Chapter 5
Gil’s first job for Arturo Main came off smoothly.
It was a feelgood run, loading and guarding a massive shipment of an extremely illicit drug even the tolerant Sectors had banned.
Then he was invited to participate in a weapons smuggling trip, transporting a significant amount of armament to a terrorist group in the Hinterlands and bringing back counterfeit luxury goods for distribution in the mid Sectors where the people could be conned into paying premium prices for aspirational goods.
The truly wealthy of the Inner Sectors knew better and the colonists on the frontier had no credits for upscale luxury items, not even fake ones.
As he was preparing the leave the ship after the final run, Gil was concerned he hadn’t been asked to work with Main for anything else.
From the scuttlebutt he’d picked up onboard, as other crew members talked, there was a big score coming up and Gil was sure that had to be the hostage exchange.
He was at a loss for what more he could do to get himself on the inside of the operation and as he hauled his gear and weapons to the ramp to leave the ship, he made plans for surveilling Main’s compound as best he could with his limited resources and investigate getting a one-man ship so he could fly to the Jlonngi system himself if necessary.
He wasn’t sure he had the credits available to swing buying his own ship without taking a risk and using his real identity to get access to his savings.
Lost in his internal debate over his next moves, he didn’t realize he was being hailed until Main’s number three thug got directly in his path and shoved him.
“You must really need a drink.
Or a fuck, considering how fast you’re walking,”
the man said.
“Been calling your name for the last three minutes.”
“Sorry, got a lot on my mind,”
Gil said truthfully, sliding the knife he’d drawn into the scabbard on his thigh.
“What’s up?”
“Arturo wants to see you and he don’t like to be kept waiting.”
The thug pivoted to the corridor toward the individual cabins and walked away a few steps.
“Leave your gear.
No one’s gonna steal your stuff.”
Reluctantly abandoning his rucksack, not sure he trusted his fellow criminals to leave his unguarded possessions alone, Gil followed.
He tried to strategize what he’d do if this meeting went badly but there weren’t a lot of good options.
From all indications Main was satisfied with his performance but in the criminal world where he now lived it was easy to put a foot wrong, insult someone, be accused of committing an offense…the list was endless and the ‘justice’ was usually swift and merciless.
Once he entered the boss’s cabin on the heels of the minion, Gil relaxed fractionally.
Main was seated at a desk, working on his handheld and glanced up at the interruption.
“Found him, boss,”
the lackey said.
“Trying to leave the ship.”
“The job was done, no reason to stay,”
Gil answered reasonably.
“I didn’t think you encouraged anyone to loiter.”
“Smart guy,”
Main said.
“I like that about you, Favor.
Listen I need you to sign on for another run, leaving right away.”
“More knockoffs for the upwardly mobile?”
he asked, hoping he was wrong.
“Job was a piece of cake.
Easy credits.”
“No, something much more serious this trip but I figure you’re ready for it.
We’ll be taking on certain…live cargo…and delivering it to the buyer.”
Main studied him.
“We’ll be in Jlonngi territory to do the drop-off, is that a problem?”
“As long as no one tries to recruit me into their screwy religion while we’re there, I’m good.”
Gil had a hard time hiding his excitement.
This had to be the hostage exchange he’d been waiting for.
“The usual pay?”
“Plus a bonus once the job is done.
This is really big.”
Eyes narrowed, Arturo studied him.
“You sure you can handle live cargo? No scruples gonna get in the way? My other guys have done this type of run before but you’re new to us.”
“I’ll be on the outside of the cage and the one with a blaster—I’m good.”
Gil knew from his research that Main had involvement in human trafficking, which he found utterly abhorrent, but he wasn’t here to take the gang down for the crime or any other reason.
He was here to rescue Daveed and he had to stay focused and play his part as an easy going thug with no scruples.
The gang boss seemed satisfied with Gil’s flippant response, which he’d accented with a wink at the minion as if he and Quint were buddies.
Luckily the burly man chuckled, lessening the tension.
“All right, stow your gear back in your bunk and settle in.
It’ll be a two day flight to the pickup point.
Got my supplier bringing in cargo to the rendezvous.
That’s all for now.”
Main resumed his previous preoccupation with whatever he was doing on the handheld.
The thug slapped Gil’s upper arm.
“You can go.”
“I hope my gear is still there,”
Gil said with a frown as he headed for the door.
“Haven’t you heard of honor among thieves?”
the guy asked with a raised eyebrow and lips quirked.
“Yeah, not on this crew.
You’ve got some seriously warped guys, in case you weren’t aware.”
On that note, Gil stepped into the corridor and hastened toward the spot where he’d had to abandon his rucksack.
It was there but had obviously been opened and gone through.
With a sigh, he gathered up the belongings which had spilled onto the deck and stuffed them into the sack, sealing it shut.
He hadn’t had anything incriminating or valuable with him but the idea of his unsavory associates ransacking his few possessions and no doubt laughing as they did so sent his temper soaring.
He reclaimed his spot in the bunkroom—only the boss and his direct subordinate had the luxury of their own cabins on this ship—and stretched out, hands behind his head, thinking about next steps.
Excitement at finally being close to seeing his brother again coursed through him, coupled with determination to accomplish the rescue he’d come all this way to carry out.
The voyage to the rendezvous was smooth.
Gil passed his time in his bunk, in the rudimentary gym on board the ship, or playing endless games of cards with his fellow mercenaries.
He was damn good at all forms of gambling and won his share of the pots, although he’d let others win if necessary to placate one of the higher ranking men.
He didn’t need any enemies here.
There wouldn’t be any allies, much less friends in this crew, but he couldn’t afford to irritate anyone until this job was done.
It would be a tragedy to get thrown off the job or worse, get killed in a pointless drunken brawl on board the ship, as one unfortunate already had been.
The body was spaced, the killer was penalized a hefty chunk of his pay for this job and life went on.
Within a few hours of landing on Radihe Two, Gil and the others were ordered out by Arturo’s number one henchman, deploying into a small fleet of groundcars which showed up at the landing pad.
There was also a large cargo hauler, empty for now.
Arturo addressed the assembled mercenaries.
“Here’s what you need to know.
All three of my suppliers for this deal have brought their merchandise to Radihe in the last few days.
We’ve got a meetup out in the desert to the north, away from any prying eyes.
We’ll take custody of the cargo, get them into the truck and haul ass back here.
I want to be off this planet before sundown and on our way to the Jlonngi system.
Word is the Sectors authorities might be taking an interest in what we have going on today and I don’t need any involvement with law enforcement. Get me?”
Gil nodded along with the others.
Too little too late from the Sectors, he thought bitterly.
He’d welcome a task force if it showed up but Arturo was running a big crew for this, heavily armed and ready to go to war if required.
He guessed the three suppliers, whoever they might be, were equally on edge and prepared.
And if the Sectors law enforcement did show up, the hostages would be the first to die.
Praying to the Lords of Space for a smooth, uncomplicated transfer, Gil took his place in the assigned groundcar.
On the long drive to the designated meeting place, his fellow mercenaries debated who or what they were going to pick up.
The general consensus was women, being trafficked for the sex trade on the border with the Hinterlands although a few speculated it might be gladiator candidates.
“Naw, this is too big for either of those.
Main handles those kinds of deals all the time,”
said one of the older thugs eventually.
“I’m betting on political prisoners.
You know, hostages.
People the Jlonngi can make a profit off of, ransoming them to their planetary rulers or the Sectors.”
Bingo.
A feeling of triumph swept over Gil and he had to fight to hide his exultation.
Only in my brother’s case at least, the time for doing a ransom deal came and went months ago and the Sectors screwed it up.
So what do the Jlonngi want him for? He had been thinking the sect’s leader Baxtir wanted Daveed to enact revenge for one of his brother’s past missions but then why were there going to be other hostages involved as well?
The groundcar slowed and turned off into a barely marked, dusty road.
A few minutes later the convoy pulled up on the edge of a dusty field.
Main’s men got out of the vehicles and waited, hands close to their weapons.
“Great place for an ambush,”
Gil said to the man next to him.
“Nah, the people we’re meeting with are getting paid a hell of a lot of credits after the delivery’s been made and the boss signals everything’s ok.
Which he ain’t going to do until we’re safe in the ship again.”
Dust plumes on the horizon signaled the impending arrival of the other participants in this exchange.
Stirring up choking clouds of the red dirt, the oncoming convoy braked to an abrupt halt about ten yards away from Gil’s position and armed men poured out of the vehicles, taking up positions with guns drawn.
Arturo walked forward calmly.
“Let’s get this done so we can all go home and drink.”
A woman emerged from the lead truck and strolled to meet him.
She had twin blasters on her hips and a massive knife strapped to her thigh.
Gil tried to imprint her face on his memory because if he ever got out of this mess, he planned to provide every detail possible to the Sectors authorities.
She and Arturo conversed briefly in voices too low to be heard before shaking hands.
The woman gestured impatiently to her own forces and several of the men ran to open the cargo compartments on the two cargo haulers and roughly remove their prisoners.
Gil was surprised to see women among the captives.
All of them were hooded, hands bound behind their backs, and were made to kneel in the dirt in a line.
Arturo walked slowly down the line, yanking the hoods off each person and comparing their faces to whatever data readout he had on his handheld.
Visibly amused by the whole thing, the woman leaned on the side of her truck and smoked a feelgood, blowing lazy circles of smoke into the air.
“All right, this lot is satisfactory,”
Arturo said.
His right-hand man gestured for Gil and the others assigned to the cargo trucks to come forward and take custody of the hostages.
Gil was glad the hoods weren’t considered necessary any longer but were left in the dust.
He acted as one of the guards and let others manhandle the sullen prisoners into the trucks and secure their chains to eyebolts screwed into the sides.
No one was going to escape today.
In Gil’s opinion the poor hostages didn’t have enough strength and daring among them to even make an attempt.
They all seemed to be in a state of shock, especially the three women.
“Where’s the crown jewel of this lot?”
Arturo asked the woman.
“It’s no deal without him.
Baxtir specifically wants him.
The other ten are bodies to fill out the number he needs for whatever he’s planning, or so I was told.
But the other guy, that one’s personal.”
“I saved the best for last,”
she said, tossing her feelgood to the ground and grinding the half smoked stick into the dirt with the heel of her well worn boot.
“Bring him,”
she told her man.
Every nerve in Gil’s body tightened and his mouth was dry.
Finally, after all this time, he’d see his brother.
He tried to prepare himself for Daveed to be in pretty bad shape.
No matter what happened in the next few minutes, Gil had to maintain his self control—he couldn’t allow his rage to gain control.
If his brother was to have any hope of being rescued, Gil’s identity as a ruthless mercenary had to remain intact.
He prayed to the Lords of Space his brother wouldn’t betray the fact they knew each other.
Daveed was a stone cold elite operator but he’d been a prisoner for months now, subject to torture no doubt, and the totally unexpected sight of Gil might shock him into a fatal slip.
Two men brought the final hostage forward.
He was limping badly and one arm hung at an odd angle.
Gil swallowed hard.
The last time he’d seen his brother Daveed had been a big, imposing guy, muscles on muscles, strong and deadly.
The prisoner in front of him was a skeleton, maybe not even able to walk without the support from the thugs.
The mercenaries sent Daveed to his knees, where he struggled visibly to maintain an upright posture.
The woman strode forward and yanked the hood off.
“Here’s Baxtir’s prize.”
His brother’s face was gaunt, lined with pain.
He was missing a few teeth and there was an angry red slash of a scar on his cheek.
Gil focused on Daveed’s eyes, relieved to see his brother staring at him, fire in his gaze.
His brother might be debilitated but his spirit was undiminished.
Daveed’s scrutiny passed right over him with no slightest sign of recognition.
Was his brother’s control still that good? Or was Gil unrecognizable in his current disguise? He’d let his hair grow long and sported a scraggly beard.
He’d acquired a facial scar of his own, faux but disfiguring and added tattoos on his arms.
Which could also be easily removed if he survived this situation.
The longer he watched Daveed, the surer he was his brother did indeed know he was here.
Whatever challenges lay ahead, at least the Fleming brothers would face them together.
Grabbing a fistful of Daveed’s greasy long hair, the woman forced his head back and planted a big kiss on his lips.
“Should have taken me up on my offer when you had the chance,”
she said.
“I treat my pets well but your fate is out of my hands now.”
When she stepped away, Daveed spat into the dirt by her feet.
“Not in your wildest dreams, bitch.
I told you every time you tortured me I’d rather die than touch you.”
“Baxtir is arranging that very thing.”
She moved so fast she was a blur, slapping him across the face and knocking him flat in the dirt.
A kick to the ribs for good measure and then she stalked away, her men following her to their ground trucks.
Instinctively Gil moved forward to reach for Daveed, helping him to his feet, although he managed enough self control not to say anything or even to allow his emotions to show on his face.
Another man moved to help him and together they half dragged, half carried Daveed to the waiting vehicle.
Gil allowed the other mercenary to secure his brother’s bonds to the bolt and then jumping off the tail of the truck to the ground as if he didn’t have a care in the world, heading for his assigned groundcar.
Nothing more was supposed to happen to the hostages until the group was handed over to Baxtir on Pagettia Three in a few days.
As their convoy rumbled away from the rendezvous, Gil leaned his head against the cushions and worked through possible scenarios for his next steps.
Until the ship reached Pagettia he couldn’t make any specific plans but it soothed the anger in him to consider his options in general terms.
He wasn’t going to allow his brother to die at the hands of a deranged radical.
Or not without taking said enemy and as many others as possible with them to the seven hells.
The next day…
He had to brace himself internally for entering the ship’s hold and doing his job handing the poor prisoners their survival rations for the day.
All Gil wanted was to pull his blaster from the holster and blast his way through the other mercenaries, take over the ship and rescue his brother and the other ten people.
His rational mind accepted the fact there was no way he’d manage the feat but seeing Daveed and the others treated like animals, knowing the fate in store for them and participating in any way was a scar on his soul.
He wished he had Maeve with him—she’d take over this damn ship and eliminate the problems so fast the scum wouldn’t know what hit them.
But he wouldn’t have managed to infiltrate the operation if she’d been with him, even if she’d been stable enough in her corporeal form to pass for human.
Mercenaries didn’t bring their women with them on jobs like the one he was engaged in.
The guard at the entrance to the hold gave him a chin lift and opened the portal so he and his antigrav container could enter the dimly lit expanse.
Gil made his way to the cages, saving his brother for last as always.
He shoved the day’s inadequate ration of food through the wires of the first cage.
The hostages inside stayed at the rear of the enclosure, as if putting distance between themselves and him was a survival technique.
He kept his face set in a grim frown and moved to the next cage.
When he reached the third, where the three women were kept, he was startled to find the youngest standing pressed to the wire, waiting for him.
She’d probably been quite attractive before she was taken by the terrorists but now her face was gaunt and shadowed and her hair was long and matted.
Her clothing was stained and tattered and Gil hoped her appearance had been a deterrent for any of the men aboard this ship bothering her.
“Please,”
she said to him now, her voice hoarse and cracking.
“Please, Berenice needs help.
She’s sick, maybe dying.”
Gil glanced beyond her shoulder to where the other two women waited on the thin mattresses.
The older woman was lying with her head in the other’s lap.
She was flushed and moaning, with shivers wracking her thin frame.
“I look like a doctor to you?”
Gil said harshly, doling out the survival packs, which she allowed to fall to the deck by her feet.
“She’ll make it or she won’t.
No difference to me.”
“How can you be so inhuman?”
Scorn was in the woman’s voice but she didn’t retreat.
“She needs medical attention.
I—I’ll do anything you want if you’ll get the ship’s doctor to come down here and treat her.
Or take her to sickbay.”
He admired her selfless offer and wished he could offer comfort.
Keeping his voice gruff and his face in an uncaring scowl, he rejected her offer.
“Not happening.”
Gil moved on to his brother’s cage and swallowed hard.
It cost him self respect to be so harsh to the desperate woman but the hold was monitored on the bridge and he couldn’t take the chance the man on duty wasn’t watching.
He couldn’t say anything or encourage her.
He couldn’t talk to Daveed either but these few seconds of silent contact meant everything to him.
His brother stood in the center of the cage, swaying a bit on his feet, favoring his previously damaged leg, holding his bad arm across his body.
Daveed glared at him as if in defiance but they both knew better.
It was hope in his sibling’s eyes, stoking the fire of resistance keeping his brother going.
Gil dropped the survival rations through the mesh, turned and walked away, Daveed’s stare like a huge weight on his shoulders.
He wished the two of them could plan something together but he didn’t dare exchange a single word, much less try to plot.
He prayed to Lords of Space for a chance to free his brother—and the others if possible— when he reached the Jlonngi planet.
Failing the right opportunity for a clean rescue, he was going to take out as many of the enemy as he could and kill the hostages too in the process.
He wouldn’t allow them to suffer more agony at the hands of the Jlonngi’s skilled torturers.
The woman was at her self chosen post beside the cage wall.
She extended one hand as he walked past, eyes averted, hoping not to engage.
“I’m begging you to help Berenice,”
she said, a sob in her voice.
In silence Gil proceeded to the exit and stepped across the threshold as the panel slid aside.
He nodded to the guard again and headed toward the storage area where he stowed the antigrav bucket.
After shoving the container angrily in the space and forcing the door to slam, he stood with his head bowed, fighting for control of his anger and frustration.
When he straightened, shoulders set, he drew a deep breath and headed for the cabin country on the ship.
He was met in the corridor outside Arturo’s suite by Quint, which confirmed for Gil that the Security man on the bridge had been watching his every move.
“I need to speak to the boss,”
Gil said, attempting to pass the henchman.
Quint moved to block his path and ahead he saw the guards watching closely, hands on their weapons.
“He didn’t say anything about needing a report from you,”
Quint answered, stopping Gil with one meaty hand on his chest.
“People don’t show up uninvited to chat with Mr. Main.”
“There’s a problem with the prisoners and I have to talk to him about it.”
Gil met the thug’s annoyed regard unintimidated.
“He’d be upset if I didn’t bring this to him.”
Quint studied him for a moment and then lowered his hand but didn’t step aside.
He talked into a subaural com briefly and then nodded.
“You got five minutes and this better be good, Clint.
You ain’t getting paid to show initiative, get me?”
“If what I had to tell him was good, I’d keep my mouth shut.
I sure as hell wouldn’t be standing here jawing with you.”
Gil stepped past the man and headed to the door, which the guards opened for him.
The contrast between the luxurious cabin where Main spent his time and the conditions in the hold set Gil’s teeth on edge but he couldn’t afford anger right now.
Gaining access to the man was the hard part.
Convincing him it was in his own self-interest to care about the health of the hostages shouldn’t be as difficult.
His temporary superior had a keen sense of self preservation or he’d never have survived long enough to take the leadership reins of a gang.
“Sorry to intrude, boss,”
he said deferentially to Arturo, who sat with a woman on his lap and his shirt unbuttoned, pants askew as well.
“One of the hostages is sick.”
“Those wretches aren’t my problem in two more days,”
Arturo said dismissively.
“The Jlonngi aren’t exactly interested in promoting continued good health, you get me?”
Gil tried another angle.
“She looks bad, boss, and what if she passes whatever she’s got onto the others? Tight quarters in the hold, unsanitary conditions.”
“My contract is to bring the hostages to the Jlonngi alive, that’s all.”
Arturo.
“No specification about how healthy they need to be.
Just alive.”
Head tilted, ignoring the woman who had her hands all over him, Main asked, “You catching feelings for this broad? Because that would be a problem, between you and me.”
“Fuck no.
The one who’s sick is old enough to be my grandmother,”
Gil gave a harsh laugh.
“I know the Jlonngi want them all alive, which is my point, with all due respect.
You told us they want all eleven for some ritual of theirs—it’s a special number to them, right? Well, I don’t want to find out the hard way how their leader will react if we bring them ten and one dead of some damn bug she caught in our hold.
Or worse, if any of the others die.”
He leaned closer, trying not to breathe in too much of the girlie’s cheap perfume.
“What are the odds the Jlonngi would decide one of us—you maybe—ought to take her place to make up the magic number?”
Arturo looked shaken, although he covered it up immediately.
He waved a hand as if the discussion had become unutterably boring.
“Fine, tell the doc I said for him to go treat this bitch, whatever she needs to stay alive three more days.
You’re in charge of making sure it happens and nothing else happens.
Understand?”
He rose, taking the woman with him in an impressive display of strength and walked away from the desk, heading for the bedroom.
“Whatever you want, boss.”
Gil pivoted and headed to the portal.
I probably guaranteed myself the spot as the next victim if the Jlonngi do need another body to sacrifice.
He gathered another mercenary and then the doctor, who was Arturo’s personal physician, although the man had a record of major medical malpractice and was unlicensed to practice medicine anymore.
Despite a major feelgood habit, the medico could still operate the sickbay robos and handle minor injuries and complaints.
Gil had no respect for Dr.
Rodgers but he was the only resource available.
He and the man he’d drafted escorted the doctor to the hold, along with a med robo, and stood guard while the doctor examined Bernice and treated her with a series of medinjects.
“Khamano fever,”
he said as he left the cage, accompanied by his robo, which had actually made the diagnosis.
“The medinjects will quell the fever and kill the infection.
Not usually contagious without close contact but I gave the other two ladies prophylactic injects just in case.”
As the robo had recommended in its monotone, buzzy voice.
“The other prisoners should be ok since they had no direct contact with her.”
Gil glanced into the cage, taking note of the younger woman who’d asked for help watching him intently.
“Need you to come here tomorrow and check the prisoner out,”
he said to the doctor, using his command voice.
Realizing his mistake as Rodgers gaped at him and puffed up to take offense, Gil toned it down on his next remark.
“Boss’s orders to keep them alive until the handover.”
“I’ll send the robo with you.”
The doctor clapped the robot on the ‘shoulder’ and grinned.
“Stinks in here.
I'm not some damn angel of mercy, son, gave all that up a long time ago for more lucrative pursuits.
You come to sickbay and collect ole Harvey here tomorrow when you’re ready to do your medical rounds.”
Chortling as if he’d made a hilarious joke, Dr.
Rodgers hastened toward the exit, the robo trailing behind on its antigrav cushion.
Gil made one more trip to the hold later the same day, bringing three blankets he’d stolen from the ship’s supplies, which he threw into the women’s cage.
“Doc said to keep her warm,”
he lied.
“Figured since the two of you were exposed to the bug, you’d better stay warm too.”
The young woman came forward as he lowered his blaster, which he’d unholstered to keep them from attempting to rush him.
As he relocked the cage door, she grabbed the scratchy blankets.
“Thank you,”
she whispered.
With difficulty he kept himself from saying anything else and stalked toward the exit.
The next day he returned with the med robot and one other mercenary to stand guard while he and the robo checked on the three women.
The one who was sick was quite a bit improved today, although her mood was somber.
“If you’re going to kill us anyway, you should have let me die from the infection,”
she said, limp and listless, enduring the robot’s exam and probes with her eyes shut.
Gil had no good answer to provide so he stayed silent.
Once he was done with the women, he considered his next steps.
His fellow thug was engrossed in a game on his handheld, not paying much attention, bored by his current assignment.
Reaching a decision, Gil stepped to the first cage, which held four men of varying ages and conditions.
Gesturing with his blaster, he said, “Go to the back of the cage and come forward one at a time to be checked over.
Don’t try anything dumb or my pal here will shoot to wound.
You’d live to be handed over but you’d sure as hell suffer.”
The men glared at him but seemed too cowed to mount any resistance.
The robo moved into the cage and floated, lights flashing.
Gil crooked his finger at the first man, who shuffled up to stand beside the robot and directed an angry glare at Gil.
The med unit made quick work of the exams, whistling and beeping, mini alarms going off at all the problems it identified with its scans.
Since the doctor had shown him how to operate the unit, Gil hit the reset tab and said,
“I need them to stay alive for the next few days.
Do whatever’s needed to ensure that and ignore all the longer term issues.”
Even though the robot didn’t have an AI unit with a faux personality, it radiated distaste for the assignment, versus being able to provide actual comprehensive care.
As far as Gil could tell, it gave each man a couple of injects meant to bolster their immune systems and rehydrate them.
The same routine went on the in the second cage with the other three men, although the youngest one acted nervous and as if he was going to try rushing Gil and going for the blaster.
Gil fired a warning shot into the deck by the hostage’s foot.
The sound echoed in the cavernous hold and startled the other mercenary out of his game, drawing his own weapon and staring at the prisoners wildly.
“What the seven hells, Clint?” he said.
“The guy was getting antsy.”
Gil slammed the cage door shut as the robot exited.
He escorted the unit to Daveed’s cage and recited the spiel again, telling his brother to stand at the rear of the cage.
His rage at his brother’s condition simmered throughout his body and Gil had to fight his own urge to kill the other mercenary and try to get Daveed out but the odds of success made the idea futile.
His only choice here was to maintain his cover and play the part.
The whole time the robo was treating Daveed his brother stared at him.
Although they didn’t share a telepathic bond, Gil could tell his sibling thought he was crazy to have risked himself to be here but was grateful and ready to back any play Gil wanted to make.
Quietly Gil instructed the robo to do a more in-depth treatment for Daveed than he had authorized for the others but realistically nothing could be done here in the hold that could undo the effects of starvation and torture which his brother had undergone.
When we get home to the Sectors I’ll move the stars to get him a session in a rejuve resonator.
The military owe him that much.
The idea was comforting but the odds of their ever making it to the safety of the Sectors were slim.
The encounter was over, the robot had done what it could, and Gil had to lock the cage door and leave his brother a prisoner yet again.
“Took you long enough,”
his partner grumbled, pausing the game in mid-explosion.
“I ain’t doing this again tomorrow.
Get someone else.
This is a shit detail—anything to do with the cargo on this run is.
And no extra pay for babysitting the damn robo.”
“You got that right,”
Gil said with intentional irony.
“I was only ordered to treat them this one time so yeah, your schedule tomorrow is clear.
Live it up, buddy.”
The man flipped him off and preceded Gil and the robo out of the hold.
Tempted as he was to take a final look, Gil forced himself to follow without indulging his need to see his brother one more time.
He’d done all he could do today.