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He glowered at the intercom plate thinking how much he loathed the monitor that kept

tabs on him for his Controllers. Every facet of his life was probed by the men in the

Defense Lab. He could undergo no sensation, no stimulation, nothing without his

Controllers being aware of it. They monitored him more closely than they did the others

of his kind and kept precise logs of his activities. They even monitored him in his sleep

with a specially designed implant that had been given to him when he reached puberty.

The implant had been designed to block dreams—pleasant or otherwise—the moment

the forbidden vision began a switch on some Controller's board shut down the sensation.

Unless he missed his guess, a similar device was used to prevent the type of forbidden

sensation he was experiencing at that moment and was too proud to ask the Vid-Com to

rectify with the paging of a surrogate. For the first time in his life, he wondered if the

tumescence that had become acutely uncomfortable would dissipate without female

intervention.

"Captain?" the Vid-Com intruded once again.

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"What?" he bellowed, swinging his head angrily toward the offending intercom.

"Please do not use that tone with me," the Vid-Com chastised him. "You have a

visitor."

Cree cursed beneath his breath. "Who the hell is it now?" he demanded as he stalked to the screen and punched the unit into operation. Drewe Lona was standing outside his

quarters and looking intensely uneasy.

"Your visitor is Lieutenant Lona," the Vid-Com said in a cold, mechanical voice.

Cree ground his teeth together. "I can see that you worthless piece of wiring interface!"

he spat. "Admit him!"

Drewe flinched as the doors to the Captain's quarters slid airily open to him. He looked

up from his keep inspection of the floor and into the angry eyes of his commander.

"Well?" Cree demanded.

Dull red infused Lona's face. "I ran into a slight problem, Sir." His young face

scrunched into an apologetic half-smile. "I was told you had to have permission from the D.O. before I can put in the paperwork for you."

Cree glared at his second in command for a brief, raging moment before spitting out a

vile Diabolusian vulgarity. Spinning around, he stomped to the Vid-Com. "Computer!" he shouted.

"Captain Cree, I must insist: If you do not stop shouting at me, Sir, I will not answer,"

the Vid-Com warned him.

"Who is the Duty Officer today?" Cree snapped, ignoring the threat.

There was a moment's hesitation as the computer checked the daily log, then the

ominous answer slid insidiously into the room. "Admiral Drae Cree is on duty today,

Captain."

Drewe glanced at his commander's face and saw the wariness settling across Cree's

tight features. He watched as those cold dark eyes shifted from side to side in furious

thought then winced at the enraged explosion of contempt that shot out of his Captain's

mouth.

"Why the hell did it have to be my gods-be-damned sire?"

"Captain?" the Vid-Com pressed. "Do you wish me to contact the Admiral's office?"

"Aye," Cree seethed. "Make an appointment for me with him."

"Do you have a time preference or shall it be at his pleasure?"

"ASAP!" Cree yelled.

"I will see what I can do," the Vid-Com replied, it's tone even more chill.

"Bitch," Cree muttered as he swung away from the screen and slammed his powerful

body onto the sofa.

"Do you think he will give you permission?" Drewe asked, wishing he hadn't when the Reaper turned his full, annoyed attention on his 2/IC.

"Why would he not?" Cree countered, his eyes flashing brown fire. "After I spent two weeks in that gods-be-damned..."

"Captain Cree?" the Vid-Com injected.

"Aye?" Cree's voice was a song of contempt.

"The Admiral will see you at 1330, Sir."

Drewe barely had time to move out of the Captain's way as the man jumped up and

stormed into his bedsuite. He followed slowly, his long-standing connection to Kamerone

Cree giving him certain privileges no other man would dare exercise.

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"Have you thought about quarters for her once you have purchased her, Cree?" Drewe

asked, thinking it best to assume a positive outlook rather than consider a negative one.

"She won't be allowed to remain in the Women's Quarters once..."

"She will be living here with me," Cree snapped.

Drewe blinked. "Do you think they will allow that?"

"Why the hell do you keep inferring that I will not get what I want, Lona? They've

never denied me anything before so why should they start now?"

"This is different," Drewe reminded him. "You are a Reaper and what you are doing has never been done before. To my knowledge, no Elite has ever asked permission to

have a female live with him. You would be setting a precedent I'm not convinced the

Tribunal will allow."

Cree straightened up from the bottom of his wardrobe where he had found his uniform

tie lying in a coil at the very back. He stood there with the black leather tie dangling from his hand. "What makes you think they might not let me keep her here?" he asked quietly.

For the first time in his nine-year acquaintance with Kamerone Cree, Drewe saw an

emotion so alien, so totally un-Cree like on the man's face, it threw him for a second.

Never would he have imagined his commander capable of exhibiting uncertainty and

doubt, but there it was emblazoned on Cree's still face. It made Drewe uncomfortable.

"Answer me! Why wouldn't they let me keep her here with me?"

Drewe shifted from one foot to the other. "I don't know that they won't, Sir. I just think you should prepare yourself in case they refuse your request."

"They'd better not refuse me," Cree said, turning back to snatch up his uniform belt.

Drewe had no answer for that bold statement. With what passed for nonchalance for

the young man, he folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall as Cree

stripped down to his underwear.

Sitting down on his bed, Cree jammed his long, muscular legs into the black leather

uniform trousers then stood up to jerk them over his lean hips. He bent over to retrieve

his black silk uniform blouse then thrust his arms through the sleeves. "I want you to

make sure there is extra triso on board when we leave tomorrow morning," he said as he

buttoned the uniform blouse with irritated little movements of his powerful fingers.

Drewe tensed. "You aren't close to Transition, are you, Sir?"

"No," Cree answered, "but I wouldn't like to need it and not have it." He threaded his black leather belt through the belt loops of his trousers, snapped up his fly, and cast his

2/IC an arch look. "Would you like to be with me when I needed it and didn't have it,

Drewe?"

"No, Sir!" Drewe admitted, knowing full well he was being teased and astonished that another un-Cree like thing was happening here.

"Look in that top drawer and give me my collar insignia," Cree ordered as he turned to the full-length mirror on his bathing suite door and looped his tie over his head.

Drewe found the set of silver Raven insignia then extended them on his palm to his

commander. As Cree snapped the insignia into place, Drewe reached out to brush away a

piece of lint from the Reaper patch on his Captain's left shoulder. The scarlet red triangle

with the twin silver slashes bisecting the center were an emblem very few people on

board the station liked to see. Even touching it made Drewe's fingers tingle.

"How do I look?" Cree asked, heading for the door.

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really think you should put on your boots before you leave."

Cree looked down and cursed. He stomped back to his bed, sat down, and began to pull

on his boots.

He is as nervous as a raw recruit, Drewe thought, but he would cut out his own tongue

before making such a statement to Kamerone Cree.

"Well?" Cree barked as he stood up. "Do I pass muster, now?"

"Very professional, Sir," Drewe agreed. "And very intimidating." He knew from experience that whoever passed the Captain in the corridors would step aside when they

saw that black uniform advancing on them and no one would dare look up into the face of

the man wearing it. "Good luck, Sir."

For just a moment, Cree hesitated. He met Drewe's encouraging look, then told the

Vid-Com to open the door, darting out of his quarters before he could rationalize what he

was about to do.

YEOMAN Djarl looked up as the door to his office shushed open. He stood up

immediately, executing a crisp salute. "The Admiral is expecting you, Captain," he said.

"You may go right in, Sir!"

Cree nodded, acknowledging the salute. He walked to the Duty Officer's door and

stood there for a second, adjusting his tie, his belt. He squared his shoulders then pushed

the entry pad into the D.O.'s office.

"Captain," the Admiral greeted him as Cree marched into the room and snapped off a

perfect salute.

"Thank you for seeing me, Sir!" Cree barked. He threw his shoulders back in a rigid stance of attention, his palms curved along the side seams of his trousers.

"At ease, Kamerone," the Admiral said in a friendly tone as he leaned back in his chair.

He watched his biological son take a parade-rest stance with military precision and was

very impressed with the young man standing before him. Father and son had never been

this close before.

"Thank you, Sir," Cree stated.

"I take it you suffered no ill effects from your recent disciplinary sojourn?"

Cree's attention shifted from a point just above the Admiral's head to the man's dark

gaze. "No, Sir," he replied. "Thank you, Sir." His gaze lifted once more to that obscure point in the distance.

"The solar storm wrecking havoc over Hell-12 was a lucky break for you, don't you

agree?"

Cree's right check jumped in what often passed for a smile for him. "Aye, Sir."

The Admiral picked up a ceremonial dagger from his desktop and began tapping its

blade on the desk's surface. "What exactly did you want to see me about, Kamerone?"

Cree cleared his throat. "I came in to make a request, Sir. One I hope you will look

upon with favor."

Draw lifted one thick white brow. "And that is?"

There was a fraction of a second's hesitation before the Reaper blurted out: "I wish to

take a live-in companion, Sir."

The Admiral nodded, continued to tap the dagger blade on the desktop. "You wish to

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have Lieutenant Lona move in with you?"

Cree's brows drew together sharply in confusion. "Lona, Sir?" he asked, caught off

guard by the question. He risked a look at the Admiral and when he saw the man was

frowning, he looked away.

"It is no secret that you and your 2/IC are close," the Admiral put forth. "The Empire is aware you have been very circumspect in your dealings with the young man. I do not

believe any untoward charges of fraternization could be leveled against you, but if you

have decided you wish to exercise living privileges with him, I have no objection as long

as you remain discreet."

Cree flinched, automatically lowering his gaze to his biological father and keeping it

there. "Sir," he stressed, finding his voice. "While I have, indeed, a measure of respect for the Lieutenant, I have no desire to have him move in with me." The very thought of such

a thing was distasteful to Cree though he knew a few of the Reaper caste—not all that

fond of the opposite sex—were more apt to seek out their own kind for companionship.

He shuddered at the thought, color creeping into his cheeks. "Sir, I do not lean in that direction."

The Admiral's lips twitched. "No offense was intended, Captain."

"None taken, Sir," Cree was quick to answer.

"So, then," the admiral said, tossing the dagger onto his desk. "It is a female you are here to request."

"Aye, Sir," Cree acknowledged.

"I do not believe this has ever come up before now," the Admiral stated, drawing

Cree's uneasy attention once more. "You realize, of course, that such a request is highly unusual?"

"Aye, Sir," Cree said. His stomach felt as though maggots were crawling around inside it and he was beginning to wish himself as far away from this office as time and space

would allow.

"And that female live-in companions are discouraged among the Retrieval Units?"

"Aye, Sir." Cree's voice was dull, lifeless.

"This female is a Terran?"

Cree nodded then mentally kicked himself for his momentary lack of respect. "Aye,

Sir."

Admiral Cree tapped his right index finger along his nose. "One of your therapists, I

take it," he asked for clarification. He swiveled in his chair and pulled the keyboard of his computer toward him.

"She was, Sir." Cree's uneasy eyes followed the Admiral's fingers as they began to type something into the computer. When the Admiral glanced up at him, Cree quickly returned