Concealed in the shadowy corner of a dimly lit parking area in Cint-Istep, Devin Tyler watched silently as a man in a Confederate Army sergeant's uniform reeled around the corner of the tavern, his deep voice rising and falling in a drunken melody.

Tyler scowled. He had watched this tavern for weeks, studied the soldiers who frequented it, getting to know their schedules, their habits and personalities. He had singled out this sergeant some time ago because of his dependability and easy-going nature. Why had the soldier chosen this, of all nights, to get roaring drunk? Tyler doubted the man had enough lucidity left to pick his own car out of the crowded lot. But his doubts were misplaced.

As the soldier reached the edge of the wide lot, he halted his drunken singing long enough to cast an exaggerated but wary look around. Tyler pushed aside his contempt with a pointed reminder to never underestimate a quarry's abilities. The sergeant was drunk, but he was also a Confederate soldier, and considering his age, he had undoubtedly been a member of the Free World Guard before that. The Free Worlds had not won their independence from the United Galaxy by employing reckless troops.

The brawny sergeant resumed his tuneless solo as he wove his way through the cars. He ended with a raucous laugh as he stumbled into one of the vehicles. He leaned against it and began fumbling through his pockets.

With a final look around to assure himself that no one was watching, Tyler slipped out of the shadows, stepped up beside the sergeant, and placed a hand on his arm.

The man looked up waveringly.

"Who're you?" the soldier slurred. He groped for the short knife he wore at his belt with one hand, while the other extracted a soni-key from his pocket and jabbed it inaccurately at the car's lockplate. "Whasha want?"

"I'm a friend," Tyler said. He caught the soldier's bleary brown eyes and stared into their unfocused depths. Power stirred in Tyler's mind. "Let me help you."

He held the sergeant's attention with his eyes, took the key from unprotesting fingers, and eased the man's other hand from the knife hilt. The tentative sensation of power began to strengthen and center as the sergeant yielded to his will.

Tyler touched the key to the lock; the door clicked open.

"There you are." He swung the door aside and gestured the soldier into the car.

The sergeant climbed shakily but obediently inside. His eyes never left Tyler's.

"That's good." Tyler kept his voice friendly. "Now, the car's not going to let you drive with all you've had to drink. Why don't you let me take you up to the base?"

"I'll uze th' navcomp." The sergeant swayed slightly in his seat as he removed the car's starter card from a breast pocket. He pulled his eyes from Tyler's to touch a button on the navigation console before him. "It'll ge' me cloze enough ta—"

Tyler caught the man's eyes again, and reasserted control with a look.

"Easy now," he soothed as the sergeant made a sour face reminiscent of a scolded child. "You really should let me—"

The ring of voices from the direction of the tavern warned Tyler he would have to work fast if he were to avoid being seen. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, and then turned back to the sergeant.

"Move over," he ordered, all semblance of friendliness gone.

The sergeant blinked dumbly and fumbled with the starter card. "But I ain't s'pose ta bring no one—"

"Move over now!" Tyler hissed under his breath.

The voices were getting closer.

The sergeant's hurt look faded to an expression of indignation. "Now tha' ain't no way ta trea' your—"

Tyler jerked an elbow hard into the man's jaw, snapping his head back. Before the sergeant could make more than a muffled grunt, Tyler had both hands around his throat. Practiced fingers felt for vital points, exerted pressure. The sergeant slumped farther into his seat.

Tyler shoved the man's limp form onto its side, tossed the pack he carried into the car, and then climbed into the driver's seat, half-sitting on the sergeant's legs.

Tyler slouched low in the seat and pulled his head down to his shoulders to mimic the sergeant's shorter stature. He retrieved the ignition card from where the soldier had dropped it, started the car, and began to pull away.

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Three men came around the corner of the tavern. One of them raised a hand in greeting as the car eased past.

Tyler returned the wave drunkenly. As he maneuvered into the street, he risked a single look back, but the three men had apparently forgotten him already.

Relieved, he linked the car to the city's traffic computer and directed it to take him as far to the east as possible, and then he turned to his passenger. He pulled the sergeant into a sitting position and shoved his legs fully into the passenger seat, and then went through the soldier's pockets. He found another key, a handful of credits, and an identification card. The key and credits went into Tyler's pockets immediately, but he took a moment to study the ID.

The card identified the man as Sergeant Samin Konner of the Confederate Army's infantry division. The holo and description were a disappointingly accurate portrayal of the short, stocky, balding man; everything Tyler was not.

He hoped the guards at the entrance to the base would settle for a familiar vehicle and uniform, and an ID flashed in the dark. If not, he'd have to use the counterfeit card Gaunis's agent had given him and hope it worked as well as promised.

He slipped Konner's card into his hip pocket, and then removed the sergeant's knife and fastened it to his own belt.

A blinking light on the car's computer link warned that the vehicle was nearing the Cint-Istep city limits. Tyler disconnected the computer lock, took control of the vehicle, and started into the mountains east of the city.

The road climbed slowly at first, winding through rolling foothills, their flanks peppered with thin groves of trees, and then steepened as it rose into the mountains that housed the Confederate base. The occasional clumps of trees soon thickened to a dense forest that transformed the roadway into a narrow twisting passage between high walls of dark foliage.

Tyler slowed the car to search for a side road as he followed the highway deeper into the mountains. At length, he located a narrow, neglected pathway. He steered the car down the rough trail until he came across a wide, tree-sheltered turnout half a kilometer off the main road.

He pulled the car into the turnout, switched off the engine and lights, and then waited while his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Finally, he climbed out of the vehicle and held his breath to listen. Nothing but wild night sounds reached his ears.

Satisfied he was alone, he went to the far side of the car and opened the door. He caught Konner's limp form as it toppled out. He eased the sergeant onto the damp leaf litter of the forest floor, removed the man's black uniform jacket and dark-gray shirt, and then shed his own jacket and shirt.

He shivered slightly in the cold night air, and then pulled on the sergeant's shirt and shrugged into the uniform jacket. The fit was poor—the cut too large, the waist too short—but it would have to do. He congratulated himself on having had the foresight to wear dark pants of his own; trying to fit into Konner's would have been ludicrous.

Tyler cut his discarded shirt into strips using the sergeant's knife. He used several of the strips to bind his prisoner's wrists and ankles, and then used Konner's belt to fasten the sergeant's bound hands and feet together behind his back. He used the remainder of the cloth strips to form a temporary gag. He did not think there was anyone within hearing distance, but he was not willing to take the chance; he would remove the gag once Konner understood the penalty for making loud noises.

Tyler straightened for an overview of his handiwork, and then fetched a laser pistol from his pack in the car. As he returned to his prisoner's side, he switched the gun to tight beam. At that setting, the weapon would burn as clean and hot as a cutting laser.

Noting a change in the regular pattern of Konner's sonorous breathing, he glanced down at his captive. The sergeant was beginning to awaken. Tyler hastened the process by prodding the man lightly in the belly with a booted toe.

"Wake up, Konner," he called down at the man. "Come on, Sergeant, you've slept long enough."

With a muffled groan of protest, Konner tried to roll over. He stiffened, and his eyes sprang open to dart from side to side as he realized the extent of his predicament. At last, his wildly roving eyes settled on the dark form of Tyler standing over him, the laser pistol held at his side.

The sudden, surprisingly coherent look in Konner's eyes made it clear that awakening in this unanticipated situation had done an amazing job of counteracting the alcohol in his system. A low, savage growl escaped from behind the gag.

Tyler bent down beside him. "Take it easy."

Konner glared for a moment, and then looked hastily away as Tyler's eyes met his. Another groan issued from beneath the gag.

Tyler placed a hand on the man's arm. "Look at me, Sergeant."

Konner closed his eyes.

"Sergeant Konner," Tyler said pleasantly, "we can do this one of two ways—yours or mine. Personally, I prefer mine. It's less tiresome for me and far less painful for you." He removed his hand from the sergeant's arm, twined his fingers in the man's short hair, and twisted his head forward.

Konner kept his eyes shut tight.

"The choice is yours." Tyler jerked the man's head back viciously and pressed the tip of the laser pistol against his exposed throat. "Open your eyes."

Slowly, almost against his will, Konner obeyed.

Tyler pulled the gun away and his eyes bored into Konner's. "Wise choice, Sergeant. Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully. All I want from you is some information. Do you think you can answer a few simple questions?"

Konner tore his eyes away again to stare into the dark forest behind his captor.

Tyler released his hold on Konner's hair and drove his fist into the man's solar plexus.

Konner expelled a deep, muffled groan and closed his eyes again.

Tyler placed the point of his pistol against the fleshy part of the man's shoulder.

"Your choice, Konner." He pulled the trigger.

It took nearly an hour, but in the end, Tyler got the information he wanted. He left the ravaged, broken body of the willful sergeant in the woods, buried under a light covering of dead branches and leaves.

He returned to the car, turned it around, and drove back out to the main highway and on toward the base.

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