Newgate, Australia: In the 22nd century, history repeats itself. The land is controlled by "the Parliament," a gang of dissipated self-styled aristocrats who rule in a mockery of the English Regency. To survive here, you have to know the tricks. Like Jenny Red. She knows the score. She's been Down Under and made it out to tell the tale.

Macao, 2176

..."Don't run!" The man stopped abruptly, clearly under the mistaken belief that if he gave the impression of retreat, she'd somehow interpret him as a friendly. Not likely. Not even close. Although, for a nanosecond she did consider surrender on the grounds that it might get the idiot to quit screaming out her name at the top of his lungs for every bounty hunter in a five-block radius to hear. For all she knew, Parliament might literally have a price on her head.

"Jenny Red!" Okay, okay. So, he knew her name. Or specific lack thereof. She'd lost her given name what seemed like eons ago after it stopped mattering who her family had been. Well, she'd barely had a family. A father, mostly in name only, who probably only dragged her around with him for the sympathy factor she could bring to his scams.

In any case, the generic "Red", coined by a couple of slum-pals, suited her-and her circumstances given that she didn't really seem to belong anywhere-or to anyone.

"Jenny Red!" His dogged approach as he ran the length of the alley in what seemed like record time sent chills up her spine. She just kept moving up the endless ladder along the side of the high-rise.

She was at least seventy-five pounds lighter than him, and gasping for air. That this guy could move so fast given his size in this kind of atmosphere meant he had access to oxygen poppers. He obviously worked for someone with a lot of value to afford that stuff. Definitely not good. Made the idea of trying to kill him a less appealing investment in the rest of her life.

Sweat ran down the inside of her bulky protective gear, and clearing the side of the building to the rooftop, she had to battle a wave of nausea from the altitude and pollution combined.

The rhythmic clang of boots on the ladder behind her kept her focused on the copter, now resting in idle on the launch pad. The pilot opened the door, and Jenny pulled her handgun from the opposite holster. Glancing behind her, she saw the heavy clear the ladder and step onto the roof.

She pointed her gun at him, gasping and gulping for air, her finger slippery on the trigger. He stopped in his tracks at a bit of a stalemate and she finally got a good enough look at him to realize that he didn't have the stamp of Newgate on him. Just a gut feeling, and it wasn't like it provided her any sense of relief. He could have been hired through a middleman. Although given his obvious Japanese descent, he was likely a local. Closely shaved black hair, angular face, eyes narrowing as he stared back at her. None of that registered much concern. What concerned her was that the guy was built like a Sumo wrestler-without the fat. Taking a hit from one of those fists probably felt like slamming into a side of beef.

Slowly, he raised his gun to match. "I'm-"

She didn't wait to hear the rest. Swinging back around, she ran toward the copter pilot, gun still raised. Shit, she was going to have to go for a hijack.

Suddenly, the heavy was right behind her and she was flying face first into the ground.

Her gun went airborne. She raised her leg up, bent her knee and bucked her boot violently behind her, a cry of pain indicating she'd hit her target.

He flattened her anyway. "You keep using up your oxygen at this rate, you'll be delirious within five minutes," he said into her ear.

He was right, and she stopped struggling.

He sighed. "His lordship's going to be pissed."

His lordship? She turned her head toward the copter.

The engine kicked up swirls of filthy air as the pilot strode toward them, charcoal-colored trench coat billowing out behind him. Polarization shades obscured his face, but he looked tough, nasty...and familiar. The royal emblem snaked around the upper arm of his coat. Traditionally affixed in hammered platinum, this one in the raised black leather she'd seen only on one person before.

Holy hell. It was Deck.

D'ekkar Han Valoren, former prince and scion of the Han monarchy, walked up to the pile of body parts that represented Jenny and the heavy smashed into the concrete together, cocked his head at her and removed his shades. "Jenny Red. A pleasure."