Dass frowned.

  "Let's try it again," he said.

  Kinnit closed her eyes as Dass moved behind her. She tensed as she sensed him moving closer. She felt his touch, felt him creep across her back, over her shoulders, up the back of her head. The warm pressure of his flesh oozing across her, sealing itself against every crevice...

  She screamed and danced out of his grasp.

  Dass sighed in frustration.

  "Look, the operation is in three days, okay? This is the only way to get you into the secure area where Ordren's office is. We have to get this figured out."

  Kinnit shuddered.

  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just so... invasive."

  Dass threw his hands up in frustration.

  "If I could do it without touching you, I would, but that's not how this works, okay?"

  Kinnit nodded.

  "Are you ready to try again?"

  "I think so."

  Kinnit closed her eyes again. At the first feel of Dass' touch, she tensed galvanically.

  "This isn't working," Dass said.

  "I'm sorry," she repeated.

  "Let's take a break." Dass muttered to himself, "It's times like this I wish I could drink."

  Kinnit dropped into one of the cheap chairs at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands.

  Logically, she knew nothing would go wrong. Logically, she knew Dass was a professional. Logically, she knew that this was the only way to get in.

  Her nervous system rejected all her fine logic as soon as Dass' warm flesh touched her.

  She shuddered.

  "Could you just... force me into it?" she asked.

  He grimaced.

  "I could, but if you don't like this approach, I guarantee you won't like being locked in. Plus you'd be fighting me the whole time."

  "Yeah, but you're strong enough to do what you need to, right?"

  Dass shook his head.

  "It's very distracting. Imagine trying to smooth your way past a guard while your pancreas is screaming and trying to bite you. Ideally we should work together. Move together. That's why we need to practice."

  Kinnit frowned at the table in thought. She glanced at her scanner. Her scanner made her think of her space adventure novels, and her mind wandered back to the last one she'd read. An idea occurred to her.

  "Dass, can you control your body temperature any?"

  He looked at her quizzically.

  "Of course. I burn a lot of energy to keep myself warm so that Terrans don't freak out if they touch me."

  "So you could cool yourself down a bit?"

  "Sure."

  With growing excitement, she explained her plan to him.

  He regarded her with an expression that said that he was deeply concerned about her state of mind, but reluctantly he agreed.

  Thirty minutes later Kinnit strode out of her bedroom dressed in a form-fitting disposable thinsuit. It was made to keep the wearer alive in space for just a few minutes-- long enough to get to an airlock or emergency pod.

  Now, though, it was part of her outfit.

  "You're going to wear that?" Dass asked.

  "That's not the exosuit voice," Kinnit replied. "Stay in character, please."

  Dass grimaced. Of all the identities he'd had to assume, this one was by far the weirdest.

  "Welcome, master," he said in a robotic voice. "I stand ready to assist you."

  "My faithful exosuit, XOS-1. It's time for adventure," she said. "With my wits and your strength, we shall defend the galaxy! Together we become Starstrider, the galactic hero!" She closed her helmet, turned her back to him and held her arms up in the air. "Starstrider, power up!"

  Cuffs rocketed out and closed on her wrists and ankles. Cold armor clicked down around her arms and legs. A plate of armor slid down and sealed against her torso.

  Dass was doing his level best to create sound effects for her: twinkling chimes, whooshing air, a rising energy surge.

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  Kinnit spread her fingers and gloves wrapped around her. A helmet of armor descended over her head, with a narrow slit for her eyes.

  With a final ringing burst, Dass-- now XOS-1-- completed the envelopment of Kinnit for the first time.

  Kinnit tried hard not to squee. This was one of her most vivid adventure fantasies, now brought to life.

  In the kitchen stood a blocky exosuit, looking as though it had stepped straight out of the pages of a sci-fi novel. It was nearly seven feet tall, with rakish angles and swept-back accessories.

  Kinnit moved gently, and Dass tried to move along with her. They slowly practiced moving together, in sync.

  Once they'd had a few minutes to warm up, Kinnit drew herself up. She struck a heroic pose, one fist in the air.

  "Starstrider, go!" she cried.

  Dass didn't understand it at all, and it made him a little uncomfortable, but at least she wasn't thrashing and screaming any more.

  "Let's go to the mirror, XOS-1!" she cried.

  Working together carefully, they walked to the bathroom. Kinnit gleefully regarded herself in the full-length mirror.

  "This is so perfect! It's perfect! It's like the best cosplay ever!" she squealed.

  "Thank you, master. I live to serve," he said in the robotic deadpan.

  Kinnit stood tall, her hands on her hips.

  "XOS-1, camouflage mode on!"

  As she watched, her blocky exosuit rippled, the sharp lines melting into the soft roundness of flesh. The features slowly molded into the form of Eugene.

  After only a few minutes, the round, sad-looking form of Eugene stared at its reflection in the mirror.

  "Excellent work, XOS-1! The hero Starstrider will never be recognized in this form!"

  "XOS-1 reminds master to be careful about speaking. The enemy can hear master, even when she is in her exosuit."

  "Excellent point, XOS-1! Now, back to the debarkation chamber!"

  They navigated back into the kitchen.

  "Starstrider, power down!" she cried.

  Eugene formed back into the angled shape of Starstrider. With careful, mechanical movements, the exosuit opened back up, letting Kinnit step free.

  She opened her thinsuit helmet and spun around as Dass was reassembling himself. She bounced on her toes and clutched her fists together in excitement.

  "Dass! That was so good! That was so good! Thank you so much!"

  Dass sighed heavily.

  "Those sharp angles are tough to hold," he said.

  "That's okay!" she said, with her voice high and a twinkle in her eye. She clutched a determined fist in front of her. "We'll practice until it's easy!"

  Dass gave a little groan of despair. He wondered if he hadn't been better off with the screaming.

  The Emperor sighed contentedly. He was feeling better today.

  He sat up in his throne, trying to find a comfortable position to sit. "Feeling better" didn't necessarily mean "feeling great."

  A lone Cryptographer stood by his side.

  "You're quiet today," the Emperor said.

  The Cryptographer chittered in response, his face-tentacles writhing unnaturally.

  "Oh, it doesn't bother me any. I've lived long enough. I do wish they'd hurry it up, though."

  More chittering.

  "You don't think maybe you should give them a hint? Help them along some? Direct them to the right enemies?"

  The Cryptographer responded.

  "Yes, yes, 'the Solution,' I understand. Oh, I suppose you all know best." He sighed. "It does make me wonder what all you're not telling me."

  The Cryptographer's chittering took on an alarmed tone.

  "No, I know it's all to the good. It's fine. Still, though. I'll feel better once this is all settled."

  He paused, long in thought.

  "I hate to put them through all that, though. Do you really think they can bring me the Mucilagean?"

  The Cryptographer paused a long time as well, and answered slowly. A worried frown creased the Emperor's brow.

  "Well, that's the best we can hope for," he replied.

  Admiral Stonefist stared grimly at the array of ships before him. Six pirate vessels faced the Swordheart and its two companion ships.

  He didn't like the odds. Not that he wasn't confident in his fleet and crews, but the best kind of fight to get into was one where you had overwhelming numerical superiority.

  The best fight was an unfair fight.

  "Prepare a full spread of torpedos," he said. "One for each pirate vessel. Give them something to pay attention to. All ships, focus all fire on the rimward-most pirate. We'll go down the line, take them out one by one."

  The pirates opened up on Admiral Stonefist and his small detachment. Torpedos flared out into cold space, lancing toward their targets. One pirate fired a torpedo back at the Swordheart.

  "All blasters, target that torpedo," Admiral Stonefist said.

  "Sir, shouldn't we deploy chaff? Throw it off course?" asked Lieutenant Baric, at his elbow.

  "Chaff would throw it off of us, but it might lock on to one of our other ships. I'd rather destroy it."

  "Understood, sir."

  The lone torpedo closed on the Swordheart. The blaster gunners fired at the incoming ordnance.

  In spite of the hail of blaster fire, only one hit landed damaging the direction control. The torpedo began looping in a crazy spiral, and detonated not far from the Swordheart.

  "Sir!" Lieutenant Renning called out. "Damage reported to the hull."

  Grimthorn swore.

  "How bad?"

  "It's holding for now. It should last through the battle, if we don't take any more damage."

  "Very well. Focus fire on the marked ship. I want the mass driver working double-time. That vessel has shields."

  The one nice thing about pirates was that their ships were usually poorly-equipped for combat. Pirates only needed enough guns to threaten unarmed commercial vessels. They survived by striking and hiding, not by open combat.

  This pirate band, however, was better-equipped than most. They had shields and at least one torpedo tube.

  It was a concern to him that his gunners had had so much trouble targeting the incoming torpedo. It shouldn't have surprised him, he realized belatedly. They'd been in seven battles in the last six days. That was more combat in the last week than they'd seen in the previous year.

  This "Bolt of Justice" conspiracy definitely had the local pirate bands flourishing.

  He shook his head and tried to focus. He had split the Ninth Fleet up to cover more ground, and nearly every detachment was finding and destroying pirates. The battles usually weren't difficult to win, but every combat did at least a little damage, and damaged ships had to be sent back to the yard for repairs.

  Even easy battles could wear down a mighty fleet, if there were enough of them.

  Nearly a third of the Ninth Fleet was currently under repair. The shipyards were sending them back out as fast as they could fix them, but the strength of the Ninth Fleet was waning.

  The Bolt's money had all the opportunists and sociopaths out to make some extra cash off the fatness of the Imperium's commercial economy and the Bolt's credits. Commercial vessels had taken to hiring mercenary ships as escorts, just to fend off pirates. That slowed down trade and made it more expensive.

  The Bolt of Justice was spending a lot of money, but they were costing the citizens of the Imperium a lot more.

  A depleted-uranium slug zipped through the marked pirate ship's shields without resistance, smashing through one if its engines. The engine flared, spraying wicked blue flames into the cold of space.

  "Next target," Grimthorn said tiredly, as they prepared to churn through the rest of the pirates.