around, studying the lighting and the landscape. The exterior lights of the Maat were still on, but she had turned off the work lights, which were much brighter. Dark shadows made the landscape almost two-dimensional. She preferred to have the lights behind her, leaving her in silhouette. She pointed to a spot to her left, and they moved to a position where his ship was to her left and the Maat slightly behind that would most likely prevent any stray shots from hitting either ship.

  “Now?”

  “We stand back to back. I’ll count, and we each take twelve paces. Just remember: Your ship is disabled and locked. You might be able to find the problem and fix it, but probably not before running out of air. To operate my ship, you would need a code only I have. If you don’t abide by the rules, I will simply take off and leave you here to die.”

  She nodded, then agreed out loud. He was leaving her to die in any case, even if she won the duel.

  Ceola approached her would-be killer and they turned in unison. Standing with their backs touching, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves and slow the pounding of her heart. She had a plan, but it depended on her assessment of this man in the red p-suit.

  At the count of one, she felt him move away and she took the first step. She took the second step in time with his voice. On the third count, she sprinted for the nearest rocks to her right. During her time on the asteroid, she had learned how to move along its surface quickly and safely. She jumped just enough to clear the rocks, landing lightly on the opposite side. In darkness now, she ran in a crouch away from her ship. He would expect her to try to circle around toward it, but she had other plans.

  He finished counting, then exclaimed, “Dammit.”

  It was another moment before he spoke again, telling her to think about what she was doing. “Never should have trusted a woman.” He paused. “What about Oscar?” He threatened to throw Oscar into the vacuum and what would happen to her if he lifted off and left her there.

  She stopped and reached down to the pocket on the leg of her suit. Pulling out the small control, she pushed the button to lock her ship, not with the ordinary locking system, but a total lockdown of nearly every system. Oscar still had air, but not much else operated. Nothing could bypass it; she had proved that to her own satisfaction when she had it installed in the Maat.

  The control slipped back into the pocket. She fastened it down and continued, more slowly now, making sure to keep elements of the rocky landscape between him and her. A running commentary came over the comm as the would-be assassin described again what would happen to her. He had reached her ship.

  “Dammit, what did you do?”

  She had also reached her destination and ignored his question. His ship was sleek and new, with little pitting on the surface from micro-meteorites and other space detritus. The black might look empty, but there was a great deal of material moving at speed.

  From another pocket of her suit, she pulled out a skeleton key, a device made to unlock any standard system and many of the more sophisticated ones. It cost a lot of money since it was illegal to own one, but there were no worries about getting locked out of the safety of a ship. She was betting the assassin, so secure in his own superiority, had done nothing extraordinary to protect his own ship from entry. The skeleton key showed she was right. The outer hatch clicked, the mechanism hummed, and she slipped into the airlock.

  Once inside, she removed her helmet and made her way to the bridge. There was room to spare as she thought, in spite of the plethora of the newest electronics and controls cluttering the consoles. She pressed buttons and keypads, bringing up the ship’s registration.

  It was a Monitor-class registered as Argo. A laugh escaped her as she remembered the story of the golden fleece. Her would-be assassin called out, “Where are you?” and she quickly turned off her transmitter. It was an interesting name on its own, possibly having some larger significance to him. As she studied the information on the screen, the assassin continued to chatter.

  “You’ve nowhere to go, you know. Even if your ship is locked down, I can wait for hours in my suit. By the way, your own oxygen supply is very low. I vented it.”

  She had wondered why he waited so long to reveal himself on her ship, realizing now he must have been busy while she was working, sabotaging as much as he needed to. Possibly he had accessed her own computer to find out more about her.

  She checked the gauge and found he had indeed released most of the oxygen from the tank. He’d assumed that would make her panic and race back to her ship or do something equally stupid. What he didn’t know was she’d stowed a spare tank among some rocks in case she was caught out on the surface with a loss of oxygen. Tears and punctures were too common. Of course, being in his ship ne
gated the threat, too. Why had he not thought she might get inside his own ship?

  Or had he?

  Was it possible there was a booby trap of some kind? Getting inside was, perhaps, too easy. Although he’d expected her to knuckle under and play his game. Surely an experienced assassin would consider all possibilities. Did she really know what his game was?

  She moved from the bridge to the stern without incident. She was still puzzled as she set about learning all she could about the man and his ship. After half an hour, during which he continued with the threats and promises, she opened her comm.

  “Hello, Flannigan.” When she found his name, it gave her pause. It was the same name she’d heard in the garbled message. “Sorry I’ve been out of touch, but I’ve been busy.”

  “How...”

  “Not to worry. I haven’t harmed the Argo. Great name for a ship, by the way. Always looking for the golden fleece, and all.”

  “You’re on my ship.”

  How else could she have found out his name and the name of his ship?

  “Looks like I made a tactical error,” he said.

  “Worse, you misjudged me.” Flannigan didn’t comment. “Men always have to accept a challenge, to prove they’re the better man. Women, on the other hand, don’t have to prove anything.”

  “I’ll remember next time.”

  “If there is a next time.”

  “Seems to me like we’ve got ourselves a stalemate here.”

  “You’ve figured out how to get back into the Maat, then.”

  Silence. Ceola waited, letting the silence stretch out.

  “I’m inside your ship,” she said, stating the obvious.

  Still, silence.

  “I can disable your ship or lift off?”

  “Leaving me and the cat stranded here?” he asked.

  “I can either disable your ship or fly it off this rock,” she repeated. “Back on Primus IV, I can report you as a claim jumper and you’ll be arrested. If you’re still alive.”

  “I’ll figure out how to get inside your ship, given enough time.”

  “Before you run out of air? I doubt it.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to record a confession and send it to me here. I want you to name Exeter as the person who hired you. I’ll forward your confession on to the Maat. Then I’ll meet you outside. Back-to-back, twelve paces, the whole thing.”