Chapter 17
Jolie
We slipped up the narrow ramp into the dimly lit storage compartment, the hum of the ship’s engines muffling our footsteps.
The air was thick and stale, heavy with the pungent aroma of provisions.
We sheltered behind a stack of weathered crates filled with bulbous, potato-like vegetables with mottled orange skin that looked like they’d been left to rot in someone’s cellar.
They smelled like farts mixed with compost. My stomach churned at the fare, bile rising in my throat, but Qurbaga’s crew devoured it with relish.
From outside the compartment, I could hear the raucous laughter of the guards as they watched the Peecha’s performance, completely oblivious to our presence.
I knew there would be hundreds more guards scattered throughout the massive vessel.
Our only hope of reaching Diarvet was to remain completely hidden.
I motioned for Tark to stay close behind me. He placed each bare foot carefully on the cold metal flooring, his breath expertly controlled so that even I could barely hear it, moving like a shadow. His dark eyes scanned our surroundings constantly, alert to every shadow and sound.
Next to the storage compartment lay the kitchen. The one place aboard the ship where I hoped I could find a friend.
Holding my breath, I slipped through the doorway.
Only the bubbling of a copper pot atop a blue flame broke the silence.
Binwee stood on her stool, brow furrowed in concentration as she stirred the pot.
The spoon in her hands made soft donging sounds against the sides, a rhythmic metallic melody that echoed in the quiet space.
I took a cautious step, but a loud creak underfoot shattered the silence. Binwee’s head snapped up, her blue eyes locking onto mine first with shock then recognition. The wooden spoon in her hand paused mid-stir, droplets of thick brown stew dripping back into the pot with soft plops.
“Jolie?”
Hot tears sprang to my eyes as overwhelming relief flooded through me at finding her safe and unharmed. I’d spent countless hours worrying about what cruel punishment Qurbaga might have inflicted on her if he’d realized she’d aided our escape, imagining her locked in the dungeons, beaten, or worse.
Binwee leaped from her stool and sprinted across the kitchen with surprising speed for someone so small. I dropped to my knees, bracing for impact. Binwee barreled into me with a forceful hug, her small arms wrapping around my neck.
“I’m so glad to see you,” I murmured, my voice thick as I held her slight frame against me. “I was so afraid you’d get in trouble for helping me escape.”
“Meh,” Binwee huffed dismissively, as though earning Qurbaga’s wrath was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
“He didn’t suspect me for a moment.” Her bright cerulean eyes glanced past me, widening with unmistakable curiosity as she took in Tark standing just inside the doorway.
“What are you doing here? Where’s Lilibet? ”
“She’s safe,” I assured her, climbing to my feet and brushing dust from my knees. “She’s with my friends, the Peecha.” I motioned Tark closer. “This is Tark, Chieftain of the Peecha. Tark, this is my friend Binwee.”
Tark stepped forward and gave a deep, reverent bow as though he were meeting royalty, his long dark hair falling forward to frame his face.
“Nice to meet you,” Binwee returned with a curt but respectful nod before turning her gaze back to me. “Again... what are you doing here? Qurbaga is out for blood, and I don’t want to think about what twisted plans he’s concocted for when he finds you.”
I took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the weight of our mission settling on my shoulders. “Qurbaga brought a male aboard, didn’t he?”
Binwee’s eyes narrowed slightly, her aged features growing more serious. “A couple of hours ago. Has him locked up tight in the dungeon. I had to send some food down earlier.” Her voice dropped to a concerned whisper. “Why? Do you know him?”
I nodded, a faint smile flickering at the corners of my lips despite the circumstances. “He’s a Zarpazian captain who helped me and Lilibet. His name is Diarvet, and... he’s my mate.”
The look of shock that flashed across Binwee’s features lasted only a heartbeat before being replaced by mischief and genuine happiness. “Well, you’ve certainly been busy,” she said with a grin.
I rolled my eyes at her playful teasing. “We’re here to rescue him, and I desperately need your help to get past the guards.”
Binwee’s sharp eyes darted between me and Tark, her mind clearly calculating possibilities. Her lips pursed in the familiar way it did when working through a complex recipe. “Well….”
“I know it will be difficult.” The words tumbled out in a rush. She’d already risked so much for me and Lilibet, and I knew what I was asking could cost her everything.
She grinned at my worried tone, her teeth gleaming stark white against her turquoise skin. “It might not be all that difficult.”
“What do you mean?”
Binwee motioned for us to follow her to the control panel just inside the kitchen doorway. A few punches brought the screen to life, revealing the guards’ dining hall. Hundreds of armored figures sprawled unconscious across the floor, their limbs tangled together like discarded puppets.
“Oh my God,” I blurted. My hand flew to my mouth. “Are they dead?” Tark made a low, impressed rumbling sound deep in his throat, his eyes widening as he took in the display.
“Probably not,” Binwee shrugged with casual indifference.
“But they’ll be out cold for hours, and too sick to fight when they finally come to.
” She grinned conspiratorially, her eyes twinkling.
“When we landed here, I knew it had something to do with you and Lilibet, so I decided to level the playing field a bit. There are still about thirty guards out on scouting patrol, but thirty is infinitely more manageable than three hundred.”
Tark watched our conversation curiously, his dark eyes tracking every gesture and facial expression as I kept him informed as best I could with our improvised version of sign language.
He nodded in understanding and held up one finger in a request for Binwee and me to wait.
He slipped back toward the storage room, pausing midway to the hatch, and lifted his chin slightly.
A low whistle pierced the air, followed moments later by surprised yelps and pained grunts as the Peecha eliminated the guards outside.
The next whistle Tark released sounded lower in tone and warbled, each note carrying specific instructions.
He stood motionless for a long moment, his head cocked as if listening for a response, then gave a satisfied nod and returned to my side, gesturing that he’d sent his warriors to gather the others.
I quickly translated for Binwee, who gave a pleased grunt in response. “Right then, let’s go rescue your mate.”
Instead of heading for the door, she turned toward her spice cabinet, a tall wooden structure filled with dozens of small glass bottles.
I watched as she reached for a single bottle, and upon touching it, the entire shelf slid aside with a soft mechanical whir revealing a hidden storage compartment packed with weapons and gear.
“I guess I should formally introduce myself,” Binwee smirked, her small hands expertly checking the charge on the blasters. “Binwee Jazarazant, senior operative for Asad Intelligence.”
“Huh?” I blinked at her, too shocked to form coherent words for several heartbeats. “Senior operative? What does that mean?”
“I’m a fucking spy!” Binwee announced with unbridled glee, still clinging to her fondness for Earth profanity.
A spy? She looked like my grandmother—well, if my grandmother was three feet tall and painted a lovely shade of blue. “But you’ve been with Qurbaga for years?”
“And you wouldn’t believe the intelligence I’ve gathered,” she winked with obvious pride, her chest puffing out slightly.
Tark followed our exchange with rapt attention, his dark gaze bouncing between me and Binwee like a spectator at a tennis match. Though he couldn’t understand a word we said, he was clearly enjoying the conversation nonetheless, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Binwee armed herself with a sleek plasma rifle that she slung across her shoulder and stuffed two smaller blasters into her belt.
She then handed one each to Tark and me.
The weapon felt surprisingly heavy in my hands, the cold metal surface humming with barely contained energy that vibrated against my palm.
Tark examined his blaster with the bewildered expression of someone encountering alien technology for the first time.
He turned it over in his large hands, cautious as if it might bite him, his fingers tracing the unfamiliar contours.
Binwee noticed his confusion and guided his hands to show him the proper grip and trigger, grinning as understanding dawned across his features.
Suddenly, he looked like an excited child on Christmas morning who’d just unwrapped the toy he’d been dreaming about all year.
“I’ve set the blasters to stun,” she informed me, rolling her bright cerulean eyes at Tark’s antics as he practiced his aim on imaginary targets, making soft pew-pew sounds under his breath.
“There are only a few guards left inside—the nicer ones—plus they might have intelligence about the other male that’s aboard this floating cesspool. ”
“What other male?” I asked, my stomach clenching with sudden dread as I tucked the blaster into the waistband of my pants, the cold metal pressing against my hip.