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wanted to live in a peaceful world free of male domination.

The only way for them to achieve their goal was to stop the Empire's spread of

influence. To halt the genetic programs designed to create blindly obedient males who

obeyed Empire mandates with cold-blooded precision. To stop the harvesting of females

from which came males who did not question the insanity of faceless, emotionless

breeding. To stamp out the notion that emotional attachment to one's offspring was a bad

thing.

But the women of the Resistance were not the only ones who thought this way.

Among those who wished for a drastic change in Empire policy were numerous high-

ranking officers who saw the folly of a continuation of indiscriminate breeding. Who had

the wisdom and foresight to understand that things had gone way beyond Confederation

control and intent. The other worlds of the Confederation: Serenia, Ionary, Chale, Virago,

Oceania, and Necroman, did not treat their females in the way Rysalia had subjugated

theirs. Kinsmen of some of the women held by the Empire were beginning to speak of

war. The tide of complacency that had endured for more than forty years was now turning

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against Rysalia and those who understood this, sided with the Resistance.

"HE WILL receive orders to report to the Ministry of Science for transportation in

just a few minutes. He will be ordered to leave in the morning," Beryla told Hael.

"I am glad I won't be in his quarters when he finds out the transport to Hell-12 has

finally come through," replied Amala Dayle.

"Bridget says he got angry with her when she requested an additional hour away

tonight," said the Director.

"Did he grant his permission?" asked Hael, knowing the man would not.

"I don't need to answer that," Beryla snapped.

"He is not going to be happy when she stays anyway," said Amala.

"Is she worried about tonight?"

"I explained to Bridget he wasn't angry at her, but at himself for not understanding the emotions ripping through him right now. He knows the time is getting close for him to

leave her. He isn't dreading the punishment; he's dreading not being with her."

"He's never known jealousy before," Amala reminded her. "Or felt overwhelming

attraction that is as alien to him."

"Attraction, hell. You mean lust." Hael snorted. She was standing at the bank of

windows in Beryla's quarters that overlooked a black expanse of space. "The implant he

has in his hypothalamus was placed there to control his sex drive. I have used a synthetic

neurotransmitter to counteract the damage done when he was ten. Now he has the same

sexual function as a normal male." She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the

glass. "And I am sorry I ever got involved in this."

Dr. Dean rolled her eyes. She was getting tired of Hael Sejm's attitude. The woman

was becoming increasingly vocal in her disagreement with the Resistance's goals. If Sejm

had her oddball way, every man ever born would be strangled at birth and sex would

become a thing of the past. As much as Beryla understood the dark moods into which her

friend often fell, she could not help wonder if the rape of Hael Sejm so many years earlier

had slightly unhinged the biochemist. Her intense distrust and dislike of men were not

good things. In fact, it was becoming clear to most of the levelheaded members of the

Resistance that Hael Sejm would have to be watched if they didn't want disaster to strike.

Amala, too, was worried about the Chalean scientist. The two women had taken an

instant dislike to one another upon meeting many years before and that dislike had grown

steadily worse since Amala had become the consort of Commodore Lexis, the OIC of the

Ministry of Public Education.

"No matter your feelings, Hael," Amala said, her attention glued to the despondent

chemist, "you must say your prayers to Alel for Bridget's safety tonight."

Hael looked around, her face concealing her innermost thoughts. "Oh, I have already

done that. I have also prayed to the Great Lady."

Beryla Dean felt a cold finger of dread go down her spine. She had heard of the Great

Lady, the Prophetess of the Daughters of the Multitude. The sect had a sanctuary on

Rysalia Prime left over from the days before the catastrophe that had killed all the

Rysalian women. Not even the Empire dared venture inside the sacred grounds of the

religious order for it was rumored the Daughters were sorceresses of the deadliest power.

She had never met a woman who professed to be a part of the religion, but she wasn't

surprised Sejm would be.

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"The Great Lady will provide for us," Hael said, turning back to stare once more out the window. "She will see us free of our enslavers. I promise you that."

THE SUMMONS to the Ministry of Science came at a little past 1900 hours. The

message was clear and to the point: He was to report to the transporter room the

following morning at 0700 hours for transport to Hell-12.

Cree slammed his fist against the wall, denting the metal. He crumpled the summons in

his hand and pitched it across his living area, stalked to a chair, overturned it, then righted it with several heavy slams that should have cracked the frame. He sat down heavily in it,

a deep scowl etched across his handsome face.

"Why now?" he seethed, pounding his fist on the chair. "Why the hell
now?
" He'd thought he had at least another week before having to go to that living hell

Another week to spend with Bridget; to try to understand why hisevery thought was of

her; to make some sense of why he couldn't wait to see her each morning; why he needed

to see her each night before he turned in to lie sleepless and miserable in his bed; to calm

the raging sexual yearning that caused that sleepless, miserable condition.

Shoving himself out of the chair, he stalked across the living area, kicking aside any

offending obstruction in his path. He plowed his hand through his hair and, grabbing a

handful, tugged brutally at his scalp in an effort to drag his mind from her.

"Hell!" he snarled, searching out the digital time display above the Vid-Com screen.

1948 hours. It would be more than an hour before she was due to return. The thought

infuriated him beyond endurance. He wanted her here, now! He
needed
her here, now!

Why did he agree to let her go tonight anyway? Something had told him not to do so.

Had he sensed this evil was coming?

"Captain?" the Vid-Com broke in on his static thoughts.

"Shut the hell up!" he ordered it.

"I have..."

"I told you to shut up!" he roared.

The Vid-Com clicked off with a snappish little blip of sound.

Cree threw his head back and howled with frustration. If it was the last thing he did, he

was going to dismantle that interfering piece of electronics. He sat down and locked his

attention on the digital time dial across the room. The longer he watched the numbers

change, the more irritated he became. At 2015, he got up and started pacing, throwing

savage looks at the numbers that, to him, seemed to be crawling. At 2045, he began to

calm down just a little. Only fifteen minutes left before Bridget left Dr. Dean's quarters

and another five for her to reach their quarters—he could control himself that long.

"I will tell her that I will miss her," he heard himself saying. "I need her to know I will miss her."

He stopped, thought about that then nodded. There was no harm in Bridget knowing he

would miss her.

He looked at the digital readout: 2147. How could only two minutes have passed when

it felt like twenty? He began to pace again.

"I must tell her I will be thinking of her."

He stopped again, this time abruptly and with a frown. Where had that thought come

from? If he told her such a thing, what would she think?

He sat on the arm of his chair, propped his chin in his hand and mulled over his own

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question. Coming to no definite answer, he glanced up only to find the digital readout

seemed to be stuck at 2047.

"Move, you gods-be-damned thing!" he yelled at the readout and the number 8 shifted into view. Once more he hopped up and paced.

"I need to tell her it will be hell while I am away from her."

That thought could not be construed as anything abnormal. After all, Hell-12 was a

penal colony. He was not going to enjoy himself there.

Another look at the readout said 2053.

Cree forced himself to calm down. He went to the sofa, sat down, laid his head back,

and closed his eyes. He willed his heartbeat to slow, his nerves to smooth out. He used

every technique he had mastered over the years to force his body to relax. One technique

was to place his palms on his thighs and to rub gently until he became aware of nothing

but the friction of flesh against fabric. He concentrated on the motion, unaware that his

hands were moving to the insides of his thigh. Without even knowing he was doing it, his

right hand shifted over and began a movement of its own.

"Captain!" the Vid-Com admonished.

"Leave me alone," he whispered.

"You must stop doing what you are doing. It is forbidden." The Vid-Com's voice held a strong warning.

Cree stopped, aware of where his hand had strayed. He lifted his head, looked down at

the rigid shaft straining against his trousers and snatched his hand away.

"I have sent for a surrogate."

The Reaper shook his head. "You can just send her back!"

"I am not going to argue with you, Captain. Your actions have made it necessary for

sperm release and—"

Irrational fury blazed across Cree's face and before he knew what he was saying, his

words came out with enough force to shatter crystal:

"The only place my sperm is going to go from now on is inside Bridget Dunne, you

meddling hot-wired bitch!"

Shocked by his own words, Kamerone Cree's eyes flared wide and he slapped a hand

over his mouth as though by doing so he could keep anything else of a forbidden nature

from coming out.

"You do not have permission to empty your seed into that particular Terran female at

this time, Captain," the Vid-Com said smugly.

"And even if you did have permission to mate with her, she would be inaccessible to

you for the prescribed twenty-four hour period."

His voice had dropped to a near-whisper. "What are you saying?" he'd asked so quietly his words barely moved the air.

The Vid-Com's smirk was mocking. "At the present time, twenty-one thirty hours..."

"
Twenty-one thirty?
" he demanded, his attention flying to the digital readout.

"As I was saying," the Vid-Com snapped. "At the present time, the Terran female known as Dunne is preparing to engage in sexual intercourse with another male. Ministry

of Public Health regulations clearly state that she may not have sexual intercourse with a

different male for twenty-four hours."

Cree walked to the Vid-Com screen, staring at it with disbelief, slowing shaking his

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quarters," he said in a quiet, no-argument voice.

"No, Captain, she is not," the Vid-Com informed him. "Your live-in companion, Dr.

Bridget Siobhan Dunne is at this moment with Commander—"

"Get me Dr. Dean's quarters!" he demanded. "Now!"

Almost immediately his order was obeyed. Dr. Dean's cheerful face appeared on

screen. Behind her were two other women.

"Good evening, Captain. How may I help you?" asked the Director.

"Let me speak to her," Cree ordered.

"Who, Sir?" Dr. Dean asked, her face a study in puzzlement. She turned away, then

looked back at him. "Dr. Sejm? Dr. Dayle?"

"Bridget, damn you!" he bellowed. "It's..." He glared up at the digital readout then returned his hateful glower to the Director. "It is 2140 and she is not home yet!"

Dr. Dean stepped back from the Vid-Com as though he might reach through it and grab

her by the jugular. "Captain," she said, blinking with trepidation. "Dr. Dunne is not here. I haven't seen her all day."

"All day?" he repeated.

"No, Sir," the Director replied. "Was she—"

Hot rage exploded in him like a pulsar cannon's blast. His fist went through the

Siliplex on the Vid-Com, cutting him deeply across his knuckles, cutting off the

concerned face of the Director. A growl worse than that of a were-tiger in full pounce

erupted from behind lips drawn back over gnashing teeth and he stormed from his

quarters with only one thought in mind:

To find Konnor Rhye's quarters!

BRIDGET LOOKED down at her watch: 2215 hours. She shuddered, wondering

how long it would take for Cree to find them.

"Stop worrying," Konnor advised. He pulled her tighter against him. "By the time he realizes where you are it will be too late. He'll have to report for transport."