Page 27 of Warrior’s Mate

"Maelis."

Kaiven's hand closed around her forearm. Her body reacted to him before thought caught up—the recognition from the tunnel, the impossible certainty that had entered the space between them. Solmatu. She almost hated the word for existing today.

"What?"

"Exchange."

She nodded. They sprinted toward the nearest utility transport. Kaiven shoved the driver aside without ceremony, took the controls, and accelerated hard enough to throw Maelis against the restraint harness.

"Warn me."

"I did."

"You said one word."

"It was a useful word."

Despite everything, anger steadied her.

"Turn west."

"The exchange is north."

"Main road will choke in three minutes."

He glanced at the traffic display. It already was.

Vehicles poured away from the eastern ridge. Civilian transports, farm crawlers, private skimmers, carts. Everyone was choosing the largest road because fear made obvious routes feel safe.

Maelis pointed toward a narrow maintenance lane between irrigation embankments.

"West."

Kaiven turned. The transport dropped off the pavement onto the service lane, suspension protesting. Another enemy craft crossed overhead. Kaiven looked up once, identified it, and swore.

"What?"

"Sargan."

The name chilled her more than the explosions had. Everyone on Farseek knew the Sargans.

Raiders. Slavers. The labels came easily now: military opportunists who made profit from weakened worlds and populations no one was left to protect.

"But why here?"

"I don't know."

"You said their movement was only suspected."

"It was."

"Your intelligence is terrible."

"Now?"

"Especially now."

His mouth tightened, but there was almost something like approval in his eyes. They reached the agricultural exchange from the western loading side. The central yard had become controlled chaos. Controlled because Maelis's staff had followed the readiness exercise.