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and yet, the thought of being at his mercy made my bile rise. What would he do to me?
    "Tell me your name," he said. "Your first name."
    As pathetic as it was, I wanted to resist him in any way I could. "No."
    "A shame." He was closer now. Way too close. He smelled like something I couldn't identify—it was a clean smell, almost soapy, not quite minty, not quite sweet. He smelled cold , if cold had a smell. "I've told you my name,"
    he said, his voice a suggestive whisper. His lips brushed my ear, causing me to shiver. "I'd give just about anything to hear you say it." One hand landed on my knee and began to slide slowly up my thigh. I tensed, willing my body not to respond. "I'd love to hear you scream it as you came." I felt his lips on my jaw. His hair tickled my cheek. His

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    fingertips brushed my groin.
    It was too much. I jerked backward instinctively,
    pushing him roughly away.
    He didn't pursue me. He sighed in disappointment.
    "Well," he said, "you may as well stay for dinner."
    The meal was awkward. My wrists were still bound.
    I was able to feel around enough to determine that the bowl in front of me held some kind of shell-type pasta. There was also wine and bread. I fished around in the bowl with my fork and came up empty each time. Was I supposed to eat with my hands?
    "I'm sorry," he said, and to his credit, he sounded sincere. "I didn't consider how difficult it would be."
    "It's fine," I said. I was actually relieved, to some extent. Accepting his hospitality felt like a betrayal to Rikard and to my men. I ate only the bread. I drank only water. And I felt better for it.
    "Tell me, Captain Kelley, how is it a fine young soldier like you finds himself guarding a spoiled rich boy instead of fighting?"
    I debated how to answer him. I settled for, "Maybe I'm not a fine soldier at all."
    He laughed. "I saw you fight. I was a captain once, myself. I know good men when I see them. Have you ever been on a military campaign?"

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    "Of course."
    "Doing what?"
    "The usual." Dealing with rebellions and
    insurrections and labor strikes on planets like Rosen that didn't want to be annexed.
    "What was your last assignment?" he asked.
    "Before guarding the regent's son, I mean?"
    "Three years ago, I was sent to Fallon."
    "During their failed revolution?"
    "Yes."
    "A successful campaign, I suppose, from the
    Empire's point of view."
    "It was…" I tried to think of what I could say. It had been successful, yes, but also disillusioning. "My squad was ordered to search and secure a compound. Intel said it was a base for the rebels."
    "And was it?"
    "Yes." I said, but I was glad I didn't have to look in his eyes as I said it. It had been a base for their rebels, in that rebels lived there, but it wasn't like previous assignments I'd been on, where our target was purely militant. We'd found ourselves instead on a commune—a home to dozens of families. I remembered my shock upon bursting into a room, my weapon at the ready, only to find a woman clutching her frightened children to her. Sons

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    watched as their fathers were arrested, or worse.
    There wasn't much blood, but the air was thick with the rank smoke of the gas grenades we'd used in the raid.
    Children were crying everywhere I turned. Women spat on us as we passed.
    When it was over, five of the men in my squad
    couldn't be found. I was sent to find them, and I did. They'd discovered a girl, hiding under her bed. She wasn't a child anymore, but she wasn't quite a woman either, and nothing could justify what they were doing to her. The last one was just finishing up when I arrived, smiling smugly as he zipped his pants. She was alive, but her eyes weren't.
    Wherever she'd gone inside her head, I hoped she hadn't felt what they'd done to her.
    "Captain?" Valero said, and I jumped. I'd been lost in the memory of that day.
    I shook my head to clear it. "That was my last military