Chapter 3 #2
He looked down at her hand. She took it away, slowly enough that he was meant to notice.
“That's the intention.”
“My father will want to know how we were treated.”
“Then let's give him something useful to hear. There's water here. The medic at the far end can check you, and a staff member will take your name.”
She thanked him, gracefully, and went where he had pointed.
Dhomhes waited until she was out of earshot before recording her words. He used precisely the phrase she had used, without substituting the broker's terminology for it.
It might mean nothing.
He was going to find out.
Later, he heard her voice again.
“You have no idea who I am.”
Roemary stood over the red-haired woman Stron had carried. Adryel, someone had called her. She was standing near the medical queue, one hand pressed to her side.
Dhomhes stopped on his way past.
“Oh stars, here we go,” Adryel said.
Roemary drew herself up. “You cannot imagine what I've endured--”
“Stop it right there. Listen, goddess--”
That got a reaction. Roemary put a hand to her chest, but Adryel was already talking over her.
“I don't care who you are, or what you had to endure.
I promise you, I've been through worse. And the fact that you'd dare compare your lack of a manicure or whatever to being kicked out when you're a kid, living on the streets, and one last hope being this program, then you truly are the most self-centered female on this planet. Hell, in this galaxy.”
People nearby had stopped their own conversations.
Dhomhes could order Roemary away. He could also give her a reason to leave that she would find more appealing.
He stepped between their lines of sight with his most agreeable smile.
“Ladies, is there a problem?”
Roemary turned. The outrage disappeared.
“No, of course not. We were only speaking.”
“Come,” he said, offering Roemary his arm. “Walk me around the floor and introduce me to all the lovely ladies.”
He caught Adryel's eye and winked.
She stared at him. Then her gaze moved to Roemary, whose hand had settled on his arm.
He guided Roemary away before either woman could say more.
For the next several minutes she was helpful. Names, cabin arrangements, who had traveled with whom. She knew more about the volunteers than he had expected and was happy to demonstrate it, especially when he remembered to look impressed.
At the far end of the hall, he saw the woman in gray again.
She sat on a bench where two walls met, with a clear view of the main doors. A dressing covered her knuckles now. She was holding an untouched cup of water.
As a medical cart passed, she raised her eyes, followed it to the door, and looked back across the room.
“Your friend?” he asked.
Roemary's hand tightened slightly.
“Sereya. She's had quite a shock.”
The name brought back the restricted notice. A changed identity. A family killed. He looked at the bandage across her hand.
This was a cruel place for anyone to have brought her.
Roemary beckoned. Sereya rose immediately, put her cup down, and crossed to them. Her dress was dusty along one side, the hem torn where someone had stepped on it.
As she came near, he caught her scent beneath the smoke on her clothes. He breathed in before he could help it. The ridges along his back lifted, drawing the torn fabric tight across his shoulders.
Roemary had been holding his arm for several minutes. Nothing. This female hadn't even touched him.
He eased his shoulders down. There were injured people waiting for beds. He turned to make room for a medic, but the heat stayed with him, fierce beneath the torn cloth.
“This is Gol-Vett Dhomhes,” Roemary said. “The Protector's son.”
“We've met,” he said.
Sereya glanced at him.
“Outside. By the serving cart,” he added.
“Yes.”
“How is the woman you were helping?”
“They took her to a bed. She's waiting for the second treatment.”
“Good.”
Sereya's gaze dropped to his hand, where blood had dried against the edge of his armor. He had forgotten about the cut.
Roemary followed the glance.
“You're injured.” Her voice softened. “You should have said.”
“The railing and I disagreed.”
He had expected an easy laugh. Roemary gave him one.
Sereya didn't.
She looked toward the nearest medic, then back at his hand. Her lips parted. He waited, but she closed them again when Roemary began asking about the accommodations.
He answered the question. Temporary arrangements, protected residences, everyone to be told where they were going before they left the hall.
Sereya listened without interrupting. When someone dropped a metal tray behind them, her shoulders jerked. She steadied herself before Roemary turned.
He could have asked if she was all right. She would have said yes, and Roemary would have answered the rest for her.
Instead, he signaled to the crew member compiling the roster.
“These ladies are ready to give their accounts.”
Roemary straightened, pleased to have something official to do. Sereya went with her.
Dhomhes watched them reach the table. The crew member offered two chairs. Sereya chose the one facing the doors.
Then a medic caught him looking at his palm and took him firmly by the wrist.
He let her.
The hall emptied slowly. Stron was still conferring with the guards when the last group assigned accommodation there began to leave. Dhomhes sent him the count they had assembled, along with the names still unaccounted for.
He had kept Fiviel's name near the top.
There was no reason for that. The position on the list changed nothing.
He left it there.
Outside, smoke obscured the trees. The damaged platform had been closed, guards posted at every approach. Dhomhes stopped behind the barrier and called the terrain crew.
No descent yet. The fires were spreading through the dry growth beneath the wreckage. The suppression drones were working, but their first task was to keep the blaze from reaching the occupied terraces.
“Send me the next survey image,” he said.
He waited for it with his forearms resting on the barrier. The dressing on his palm pulled when he flexed his hand.
Somewhere below, Fiviel might be hurt. The mechanical leg could have been damaged. If he had survived the fall, he might be unable to climb out.
Or he might have Graecey with him and be waiting for someone to come.
Dhomhes tried his comm again.
“Fiviel.”
The channel hissed. He changed the range, checked the relay, tried once more.
Nothing.
He had spent half the morning making it difficult for his friend to finish a sentence. Now he would have given a great deal to hear him tell him to shut up.
The survey arrived. Smoke, broken branches, the bright spots of fires spreading where the ship had struck.
He studied it until his eyes hurt.
Then he sent a request to his father's operations office for the availability of the refinery inspection drones. He did not know yet whether they could be spared, or whether they would see anything the others had missed. He wanted the answer ready when he asked.
There was another message waiting. Security wanted everything he had received before the arrival.
Dhomhes attached the freight-yard reports and the broker's account. Added Roemary's exact words, flagged as an unverified witness statement. He copied the material to his own protected storage before sending it.
Below the platform, a suppression drone disappeared into the smoke.
He stayed until it came out again.