Conflict Of Honors Read Online Free

the man agreed. "Then he an' his went off. Nothin' was said about a missin' mate. Happen a Trader would notice his cargo master wasn't to hand, would say?"

    She sighed. "I don't really think I'm prepared to say any such thing. Are you going to let me out of here, or aren't you?"

    "Now there, mistress, don't be chivin' me. Happen you'll have a better tale for Master Farley." He stepped back, keeping a firm hold on her arm. "We'll be walking this way now."

    Priscilla clamped her jaw and matched his stride firmly.

    The glare of sunshine made her gasp with quadrupled pain. She was abruptly thankful for the man's bruising hold—without his support she would have fallen.

    Sunlight gave way to shadow. Her captor paused and laid his hand against a plate, and a door slid open. Obedient to his tug, Priscilla stepped into an echoing cavern of a room. Four dark terminals sat at intervals on the empty counter; the ship-board suspended above displayed one row of tired amber letters, brilliant in the gloom: DUTIFUL PASSAGE SOLCINTRA LIAD.

    She stopped, staring at the board. A Liaden ship, surely, but . . . dear Goddess, they had gone! They had left orbit, left the sector, without her. She had been abandoned deliberately on this quarter-bit world!

    "Come along, mistress, we've not got all the day." The man jerked hard on her arm, and Priscilla went with him, blankly.

    She should be angry, she knew, but the various pains and shocks seemed to cancel emotion. Her overwhelming desire was for sleep—but no. There was the port master to see, and an explanation to be made. She would need money—a job. Two Terran wholebits was hardly a fortune, no matter how backward the world.

    "In here, mistress." He gave another tug. Priscilla ground her teeth against a snapped retort and obeyed.

    Port Master Farley was a plump man with a dejected yellow mustache and apologetic blue eyes. He blinked at Priscilla and turned toward her captor. "Well, now, Liam. What have you here?"

    The man holding her renewed his grip and straightened, giving the impression of having brought his heels smartly together. "Computer reported some tamperin' with the lock on door triple-ay, corridor seven, house one—one o' the empty sections, Master Farley."

    The port master nodded.

    "Went to check things out—thinkin' it'll be a malfunction, you understand." He yanked Priscilla forward. "Found this one on the inside. Tells the tale o' bein' Priscilla Mendoza, cargo master on Daxflan as just left us."

    The port master blinked again. "But what were you doing in the warehouse, lass? Especially along that way—it's been empty for years."

    Priscilla took a deep breath. The pain in her side was less, she noted, down to a persistent dull ache.

    "Trader Olanek and Second Mate Collier came into this building to speak with you, sir," she said. "I was outside, supervising the unloading. After a time, the second mate came out and asked me to go with her to the warehouse. She said the Trader wanted something out of one of the rooms. When we arrived, she put a card in the lock and asked me to help her push the door open, since it was stuck—"

    "Like as not," Liam muttered. "Damn thing hasn't been opened this tenyear."

    "And then," Priscilla concluded, "she hit me over the head and left me there. When I came to, I tried to gimmick the lock with a couple magnets off my ruler."

    Master Farley was staring. "Hit you over the head and left you? And you her mate? Why would she do such a thing?"

    "How do I know?" Priscilla snapped, then dredged up a painful smile. "Look, do you mind if I sit down? My head does hurt."

    "Surely, surely." He looked a little flustered. "Liam . . . ."

    The warehouseman loosed her with reluctance and placed the chair close to the desk before taking up a position directly behind it. She sat carefully, hands curled around the plastic armrests.

    "Thank you."

    "You're welcome." Master Farley sighed, drummed his fingers on the rubbed steel top of