“Alliance marshals?” The unsavory-looking man eyed them with skepticism. “You sure don’t look it.” “But appearances can be, and often are, deceiving,” Weldon said, putting the badge away. He looked around at the compound significantly. “I take it that you are familiar with that concept, merchant?” Mr. Grant bared his teeth in a snarl, and Weldon could read exactly what the slaver was thinking. He and Crocker did not look so dangerous—at first glance, they were no match for the firepower assembled in the compound. But how many people knew they had come here? Who would investigate their disappearance? Slavery was a disgusting business, of course. To sell people like so much meat, with no thought for the true potential in their genes… Sickening. With the ever-growing numbers of humanity, though, the waste of a few was low on the Company’s list of priorities. And Weldon and Crocker were authorized to use any measures they required to complete their assignment as quickly and efficiently as possible. “We have no interest in the disruption of legitimate businesses such as your own,” he told Grant. “We are on a manhunt for three specific individuals, and we have reason to believe that they passed through here recently. If you can help us track them further, we will go on our way and leave you to whatever business it is you wish to conduct.” He left the threat of the alternative clear in his voice. It was a calculated risk. Grant might react badly to the threat, but without it there was little hope of friendly cooperation at all. Crocker deactivated his Device, retracting its sensitive cerebral resonators back into its main rod. He shook his head. “She’s not here. The Device doesn’t pick up any resonation at all.” “Disappointing, but no less than expected.” “Yes.” “What?” Grant shook his head. “Whatever. You getting out of my hair if help you? Then show me some pictures. I really don’t have time for any distractions right now. “I can imagine,” said Crocker, looking around the compound meaningfully. “Would you care to tell us what happened here recently?” “No. I wouldn’t. You got names, pictures?” The two agents looked at each other, and Crocker nodded. Weldon accessed his palmtop computer and called up the images—an academy profile photo, a photo copied from a medical practitioner’s license, and a slightly blurred snapshot taken from a security tape. Grant laughed. Weldon and Crocker looked at each other again, and Weldon raised an eyebrow. “Oh, this is rich,” Grant said, still chuckling. “You want to know what happened here?” He swung a hand around, indicating the compound. “*They* did this.” By ‘this,’ Grant quite clearly meant to indicate the damage apparent everywhere. A series of bullet holes marred a wall. Tufts of smoke still rose from a burnt-out refueling station. Two transport ships stood close together, their guts torn open all over the landing area as mechanics tried to figure out what was wrong with them. What appeared to be the mess and the living area for Grants men looked as if it had been overrun by at least a hundred men. “Explain,” Crocker demanded calmly. “Never seen the girl,” Grant shrugged, “but the other two… I hired their ship to deliver some… cargo… for me. My own ships… let’s just say certain people are on the lookout for them. If you have no time to interfere in my business anyway, you won’t ask who.” Weldon picked up the threat, ignored it. It was irrelevant. “Him,” pointing at the picture of the brother, “he’s a doctor, right? Least I hope he is, or they scammed me worse than I thought. He checked out the, eh, cargo for me. Wasn’t none too happy about it, or about what he found, but he did his job. Never caught his name, I don’t think.” Grant’s face clouded over with anger as he looked at the picture of the other man. “That doctor, he was pretty quiet, stayed out of the trouble. But him. Jayne Cobb. He was one of them shot up my place, set free the, eh, cargo, and took off with them.” Jayne Cobb. Weldon filed the name away. Every fact brought them closer to their target. “We can assume that the girl was here as well,” he said. “Hidden away, perhaps, on their vessel. “Yes,” Crocker agreed. “Evidence suggests that the brother will not leave subject’s side. If he was here, high probability suggests that she was here as well.” He turned back to Grant. “Name of the transport ship?” “Serenity,” the man said. “Malcolm Reynolds’s ship.” “Where is this ship now?” “If I knew that…” “How long ago did they depart?” “About three weeks. Twenty days.” “Your repairs appear to be moving slowly,” Crocker commented. Grant seethed. “We’re on a *gao-wahn tsao-duh* asteroid! Do you have any idea how hard we had to scrounge for parts to get even *one* of my ships flying again after their *biao-tze de-erzi* sabotage? And the two ships I got running so far, they ain’t helping here. They’re looking for those bastards that did this and gonna set things straight with them, if you get what I mean.” They looked at each other again. This could not be allowed. The risk to the subject was too great. “The Alliance has business with these people. It would be wise if you stand down and leave them to us. Be assured that justice will be done.” Grant looked at him incredulously. “You…” He shook his head. “You Core people… *Si*! Out here, a man’s reputation is everything. I let them get away with this, no one’ll ever take me seriously again. No. Over my dead body.” “I see.” Weldon’s mind was racing through the calculations, but the outcome was already obvious. With his knowledge of the quarry and the territory, the odds were convincing that Grant and his men would locate and terminate the subject before he and Crocker could. The risk in using Grant to lead them to the subject was not acceptable. Sterilization was required here. As one, Weldon and Crocker reached into their jackets and retrieved their Devices. Weldon activated his as Crocker started walking calmly towards the mechanics working on the transport ships. “What *is* that thi…” Grant said, shaking his head wonderingly. Then he blinked, and dabbed up the blood running from his nose with his fingers. He looked at it with confusion, and had only just the time to realize what he was seeing before he suddenly began to scream. Clutching his head, he dropped to the ground, and moments later he fell silent again. Dead, Weldon’s senses confirmed dispassionately. Similar screams sounded from the transports, and they too, fell silent. At that distance, Weldon barely felt the high-pitched hum of the cerebral resonator in the front of his brain. The resonator did not actually produce a sound—the mind only translated it as such. Even the trained mind of a Company investigator, to which the Device was harmless in its regular setting, instinctively interpreted the sensation as though it had come through one of the mundane five senses. At the sound of gunfire, Weldon danced aside with lightning speed. He knew exactly where it was coming from. The moment he and Crocker had arrived, they had committed a grid of threat point to their mind. Besides, of the four guard towers, only one was manned—had there been slaves in the pen, more of them would have been, of course, but there must have seemed little use for it now. A nearby stack of crates provided full cover. “Mr. Weldon,” Crocker called for his attention from behind his own cover not far off. His spoke in a conversational tone, but Weldon had no trouble making out his words. “Others?” he asked. “Six more men. Four men, two women, to be accurate. Armed, coming on your position first.” Weldon nodded. “They are easily dealt with.” “They are,” Crocker agreed. “The man in the guard tower, however, poses a problem. He is out of reach of the Device.” “Indeed. His brain is too limited. But there are other options. Whatever happens at this location will never be traced back to the Corporation.” Crocker nodded in acceptance of those facts. He took out his pistol. In perfect synchronization once again, Weldon and Crocker stepped out from behind their cover. The half-dozen slavers that were Weldon’s target were almost upon him already, their guns at the ready. They never even got the chance to take aim. Faster than any of them could follow, Weldon stepped from one to the other, pressing the tip of his activated Device to their temples—carefully, so as not to damage the sensitive equipment. The direct contact initiated the final stages of the cerebral resonator’s effect in seconds. There was no less pain than there was during the normal, slower process, but these men had not even the chance to scream before they crumpled to the ground, their brains a hemorrhaging mess. Before he even reached his third target, Weldon heard Crocker fire, and saw the accompanying flash of light from the corner of his eye. The man in the guard tower had had perfect cover from which to take aim, but it was no use against the high-powered laser of a Corporation service weapon—in all likelihood, it had sliced through the cover, through the guard, and out the other side of the tower. All such weapons were of course strictly registered, each easily identified by its distinctive laser frequency up until a year after a shot was fired. Ordinarily, use of their service weapons was strictly prohibited on missions that could not be allowed to be traced back to the Corporation. This location, however, was unknown even to be inhabited by the Alliance. Weldon frowned at the blood on his suit. It was a risk that came with close combat, but it was unpleasant nonetheless. Crocker walked up to him. “They will not have thought to wipe their computers,” he said. “True,” Weldon agreed. “If we can learn which planets Grant’s associates have already cleared, we can forego those locations, and deduce the search criteria Grant implemented.” Crocker smiled. “We are getting closer.”

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