grav-hoppers in the parking area just south of the camp, and it's drunk enough out that you should be able to duck what guards're left."

"Ranger!" Dave exclaimed, horrified. "That's a Ranger—" He broke off at Theo's expression. "Yeah … I think I can." Then he'd see what he could do!

"Okay. Do a good job; I'll need a fair-sized lump to convince his Lordship." Theo turned his back to his prisoner.

Dave picked up the lamp and hefted it, thinking. He and Theo both wanted to help the Ranger, so he'd have to make his escape look real—but he didn't want to hurt Theo, who'd been as good to him as possible under the circumstances. He took a deep breath, gave the lamp a couple of practice swings, and then brought it down with what he hoped would be the right amount of force.

Without a sound, Theo collapsed.

"Hey, it worked!" Dave exclaimed, a little surprised.

Then he frowned as a sudden thought struck him, and he knelt beside Theo's limp form. A blow like that, he'd read, could sometimes kill! But thankfully this time it hadn't; he was relieved to find his guard still breathing. Theo might play a mean game of chess, but for a rebel he was okay. Dave started to leave the tent, but it occurred to him that it would look better if he took Theo's gun.

He did so, slipping the heavy disruptor pistol into his belt. He knew how to use it; his mother had been an Imperial Marine, and had made sure her husband and children knew how to handle all the weapons she'd been trained on. He checked to be sure the area was clear, then left the tent. Everyone seemed to be near the main fire at the center of camp, but he kept to cover anyway. He knew he should leave without stopping for anything, but he couldn't. Not with a Ranger being hurt . . .

The cries of pain were weaker, and as Dave made his way toward the fire, he found himself hoping the Ranger would pass out. He was getting too close to stay on the ground, though; he climbed one of the trees that ringed the campfire and made his way along a limb until he could see what was going on through the leaves.

Almost immediately he ducked back, half-sick and not wanting to believe what he'd seen. He'd known it would be bad, the sounds hadn't left any doubt of that—but knowing didn't make it any easier to watch an Imperial Ranger being beaten, maybe to death. Dave's first impulse was to start shooting, but even as he reached for the disruptor in his belt he realized that would do more harm than good. Firing into the rebels would just get him recaptured, maybe killed, and that wouldn't do either him or the Ranger any good. There were too many rebels, and it looked like they were all mean-drunk.

Where in Chaos were the Marines? Dave thought desperately. They should be here, stopping this! In the holos, they always came to the rescue—but in his mother's stories, they were sometimes too late. He inched forward again, horrified fascination making it impossible for him to look away. The Ranger's cries had subsided to moans, his body jerking at every impact of the whip the rebels were taking turns using on him. After what seemed like hours, even the moans ceased, and he hung limp in his bonds.

With the entertainment over, the rebels lost interest in their prisoner, and the ones who hadn't already been overcome by the refreshments wandered away, too drunk—or, Dave thought bitterly, too confident of the Ranger's helplessness—to bother posting guards. He descended from his perch, careful not to lose the disruptor. He didn't dare use it now, it was too noisy, but it could come in handy later. Right now what he needed was a quiet way to cut the Ranger's bonds. Maybe one of the passed-out rebels carried a knife he could use—most people did, in the wilderness.

The dying firelight provided just enough illumination for him to find what he needed on the second rebel he checked. It was an expensive hunting knife, and he hesitated for a moment, feeling a twinge of guilt at taking it even from a rebel.

But the twinge didn't stop him; he had to help the Ranger! He stared for a moment at the limp figure in the torn and bloody forest-green uniform, then moved toward the south. He had to get transportation first; he was strong for his age, but he didn't think he could carry or drag that much dead weight—he shuddered at that thought—very far.

The parking area was guarded, though it was obvious that the two on duty had been doing their share of drinking. Dave thanked any gods who might be listening that the rebels didn't come at all close to Marine standards; if they had, a fourteen-year-old civilian wouldn't have had a chance. Even as it was, he'd be lucky to get out.

Not that he didn't have some things going for him, he thought as he studied the layout of the parking area and the way the guards were negotiating their patrol routes. First was surprise, since they wouldn't know he was free and wouldn't consider him much of a threat if they did see him. Add that he was armed, something else they wouldn't expect—and, he thought grimly, that he had paid a lot of attention to his mother's stories and teaching. He might be young, but he had as much theoretical combat knowledge as anyone who hadn't been through the Academy, and he was willing to use gun and knowledge both to help the Ranger. But right now, stealth was better than a confrontation.

He made his way cautiously to an aidvan, finding as he'd half-expected that it wasn't secured; aid vehicles had to be ready to go at a moment's notice. He would have liked to take the van, considering the Ranger's injuries, but he didn't dare; he needed something that was both more maneuverable and less noticeable. He also didn't have the training to make use of its resources, at least not enough to make it worth the tradeoff. But he could take things he knew how to use, like bandages, emergency blankets, a survival kit, and rations; he stuffed those into a carrying sack, then went forward to check the controls. This was a rebel camp, after all, so the vehicles shouldn't require personal ID to operate; if it was like most large fleets a single code should be able to activate anywhere from five to a couple of decade vehicles. And the aidvan ought to have one of the code cards in the slot, ready to go…

Dave grinned in satisfaction when he got to the driver's position. Convenience, as he'd hoped, had overcome security, something his mother said disapprovingly even happened sometimes with Marine units; the card was in the slot. He took it, then grabbed his supplies and hurried into the next vehicle in line.

He breathed a sigh of relief when the card proved to activate this vehicle as well; he might have had to go through a decade or so. Now to see if it had … yeah, good. Lord Robert might be a rebel, with creeps—well, mostly creeps, Theo was okay—for followers, but he had good equipment. This had variable coloration, which Dave promptly set for camouflage, as well as convertible capability, a light-enhancing windscreen, and a low-power setting that made the whine of null-grav engines almost inaudible. Making use of the last two, Dave took the vehicle carefully out of the parking area. Really good equipment had its disadvantages, too, he knew,; he'd have to get the Ranger, get out of camp, and find a hiding place fast, before the rebels realized what was happening and used the override the car almost had to have. He wouldn't dare take enough time to get home, or to a town, and his camp was out of the question.

Dave lowered the car's top as he guided it into the campfire area and nudged the passenger side against the Ranger's legs, then he clambered into the back and stood on the seat to reach the man's bonds. They were rope, so he wouldn't have to risk even low-power disruptor fire; he sawed through them, then laid the Ranger as gently as he could on the back seat. The fabric he touched was sticky-wet; he wiped his hands on his pants legs before he got back in the driver's seat and began edging the car away from the camp.

He kept the car on