Gabrielle Stryker sat silently at a small fold-up table in the Moon Base Penitentiary. Her ankles were chained to a sturdy metal chair, and her shackled hands were folded calmly on the table in front of her. She wore standard prison garb, that is, loose-fitting grey attire of a rather nondescript nature, and her auburn hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. She had been brought to this room to meet with “someone important” on urgent business, or so they had told her, though whomever she was supposed to meet had taken a dreadfully long time to see her. Finally, after many minutes of silence, the door to the room creaked open.

Two prison soldiers marched in wearing dark armor and carrying large guns, followed by a shorter, heavyset man. The latter was dressed in slacks and a white collared shirt and had a full head of whitish-blond hair. He approached the table and sat down opposite Gabrielle; the soldiers closed the door behind him and stood at the alert.

“Well, Gabrielle,” the man said, settling himself in his chair, “it looks like you may get out of this prison after all.”

Gabrielle said nothing, only stared at him suspiciously with her glittering green eyes.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Brian Holstat, executive of defense for the International Galactic Society, and I have been asked to request your help.” He extended his hand to Gabrielle, who declined his courtesy.

“Anyway, a recent event on the passenger ship Stargazer has raised a great deal of international turmoil. It appears that someone has stowed away aboard the ship and begun killing innocent people. Only yesterday, we received a broadcast from the ship informing us that two more people have died. We tried to make contact with the pilots to tell them to bring the ship back to Earth, but received no reply. We have reason to believe that the ship may be in the hands of a madman. We could have hired a team of professionals; however…” his voice trailed off.

Gabrielle tilted her head to one side and gave a wry smile. “Continue, Mr. Holstat.”

Holstat had been looking down at his hands, as if afraid to finish what he had begun to say. But at the sound of Gabrielle's sharp voice, his head snapped up. Pursing his lips, he continued. “Skilled as the professionals are, they have one major weakness…they don't know how the mind of a criminal works.”

At this Gabrielle began chuckling softly, her thin, fragile body shaking with her amusement. “So that's why you came for me. You needed someone who thought as this madman does.” She laughed and slapped her palms on the table. “Now isn't that quaint…a madwoman chasing a madman!”

Holstat looked rather disturbed; he fidgeted nervously in his seat. Gabrielle's laughter echoed in the tiny room. Holstat began to say something, but he was cut short.

Gabrielle stopped laughing abruptly and stared intently at Holstat. “All right,” she said, her voice icily serious, “I accept your assignment. When do I begin?”

The docking bay on the Moon Base Penitentiary echoed with the sounds of oxyacetylene torches, engine tests, and the shouts of coworkers. Sparks flew from ships as engineers welded broken parts into place. The air was warm and oppressive with the smells of molten metal and burning gas. To Gabrielle Stryker, this was home.

Gabrielle strode confidently into the docking bay, dressed in military camouflage and black boots. An ion gun was holstered at her right hip, attached to a belt of grenades and various other paraphernalia. Twin knives were hidden in her dark leather boots. As she sauntered down the monstrous room, the light of acetylene torches danced in her protective sunglasses. She grinned. This is what I was born for, she thought. Combat.

Gabrielle suddenly heard someone calling her name. Turning around, she noticed a young mechanic hurrying to meet her.

“Ms. Stryker! Wait! I was told to show you to your ship!” The man looked considerably harried; his disheveled blond hair stuck up at odd angles, and his face and clothing were covered with grease smears.

Gabrielle smirked scornfully and continued walking. She didn't need to be escorted to her own ship!

Nevertheless, the mechanic caught up to her and began speaking hurriedly, stopping to catch his breath as he talked. “Ms. Stryker! I told you that I would escort you…to your ship!”

“I didn't ask for an escort.”

“Well, you've got one, whether you like it or not.” The mechanic sounded rather indignant. “Besides, I was told to give you some last-minute information.”

“Shoot.”

“First of all, you are reminded that your release from prison is only temporary; a full pardon will not be issued until you have solved the mystery of the Stargazer, apprehended any criminals on board, and brought the ship safely back to Earth.”

“Is that all?” Gabrielle asked sarcastically.

“No. There's one other matter.” The mechanic pursed his lips, as if what he was about to say wasn't going to be easy. “Although High Command is sure that their promise of freedom should be sufficient motivation for you to accomplish your mission, they are not entirely convinced that you will not take advantage of the situation to desert. So, they have devised a way to prevent you from backing out of the bargain.” He produced a metal band from his heavily laden tool belt.

“This band has two purposes: for one, it acts as a homing beacon, allowing the prison officials to track you across the galaxy. If you even think of backing out, they'll be able to pinpoint your exact location and apprehend you.”

“So what else does it do?” Gabrielle asked in a sharp, menacing voice. The deal was getting worse by the minute.

“If the homing device doesn't serve as an adequate deterrent, the band also has the capability of emitting an electric impulse of up to 500 volts.”

“Clever bastards,” Gabrielle muttered under her breath. So, if she made any false moves, High Command would have the power to execute her on the spot. She didn't like that idea at all. But then again, this was her chance at freedom. If she declined to wear the band, she would be condemning herself to a life of prison confinement. Better to die on your feet than live on your knees, she thought. What the hell? I'll take the risk.

She extended her left arm and the mechanic snapped the metal band into place on her bicep. She flexed her arm, and was pleased to notice that the band was made of a lightweight (yet undoubtedly formidable) material that did not impede her freedom of motion.

“Thank you, Ms. Stryker,” the mechanic said. “I think I speak on behalf of the prison staff when I say I appreciate your cooperation.” He gave a slight bow. “Now, I'm sure you're eager to be off, so allow me to show you your ship.” He pointed. “Do you see that black Delta Class assault craft over there? They call her the Nighthawk. She's not highly armored, but what she lacks in defense she makes up for in speed. Excellent ship,” he added, as if speaking to himself.

By this point, Gabrielle had completely ignored the mechanic. She stared in wonder at the sleek black craft, shaped with the elegance of a bird of prey. Its smooth wings curved to form double prongs with laser cannons mounted on the wingtips. The cockpit beckoned to her.

She sped up her stride, leaving the mechanic behind. As she approached the ship, a gruff, unshaven man with dark hair stepped out of the cockpit. He looked down at her and grinned.

“Hey, Gabrielle! Hear you're takin' the Nighthawk for a joy ride! How'd you manage to pull that off?”

“Long story, Brandon,” Gabrielle replied, smiling at her fellow inmate. “Maybe when I get back I can tell you all about it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Brandon answered, climbing down a ladder from the ship's cockpit. He stepped down onto the docking bay floor and walked over to stand at Gabrielle's side. “She's a beaut, ain't she?” he asked, wiping his hands in a grimy handcloth. “I may be a prisoner here, but I sure as hell don't mind takin' care of the ships. It's gettin' to be like second nature to me. Still, I don't ever get to fly 'em,” he said wistfully, looking up at the Nighthawk. “When you get back, you be sure to tell 'ol Brandon what it was like to cruise among the stars again.”

For an instant, Gabrielle's face softened, and she whispered, “You know I will.”

Brandon caught the change in her voice and looked down at her. “Aw, you're a good gal, Gabbi,” he said, giving her a hug. “Make me proud.”

Gabrielle nodded and stepped back, regaining her composure. Brandon went off to find her a helmet. As she stood there alone, watching the man's retreating figure, she thought, I may not get back from this alive, old friend. This could be good-bye, not only between us, but also between myself and all the people I've come to know here. I'll miss you all.

Brandon returned in a few minutes with her helmet and wished her well. Climbing into the cockpit, she strapped herself in and lowered the canopy. The sight of Brandon waving her off brought a tear to her eye. She had enough rations to last her for about two weeks. She only hoped she would be alive at the end of that time.

Then she was accelerating into the starry expanse of space, and her ship was lost in the void.

The search for the Stargazer took several days. Gabrielle barely slept and ate as little as possible. She knew that the chances of finding a single ship in the vast reaches of space were slim. She also knew that her prospects grew worse with each passing day. Unwilling to waste valuable time and rations, she stuck to her mission with dogged persistence. With the help of her ship's speed (and a little bit of luck), she finally found the Stargazer on the eight day of her search.

The pleasure cruiser's name was well earned. Its upper deck was enclosed in an immense transparent bubble, presenting the passengers with a breathtaking view of the stars beyond. Its lower decks housed the ship's passenger cabins, built to be snug yet comfotable. In short, it was an excellent ship to be on—that is, so long as there wasn't a killer on bourd.

Gabrielle made a mental note of this last fact and double-checked her equipment. Once she was satisfied that all was in readiness, she piloted the Nighthawk under the pleasure cruiser's belly and prepared to board the ship.

Due to the nature of the mission, the Nighthawk had been specially equipped with a linking tube on its underside to allow the pilot to safely connect with another ship and enter without fear of decompression. Once her ship was snugly attached to the Stargazer, Gabrielle used an acetylene torch to cut a circular disk in the ship's hull. She considered using the torch to sever the metallic band on her arm but eventually dismissed the idea. The extreme temperatures of the melting metal would easily liquefy her limb. Giving up on that thought, she climbed up into the Stargazer and slipped stealthily down the hall.

She had positioned her ship just under one of the side hallways leading through the passengers' quarters. She drew her gun and advanced slowly. Danger could come from any of the passenger room doors, though she doubted the criminal would bother himself (or herself) with patrolling the lower decks. If someone had truly taken over the ship and killed the pilots, he would not be able to watch the entire ship at once. He would have to concentrate on piloting.

Nevertheless, Gabrielle could feel a surge of adrenaline rush through her body. This was what she lived for: the thrill of the hunt. To her, it was an exhilarating game, pitting herself against an opponent with life at stake. She grinned. All right, stranger, she thought. Let's see how good you really are.

She silently pushed on a door that had been slightly ajar. As it swung open, she peeked into the room. With no sign of immediate danger, she slipped inside.

It was a cozy room, but the flickering glow of the corridor lights cast eerie shadows across the walls. The room was dark and silent—deathly silent. Slipping on a pair of night vision goggles from her equipment belt, Gabrielle went deeper into the room to explore further.

Upturned furniture cluttered the floor of the apartment; shards of broken glass glittered on the floor. Looking closely, Gabrielle found a trail of blood leading into the kitchen. She followed the trail slowly, making sure that she missed no clue of what had happened. When she finally entered the kitchen, her grip on her gun tightened.

A man and a woman lay in a pool of blood on the tiled floor. Their skin was frightfully gashed by countless knife-thrusts, exposing muscle and even bone in some places. Gabrielle grimaced. What a mess. Whoever killed these people should have at least been civilized enough to shoot them and end it quickly. There's no point in butchering them. She knelt over the dead bodies. Hmm. The killer must not be a professional. Either that, or he was in some kind of a mad rage. These slashes are both inefficient and poorly aimed. None of the major arteries were cut. It looks like these two simply bled to death. Shaking her head, Gabrielle rose and turned to leave when something caught her eye.

She noticed something small and flesh-colored in a back corner of the room. Curious, she walked over to the object and nearly dropped her gun.

It was a small child lying dead on the floor. Her throat had been slit.

Gabrielle lowered herself to the ground and picked up the child in her arms. The tiny body was light and delicate in her gentle hold, like some fragile piece of fine china. A tear came to Gabrielle's eye as she gazed down at the dead child, cold in the clutches of death. A few last drops of the child's blood ran over her hands. In that moment, she felt a burning anger grow inside her, blazing with the heat of a forge. This wasn't right. True, she had killed men before, but she had had a reason for killing; in her eyes, her victims had sealed their own fate. But this child could have done nothing to deserve to die so young. Shaking with rage, Gabrielle laid the child carefully on the cool kitchen floor. Don't worry, little one, she thought. You will be avenged. With that, she stood and left the room.

Gabrielle returned the night vision goggles to her belt as she stepped back into the hallway. Then, checking to make sure that there was no one else in the corridor, she continued on her original course.

She passed through the two lower levels without incident. The ship was disturbingly quiet. Gabrielle had expected to encounter someone on the passenger levels, or at least hear noises coming from within the passengers' chambers. If the hijacker of the ship was humane, he wouldn't bother killing all the passengers; instead, he'd lock them in their own rooms. Not only would that save him from multiple murder charges if he was caught, but it would provide valuable hostages.

Apparently, whoever had taken over the ship wasn't concerned with either of these contingencies.

After about a half-hour of sneaking through the lower levels, Gabrielle reached the stairs that led up to the top floor. At this point, she prepared herself for combat. If the hijacker was aboard the ship, he'd be up there. The pilot's compartment was at the end of the breathtaking “Stargazer Field.” Once she climbed up into the upper level, he'd be able to see her.

Okay, stranger, she thought. You came here looking for a fight. Now you've got one. Holding her gun out in front of her, Gabrielle climbed the steps to the top floor.

The upper deck of the pleasure cruiser, commonly referred to as “Stargazer Field,” was designed to look like a peaceful park at night. Lawn chairs, benches, and small tables were arranged on the grounds. A fountain glistened in the center of the park. Gabrielle half-expected to hear the sound of children laughing, the quiet murmur of conversation, and the soft clink of drinking glasses proposing a toast. Those sounds might have once filled the domed park with life, but now the only sound Gabrielle could hear was her own hushed breath.

Everyone aboard the ship had been killed. People sat lifeless in their lawn chairs, held glasses of wine in livid fingers. Children lay motionless on the ground, enveloped in an eternal slumber. At first, Gabrielle couldn't tell if the people were dead or asleep; she could see no external signs of injury. However, after checking the pulse of a few of the victims she knew that they were dead. The killer had done a thorough job.

Gabrielle was seriously beginning to hate whoever had done this. He obviously didn't believe in a fair fight, and he killed unnecessarily. He showed a complete disregard for life and fair play. She was really going to enjoy shooting him.

Gabrielle was so lost in her thoughts of revenge that she didn't notice one of the bodies move behind her as she made her way stealthily into the cockpit.

The cockpit was empty. Gabrielle stood dumbfounded for a moment, trying to figure out where the killer had gone. A sudden pressure at the back of her skull told her the answer.

“Drop the gun.”

She froze, muscles tensed to fight, but she knew that if she moved she'd be dead. She gripped her gun tightly.

“I said, drop the gun.” The voice was more insistent this time; the command was emphasized by a sharp tug on her hair.

Gabrielle's teeth clenched in anger. She refused to give in to anyone, but in this case she knew she had no choice. Reluctantly, she let her gun clatter to the floor.

“That's better,” the voice said, and the grip on her hair was released. “I'm glad to see you're willing to cooperate.”

Gabrielle spun around furiously and saw her captor. It was a man in his early thirties, with short pitch-black hair and deep blue eyes. A jagged scar ran along the right side of his face. He was dressed in casual black pants and a dark green shirt, a black flight jacket rounding out the ensemble. And in his left hand he held an ion gun similar to Gabrielle's own. The gun was pointed right at her throat.

“Well, sweetheart, I must say that that was a valiant attempt to stop me,” the man said, grinning sardonically. “But you're going to have to do better than that to get the drop on me.”

“How do you know I was trying to stop you?” Gabrielle answered. “I may have just come to help you, to join your cause. I've been a prisoner for many years at the Moon Base Penitentiary, and you can bet I'd love to get back at them for keeping me there.”

“Really?” The man sneered. “Then what are you doing with a ship in use by the Moon Base Fleet, specially equipped to board pleasure cruisers? And why do you approach my cockpit with a gun in hand? No, my dear,” he said, shaking an accusatory finger at her, “you are trouble.”

“Then why haven't you killed me yet?”

At this, the man chuckled softly, and a malicious smile stole over his face. “There are far worse things than death, sweetheart. I will not allow you the honor of death just yet.”

Gabrielle felt suddenly chilled. She had seriously underestimated her opponent. His reckless killing tactics were only reflections of his deranged sense of entertainment. For this man, death was too quick. He liked to make his pleasures last.

Gathering up her resolve, Gabrielle asked, “So how long do you plan on keeping me alive?”

“As long as I can cause you pain.”

Gabrielle nodded. “Well, then, would you allow me to ask you a few questions while I can still think clearly?”

“Go ahead.”

“How did you take over this ship?”

The man smirked sardonically. “I guess I should have expected as much. I don't see how much good the information will do you, but if you must know: poison gas.”

“Wouldn't that have killed you, too?”

“No. I sealed off the upper deck and remotely detonated the gas bombs from the safety of the ship's lower levels. All the people up top died quickly. I slaughtered the rest one by one.”

“What about the lingering poison up here?”

“Ship's ventilation systems filtered it out: too late for the passengers, though.”

“Why in the world would you kill all those people?”

“A means to an end,” the man replied, quirking an eyebrow. “Even as we speak, the Federal Fleet is being deployed to find this ship. In the meantime, Earth's atmospheric perimeter remains relatively unprotected. My friends are preparing for a world-wide strike against the planet's major seats of government. In a matter of minutes, Earth will be plunged into chaos.”

“This was just a diversion!” Gabrielle gasped.

“Very perceptive,” the man commented. “But, alas, I could leave no witnesses. It was unfortunate that the passengers had to board the ship at such an inopportune time.”

Yeah, right, she thought. Their lives meant nothing to you. Pointing to a dial on the pilot's console, she asked, “Now what would happen if I touched that?”

The man glanced over at the place she indicated, just as she had hoped he would. In that split second, his attention was not focused on her, and she took that moment to act. She had heard enough of plots to overthrow the government and kill countless innocents. She could wait no longer.

Rolling on the floor, she snatched her ion gun and swung it up toward her opponent. He had fired at the spot where she had been standing as soon as she moved, and was now trying to correct his aim. She pulled the trigger and an electric arc leapt from her gun, catching him before he could fire again. He crumpled to the floor in a heap.

Grinning, Gabrielle stood up and went over to inspect the body. Her shot had killed him, unfortunately: she had hoped he would spend his life rotting in a prison. She searched him for anything of value or importance, but found nothing but some cigars, a knife, and a cigarette lighter. Disgusted, she returned to the pilot's console and sat down. Now all she'd have to do is figure out how to pilot the ship back home.

Within a few hours, the Stargazer was cruising smoothly through the vast expanse of space. Gabrielle sat contentedly in the cockpit and sighed. Her mission was complete. Not only had she killed the Stargazer's hijacker, but she had also sent a radio message to Earth warning them of a possible attack. For once, life seemed to look hopeful.

She could hear the call of freedom beckoning ahead.