Chapter 20
Piras remembered few details of the meeting he’d called. The faces of the men around him, with the exception of Hobato, were blurred and featureless. His dazed brain barely managed to record the most basic points.
There was nothing High Command could do to effect the immediate rescue of Laro. For the most part, the admirals sat around or paced in Hobato’s conference room, watching the reports roll in.
Voices rose and fell in hectic pulses that made Piras’s aching head throb harder with agony.
The accounts that he did absorb were more terrible than Piras had anticipated.
Not only had a large contingent of the Basma’s fleet assaulted the isolated station, but Bi’is hunter-killers had swarmed over the border to join in the fight.
At first, Piras had almost shouted a confession in his horror, unable to handle that he’d been an instrumental part of such an abomination.
Only Kila’s certainty that even Maf would not stoop so low as to allow Bi’is to gain a real foothold in the Empire kept him silent.
He found slim comfort that not enough of the small but lethal Bi’is ships had breached Kalquorian space to overcome Maf’s destroyers.
Piras hoped against hope that Maf had brought in Kalquor’s longtime enemy to take Laro down and nothing else.
That the hunter-killers would return to their side of the border as soon as the station was secured for the traitors.
It was the faintest glimmer of light in those long, dark hours during which Laro refused to surrender.
Casualties mounted as Maf’s soldiers boarded the station and fought its defenders, and Piras could well imagine the piles of bodies of the brave men who’d fought the destruction he’d brought upon them.
Their blood is on my hands. In my heart. I’ll never be able to wash off the stain.
He could have wept with relief when the live feed cut off moments after Laro’s commander confirmed the station was overrun.
The final thing they heard was that the auxiliary control room was the last holdout, and the attackers were breaking through the door.
Then silence reigned, leaving technicians to report from remote viewing satellites.
Their confirmation that the Bi’isil ships were returning to their side of the border appeased no one.
Fierce debate ensued among the High Command admirals.
Lost in despair, Piras said nothing as others made their cases as to how soon the fleet must be deployed to reclaim Laro and at what strength.
Some insisted that for the moment the station must be given up for lost as Kalquor could not fight on yet another front against Maf.
Arguments rose and fell, with nothing being settled. The only thing everyone agreed with was that the immediate future looked horrifically grim.
It was Hobato who set up the temporary plan of action.
Each member of High Command was reminded he’d been given a territory to oversee.
The fleet admiral turned to Piras, who had been in charge of Laro’s sector.
“Tell the border they must contain the enemy for now. Meanwhile, we will determine how we can work the Basma’s split fleet forces to our advantage,”
he said heavily.
“It may be some time before we can ascertain Maf’s scheme.
Once we have some idea, we will act with determination.
For now, we will bide our time and plan.”
Piras almost brayed hysterical laughter that he continued to hold sway over the area he’d betrayed.
Instead he stumbled out of the conference room along with the rest, looking every bit as shattered and confused as his fellow officers.
He walked for some time, not quite aware of his surroundings until he found himself at his secret office’s door.
Piras looked at it for some time, wondering why he’d gone there.
He should be planning his next move.
Contacting the portion of the fleet under his command.
Shoring up the border defenses that were left. What was he doing, coming to the secret office? Why did it seem so important he go in?
As the seconds passed, it came back to him.
Kila.
He had been on his way to com Kila when Laro had been attacked.
Kila was in danger. The spy captain had fallen under suspicion, and Piras needed to warn him to be careful.
Piras staggered into the office, going to the desk to sit behind it.
He stared at the com for a moment, his brain freezing once more, stalling when he needed to be moving.
Piras shook the inertia off and hit a saved frequency with the desperation of a drowning man reaching for a rescuer.
The voice coming from the com was the first sane thing Piras could remember hearing. “Captain Kila here.”
“It’s me. The Basma’s fleet has taken Laro Station.”
“Piras? You don’t sound good.”
“The casualties…Mother of All, Kila. Laro refused to surrender. It’s a bloodbath, and the Bi’is helped Maf.”
“Fuck me,”
Kila swore, and followed that up with a few more foul epithets.
As he cursed, Piras fought to pull his still-scattered thoughts together. He tried to shake off the shock of the past hour and function normally, though there continued to be a strange buzzing in his head and the room around him had a hazy aspect.
“Listen, that meeting I was called in first thing this morning for? It was Fleet Security. An asshole, Senior Officer Diwal, hauled me into his office for questioning.”
“Questioning? For what?”
“They detected com transmissions going from your ship to the regions where the Basma’s fleet has been. While he acknowledged it could have been anyone on the destroyer sending those coms, Diwal seemed to want to target you specifically.”
Kila’s tone went tight. “Piras, put your ass in a shuttle and get into space now. Don’t even head for the ship, because it won’t be there. I’ll pick you up.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. They have nothing but suspicions, nothing concrete so far—”
“Now, damn it! The fact they’d haul in an admiral says they’ve got more than they’re admitting to. Leave while everything’s still in a state of chaos.”
“But the Basma won’t believe I’m truly with him if I leave. He wants me here.”
Even as he spoke, Piras knew he was jabbering. Shock, I’m in shock. I’ve got to get my head together.
Kila’s voice roared from the com. “Maf’s got Laro, doesn’t he? You handed it over, exactly as you said you would. He doesn’t need more proof, and you’ll do him no good in a prison camp. You’ll do even less executed as a traitor. Piras, you’ve got to get out of there now, before it’s too late.”
Kila’s usual mocking tone had a definite note of panic. It occurred to Piras that he’d forgotten to be cautious on his way to the secret office. If Diwal had been following him or was tracking all coms going as well as coming from Kila’s ship—
“I’m on my way. Where do I go?”
“Move towards the general area where I’ve been orbiting. I’ll collect you.”
“You’re already gone?”
Surely Kila hadn’t broken away that fast.
“Go, damn you!”
Piras shut down the frequency on Kila’s shout. The stunned state that had infected his brain was at last dissipating, leaving with a sense of doom. He was fucking up, losing time. He had to move fast, but without attracting undue attention.
Piras hurried out, fighting the instinct not to run. It took every last ounce of control he possessed.
He made for the shuttle bay. He chafed as the conveyance he took made stop after stop at each floor, picking up and discharging passengers. With the attack on Laro Station, Fleet Command was chaotic with activity. Couriers and aides were rushing around, making things happen on behalf of their superiors.
Reaching the High Command’s level where his office was located, Piras decided to squeeze past the other men crowding the transport’s car. He reasoned he could walk quicker to the bay from that floor than deal with the constant stopping for discharging and taking on passengers. It was a relief to get out of the claustrophobic closeness of the conveyance, though the corridor was busy with activity too. The panic he’d been feeling eased as he gained the hallway and hurried in the direction of his office. His heart slowed from thundering to pounding.
Past Hobato’s chambers. Past Tranis’s office. Nearing the traitor Banrid’s office. His own office was in sight now, and beyond that, the bend that led to a passage that led to the shuttle bay where escape waited. He was almost there.
“Admiral Piras, halt where you are. Keep your hands empty and raise them in the air.”
Diwal’s shout was the voice of doom.
Piras froze. The personnel who had been scurrying about also stopped and stared. Admirals leaned out of their office doors, confusion and worry evident on their expressions.
Piras pivoted to face the Nobek who’d called him down. He noted Tranis and Hobato had also come to their doors to see what was transpiring. The corridor, moments ago a sea of soft murmurs and shuffling, was silent as Diwal and six members of Fleet Security confronted Piras. The group quickly surrounded the Dramok.
Diwal didn’t try to hide a triumphant sneer as he said, “You are under arrest, Rear Admiral Piras. Resistance will be met with lethal force, if necessary.”
Gasps from the onlookers rang out. The fuzziness of shock began to creep over Piras’s senses once more. Only when one of the officers slapped hovercuffs on his wrists did the Dramok find the strength to break its spell. He used the gloating expression on Diwal’s face to kindle his ever-ready temper and snarled, “After our conversation this morning? You have lost your mind, Diwal. What charge could you possibly level against me?”
“Treason. Collaborating with the enemy, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of loyal Kalquorians on Laro Station.”
Muttering filled the hall. At the same time, Piras felt his strength return. Diwal must have intercepted his com to Kila.
Now that the mission was fully underway, Piras lost all the confusion and second-guessing that had plagued him from the moment it had been offered. With clarity came sweet calm. He had an assignment to fulfill. An objective to see to the end, no matter how bitter that end may turn out.
In an instant, Piras settled into his role. He sneered, “This is ludicrous, and you know it. I will not only have your job, you pathetic ass, I’ll dance on your worthless carcass.”
“I doubt that very much.”
Diwal was flush with victory. He had Piras’s number all right. The admiral would have laughed at the man’s glee if the stakes hadn’t been so high. “You communicated with Captain Kila minutes ago, who you knew we were investigating for traitorous activities.”
“Investigating with no proof of any wrongdoing. You can’t arrest me for warning Kila he might have a turncoat on his ship.”
Diwal grinned, the expression that of a fanged zibger about to tear the throat out of a helpless baby ronka. “No, but I can arrest you for this.”
He raised his handheld. “Playback file ‘Piras and Kila com’.”
Piras’s voice, distorted and higher pitched than his normal tone, emitted loud enough for the stunned bystanders to hear. “But the Basma won’t believe I’m truly with him if I leave. He wants me here.”
Then Kila’s too-recognizable growl: “Maf’s got Laro, doesn’t he? You handed it over, exactly as you said you would.”
Diwal ordered it off as cries broke out from the onlookers. Over the senior officer’s shoulder, Piras saw momentary sympathy on Tranis’s face before his expression also hardened into the expected outrage. A little distance farther back, Hobato’s face stayed cold and unreachable…as it should be.
“Where is your sanctimonious indignation now, Admiral? Your sharp tongue? Nothing to say?”
Diwal snarled.
“Plenty to say,”
Piras smirked, feeling every inch the defiant renegade. “Starting with, fuck you and your hoaxed recording. I told you I was the wrong man to fuck with. You’ll learn that soon enough.”
“I think it’s you who will be the one receiving the lessons.”
Diwal jerked his head at his men. “Get this piece of treasonous garbage into interrogation.”
This time Piras’s temper impressed no one, not with him bound in hovercuffs. He swore revenge on every one of them as the guards shoved him roughly towards the conveyance that would take him back to the security wing. He managed to keep his balance just to piss them off more. He sneered and insulted their attempts to knock him down. They finally cuffed his ankles too and floated him to their destination.
He was frightened at what was to come. Such was the nature of spy work, however, and the one way out now was straight through. Such knowledge kept the fear from being little more than an irritant. Steady and determined, Piras vowed he would play his part to the hilt until he was broken or had escaped.
In the security wing, Diwal’s squad shoved Piras into an interrogation room. He felt stirrings of relief to see nothing in the brightly-lit room but a metal table and a chair. There was a rank undertone to the air, vestiges of old sweat perhaps, but nothing to alarm the casual observer. It was what was known as a ‘soft’ interrogation room. Only verbal abuse would be dealt out as long as Piras proved reluctant to answer questions. The physical stuff, if it was to happen, would occur elsewhere.
He was set to float a few inches off the ground in front of the desk. One of the guards said, “Transfer hovercuff controls to Ranking Squad Commander Diwal.”
“Thank you, Burif. Wrist cuffs, raise straight over prisoner’s head. Lower prisoner two inches. Ankle cuffs, disengage.”
The cuffs obeyed, the ones on his ankles springing open to be reclaimed by their owner. Piras was left dangling from the wrist cuffs. They stretched him so that he was forced to either balance painfully on his tiptoes or cope with the dreadful strain of his body weight pulling against his arms and shoulders.
His heart picked up speed. As far as Piras knew, soft interrogations rarely started with any physical discomfort. But with all the dead on Laro and Diwal knowing for a fact Piras had a part in that, he could be in real trouble right away.
Diwal paced around him like a restless, caged animal. “Laro Station. Why?”
Piras snorted, as if he had nothing to fear. “I have nothing to say to you. I demand an objective representative of the Justice Tribunal—”
Diwal went nose to nose with him. His scream was downright rabid. “You demand nothing! You will be lucky to walk out of this room in one piece, Piras.”
The rest of the security contingent snarled, but not at Diwal. When the senior officer backed off, Piras saw that their fury was for him alone. If their superior decided to beat the fuck out of the admiral, they would go along with it. Hell, they’d probably join in.
He refused to quail before the awful truth. Had he been in their position, convinced that he faced a true traitor, he’d have supported them. Nevertheless, he still hoped to keep his hide more or less intact. And maybe he could also keep these worthy men from losing their jobs and being court martialed for not following the rules.
He pointed out, “You know the law. Physical methods are only to be used after all other methods have been exhausted.”
Diwal laughed. “Oh? And who is going to worry if a traitor has been tortured? If he’s been denied his due process? No one said anything about what we did to Banrid, I assure you that. We had a great deal of fun with him, and he didn’t do half the damage you have.”
Piras refused to believe Banrid had been tortured. Gossip had gone around that he’d given a confession almost immediately, claiming he’d been blackmailed into compliance by the Basma like so many others. Diwal was trying to scare Piras with false claims. That assurance kept Piras silent.
Diwal grinned, as if he’d seen a moment of weakness from his prisoner. His pacing grew faster, his movements jerkier. “Even if someone kicks up a fuss about extreme interrogation techniques, who’s going to believe anything a lying killer like you says? If there is no evidence of torture, who will hear a word you say, you fucking murderer?”
His fangs were down. It might have been a scare tactic, but Piras knew the signs of a Nobek winding up for deadly work. Hadn’t he spent sixteen years with one of the most dangerous of the breed? Watched Lidon destroy with brutality when lethal force was called for? Diwal had that same aspect of bloodthirstiness. He wasn’t bluffing.
Piras had badly misjudged the security head. Or perhaps he hadn’t – this Diwal was a far cry from the one he’d met that morning. This version of the man had all the signs of someone who was closing in on losing control, of a warrior going mad from fury…or grief.
Horror dawning, Piras said, “You lost someone on Laro Station.”
Diwal’s vicious grin made it appear as if he would take a bite out of Piras at any second. “Look around you, shithead. Look into each and every face in this room. Each man here, personally picked by me to take you into custody, had a family member or clanmate on that station.”
Piras obeyed, but not to placate Diwal. He knew there was nothing he could have done to appease his captor at that point. He looked into the faces of the other Nobeks surrounding him because he owed them that much. He had sentenced their loved ones to death, and his obligation to recognizing their losses could not be ignored.
Diwal’s tendons stood out from his muscled arms and corded neck as Piras studied each livid face with mute hopelessness. “That’s right. You owe each one of us a debt of blood. The debt of your life. Oh, we won’t kill you, but you’ll wish we had. And before we’re done, you’ll tell us every fucking name of every fucking co-conspirator in the hopes that we will kill you and end your suffering.”
The security team’s burning stares condemned Piras as surely as he had condemned the men of Laro. Despite Diwal’s claim, he was as good as dead. Maybe they didn’t know it yet, but he did.
Perhaps a couple of them thought they would only hurt him. They most likely thought they would stop in time to keep him alive to face a traitor’s painful execution. Piras knew they wouldn’t, however. Not with the fury and pain they bore. They wouldn’t be able to halt the torture once it had begun.
Diwal ripped Piras’s one-piece uniform open from throat to groin, yanking it down to the swell of his hips. He sneered at the Dramok’s naked torso. “Not a mark on you, is there? Nothing to mar that long, perfect body. But that will soon be remedied. We’ll mark you and then have the medic whose father you killed on Laro heal you. And then we’ll mark you some more. Over and over and over and over.”
Diwal pulled a blade from his belt. It glittered like the cruel smile of a killer, cold and heartless in the glare of the too-bright lights. With a low, demented chuckle, the Nobek pressed it to Piras’s upper abdomen, just below the breastbone.
“Diwal, wait. I’m not worth your career. They’ll court martial you for this,”
Piras panted.
“I doubt it. I think they’ll give me a fucking medal, strung like a necklace on your intestines.”
Diwal pushed with little force. The knife was razor-sharp. It didn’t cut so much as melt into Piras’s flesh. It happened so easily, so quickly, that it took a full second for the pain to hit. By then, Diwal was already drawing a bloody line down to his navel.
Piras screamed and kicked as a blinding burst of agony erupted from the wound. His feet bounced off Diwal’s knee-high boots with no effect on the leering Nobek. Piras might as well have been kicking a concrete wall.
Diwal leaned back a little to admire his work. “Such a performance over a little scratch,”
he told his men. Their answering laughter was an evil crescendo to Piras’s ears. Several sounded hysterical, outright screaming their enjoyment. Once the loudest shrieks died down, Diwal asked, “Are you ready for another cut? Or would you like to give me the first name? By the way, Nobek Kila and Imdiko Lokmi don’t count, since we already know about them.”
Piras’s breath moaned in and out. He gasped, “I don’t know any traitors involved in Laro’s fall. I swear it.”
Diwal patted his shoulder, as if they were old friends. “Thank you, Piras. Thank you for giving me a reason to keep carving you. Not that I needed one, you understand.”
He sliced into Piras again, next to the first line. This one was deeper. Piras had tried to ready himself for it, but he couldn’t contain another shriek. Blood poured, painting his stomach crimson.
Instinct had him kicking again, this time with greater strength. He caught Diwal in the gut, sending the Nobek back a couple of steps. Diwal came at him with a roar. He punched Piras’s ribs several times in blurred succession. All at once, Piras couldn’t breathe for the agony.
Diwal stepped away, heaving air as if to make up for the oxygen Piras could no longer draw. He watched until the Dramok finally managed to wheeze, just as unconsciousness had begun to threaten. Every inhale was torture with bright, blinding misery. Exhales eased into thunderous anguish. Piras panted short, shallow breaths.
Diwal’s grin had gone lopsided, his look going murderous with intent. “Are you back with us, Piras? Good, because next up is Nobek Burif. You killed his nephew. Tell Piras his name, Burif.”
The Nobek whose hovercuffs stretched Piras up stepped forward. His knife, a huge monstrous creation that looked more like a sword, was unsheathed and ready to rend. “My nephew was Dramok Nali. He was on his first assignment, having just been through officer training. Barely more than a boy, you bloodthirsty, cowardly fuck.”
He cut Piras, damned near sawing into his left side. It was a vicious slash. Piras shrieked until his throat was raw, the screams turning ragged as his voice began to give out.
Diwal was right. He would beg for death. Not so much because of the horrific pain, but because Piras couldn’t bear to hear the names of the men his choice of Laro had killed. The men who hadn’t deserved to die.
Burif gave him a few more gashes before Diwal reminded him they weren’t going to kill Piras quite yet. It was obvious the bereaved uncle didn’t want to stop. He contented himself by punching Piras in the face.
Blessed darkness tried to descend, and Piras welcomed it. Diwal’s snarl of “No you don’t, traitor,”
came an instant before the unremarkable twinge of something puncturing his thigh. A moment later, full awareness slammed into Piras. He blinked at the syringe Diwal held.
A stimulant injection. There was to be no escape until merciful death claimed him.
Another Nobek officer approached. His knife was a particularly nasty instrument, its jagged blade meant for tearing as it cut. Piras screamed before it touched him. Despite his desperate cries, he still heard the name of another man dead on Laro. The knife settled against his lower abdomen, just above the base of his primary cock.
Something dark flashed before Piras’s eyes. The guard with the brutal blade flew backwards, taking the knife from Piras’s skin. Then Kila was standing before him, howling with fury at his assailants.
Arms wrapped around Piras, holding onto him tightly. He looked to the side to discover it was a pale Lokmi, staring up at him in wide-eyed horror. Two Nobeks appeared with him, wearing the security uniforms belonging to flight crew and not headquarters. They stood on either side of Lokmi and Piras, percussion blaster drawn as they kept watch on the half dozen men of Diwal’s squad.
Diwal’s Nobeks were raging, running like wild, maniacal beasts all over the room. A few ran right at Piras, Kila, Lokmi, and the other two men – and passed through their bodies. Piras and Kila’s rescue party might have been made of mist, except the headquarters team didn’t seem to see them at all. It was as if they didn’t exist for the rampaging men.
Had Lokmi not been so solid against him, his tight grip making Piras’s wounds almost unbearable with pain, the Dramok would have thought he’d gone insane or was having some pre-death hallucination. Kila turned to him and reached to grab at his wrists. It felt far too real to be a delusion.
Remembering the top-secret technology the two men had installed on their destroyer solved the mystery of their invisibility to Diwal and his squad. Groaning against the hurt, Piras gasped, “Fuck. You got hold of personal phasing devices too? You’re not supposed to have those!”
Lokmi’s dry tone didn’t match the apprehension on his face. “It’s hilarious what a man picks out as important in times like this. Hurry it up…Captain.”
“That insubordinate attitude is going to come out of your ass, Chief.”
Kila grimaced as he forced the hovercuffs to release Piras. Lokmi kept him from falling to the ground, holding Piras up on legs gone rubbery.
“Stay against my chest, Admiral. You have to maintain physical contact with my phase appliance to remain invisible to them.”
Lokmi was careful to keep the left side of his chest touching Piras as Kila grabbed the top of the Dramok’s uniform. The Nobek drew it up over the admiral’s arms, though he left it gaping open in the front. He ignored the men running through him and out of the office, shouting as they went in search of Piras and his rescuers. He told Lokmi, “We’ll chalk the admiral’s silly observations up to blood loss and pain. I brought a phase device for you too, Piras, so you can join us in our nefarious illegal deeds.”
“As if my actions with Laro didn’t make me enough of a criminal.”
Piras thought of the loss and found his wounds not so awful…certainly not all he deserved to have suffered.
“Let’s make sure that piece of work wasn’t carried out in vain,”
Kila said, his voice firm. His underlying message came through: Laro was a necessary evil to stop Maf’s evil.
Maybe someday Piras would believe that.
Kila pinned something on his shoulder. The Dramok gaze on a small metal square, just thick enough to hold a miniature circuitry board. He’d only heard of the phasing technology. He’d never seen the prototype mechanism, which had been developed from alien machinery captured a few years earlier.
“There, your own phase device, in case we have to let you go for some reason. Let’s get to the ship. The longer we stay, the greater chance something will go wrong and we’ll get caught.”
Kila caught Piras under one arm, letting Lokmi hold him up on the other side. With the two men’s support and the Nobeks from Kila’s ship leading them, they moved across the room. Piras was grateful for the help, humiliating as it might be. Even with the stimulant in his system, he couldn’t seem to get his legs to move well.
The doorway was crowded with Fleet Security running in and out, trying to wrap their heads around Piras’s sudden disappearance. Rather than passing through that chaotic knot of bodies, Lokmi and Kila guided Piras through the wall instead.
Phasing put men and objects in an alternate sphere of existence. They were not only invisible to others, but could pass through solid objects. It was a curious and wholly unpleasant sensation for Piras to walk through the wall and into the corridor. He remained within his universe just enough to see what was going on and feel some of the effects of his normal existence. The wall seemed to drag through his body, as if he was water going through a sieve. It was particularly uncomfortable against his injuries, and he moaned.
“Hang in, Admiral,”
Lokmi said. “We’ll get you out of here as fast as possible.”
Sirens began to blare. An announcement went over the public address, warning Fleet Command that the traitor Admiral Piras had escaped in the company of Captain Kila. The two men were to be apprehended with lethal force if necessary.
“You shouldn’t have appeared long enough to be seen,”
Piras complained as they hurried down the hall. “All it took was one of you grabbing hold and making me phase with you to end the torture.”
Kila snarled. “Fuck them. They’re lucky they still breathe. They had no right to cut you.”
“Just the privilege of grief. They all lost someone on Laro.”
Kila growled but said nothing more. The corridor was congested with officers now, and Piras and his rescue party were being buffeted as men ran right through them. It was bizarre to see as well as feel it happening.
Lokmi winced instinctively as five men raced through him in quick succession. “It’s too bad we won’t be around to witness security explain all the blood in a soft interrogation room. I’d love to hear that song and dance.”
Piras felt strength seeping into his legs as the worst of shock ebbed. He was able to help them move him faster. “I’m more concerned with you getting the ship through the cordon they must have set up already. The phase device on it is operating at peak performance, I take it?”
Kila found a ghost of his old smile. “It works like a charm. On the shuttle we used to get here too. That technology could make all the difference in the war if Fleet Command had Lokmi’s improvements that make it perfect. Too bad for them that he’s going with me so we can fuck over Maf in person.”
“Speaking of doing things in person, you shouldn’t have come for me yourselves. The mission—”
Kila’s interruption came on a vicious snarl. “You’re more important than the mission.”
“Like hell I am. We knew from the start I was putting my life on the line.”
Piras smiled despite the pain he was in and their still-desperate situation. “But thank you for the personal concern. I won’t forget that.”
Kila glanced at him and reddened. He looked away. After a moment, he said, “You’re right, of course. The mission is supposed to be the priority.”
“I expect you to remember that in the coming weeks, Captain.”
Piras made his voice firm, though it was hard not to be warm.
“Yes, Admiral. I remind you, however, that the mission is to get you into the Basma’s inner circle. With respect, that meant we still had to come after you. As the man responsible for making sure you get to Maf, I led the rescue.”
“Which could have gotten you killed. It still might, seeing how we’re not out of here yet. That’s not acceptable given you’d be needed for execution of a new mission.”
“With me and my crew outed, we’re all expendable anyway. We’d be executed as traitors by the Empire. If we ran without you, we’d run the risk of being killed off by Maf for fucking up. I had nothing to lose by coming after you myself.”
Lokmi grinned. “All of us on Kila’s crew are traitors now. That makes you our ticket to life, Admiral. Not here, but with the Basma’s fleet.”
Piras sighed dramatically and then groaned as a shouting Diwal charged through his body. “And here I thought it was because I’m so damned wonderful to have around.”
Lokmi laughed, a shocking sound given their danger and the snarling Nobek security guards rampaging around them. “I wouldn’t say that, but I’m in no hurry for it to be otherwise.”
They made it to a conveyance and entered it, trying not to stand in the exact same spots occupied by other men. Piras had to put up with a Nobek’s arm through his ribs, but he bore it with resolve. He even thought he was starting to feel better, at least emotionally.
He decided he might even find hope again…hope he hadn’t sacrificed lives for nothing. Kila and Lokmi weren’t shrinking from the horror of what he’d done to Laro Station. They believed in the mission. They believed in him.
Maybe it was more than mere belief. Perhaps Kila considered it was his duty to personally see to Piras’s rescue, but the emotion he’d shown said otherwise. He’d come to defend Piras because he cared. Even more significantly, Lokmi had no excuse for coming with him. Not a professional one, anyway. The man was not ship’s security. He might have fighting skills, but he was an engineer first and foremost. He’d had no business showing up to save Piras.
The conveyance stopped at the High Command’s floor, and the three men along with their security escorts stepped off and headed toward the shuttle bay. Piras needed to get into duty-mode, but he felt the pressing demand to say something personal first.
“Kila and Lokmi, thank you for coming for me. Duty or not, I want you to know—”
He broke off. What did he want them to know? That it meant everything that they had come for him? That they themselves had come to mean so much to him?
Kila’s sarcastic smile spread. “Stick with yelling threats, Piras. You do better with that.”
Piras managed to laugh, and he immediately regretted doing so. Fuck, he hurt. But he didn’t have time to hurt. They were in the shuttle bay, hurrying to a destroyer-issue shuttle that only they could see due to the phasing.
He pulled loose from Kila and Lokmi, standing as straight as the horrendous pain in his abdomen allowed. “I can run.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of this place.”
They jogged to the waiting ship, past and through the wildly searching security forces.