“Permission to speak to the Major, sir?”

Landon took a step closer and stopped, now able to recognize her; she’d stood in the front row when he greeted the cherries. She’d kept making eye contact with him, but he’d have noticed her anyway. She was goddamned stunning.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

“Kvoorik, sir. I came in on the Powell.”

“Are you aware that protocol demands that you go through channels to speak to your commanding officer?”

“Yes, sir.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“That’s one strike against you. What’s the problem?”

“Sir…” She swallowed hard and tried again. “Major, I…”

“Spit it out, Ka-vorik! I don’t have all night!”

She heaved a deep breath and released it quickly.

“Sir, Captain Hinds has accused me of being an enemy agent. He’s placed me under house arrest until…until he can ‘investigate’ me.”

Landon’s expression didn’t betray his surprise. Hinds had said nothing about this!

“Are you an enemy agent?” he asked.

“No, sir!” Her voice cracked; she was barely holding it together.

“Then why would Captain Hinds think you were?”

“Two reasons, sir. I was born on Vega, and I scored a Perfect in gunnery school.”

Landon’s eyes narrowed. She was too young to have left Vega before the Sirian invasion…and she’d scored a Perfect? Nobody scored a Perfect. In anything. Ever. In twenty years, the best gunners he’d ever met had only scored Expert.

“How long ago did you leave Vega?” he asked.

“Almost seven years, sir.”

“There aren’t any starliners running between here and Vega.”

“No, sir. I didn’t come by passenger ship.”

“Did the Sirians authorize you to leave?”

“No, sir. If they had caught me, I would be a slave now. Or dead.”

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