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"I don't have a feien," said Autry, observing with some amusement as grasshoppers leapt out from underfoot. Were it not for his present company, he might have caught a few and seen how well they could jump with only one leg. "I don't like your kind. Bad enough I have to put up with Caleb's."

Autry groaned inwardly, wondering if Burgundia was really that dense or if it just seemed that way when you knew all the answers as Autry felt he did. "I'm not on a feien investigation team. I'm on a team that happens to be investigating a bunch of missing feien. The Fleet is overrun with your kind. That doesn't mean you generate enough crime to warrant a whole team of investigators."

Unless you counted the occasional brawl in that little feien bar, or the constant "he said she said" arguments, or the complaints about lost and/or stolen bits of junk. Autry did not. The junk (usually buttons, beads, or other worthless crap) was always easily replaced. The arguments never escalated into anything serious. The brawls were a piece of cake to break up when the people involved were scarcely bigger than a human hand.

Autry stopped. "But if you little ******** all think you can handle your problems by yourself, what the hell's the point? Or do you really think you stand a chance against Dr. M? That man has several hundred kills under his belt."

How dearly Autry wished it were an exaggeration, but he had to admit: with the poisonings, experiments, and accidents, the little fellow really had earned his nickname: Dr. Death. Even if admitting that meant admitting Autry had not himself killed so many people. (Now that he was with the Fleet, chances were he never would.)

Autry took that as a good point to launch a tirade. "You really think your little plotting with Silva is going to do you any good? You were born in the Fleet, weren't you? Don't you remember anything? We've got stealth shields. We've got transporters. We've got emergency dimensional hole-punchers." It was a truly bad description for the last resort escape mechanism built into all the latest uniforms. "We've got flipping starships that can blow a planet into dust and nanoviruses that can convert living matter into soup, and you think that Silva is going to protect you? He can't even protect you from me, if I wanted to do anything." Which was almost a sweet sort of way for Autry to say he had not seriously considered killing Burgundia, just fantasized about it a few dozen times.

"Ed," said Autry firmly. "And explain to me how exactly no one can stop you." Autry was quite certain that he would stop Burgundia right here and now. He restrained himself from demonstrating, but only with great difficulty.

"They can't bust me any lower than they have," grumbled Autry, thoroughly unimpressed with the threat. He spotted a grasshopper on a tall blade of glass and aimed a kick at it. The poor thing went hurtling away with a crunch that probably indicated it was damaged. "Anyway, I doubt your bond can do anything to me, unless she has the ear of the Supreme Commander. Try another threat, sweetheart."

Autry whistled, one of those incredibly rude male catcalls of a whistle. "I gotta hand it to you, babe, you give the word 'delusional' a whole new meaning. Not only is Emperial not the Supreme Commander, she is so incredibly not the Supreme Commander I'm wondering exactly which Fleet you were came from, 'cause it sure as hell couldn't be the same Fleet I work for."