Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
“Calinae is not going to the warlord.” Niir crossed his arms as he gazed down at Trak. Pizol and Anna, who were also on the command deck, went quiet.
The prince looked up from the screen on his console. He looked tired. “Okay.”
“Her decision is made. She is staying with me.”
Trak blinked at him. “Am I supposed to act surprised?”
He lifted his chin. “It’s not a request, Trak. Calinae is mine.”
Pizol let out a low whistle. “Ah, Niir, you fool. Can’t just have a tryst, can you? You had to go and fall in love. Big mistake, my friend.”
“Be mindful of that superior attitude,” Niir said to the first officer. “You may one day find yourself in this very position.”
Pizol snorted, showing what he thought of that likelihood. “Now what are we going to do with the rest of them?” Pizol wanted to know. “If you are keeping Calinae, she’s not going to let us drop off the other thirteen, is she?”
“We weren’t going to do that anyway,” Anna hissed. “Those females would be delivered to horrible fates.”
“We have bigger problems, mates,” said Trak, running a hand over his weary face. “It must have gotten out that we had nothing on our ship to repair.” He raised an eyebrow at Niir. “We are now being followed by six sizable battleships. Any ideas who they may be?”
Niir’s stomach dropped. “If I were to compare the names of the buyers for the females to the owners of those ships, I am certain they would match up.”
“Lovely.” Trak sighed, then entered something into his console. “We also received this not along ago.” A message from the warlord appeared in the center of the room.
Fury rose through his gut like bile as he read. “Mek-la wants the females delivered to the Sintra-1 station, and he is sending detailed instructions and the exact clothing he wants them to wear?”
“And if we are late, he is docking our fee,” said Trak. “He seems eager to be done with this arrangement. I think Calinae should see this.”
Niir nodded and Trak sent a guard to her room to get her.
“Hello.” She entered the command deck with her head high. Niir saw the flex of her fingers and knew she was concealing nerves about being there. She didn’t seem to know what to make of Pizol’s skeptical look so she more or less ignored him. “What’s going on?”
“You know Warlord Mek-la better than any of us, even Niir,” said Anna. “Tell us what you think of this message he sent.”
She changed the message into the universal language that Calinae understood, and put it back up on the screen. Niir watched a frown form and deepen on Calinae’s brow.
“It’s…odd,” she said when it was over.
“How?” prompted Trak.
“Well, that message was very clear and articulate and formal. I’ve never heard him communicate that way.
He’s brusque and blunt and just…not that refined.
” She shrugged one shoulder, looking uncomfortable.
“It reads like someone else. I’ve never heard the warlord’s written messages worded like that, ever. Maybe it’s the translator?”
“It’s not,” said Niir. “I read the original Sislus. The language is the same.”
“So what does this mean?” asked Pizol. “Is someone impersonating Warlord Mek-la, or is he having someone else write his messages for him?”
“I don’t know,” said Niir. “But I suspect the only thing that is keeping us from being blown to bits by the ships following us are the fourteen females aboard this ship.”
“Us?” Calinae looked up at him.
“That’s right, my dear.” Trak scraped back his shaggy hair. “You’re currently keeping us alive. We’re much obliged, but we truly need a plan B.” He looked to the group of them. “Ideas?”
“What quadrant would be safe from these bastards on our tail?” asked Pizol.
“None,” Trak said flatly. “The bounty on us would be mind-bending. I would consider turning us in.”
“That’s great, Trak,” said Anna. “What about hiding out?”
“For how long, dearest?” he shot back with a smile. “The rest of our natural lives?”
“We have no choice but to remain on course to the Sintra-1 station.” Pizol crossed his arms. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“No, you’re right,” said Calinae, causing Niir to jerk in surprise. “If you try to run, as they expect you to, we’ll be overtaken, my cousins and I will be taken and all of you will be killed.”
“Most horribly,” Pizol added. “Instead, we can do what we do best.”
“And what’s that, exactly?” Trak asked dryly. “We do so many things the best.”
“We make sure they underestimate us.” Pizol looked to Calinae with new respect.
“You will take me to Warlord Mek-la.” She raised her chin. “I hope it’s not a permanent reunion.”
Niir could not believe what he was hearing. “Calinae will fall into their hands over my dead body.” He held a proprietary hand to her back.
“We will not lose Calinae,” said Pizol, who was frowning at the wall. His mind was already scheming. “We just have to figure out how to do that. I think I have some ideas.”
“Splendid.” Trak let out a gusty sigh. “Tricking a bunch of intergalactic criminals should be a breeze.”
“We need a solid plan,” growled Niir. “Not the half-baked ones we usually go with. No winging it this time.”
“I will call in a few favors,” said Trak. “I have some friends.”
“What friends?” asked Pizol.
Trak gave him a sour look. “Cittra-lu has helped us out in the past. We have bailed the Yaito clan out of a few scrapes. The Baylans owe me a favor. Remember the time we bailed Harc Gral-Nak out of a bad spot? He owes me one.”
“Harc Gral-Nak is a Saar-king who has better things to do than haul his giant base ship all the way out here to save our sorry asses,” snapped Pizol.
“He’s probably on Earth, trying to work out a new treaty.
The Yaito clan is too underpowered to come to our aid and Cittra-lu could come running but be the first one to shoot us up. She’s ruthless, as well you know.”
Trak sent him a dark look and turned toward his console. “I can at least ask, can’t I? The worst they can say is no.”
“The Saar-king has honor,” said Niir. “But Pizol is correct about everything else.”
Just then, a bank of screens turned red on Anna’s console and messages appeared on them.
“Here we go.” Anna looked up. “Warlord Mek-la has issued a quadrant-wide alert saying that if we deviate from our course, we will be considered kidnappers of his bride and thirteen of her attendants. All available ships should proceed to board us and ‘rescue’ them.”
“How much is the bounty?” Niir wanted to know.
Anna blanched. “Five billion credits. And an extra two if they destroy our ship.”
“Well,” said Trak. “That’s a lot.”
“He doesn’t have that much,” said Niir. “Either he’s bluffing to keep us on track or someone else is financing it.”
“Either way, we’re in deep shit this time,” muttered Pizol. “We cannot fly fast enough or far enough to escape the hordes who will be after those credits.”
“We’ve been in worse spots,” said Trak.
“When?” countered Pizol. “Name one time.”
“Okay.” Trak dug his fingers into his temples. “There’s a way out of this.”
“I have an idea,” said a female voice in the universal language.
Niir whipped around to see Calinae standing straight and determined.
She looked straight at Trak. “It’s a little strange, but do we have any terti powder on the ship?”