Exile's End

No one was here to see that smile and realize its meaning now, though, because Robie was not on board the Callon. He sat in the control room of a just-purchased tiny yacht, with only a single companion; and that woman, although a long-time associate, had no personal relationship with him - had never had to work for him - and therefore saw only a smile. Nothing more. So all she said was, "You look pleased, Captain Robie."

"I am pleased," Robie admitted, deliberately letting the small smile become a grin that distorted his scarred face. "I've waited a long time for this."

"You're paying us well for this," the woman countered, returning his unholy grin. She did not have his horrible facial scars, but her smile was somehow not one bit less distorted. "So. We'll take the young Valerias somewhere very safe, and we'll release them only when you give the word. And, of course, when you pay the other half of the fee for their - ah - detention."

"Exactly." Robie checked his chronometer. "And now, although I don't want to be a poor host - isn't it time for you to be back aboard your ship so you can greet them? And then get underway?"

"A moment, Captain." The woman touched her private comm, listened intently to a message that was not audible to other ears, and then nodded in satisfaction. "I have more good news, although you may not see it that way. The young Valerias are safely aboard my ship - and so is young Mistress Robie."

"What?" It was almost a bellow. Alan Robie reached for his associate, almost as if he would put his hands around her throat and throttle her; but an instant later he had control again, although a vein throbbed at his temple as he stared at her. "Kyla? What have you done to my daughter?"