SECRETS OF THE WIND by Charlotte Boyett-Compo Page A

struggle, had more than likely never occurred to him. Then again, he had not counted on his opponent being a Riezell Guardian, either.
    Going through the start-up procedures without thinking much about it, Chas settled back in the form-fitting command chair as the mighty engine roared to life. She sat there feeling the runabout vibrating beneath her rump and smiled at the nearly silent power encased in the titanium hull.
    The runabout belonged entirely to Chas. It had been awarded to her a year earlier by a grateful target and his family. Top of the line, state-of-the-art, the runabout was one of the most sought-after models at Tappa Industries. Only a handful of high-ranking officials within the Riezell Conclave could afford a Fiach model runabout. Not even General Siri, head of Fleet Command, had such a sweet machine at his disposal, for the retail price of the craft was upwards of one-point-five million credits.
    Buckling herself in the command chair, Chas tightened the safety harness, took a look at the proximity screen to make sure no unsuspecting body happened to be within range of the propulsion tubes and engaged the throttle to twenty percent. Beneath her, the runabout lifted with a wash of thick white clay dust spiraling up from beneath the sleek black matte belly of the craft.
    Those at the crime scene shielded their eyes as the runabout climbed fifty feet into the late-morning sun, nosed to starboard—the propulsion engine heat pointed away from any humans on the ground—then took off like a rock from a slingshot.
    “That’s one awesome piece of work,” the fourth-class med ex said with a sigh.
    Colonel Brock nodded as the runabout disappeared from view. “Aye,” he replied. “She is, and one of our best operatives. If I needed protection, Chastain Neff would be the RG I’d want assigned to my ass.”
    It was obvious the med ex had been commenting on the expensive piece of machinery that was transporting the Riezell Guardian, but he made no comment to the colonel’s remark. Everyone there knew how the colonel felt about his operative.
    * * * * *
    The bath had cleansed away the dirt and a twenty-minute power nap had cleared away the fog that had permeated Chas’ tired brain. After a bowl of high-protein chips and an energy shake, she dressed in the silver-gray uniform with its bright copper anchor insignia on the shirt collar that marked her as a Principle Riezell Guardian. Checking one last time to make sure she was properly attired, she left her quarters and took the elevator to the eighteenth floor of Command Central.
    The guards at the door to the general’s complex snapped to attention as she passed, the bases of their phospho lances thumping in unison upon the polished marble floor.
    “At ease, gentlemen,” Chas said as she entered the door they were securing. Immediately, the guards shifted their legs apart in parade rest.
    “He’s expecting you, Major,” the general’s secretary told Chas.
    “Any news yet?” Chas inquired.
    The secretary shook her head. “No, Ma’am. Not yet.”
    “No news is good news or so they say,” Chas reminded the young woman.
    “So they say,” the secretary echoed.
    “I’ll light a candle for his safe return.”
    Miriam Quillan smiled. “Thank you, Major. I appreciate it.”
    Chas tapped twice with the back of her index finger knuckle upon the wall beside the general’s open door and smiled as she entered the man’s office. “You wanted to see me, Sir?” she inquired.
    “Aye,” the great man answered. “Close the door, Major.”
    Chas’ left eyebrow arched upward at the order but she made no comment as she did as she was told. When she turned around, the general told her to take a seat.
    “They’ve found him?” she asked softly as she sat.
    “About half an hour ago,” the general replied. “At least what was left of him. I just haven’t had the heart to tell her.”
    Chas felt a tug at her heartstrings, and she asked if the general would