"You want me to do what?" Falkon stared at Ashlynne, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"I want you to pick me a bouquet of flowers and ferns."

"I don't have time for that. Pick them yourself."

"Do as I say, Number Four, or I shall report your insolence to my father, and you'll find yourself back in the mine." It was an empty threat, and they both knew it.

"Don't you have anything better to do than torment me?"

"No." She looked up at him through wide green eyes. "Life was really quite dull here until you came along."

Falkon glared at her. He had the feeling she was laughing at him, that she was, indeed, telling the truth, and that he had become her greatest source of amusement.

"A large bouquet." She picked up a blade of grass and twirled it between her thumb and forefinger. " 'Twill look lovely on the table at dinner."

Muttering an oath, Falkon tossed his shovel aside and stalked toward the vast flower beds that grew along the south wall. Flowers! He made his way along the narrow brick-lined paths that wound through the flower beds, randomly plucking the blooms that caught his eye. He had to admit that whoever had arranged and planted the gardens had an eye for color and design. He'd never seen anything quite so pretty. He had never had much time to notice such things, and didn't know what most of the flowers were called, but they were beautiful, bright reds and blues and pinks and yellows. Butterflies large and small and in bright rainbow colors flitted from bush to bush. Sparrows sang in the treetops, and he felt his anger dissipate as he continued on. The sky was blue and clear, the sun was warm, the air was filled with the sweet fragrance of the flowers, of earth and grass.

"You're not supposed to pick them all."

He turned around, surprised to find the girl trailing after him, a smirk on her face.

"You said you wanted a large bouquet." He thrust the flowers he had gathered into her hands. "Damn, girl, you're harder to get rid of than a case of the plague," he muttered irritably.

"Admit it," she said. "You were having a good time."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I saw the look on your face. I'll bet it's the first time you ever picked a flower in your whole life."

"You're imagining things."

"Why are you so stubborn?"

"Why are you following me?"

She shrugged. "Nothing else to do."

He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "How long did you say you were going to be gone?"

"I didn't say, but if you must know, I'll probably be gone the whole summer. I guess that makes you happy, doesn't it?"

Falkon nodded, but it was a lie. He was going to miss her when she was gone, he thought. Her every move seemed to tempt him. Her mere presence was a constant reminder that it had been far too long since he'd had a woman. Woman, he thought. She was hardly that. She was young, far too young and far too innocent for the likes of him, yet even now he felt his body hardening, reacting to her nearness.

He clenched his hands in an effort to keep from reaching for her. She'd kept quiet about his spying on her in her room, but he doubted even his threat to tell her father about her sneaking down to the mine would be enough to guarantee her silence if he kissed her. But he wanted to, by the stars, he wanted to, even though he knew it would be the biggest mistake he had ever made.

She looked up at him and licked her lips. In any other female, it would have been a blatant invitation, but Ashlynne wasn't experienced enough to play games. He could teach her, he thought, teach her how good it could be.

"Damn!" All thoughts of her delectable body fled his mind as he heard a low rumble.

"What's that?"

Falkon lifted his head, listening. The noise came again, louder and closer this time.

He frowned. It sounded like sky cannon.

He glanced over his shoulder, swore under his breath when he saw a cloud of thick black smoke rising from the direction of the mine. A moment later, he felt the ground beneath his feet shudder. There was an explosion, and a hole big enough to ride a horse through appeared in the far wall.

"What's happening?" Ashlynne asked.

"We're under attack!"

She shook her head. "No, that can't be."

He heard the low whine of incoming sky cannon. Grabbing Ashlynne by the arm, he began running toward the opposite end of the yard, dragging the girl behind him. The flowers tumbled from her hands, leaving a colorful trail in their wake.

They were nearing the edge of the gardens when there was a violent explosion. Ashlynne screamed as the house exploded in flames.

"Let me go!" she shrieked. She tried to wrest her arm from Number Four's grasp, but he held her tightly.

"You fool! What do you think you can do?"

"My parents are in there!"

"Then they're dead." His words were harsh, deliberately cruel. "Come on," he said, tugging on her arm. "We're getting out of here."

"I'm not leaving them!" she shrieked. "You can't make me! Let me go!"

"Like hell."

She glared at him, her eyes glittering like chips of cold green glass as she pointed the controller at his chest. "Let me go."

He hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, wondering if he could snatch it from her hand before she could activate it.

"Let me go!"

Her thumb moved to the top of the controller, and he dropped her arm.

As soon as he released her, she ran toward the blazing inferno that had once been her home.

Muttering an oath, Falkon turned away. If she wanted to commit suicide, that was her business, but he was getting the hell out of there while the getting was good. Everyone else would be too busy looking after their own skins to come looking for one prisoner. With any luck, they would think he had died when the house exploded.

He continued down the path that led to the damaged section of garden wall and crawled through the opening. Standing there, he could see the mine below. A battle cruiser hovered over the mine, the black-and-gold shield of Hodore plainly visible on the ship's underbelly. Several small hovercraft lined the beach. Hodore. There was no reason for them to attack the mine, he thought, frowning. They were already getting their fair share of crystals.

Hatred flooded his soul as he stared at the black-helmeted men swarming over the mine. The familiar stench of cannon smoke and seared flesh reached his nostrils, sickening him. For a moment, his mind went back in time and he saw it all again - the ruins that had once been his home, the charred remains of his daughter's favorite doll....

His eyes narrowed as he glanced at the battle cruiser, then at the figures moving around near the mine's administration building. Had Drade persuaded Hodore to attack Tierde? Was he down there, even now, strutting back and forth while he decided who lived and who died? Drade... Falkon's hands clenched and unclenched as he imagined his hands at Drade's throat, squeezing, squeezing....

A high-pitched scream scattered his thoughts. Turning, he peered back through the hole in the wall and saw Ashlynne running across the yard, her skirts billowing behind her. Taking a step forward, he saw two men garbed in the black-and-gold uniforms of Hodore pursuing her.

Rage rose up within Falkon, hot and swift and impossible to ignore.

Adrenaline pumping, he stepped through the break in the wall and gave chase.

Ashlynne screamed as she felt a hand close on her arm. A moment later, she was jerked to a halt, then shoved to the ground. Before she could so much as blink, the man was straddling her hips, one of his hands imprisoning both of hers.

She stared past him to the second man, her eyes widening as he began to unfasten his pants.

"No!" She screamed the word. "No! No!"

The man holding her down slapped her across the face, hard, effectively silencing her.

Cheek throbbing, she stared at the man straddling her hips. She had never seen a Hodorian. The skin of his hand was a pale green covered with fine green hair. He was dressed in the uniform of the Hodorian army. A black-visored helmet covered his head. It was a nightmare. It had to be. She closed her eyes. This couldn't be happening. She was Ashlynne, daughter of the ruling house of Tierde. No one had ever laid a hand on her in anger or violence.

She opened her eyes as the man lifted her skirts. She stared at him in

horror. They were going to rape her.

It had to be a nightmare. That was all, just a nightmare. She rocked her head back and forth, praying that she would awake before it was too late.

"No!" She screamed as she felt the man's callused hand on her thigh. Her nails raked his neck, his arms, as she struggled to free herself from his grasp. "Let me go!"

She was sobbing now. Tears of anger and fear and revulsion clogged her throat. And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Number Four. He was creeping up behind the two men like a spring-cat, his footsteps muffled by the thick grass, his blue-gray eyes narrowed to angry slits. He carried a thick tree branch in his hands.

Was he coming to help her? She renewed her struggles, kicking and screaming with all her might. She felt a sense of exhilaration as her knee caught one of the men full in the groin. He dropped to the ground, gasping for air.

And then Number Four was there. The branch in his hands came down hard across the back of the man straddling her hips. With a grunt, the Hodorian rolled off her.

Ashlynne scrambled to her knees, screamed "Look out!" as she saw the second Hodorian reach for his blaster.

Number Four pivoted on his heel and swung the branch at the man's head. There was a loud smack as the wood hit the man's helmet, knocking him over backward.

Falkon was reaching for the man's weapon when he felt the searing heat of a laser blast scorch his right arm near the shoulder.

The man's second shot went wide.

Muttering an oath, Falkon grabbed Ashlynne by the arm and sprinted for cover behind a huge flowering vine. "No, this way!" Ashlynne cried, tugging on his hand. "Hurry!"

He followed her through a maze of greenery, stood panting for breath while she searched for the hidden panel that opened a door in the wall.

"Where does this come out?" Falkon asked as he followed her through the opening into a dark tunnel.

"I'm not sure, exactly. All I know is that it comes out in the jungle somewhere. My father... my father told my... my mother and me that we should use it if we were ever attacked." She closed the door, plunging them into total darkness. "I've never been in here before."

"Give me your hand."

"Why?" He heard the suspicion in her voice.

"So we don't get separated. You want to go first, or should I?"

"You," she said. She felt his hand slide over her shoulder, down her arm, then close around her hand.

She followed behind him, her free hand wrapped firmly around the controller in her skirt pocket.

Step by careful step, she followed him blindly through the tunnel. She tried not to think of what might be living in the tunnel, but visions of spiders burrowing into her hair and snakes crawling up her legs flooded her mind.

She breathed a sigh of relief when a faint gray light appeared at the end of the passageway.

Minutes later, Number Four came to a stop.

Ashlynne peered around him. The tunnel opening was camouflaged behind a twisted mass of snowberry bushes. Beyond them stretched miles and miles of uncharted jungle.

"Do you see anyone?" she whispered.

"No. Apparently they concentrated their attack on the house and the mine." He swore under his breath, cursing himself for having mentioned the house.

A small sob rose in the girl's throat. Her parents were dead; her home had been destroyed. He knew how she felt, and a brief, unwanted flicker of compassion swept through him.

"What are we going to do now?" she asked, her voice quivering.

"I think we should spend the night in here."

"In here?" She glanced over her shoulder, unable to stifle a shudder of revulsion.

"You got any better ideas?" he asked curtly.

Ashlynne shook her head, hating him because he was alive and her parents were dead. She peered through the bushes. The sky was turning dark. It would be night soon.

"I'm going to try to get some sleep," Falkon said.

Turning away from the opening, he walked back a few feet from the entrance and sat down, his back to the wall of the tunnel. He winced as he explored the laser wound on his arm. The numbness was wearing away and now it throbbed relentlessly. But he could live with the pain. Better that than losing his arm entirely.

He looked up at the girl, who was still standing near the tunnel's opening.

"You'd better get some rest while you can," he suggested wearily.

Ashlynne shook her head. "Surely you don't expect me to sleep on the ground?" She looked at him as if he had just asked her to eat a slab of raw meat.

Falkon lifted one inquisitive brow. "Why not?"

"Because... because I can't. It's dirty."

Falkon snorted. "Suit yourself."

Slowly, she pulled her hand from her pocket, revealing the controller.

"What are you going to do with that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Secure your hands and feet, of course."

He glared at her as she activated the controls. The manacles on his wrists and ankles made a dull clanking sound as they locked together. He swore as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his arm.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Are you?"

"Sorry, but not stupid," she retorted. "You're a prisoner, after all."

"I just saved your life."

She had the decency to look ashamed, but she didn't unlock the manacles.

With a weary sigh, he stretched out on the ground, though with his hands and feet shackled, it was next to impossible to get comfortable.

Ashlynne watched him carefully, unable to believe he was actually going to sleep. But there would be no rest for her, she thought. Even with his

hands and feet shackled, she didn't trust him. The minute she closed her eyes, she knew he would be on her, and once he had the controller, she would be at his mercy.

She stared at him for a moment, then gazed at the sky again. It was full dark now, and she was hungry and tired. And alone with a slave. Her fingers tightened on the controller. She would use it if she had to. Just because he had saved her from the Hodorians didn't mean he could be trusted. He was a slave, a man sentenced to live out the remainder of his life in the mine.

Suddenly the strength went out of her limbs and she sank down to the ground. Tears stung her eyes. Her throat felt tight and thick. Burying her face in her hands, she wept bitter tears, crying for her parents, for Magny, for the loss of everything she had ever known, everything she had loved. All her life, she had been loved and cared for. She had never wanted for anything. She'd had the best education available, the finest clothes money could buy, the security of a good family. And now, none of it meant a thing.

Better she should have learned how to survive in the wilderness than how to paint a landscape or sculpt or entertain foreign diplomats.

Falkon's jaw clenched as he listened to the girl's sobs. He had a ridiculous urge to go to her, to gather her into the circle of his arms and assure her that everything would be all right. She was such an innocent, she would probably believe him. At least until tomorrow.

He knew about the jungles of Tierde, about the slime-pits and the blue fire-sand. While imprisoned in the mine, he had heard numerous tales of men, slave and free alike, who had been lost in that jungle, never to be seen again, heard a dozen grisly stories of the cannibals and renegades who hid in the depths of its green heart, heard of the wild animals and wilder men who preyed upon the weak, the foolish, the unwary.

With a sigh, he closed his mind to the sound of the girl's tears. He had no comfort to give her or anyone else. All he wanted was his freedom and five minutes alone with Drade.

He fell asleep, a smile on his lips, as he contemplated squeezing the last breath of life from the man who had destroyed his home and murdered his family.