Craig shifted his weight so that the disc wheeled towards the distant streamer. "Narla...."
The girl's blonde head moved just a fraction—barely enough to tell him that she, too, saw the far-off feather. That was all. She didn't speak.
A little of Craig's elation left him. Again, as a thousand times before, he wondered about the slim girl crouching on the disc between his feet.
She was Zenaor's daughter.
Yet ... she had also helped to bring him, Craig Nesom, into contact with the Baemae.
Whose side was she really on?
Or did she even know herself?
Craig wondered.
But whatever the answer, she was here with him, in his power—his weapon to break her father's grip on Lysor.
He should have been glad for it. It was what he'd sought, the thing he needed to help avenge his friends who'd died aboard the starship. Only somehow, now, it brought no sense of surging triumph. If anything, the thing he felt was guilt, an ugly gnawing of his own conscience because he'd forced her to come with him.