Chapter 17 #2
Kernians only dealt in physical credits, so Vinka ordered an aid to bring them to him. Taron made a big show of counting them out, then returned them to the case and swept it under his cloak. With a tight jaw, he nodded his approval.
This was it.
This was the moment he was dreading the most. It was the moment that Amelia may never forgive him for.
“Good.” He released Amelia’s arm and stepped away from her. “She is yours.” Tulashian aids approached Amelia. They each took one of her upper arms in firm grips. They began leading her away.
Amelia resisted, her gaze filled with confusion.
She locked her legs and wrenched around.
He gritted his teeth against the fear, betrayal and dismay in her eyes.
She called out to him in her language, which he could not understand without his chip—thank goodness.
Her words grew increasingly heated and her eyes went from hurt and puzzled to hot and furious.
It took all his will to look away and keep his features bland. His heart squeezed in his chest. Pain gnawed under his ribs and heat boiled in his gut. Handing her over to these people went against everything inside of him. He struggled not to curl his hands into fists.
Vinka raised one hairless brow. “Will there be anything else, Kernian?”
“No.” Taron set his jaw, turned and walked away. He heard Amelia’s desperate, furious calls until the door to Vinka’s chambers closed.
Out in the corridor, Taron nearly doubled over in a mix of fury and possessiveness.
It felt as though the air had been sucked from his chest. With the case of credits tucked firmly under an arm, he swiftly walked back to the Freezone.
A strange heat coiled in his belly. It felt as though hot coals burned there.
As he strode down the hall, the alien who ran the rental hangar, scurried up to him.
Pitik was the small Gilari’s name. Taron paused and turned his ferocious gaze on the small being. The tiny gray alien did not blink her giant black eyes. She was undoubtedly used to many threatening creatures. Pitik informed Taron that his fighter sold and handed him another block of credits.
“Good.” Taron narrowed his eyes on the tiny female. “I have another task for you.”
The Gilari’s head tilted. “What is it, good sir?”
“Find me a new transport vessel. It must be small, but able to hold passengers in comfort and be reliable enough to cross quadrants.”
“Of course, good sir.”
“Also, it must be unmarked and neutral. I don’t want it mistakenly fired upon.”
The Gilari blinked her eyes, finally. “Your request is expensive, good sir. There are few ships that will meet those requirements.”
“I can pay it.” He sounded terribly menacing, but didn’t have much control over that.
His patience and nerves were spread thin and the heat coursing through him…
It didn’t feel normal. A sudden thought struck him, and a slice of worry made him draw in a sharp breath.
“Take these.” He handed the fighter credits back to Pitik and added a stack from the case from under his cloak. “This should cover it.”
“Plus a fifteen percent finder’s fee.” The smart little alien entered his requests into a screen she held in her nimble fingers. “My time is not free.”
“Of course,” Taron said through his teeth, counting out a few more credits.
“Thank you, good sir. Pitik knows just where to find what you are looking for.”
“I will send you coordinates. I need the transport programmed to operate and deliver two female passengers to a specific destination, even if I can’t accompany them.”
Pitik inputted that into her notes. “Yes, good sir. Pleasure doing business with you, good sir.”
If Taron heard the words “good sir” one more time, he would start charging the Gilari an annoyance fee.
He left the hangar with the unmistakable sensation that he was running out of time.
The heat had intensified and his body felt bulkier and stronger.
Dread pulled at his gut. These were indications of the rare primal form.
He’d met no one who had experienced it, but he knew what the symptoms were.
If that was what was happening to him, he needed to get this business done before he became a walking ball of flame and rage.
He headed to the Freezone communication center.
Using it was technically open to anyone staying there, but nothing was free in a place like the Tero-8 space station.
He bargained until a price was agreed upon and they granted him access.
He entered the small, circular room and sat at the console.
He needed to send a long-range message to Tagja City.
It had been a very long time since he had tried to contact his home kingdom.
There was a good chance his message wouldn’t even be acknowledged.
Nevertheless, his people needed to know of Kimberly’s fate, especially her match, Klae Rillim.
It affected the continuation of the match program, which in turn affected the future of his dwindling species.
Taron recognized the last name, Rillim, as a prominent and decent family of Tagja City.
They, like the Bando family, had suffered the loss of their female kin.
This Klae fellow had likely been eagerly anticipating his match.
He needed to know that Kimberly, the female who supposedly died on the way to him, was not dead.
He also described his intention to remove both females from the Tero-8 base, and put them on a shuttle to Earth. When he saw it in words like that, it sounded absurdly impossible.
Maybe the Tagja City officials would think this was a joke, or a scam. Maybe even blackmail. As an exiled ex-Sifter, the name Taron Bando didn’t inspire much confidence. What those officials made of his message was out of his hands.
It was a long message, and more detailed than he’d intended. After he sent it off, he knew every word was important.
That done, he had one more errand to run, and it was the most important.
If he couldn’t pull this part off, he would have to start from scratch.
He strode into the fortified center of the Freezone.
There was a small, private lounge that catered only to the leaders of the Freezone.
Two armed guards stood on either side of the door.
Taron was in no mood for more negotiating. He walked straight up to them. Before they could even raise their weapons, he treated them both to a right hook that knocked them both out cold.
They went down like lumps. Taron went right in. The leaders were ten, or so, males and females of different species. There was one Tulashi, who was probably a spy, working for the Freezone leaders. They sat around drinking and laughing until they saw him. The room went silent.
Suddenly, the clicks and hums of weapons sounded all around him. He cracked a smile and held up his hands. “Now, that’s unnecessary,” he drawled. “How would you feel about a chance to expand your territory?”