an

slewed around, squinting through crusted, swollen eyes, unable to see her face through the biochem mask and command helmet. "I'd hate to get caught in a swarm," he said cautiously, the words slurred and drunken as he struggled to move muscles too stiff and battered to shape the sounds. Even so, those few words confirmed his identity. Dinny Ghamal swayed on his feet and sweat broke out across his battered face. "Asali bees can get mean," he added, waiting for her response.
"Oh, yes," Kafari agreed. "It's a good idea to have a bolt-hole handy, if you run Asali bees. Cheese rooms work pretty well."
She saw realization spread itself across his ruined face, tugging at the edges of his eyes and battered mouth. Then Dinny grippped her free hand—the one without a gun in it—with both of his own. Crusted blood around his eyes softened and ran red.
"You came back for us," he choked out. "They told us you were dead. Showed us pictures of your aircar, wrecked and full of bullet holes. But you came back, just for us . . ."
Kafari started to answer, intending to say, "Of course I came back for you" when sudden understanding flashed through her. He was speaking literally. He thought she'd come back from the dead. The amount of pain required to reduce Dinny Ghamal to such a state turned Kafari's hatred into ice-filled rage.
"There's an old saying," Kafari told him, "that our ancestors brought out from Terra. There is nothing as dangerous as a strong man's ghost."
Dinny's fingers tightened against hers as a rush of emotions—far too complex to take in while a battle raged around them—blazed in his eyes. Kafari pulled a backup gun from