She slung the bag onto her back. "Well... maybe not anything."

"There. Perhaps you aren't as undeserving of assistance as you believe."

"You had sex with Gray." Oh, God. Had she really said that out loud?

Reema's eyes widened. "Why do you believe this?"

She was a fool. A complete fool. What the hell did that matter now? "Never mind. I shouldn't have said that."

Reema tilted her head to the side. "Satisfy my curiosity, please."

"It's just... the way you look at each other, sometimes..." God, she sounded like an idiot. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

"Daria. What you believe you see... It is not truth."

For some nonsensical reason, she wanted to believe the woman.

"I am the mate of Sarjah Gray's closest friend. The affection between us is based on that truth, and nothing different."

Reema had no reason to lie. Not that it mattered anymore.

Before Daria could reply, she heard the swish of the main door opening. She clenched her fists and turned, ready to face a squad of Enforcers. But only Hento came in, carrying one of her shopping bags.

He handed it to Daria. "A change of clothing," he said, in his usual mild tone.

His face blurred through her tears. "Thank you." She wiped her eyes again, then dried her wet hand on her shirt. "How... how is Gray?"

"Angry."

She looked at the shopping bag in her hand. "But he gave you this?"

"No. Sarjah Gray does not know I took the clothing."

Why were these people being so damned kind? Her throat closed.

"Best you leave now, Daria," Hento said. "In truth, he may contact the Enforcers at any time."

She nodded and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "I know."

She brushed past Reema and headed for the door.

"Go with the gods, Daria," Reema said behind her.

"Go with the gods," Hento echoed.

She turned and gave them a wavering smile. These two Prendarians -- people she'd known just a day -- had proven themselves truer friends to her than Spider ever had.

"Thank you," she said gruffly. "Thank you both."

* * * * * Gray eased the hovercraft to a stop on the right side of the street, as close as he could get to the quiet expanse of water. He sat quietly and stared out the window.

Water... water stretching out as far as he could see under the dim light of a fog-shrouded moon. The tuaari lights along the street shimmered on the water's surface, rippling in the light breeze.

So much water. And this was only a small portion of the water that bordered three sides of San Francisco -- the part called the Marina. Small floating craft --boats -- bobbed on the surface, tied to row after row of old wooden piers.

He climbed out of the hovercraft. Strange tall trees rose from a median in the middle of the street. Palm trees, that's what they were called. A row of small, neat houses lined the opposite side of the street, facing the water.

Maybe he'd pilot the hovercraft to the ocean tonight, after this unpleasant business was finished. He'd planned to take Daria to the ocean. Now she was gone, leaving nothing but problems behind her. Problems he must resolve as best he could.

The political problems, at least, would be resolved tonight. The problems in his own self... He sighed. How did one resolve betrayal by a loved one? Would the pain ease with time? He had little experience in betrayal... and even less in love.

He walked along the street, studying the houses. Such modest homes. The man must be trying to portray himself as one of the common people. Yet his record showed him a wealthy man, though he owned only a small business. Unexplained wealth -- the sign of a criminal operation.

Number 357 was similar to all the other houses -- small and neat, with a narrow set of stairs leading to the porch. The windows were large, probably to take advantage of the marina view.

He went up the steps and paused on the porch. How did one signal arrival at an Earth home? On Prendara, a command panel would be embedded in one wall. Nothing here, nothing but a small round button, lit with a dim internal light.

He pressed it and heard a bell inside the house. Excellent.

In confrontation, a calm demeanor is more important than strength, his aunt always said. He would be calm. Ruthlessly calm. He drew himself up to his full height and took slow, relaxing breaths.

The door opened, and the man inside drew back with a little jerk. "Well, this is a surprise,"

he said with false joviality.

Nervous. The man was nervous. Excellent. Gray already had the upper hand.

Henry Jamison stepped back from the door. "Won't you come in?"

Ah, false politeness. As if he had nothing to fear. Such an opponent was easy to manipulate.

Jamison would maintain the illusion of strength at all costs... until he was fully trapped.

Gray would be polite as well. "Thank you."

He stepped inside and found himself in a short hallway. Henry led him into a small room decorated in shades of blue and beige, then settled into a large oversized chair, crossing his legs and spreading his arms over the sides as if to dominate the space. Gray sat on the cushioned sofa facing him.

Henry smiled, looking confident. "Daria told you about our little meeting today, I suppose."

He'd soon lose that insincere smile.

"Of course she did," Gray replied. "She's a loyal assistant."

The smile didn't waver. "I doubt the rest of the world will see things that way. I have a very incriminating holo-recording of her saying rather unsavory things about you."

Unsavory? His stomach tightened, but he resisted the urge to frown. "Things she said at my command."

Henry raised his eyebrows, but fear lurked in the quiver of his chin. "So she was a double agent all along? Well, the girl has more moxie than I gave her credit for."

Gray didn't understand moxie or double agent, but it mattered little. His point had struck the mark. "The recording you have is worthless. No one will believe that she said those things in honesty."

"You haven't seen the recording yet. But tomorrow, you will. As will many, many others."

Gray kept his voice soft. "You underestimate my political strength. That recording can't hurt me." Only Daria would be hurt. And gods help him, he would still fight to protect her disloyal, betraying self.

Henry shook his head. "Wait until you see it. She admitted the most appalling things. Imagine, one of your loyal assistants, a traitor. The world will be as shocked as I am."

Gray counted slowly, waiting a half-minute before speaking. "I wonder why she felt it safe to express such radical thoughts to you."

"She clearly thought I was a terrorist, too. But hundreds of people know that I'm a big supporter of this constitution. Why on Earth would she believe I have ties to criminal organizations?"

Gray gave him a slow smile. "Because you do have such ties."

"I assure you, my record is spotless."

"Is it?" He leaned forward, meeting Henry's gaze with a steady stare. "Perhaps in the morning, your record will be -- spotty. Very spotty indeed."

Henry's eyes widened, the fear in them obvious. "You're threatening to plant false evidence in my record?"

Gray studied the fingers of one hand, pretending disinterest. "Am I?"

Henry slapped the arm of his chair. "Damn, you're good. You have the connections to do it, too. Don't you?"

He nodded.

Jamison's hands clenched. "You wouldn't dare. Those modifications could be traced right back to you."

"Perhaps they could." Gray shifted back in his chair, affecting a relaxed pose. "Or perhaps I have the ability to make them undetectable." In truth, he didn't know for certain. He only knew Jamison held a recording that incriminated Daria. Gray would not leave without the evidence, no matter how much he had to lie to get it.

"If you're caught tampering with my ID, you'll be in a worse position than if the recording is made public. Your career might survive associating with a terrorist, but planting false data in my records would be criminal."

Good, Jamison was trying to reason with him. He knew Gray's threats were sincere. Gray forced a smile, as if he wasn't concerned in the least. "Criminal? No one would dare to see me confined. I have powerful friends, you know. Friends -- and relatives -- who would realign the sun to protect me." In truth, his aunt would probably confine him herself. But Jamison couldn't know that.

Jamison scowled now, silent.

Time to lay out the man's options, and steer him towards the one Gray preferred. The one that shielded Daria. "You have two choices, Mr. Jamison. Either give me all copies of that recording and survive politically..." He waited until Jamison opened his mouth to speak, then continued. "Or keep your worthless recording and discover just how badly my wrath will burn you."

He could almost see Jamison's mind working, struggling to find an alternative, to think of a plan that would leave him in control. The slight twist to his mouth, the roving eyes, the hint of sweat on his upper lip -- all signs of defeat soon to be acknowledged. Gray waited patiently.

"God damn you," Henry practically snarled. "I don't even have a recorder going."

"One should never assume he has the upper hand in a negotiation." Gray stood. "And now you will give me the recording you have of my loyal assistant."

Henry didn't stand. "I don't buy it, you know. She wasn't acting. You didn't know anything about her, did you?"

He'd be damned before he admitted that fact. "She's one of my assistants. I will protect her by any method necessary." Though she little deserves my protection.

Henry rose then. "You didn't answer my question, but it hardly matters at this point."

He reached into his pocket and came back with a holo-receiver, which he handed to Gray. Such a small device to cause such trauma in his life. He checked the duplication indicator. Zero. The recording hadn't been copied; Jamison must have planned to keep it on his person at all times.

Excellent. Nothing more to fear from this worm of a man.

Henry spoke again. "You aren't Prefect yet. I hope you understand that I intend to make as much trouble for you as possible in the upcoming election."

Gray gave him an excessively polite nod. "You are welcome to try. But let me assure you of one thing, Mr. Jamison."

He paused deliberately, until Henry raised his eyebrows in question.

"If you say or do anything to bother any member of my staff -- anything at all -- I will destroy you." He paused again, briefly. "And I'll enjoy doing it. Immensely."

Henry's mouth twisted, as if he'd argue. Then his features relaxed. "Fair enough."

Without another word, Gray walked out of the room.

Henry followed him to the front door. "You may have won this battle, Gray, but you've lost my vote."

A feeble joke. Gray stepped out onto the porch. No need to turn to speak to this man's face. "I don't want your vote. And what's more, I won't need it."

Assuredly, he didn't need this worm's vote. He only needed - No. No, he didn't need her at all.

* * * * * Gray tried not to watch. Tried not to listen. But even with his head turned away, he saw the holographic images in his memory. "Why, Daria," he heard Jamison's smug voice say. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else." His hand clenched. At least the worm would cause no more problems. How could Daria have put her faith in such a man?

The recording ended at last. Enough. No more. But Hento started the holo-loop over again from the beginning. For the fifth ab'tah time in a row.

Gray could recite the dialog along with Daria and Henry. He knew every word, every pause. Perhaps he'd memorized it during the hundred or so times he'd watched it last night.

Hento had invaded the privacy of his quarters this morning, seeking news. Gray had been pleased to tell him the Jamison problem was resolved. But he never should have allowed Hento to view the recording. Especially not here, in his quarters, where he'd be forced to re-live Daria's betrayal again and again.

His judgment was poor indeed. Why try to pretend he didn't still burn from her betrayal? Why pretend that he could watch another man touch her face with rational calm? Why pretend that he didn't long for her still, even knowing her for a liar?

Might as well face the image of his tormentor. He turned.

Oh, excellent -- his favorite part. The holographic Daria tossed her head, just enough to send her hair behind one shoulder. "He doesn't mean a thing to me," she said, disdain in her voice.

After hundreds of viewings, the words should no longer pain him. At least his eyes remained dry.

Hento froze the image, then slowly walked around it, as if there was more to be seen from other angles. "I believe she's trying to draw information from him, Sarjah."

Impossible. No indications of such a thing were in the recording. He should know -- he'd reviewed it far too often, and dreamed of it during the few hours he'd managed to sleep. "You are ever the optimist, Hento."

Hento's brows lifted. "You are typically the optimistic one, Sarjah."

True. "There is no basis for optimism in this matter. The voice scan was inconclusive."

"The voice scan is calibrated for Prendarian voices. With Earther voices, the results are difficult to gauge. She may be lying to Jamison."

"She's not lying to him." She lied to me.