Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“Idon’t know, Dax. It seems like a deathly dumb idea, as in we’re going to die if we try to do it.”
Dax scrubbed his face with his hands. “Yeah, I hear you, Cleo, but our new-found friends insist that we’re now tricked out with a jammer that will fool their sensors. This would be a good time to put that to the test, and it may be the only chance we get to bring that poor kid home.”
His first officer turned her dark eyes toward him.
“I know you want to rescue Bjorkson, but he’s one person to weigh against the entire colony on Seven—and maybe all of the colonies.
Maybe Earth too. Even if we kill the entire crew of that ship—which, by the way, I’m not sure we have the right to do—the Travians will still learn that we have the capability to sneak up on them.
Do we really want to tip our hand for a rescue mission? ”
“You’re not seriously worried that we’re under some moral obligation to spare any of the alien lives on that ship?
” This from Branch, the chief of a security team consisting solely of himself.
Dax thought of the guy simply as being the muscle of their small team because Branch was so huge that he made Dax, at six-seven, feel like he still had some growing to do.
He knew Branch must be spoiling for some action, given how boring their journey must be for someone who literally had nothing to do on the ship.
“I’m afraid I have to agree with Branch, Cleo.
I have no concerns about who I might have to kill to reach that boy.
Remember, he’s not their guest. He’s been tortured by them for months.
And, the minute the life of one kid stops being important, we may as well call it a day.
Honestly, what would make us any better than those fuckers out there? ”
“Come on, guys.” Ben, their practically toddler-aged engineer, had come up on the bridge to join the discussion.
The kid was as loyal as a hound dog and as eager as a whole pile of puppies.
Dax figured the kid had a crush on his captain, too, and that sucked, because Dax was no pedophile.
Ben might be a genius when it came to mechanics and nearly nineteen, but he didn’t even have facial hair, for God’s sake.
“This is some age-old philosophical shit about the needs of the one versus the needs of the many. Blah. Blah. Blah. Let’s go see if our cool new alien technology really works.
We can decide who we kill or not kill later. ’Kay?”
Dax shrugged at the others. “The kid’s got a point.” Ben beamed as if Dax had just patted his head and given him a sticker for being such a smart boy. “Cleo, lay in the course.”
Frey lay curled on his side, as still as he could.
He’d learned in the early days with Arpell that stillness hurt less.
Back then, he’d fought hard, so his pain had been predictable, even a source of perverse pride.
This time, although part of his mind had urged him to resist Kuren with all he could, the more rational part of him forced him to acquiesce.
It hadn’t mattered, in any event. Kuren had intended from the first to cause Frey pain for the sheer pleasure of it.
Every scream the alien had wrung from Frey seemed to increase Kuren’s pleasure.
There had been a few bad moments when Frey was sure he wouldn’t survive, yet his tormentor knew just when to pull back to keep Frey breathing for more fun later.
Giving up and dying would be so easy now.
He was so tired of it all. His mother had believed in God and Heaven.
Maybe she’d been right and death would be a new beginning with her instead of the endless void he feared really was waiting for him.
One thing in particular kept him from giving up.
Someone. Two someones, actually, and they were both on this fucking ship.
Preen had escaped, and Frey could only hope the creature could evade Kuren’s murderous crew.
More worrisome was that Rone was being tortured into a confession that Frey believed would be true.
The idea that Rone had been a plant all along to bring down Kuren and his operations for the government made perfect sense.
Believing that Rone was in some way a good guy helped Frey accept the feelings for the alien that he’d been suppressing almost from the moment of the fateful quaz game.
So, he stayed alive for Rone, as well as himself.
If Rone could survive his torture and get them out of this mess, then Frey wanted to still be here for him.
And, maybe, if Kuren became overly confident and Frey got lucky, he might get an opportunity to save his master.
It was a long shot, but he remembered his mother telling him to stay strong, to not give up hope.
As a wave of pain washed through his battered body, he stifled a cry and held on to that memory.
Rone roared through his pain and fell to his knees.
The hard floor meeting his bare skin made him grimace—a minor discomfort compared to the myriad bruises and contact burns Avith had already inflicted on his naked self.
The male circled Rone, waving his shock prod, gloating, but he didn’t get too close, Rone noticed.
While Rone’s hands were cuffed tightly behind his back, his legs were still free.
He’d already managed to kick the fucker once in the gut.
The guards, who were there to watch, not interfere, had laughed.
That’s when Avith had gotten serious with that prod.
Avith slammed the thing against Rone’s head before he could evade it, then followed through with another jolt to Rone’s chest. Rone landed heavily on his side, blood dripping into his eye, his heart skipping a beat from the shock. He panted his way through the pain.
“Had enough? I hope not. I like making you writhe on the floor. Nice to see a mighty Na caste male brought so low.” Oh, the guards liked that one. They laughed again, undoubtedly feeling the same as Avith.
Rolling back to his knees, Rone forced his legs to get him to a standing position.
Unsteady as he was, being upright made it easier to avoid Avith and his prod.
There was no telling what kind of arbitrary time Kuren would allot to this brutal dance.
All Rone had to do was hang on, survive without confessing a thing.
Knowing his life hung in the balance, Avith would get bolder soon, more desperate to force a confession from Rone’s lips.
The other male likely thought he had the better incentive to prevail.
He was wrong. Rone’s incentive was better.
Rone’s was Frey. He would not leave that boy to his ugly fate.
He’d survive this, bring Kuren down, and take that boy home to his people where he belonged.
A different kind of pain washed over him.
He didn’t want to give up the boy, not now, perhaps not ever.
There was no hope for it, though. He had to do the right thing. Even if it killed him. “You Th caste males, always thinking you’re more talented than you are.” He evaded the first blow, but not the second. Down he went again, and, for Frey, he got back up.
“Nobody move, speak or even fucking breathe. Not yet.” Clamping his mouth shut, Dax followed his own orders. He strained to hear if anyone came running.
A minute ticked by, then another and a few more before he felt comfortable believing they’d managed to board the alien ship undetected. “I guess our friends really did right by us.”
His crew had formed a half-circle around him, guns at the ready.
They all smiled with relief. Cleo had managed to dock them against a narrow hatch in the belly of the larger ship.
Given its size, Dax bet Travians used it to funnel really small supplies from one ship to another.
The opening wasn’t big enough for a Travian to squeeze through easily, if at all.
He and Branch had struggled to wriggle themselves through, that was for sure.
“What now?” Ben whispered.
Dax hated having the kid along, but given the limit of his ship’s complement, he hadn’t had any choice.
If they stood any chance of finding and freeing Frey, he needed all the help possible.
The moral implications of risking one kid’s life to save another were too difficult for Dax’s soldier’s brain to work through. Ben’s question was a good one, though.
“We move forward, quietly and methodically. We avoid as much as possible, kill when necessary.”
Branch looked disappointed at that last order, the blood-thirsty son of a bitch.
Still, if it did come down to a firefight, Dax appreciated that the man would be on his side of it.
The alien rifle he held in his arms felt foreign, even though their Travian friends had trained them on their use.
He would have preferred his familiar human weapons, but while humans still had projectile-based ones, the Travians had harnessed lasers.
There was really no question they were better off with the alienware.
Taking point and gesturing to Branch to cover their six, Dax started the slow journey through the stacks of plastic boxes.
The hold wasn’t quite as big as he’d expected, although big enough to be carrying a few dozen containers of what he assumed were weapons.
If only he had the time to stop and inspect them.
Maybe on the way back with the boy, assuming they weren’t running for their lives.