Prologue

"If I don't pay them, they'll kill me." Her sister's desperate
voice echoed in Tyra Eteocles's mind like a silent phantom stalking
her sanity while Tyra sat alone at her kitchen table. 

And she had actually thought it'd been a joke. What with Chrysla's
flair for exaggeration and her melodrama, as well as the number of
times she'd cried her death was eminent, how was she to know that this
time the cry for help had been real?

Tyra wanted to scream, to curse, to tear her house apart; to do
something other than wait for the loaners who would return and finish
off her sister, Chrysla, within the month. 

How many more times would Chrysla barter with them for money to invest
or gamble? And how many more times would Chrysla run to her for the
money when the balance came due? 

Tyra hung her head in her hands. Never once in the past had Chrysla
been hurt. And she cursed herself that she hadn't been quicker this
time with the money. She'd gathered as much as she could as fast as
she could, but it hadn't been enough. 

There never seemed to be enough. She sighed in disgust.

Why hadn't Chrysla come to her sooner? Maybe then she could have sold
something and gathered the money to pay off Chrysla's latest debt. 

Twelve hours just hadn't been enough time! 

Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. Tyra gave a bitter laugh as she
wiped the tears from her face. Sell what? She didn't own anything of
real value. Not even her rusty, dilapidated fighter would bring
enough money from an auction to pay half of what Chrysla owed. 

If only their father hadn't been such a dreamer, maybe then he could
have left them something more than a mountain of debts that she still,
fifteen years later, hadn't paid the full balance. 

If only Chrysla hadn't inherited their father's useless idealism. If
only— 

The telecom buzzed.

Tyra stared at it, her throat constricting until she couldn't breathe.
It had to be the doctor. She'd been waiting half the night for this
call and now she was too terrified to answer. 

She should never have left the hospital, but after waiting alone for
three hours, she couldn't stand it any longer. Too many memories of
her mother's death had haunted her. Closing her eyes, she tried to
blot out the image of the doctor covering her mother's lifeless body
with a sheet. His dispassionate voice rang in her ears, "Too bad you
didn't bring her in sooner. We might have saved her if we'd had more
time." 

Her father hadn't possessed the money to pay for a lengthy hospital
stay. Poverty had crippled her mother, then killed her. Too many
members of her family had died and she couldn't stand to lose Chrysla,
too. 

Please, Tyra begged silently. I'll do anything to get the money. 
Please, just let her live.

With a shaking hand, she opened the channel. The screen brightened to
show her the doctor staring at her with dark, sympathetic eyes. 
Tyra's stomach twisted into a cold lump of fear and for a moment, she
thought she'd be ill.

"Seax Eteocles," he said, addressing her with her professional title,
"your sister is out of surgery and in recovery. She'll be fine
in...time, but the voucher she used for the hospital cost was returned
with a denial. I'm afraid without proper medical attention, your
sister won't last for more than a few hours."

Tyra closed her eyes, relief washing over her. Chrysla would make it.

"Fria Eteocles, did you hear me?" he asked, reverting to the ordinary
form of address for a woman. "We're going to have to turn her out
unless we can get a valid voucher."

The knot in her stomach twisted even harder and she clenched her
fists. Tyra was so tired of being poor, so tired of the people who
demanded their money as if all she had to do was snap her fingers and
it would appear. People who had no idea just how precious every dina,
every breath, was. She opened her eyes and forced her anger and
hatred aside. 

"I heard you, Doctor," she said, amazed at the evenness of her voice.
"I'll get the money for you in cash. If you'll give me three days."

His sympathetic stare turned to doubt. She'd seen that look too many
times in her life and she despised it. Tyra added coldly, "I'll sign
over the deed to my ship as collateral."

He nodded. "Very well. We'll keep her here for the duration." He
cut the transmission.

Her feelings numb, Tyra stared at the blank screen. For the briefest
instant, she considered asking her brother, Phelix, or sister, Pheobe,
for the money, but she knew they didn't possess it anymore than she
did. Phelix and Pheobe would have to borrow it and the type of people
they ran with were even worse than the ones after Chrysla.

Family. It was all she'd ever had growing up an orphan. It was all
anyone could ever depend on. She and her siblings had pulled together
to survive. They protected each other; watched one another's backs. 
Now Chrysla needed her and nothing or no one would keep her from
saving her sister's life.

No matter what, she couldn't afford to let Phelix know what had
happened. He would go after those responsible and she couldn't stand
the thought of him lying next to Chrysla in the hospital. 

She was the oldest and it was her responsibility to settle this. 

With a determined hand, she pulled her holstered blaster across the
table, clutching it until her knuckles blanched. Maybe she didn't
have the best occupation in the universe, but it kept her fed. 

Her stomach rumbled a denial. As usual, Tyra ignored it.

Yielding a weary sigh, she stood and moved to her bedroom where she
could change out of her only dress and into her work clothes. She
pulled her tight, black jumpsuit on, the leather creaking as she
fastened the front of the suit and collar. 

Tyra stared at herself in the chipped, broken mirror. Her hollow,
golden eyes were dull and ringed with dark circles from a night spent
worrying over her sister. 

Tyra touched her face, seeing so much of her mother on the outside,
but knowing the similarity went no deeper. All she'd ever wanted was
to be the same kind, loving, gentle woman her mother had been. 

She wasn't. 

Unlike her mother, she didn't believe in the innate goodness of
others. Growing up as an orphan responsible for the welfare of three
younger siblings had taught her early on the necessity of having a
hard-edge.

Trisa, that's what Phelix, called her. 

Plaiting her hair, Tyra agreed with him. She was just like the small,
spiked animal that shot its poisoned quills at its enemies. Better to
strike first than be victimized.

Besides, she refused to make apologies. She'd always done what she
had to to keep her family together and safe. And no one, absolutely
no one, would ever jeopardize what she'd struggled so hard to maintain!

Her soul charged by her conviction, Tyra pulled her small reserve
blaster out of its box and checked the charge level before fastening
it inside her right boot, then she strapped the other blaster to her
right hip. 

"You're the best at this," she told herself, bolstering her
confidence; trying not to feel any emotion that could dislodge her
courage. 

She left her bedroom and returned to the kitchen where her computer
terminal rested on her counter. 

There were only two legal ways for an uneducated woman to get the kind
of money she needed— prostitution or bounty hunting. She refused to
sell her body, and at least as a free skip-tracer, she was able to
uphold her oath as a Seax while she cleaned some of the filth from the
cities. The same type of filth that fed off people like Chrysla; that
had once fed off her. 

With that thought in mind, she flipped on her vid monitor and typed in
her tracer's code. The bounty sheets came up. Tyra flipped through
them, looking for an appropriate target that could pay off most of
what she owed.

Her heart stopped beating as she found it. She scanned the contract
and her blood began to race. 

"C.I. Syn wanted Dead or Alive by the Trioxon Government for the rape
and murder of Eliza Kipelainen. Wanted Alive by the Trifarion
Government for filching, treason and prison escape." The money being
offered for him by the Trifarions would pay off Chrysla's debts, the
hospital bill, the lien on her ship, and she'd have a little left over
to live on for awhile.

Tyra bit her lip in indecision. Syn's name was more than well known
and more than well feared. He'd made his reputation as being the best
computer file filch in the known universe. And before he'd left his
mid-teens he'd been wanted by the Trifarion government. 

Rumors of his cruelty circulated within the small group of tracers she
associated with. To her knowledge, no other free-tracer had ever
tried to bring him in, and bound-tracers who were sent in after him
seldom returned. The ones lucky enough to return were never fully
intact. 

It didn't matter, she decided, pushing her fear and uncertainty away.
She'd never failed a mission before. Chrysla's life depended on her
success and she didn't intend to fail this time. 

Signing her name to the plate below the screen, Tyra accepted the
contract.