FOR THE HEART OF DARIA.

Doreen DeSalvo.

For Sam, who told me I could quit writing if I really wanted to...

And for Allie, who wouldn't let me.

Chapter One.

San Francisco, 2038.

"May this night bring you untold pleasure, Sarjah."

It took Gray a moment to realize the title of respect was directed at him. The Prendarian word sounded strange tacked onto the end of an English sentence.

The young man in front of him nearly bounced with excitement. Had Gray ever been that eager for sex? "I thank you, Ensign. But I plan a quiet night alone this evening."

"Oh." Flustered and clearly finding no words, the Ensign bowed his head respectfully.

"Enjoy your evening, Sarjah."

With one last puzzled look, the Ensign kept going.

William Gray -- "Billy" to his family, "Gray" to his friends, and "Sarjah" to everyone else -- leaned against the doorway of his quarters, feigning tiredness as he watched the crew rush down the bleak pre-fab corridor and out into the humid Earth night. After six months in space, everyone wanted to disembark and lose themselves in the most raucous pleasures San Francisco had to offer.

Everyone except Gray.

He probably looked strange, standing in the doorway of his quarters watching them hurry by in small rowdy groups, but he didn't care. Let them think he wanted to spend the evening alone...that he was too tired for a wild night. He'd had enough wildness on Prendara. This was his first night back on the planet of his birth, and he didn't want to spend it with uncouth space sailors looking for casual pleasures. Or worse, with political cronies droning bits of their personal agendas in his ears.

No, he wanted solitude. So he nodded at the crew as they filed past the open door of his quarters, doing his best to look tired. If they thought he was sleeping, they wouldn't dare to bother him before morning.

Anshar, quite possibly the sexiest ship captain in the entire fleet, strode down the hall with a provocative look in her eyes and a seductive swing to her hips. She wore her uniform, perhaps to guarantee that she received the proper respect in the riotous dockside bars of San Francisco. Or maybe she just wanted everyone to know that she held a station deserving of those green shoulder stripes.

The form-fitting navy blue uniform did nothing to disguise her voluptuous figure. She'd let him know she was available for pleasure during the long voyage, no doubt believing that lying with him would help her add more stripes to her shoulders. He couldn't really blame her. Most women wanted him more for the political favors he could bestow than for his own self.

Even so, he'd joined her a few times early on -- but lately he hadn't accepted her invitations. Only the gods knew why. She was strong but curvy, pale-skinned and fair like most Prendarians, but he hadn't been more than mildly interested in sharing her bed. And now, the sight of her generous hips coming toward him didn't even cause a stir in his trousers.

She stopped at his doorway and laid a slim, pale hand on his arm. "Waiting for me?"

He hated her easy self-confidence, the way she assumed that everyone was waiting for her, thinking about her, or wanting to bed her. She'd even spoken in Prendarian, deliberately defying his order that the crew speak English. There was enough resentment against Prendarians on this planet as it was -- no need to make it worse by speaking in what the Earthers considered an alien language.

He smothered a fake yawn with one hand, dislodging her fingers from his arm in the process. "I'm tired tonight," he said in English. "I plan to stay on board and rest."

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you ill? I can summon the physician."

As if he couldn't take care of himself. At least she'd answered him in English. She knew better than to test his resolve on diplomatic issues. "No, let the physician disembark. The entire crew has earned a rest."

"I doubt any of us will rest tonight. Any of us except you."

She brushed up against him, letting her breast touch the side of his arm. He resisted the urge to pull away.

"Are you certain I cannot change your mind?" she murmured. "I know places in San Francisco that will make everything you've done on Prendara appear tame."

No doubt she did. Like all Prendarians, Anshar had an active sex drive. A sex drive he usually appreciated. But not tonight. "I'm certain."

"There are people on Earth who pleasure for money." She gave a throaty chuckle. "They'll do things you can't imagine. All for a few credits."

He had no interest in exploiting prostitutes. "I can easily forego that pleasure."

"They are required to license their persons. You need not fear disease."

"I need sleep." He took a step back into his quarters. "Enjoy your entertainment."

Her chin went up, a haughty gesture. "As you will." She turned and strode down the hall.

He watched the sway of her ass as she walked away. By the gods, what was wrong with him? One of the sexiest, most voracious women on the ship offered him a night of lust, and he said no like some kind of monk from distant history.

Maybe he was simply bored. Bored with sex.

The back of a security envoy blocked his view of Anshar's ass, so he looked the other way down the dimly-lit corridor. Only a few stragglers left. Soon he'd be alone, with only a sparse security crew to oversee the ship.

He retreated into his quarters and let the door slide closed behind him. He'd give the crew a couple of ticks to clear the ship, then a few more to get off the space dock. Then he'd head out and see the city for himself. See how much he remembered.

Assuming he remembered anything at all.

He'd only been six years old the last time he'd been on Earth. Here in this very city. He barely remembered the rat-infested warehouse he'd lived in with Uncle Jason, even though they'd camped there for a year after the Third World War had ended. Until the aliens had rounded them up and taken them to Prendara.

Strange how life turned out. Ironically, their enslavement had led to freedom. Freedom for them and all Earthers. And all because Uncle Jason had fallen in love with his Prendarian owner. The Premier Leader, of all people. It was almost enough to make Gray believe in fate.

He lay on the bed, arms folded behind his head, and stared up at the soothing sky-pink ceiling. The Earth sky was blue, he vaguely remembered. The only pink sky he knew of was on Prendara. It had taken him years to adjust to the alien color.

The first time he'd been pleasured, so long ago, he'd been outdoors, flat on his back, looking up at that pale pink sky while an eager Prendarian girl four years older rode him to ecstasy. They hadn't even disrobed completely. Not for that first coupling, at least.

He smiled fondly at the memory. That moment had started him on a long journey of happy couplings.

Was he really bored with sex? Gods, he might as well be dead.

He couldn't be bored with sex. Maybe it was simply Anshar. No, that wasn't it. She was more attractive than most women, and as well-versed in the arts of pleasure as anyone.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he was bored with quick, easy sex. Sex with nothing but passion and, if he was lucky, friendship behind it. All too often, women pursued him --or gave in to his pursuit -- for political favors. He enjoyed them, usually he even liked them, but now the encounters left him feeling...cold. Empty.

He wanted more. His aunt and uncle had fallen head first into love, showing him how much sweeter passion could be when combined with genuine warmth of feeling. He wanted that warmth for himself.

He wanted it all.

He sighed. Might as well try to juggle the moons. Love was as rare as water.

Well, as rare as water on Prendara.

San Francisco was surrounded by water. He couldn't wait to see it. Just a few more ticks, then he'd head out and tour the city. Tomorrow he'd be too busy, meeting with all the factions he was here to unite.

Maybe that's why he hadn't been interested in Anshar. He'd spent most of the six month voyage to Earth studying, preparing, learning everything he could about every random Earth faction. He'd been too busy for sex.

The mission was far more important than sex. More important than anything he'd ever done.

More important than anything he ever would do.

Damn. She'd missed the target.

Daria pushed her hair back with one hand and grabbed for her talkie with the other. Nothing but static. She slid the selector tab back and forth, but in the weak light of a fog-shrouded moon, the settings were damned near invisible. The built-in light on this unit had broken years ago.

Great. She'd have to move closer to a tuaari light. Getting out of the shadows would be nice, but she couldn't afford to be spotted.

Maybe no one would see her. The space dock seemed deserted now, with nothing but cawing night birds and the occasional lap-lap of waves against the outer barrier breaking the silence.

Where the hell was the target? This was the only way out of the docking chamber from the pier his ship was on. She'd watched a dizzying stream of crew members disembark, all of them making coarse jokes and laughing wildly, looking forward to spreading fear and credits through the city in their pursuit of pleasure.

So many of them Earthers. Earthers who worked with Prendarians, ate with Prendarians, slept with Prendarians.

Traitors.

Collaborators.

She'd hugged the shadows, hiding from them, not wanting to be picked out by one of those horny bastards. They'd passed her by without a glance, not even seeing her. She only wanted one man to see her dressed like this. The man who hadn't appeared. The target.

She knew he hadn't walked past her. After studying holo-projections of him for weeks, she could probably spot him from over a hundred yards away. The target was tall and lean, just a little muscular, with straight dark brown hair, light brown eyes, and a striking nose, even though it was a bit too large for handsomeness. No way could she have missed him, not even in this fog.

He must have stayed on the ship.

Now she needed new orders, but she wouldn't find anyone on her talkie without some light. She took a deep breath. The nearest tuaari light was about fifty yards away, a shimmering halo in the mist. The dock was deserted... or seemingly deserted. In the gloomy fog, she could barely see ten feet away. Why did the damned Prendarians have to prefer low lighting? Decent people didn't shroud themselves in the dark.

But there was nothing out there in the dark that wouldn't be there in the light. No reason to be afraid. Besides, the team was counting on her. She could do this. She had to do this.

One step at a time.

She walked slowly, making sure her ridiculous shoes made no noise on the wooden dock. High heels. As anachronistic and outdated as the wooden pseudo-pier she stepped across.

The aliens had gone retro when building the space dock, using real wood from real trees to mask the huge pre-fab shell. The whole port was modeled after the old wooden sea docks in San Francisco's distant past, with wooden piers serving as walkways and vertical log pillars lining the pre-fab walls. God knew why they bothered with the wooden facade, considering all the high-tech materials they had at their disposal. Maybe the Prendarians had a nostalgic streak. Or maybe they simply wanted to show their dominion over even the trees in the forest.

She kept her gaze on her talkie as she approached the light. Only when she was directly in the brightest spot could she see the tabbed slider. Great. She was lit up like a deer in a gas-car's headlights. Any Enforcer who saw her in these clothes would check her ID for a prostitute's license. A license she didn't have. She had to hurry.

She lined up the tab with the small mark she'd made on the lycene case. This was Tank's frequency, all right.

"Tank?"

Nothing but static. Where was he?

She slid the selector tab again. Trisha should be online somewhere. Trisha, Don, Tank... they were the only other people on the mission, as far as she knew. Names were always kept as private as possible. You never knew when the Enforcers might bust you.

"You on here, kid?"

Tank's voice. Faint. He must be nearly out of range. Why wasn't he nearby, waiting for her to call him to pick up the package?

She lifted the talkie so fast it hit her in the chin. "Yes."

"Where you at?" She could barely hear him, but he sounded winded.

"I'm at the take out spot," she replied. "Where are you?"

"I can't tell you. But I'm mobile."

Mobile. A code word for escaping. Oh, no. Her heart sank.

"They're on to us. Got everyone in the clink --"

More static. With a trembling finger, she nudged the tab until Tank's signal came back in.

"... Just you and me. Looks like you're the only one they didn't ID. You're on your own, kid."

Damn, damn, damn. "I can't do it alone." Her voice echoed in the huge, nearly empty docking chamber.

"You have to." His voice sounded annoyed and stern, that gruff, pseudo-menacing tone that always made her smile. But not this time. "You can do it, kid. I know you can."

Shit. Was that a footstep off in the distance? She slid the volume down just a bit and held the talkie to her mouth so the mic would catch a whisper.

"Tank... he'll be too heavy. I'm not strong enough to execute the plan alone."

"Then come up with a new plan."

Alone? Hell, this was her first big mission. He'd always kept her in the background before; kept her safe. And now he wanted her to take over? "I can't. Not without you." Not without someone, anyone, to help me.

"You know how to do this, kid. We ran through contingencies. Just take it one step at a time. First you screw him. You're dressed for it, and he'll be horny as hell after half a year in space. Then improvise."

"Improvise? I know you're not big on ironing out the details, Tank. But --"

"But nothing! You have to stop him. You have to. He's here to take away any hope we have of governing ourselves. If he succeeds, we'll never be free."