by Petra Landon
Khosh glanced at the petrified crew member who was staring at the gray-skinned male on the view screen. “Find out what’s going on” he directed.
The crew member was barely out of his seat, when the voice on the view screen made an announcement, the underlying threat in the proclamation clear.
“That was our strike team boarding your craft. If you do not want your ship laid to waste by Hadari’Kor, give us back what belongs to us.”
The crew member cast his Captain one horrified glance before scurrying away from the Control Room, his eyes darting fearfully around for the mercs that had boarded their Transport. Khosh made a valiant effort to shove back his own fear and attempt to take charge of the situation.
“Do you mean the Budheya female?” Khosh asked the Hadari'Kor male. “She’s a Ketaari prisoner. I cannot give her up to you without repercussions from the Imperial Forces.”
“She belongs with my Captain” the male stated impassively. “You can either tangle with us or your military. It is your choice, Ketaari.”
Khosh took just half a standard minute to make up his mind. His Transport was equipped with basic weaponry and his crew could handle themselves in a tough situation, but their defenses were meant to protect the cargo they transported from marauders. Hadari’Kor mercenaries were a completely different ball game. And these particular Hadari’Kor had brought along a warship to engage them. Khosh would rather tangle with the Imperial Forces any day, given the choice. The Imperial Forces would not blame him for giving up the prisoner in the face of overwhelming Hadari’Kor force. He would make sure to complain to them for putting his ship and crew in such a vulnerable position. Ketaari citizens might be expected to give in to the occasional reasonable request from the Imperial Forces, but they were certainly not expected to fight belligerent Hadari’Kor.
“Recall your team” Khosh urged. “We will surrender the prisoner.”
“It’s too late” the male responded. “You’d better hurry and give her up to the Captain before he wreaks havoc on your ship.”
The communicator link died abruptly as the gray-skinned giant disappeared from the view screen, to be replaced by the massive warship waiting ominously close. Khosh stared at the screen for a stupefied moment before jumping out of his seat to race towards the Cargo Hold.
Zoran kicked open the access hatch they had just unsealed with a flame torch. His team of nine followed him onto the Transport silently. While two mercs had worked on the access hatch, the others had spent their time acquainting themselves with the Transport’s layout, gathered from the initial scans that the Juntafeyore had taken of the cargo ship. At a muted gesture from Zoran, the team split into two groups to head off in opposite directions. They marched through the empty corridors, unsubtle about advertising their presence onboard the Transport. This mission was about quick and efficient extraction, with intimidation their weapon of choice. Any other tactic, including an actual skirmish, was to be used only as a last resort. The mercs had honed the art of intimidation down to a tee. It was a powerful tactic to have in their arsenal. So, they marched through the ship in military formation, attired in full armor with weapons raised and aggressive intent oozing from their pores, their heavy boots clanking threateningly against the ship’s floors.
It took Zoran’s group a few minutes to finally spy a crew member cowering in one of the rooms off the walkway they marched down. Zoran jerked his head at one of his mercs who stalked into the room to come to a stop before the Ketaari. He stared down at the male intimidatingly.
“Where’s the prisoner?” he growled.
The Ketaari crew member trembled at the sight of the massive male in black body armor and helmet with visor down. He cowered, babbling incoherently for mercy in Ketar. The Hadari’Kor merc had spoken in Alliance Standard, but the crew member neither spoke the language nor had a translator device on him. Communication on the Transport with its exclusively Ketaari crew was conducted in Ketar, with crew members clipping on translators only when venturing into non-Ketaari space stations to pick up or unload cargo. The Transport Captain and any crew on duty in the Control Room were the only members on the ship to carry translator devices.
The merc gazed down at the crew member in silent perplexity for a few seconds, before growling again.
“Budheya?”
But the Ketaari crew member was too far gone to understand him. He continued babbling on without interruption. The merc pressed a control on his right wristlet to lower his visor before reaching down to grasp the Ketaari by his work-suit, demanding the male’s attention. Black eyes awash with threat met pale blue frightened ones. The merc shook the Ketaari to get him to be quiet, before enunciating clearly.
“Budheya.”
Brought thus to his senses, the Ketaari stared at him for a second before responding haltingly in Ketar.
“Cargo Hold.”
The Hadari’Kor male’s translator device picked up the Ketaari response. The merc dropped the male down unceremoniously to stalk out, another press of his wristlet bringing down the visor to hide his face again. One of the other mercs pulled up the Transport layout on a tiny screen built into the palm of his glove. It was a matter of moments to figure out the quickest way to the Cargo Hold. This time, they ran; still in formation and still with weapons raised, but without expending the effort to warn of their arrival by clanging their boots on the floor.
Saakshi hit her head hard against the cargo crate to collapse onto the floor. She shook her head dazedly, trying to banish the dancing stars circling her head. Through the fog of confusion and pain, she could dimly hear the Unta-Golar’s taunts. A trickle of something she very much feared was blood slid slowly down her forehead and behind her right ear.
When first brought aboard the Transport and locked in the Cargo Hold, she had allowed herself to relax. The Ketaari crew had left her alone in the crowded Hold full of cargo with some food and water. She’d have liked a warm cloak or a blanket since the environment controls on the Ketaari Transport were set to imitate their icy home planet of Ketaraana. But Saakshi considered the cold a minor inconvenience. Ketaari treated their Budheya prisoners much worse, as she knew well from personal experience. Boarding the Ketaari Transport under the unhappy but watchful eyes of Jolar while projecting an air of confidence to mask her anxiety had taken a toll on Saakshi. Even Pik had looked regretful, assuring her that he planned to lodge an official protest with the Ketaari Imperial Forces. Only the knowledge that Zoran was on his way and the confidence that he would intercept her before she was hauled back into Ketaari space had given her the courage to walk the plank onto the Ketaari Transport.
The Unta-Golar had made an entrance soon after she had been locked in the Cargo Hold, calling out to her in his usual insulting way. Engaged in walking briskly between the piled crates to stave off the cold starting to seep into her bones, Saakshi’s heart had sunk at the familiar and unwelcome voice. Her first and instinctive reaction had been to hide behind one of the many cargo crates and lead him a merry chase. This was a large and crowded room with plenty of hiding places. But second thoughts had made her decide against it. The game would merely enrage the Unta-Golar and moreover, she was damned if she’d hide from him like a fearful toran beast. Bolstered by the knowledge that her pain implant couldn’t be used against her anymore, Saakshi had stepped forward boldly to confront him. Dr Uish, the Lopordian medic on Juntafeyore, had successfully managed to program the RCD Scanner to disable remote access to her implants, so Saakshi had faced the Ketaari commander with confidence.
The first thing to strike Saakshi about him had been the strange way the Unta-Golar moved – slowly and awkwardly without any of his usual arrogant swagger. Although his face and other unexposed skin showed no trace of bruises, Zoran must have done a real number on him, she’d realized. The medics on Keeyor 9 had healed his surface contusions, fixed any broken bones and given him some BTR agent to speed up his recovery, but it certainly looked as if the advanced alleviating agent had not acco
mplished complete regeneration yet.
“Budh female” he’d taunted as she strolled into view. “Where’s the HadKor swine you always hide behind?”
“Waiting for you to heal completely before he administers another public beating” she’d countered coolly.
The Unta-Golar’s face had transformed into an uglier shade of darker blue from his usual pale bloodless complexion.
“Watch it, Budh” he’d bit out through clenched teeth. “We have eleven hours before we cross into Ketaari territory. Until then, you’re my prisoner. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Imperial Forces finds itself minus one Budh traitor by then.”
She’d kept her face expressionless with an almighty effort, instinctively understanding that showing any fear to this male was tantamount to defeat. He’d walked forward in his awkward shuffling gait and torn her tenar armband roughly off her bicep to throw it away with a disdainful flick of his arm.
“You don’t need that religious trash anymore, Budh. You’re back to where you belong - answering to the Empire” he’d hissed.
Saakshi had been unable to prevent a flinch as the sharp ends of the mesh had scratched her arm while being roughly torn away from her. He’d leered at her in response, circling her slowly as if he were inspecting cattle. She had silently clenched her jaw, readying herself for whatever came next.
“Hiding any weapons on your person, Budh?” he’d taunted in her ear, standing a little to the side and behind her.
“No” she’d replied calmly, though the one in her right boot still lay snug where it always did.
“I think I’ll make sure” he’d remarked immediately.
Saakshi had ducked and whirled away in a quick move before his hands could grasp her.
“No” she’d said more forcefully, a safe distance from his groping arms.
He’d grinned cruelly while pulling out a device from his belt in a bizarre déjà vu play that had reminded Saakshi of the time they had fought hand to hand in the alley outside her dorm on Keeyor 9 before Zoran had stepped in to stop him for the very first time.
“Don’t worry, Budh. I know just the trick to make you more docile.”
Despite the knowledge that her implant couldn’t be used against her, Saakshi had braced herself. He’d pressed the control on the device with anticipation, only to look comically puzzled when nothing happened. He’d pressed it again and again, his bewilderment slowly giving way to anger.
“You took out the implant” he’d exclaimed incredulously, advancing towards her. “This will add to your prison sentence. It is tantamount to an escape attempt.”
He’d punched out at her with one powerful fist and suddenly she was back in that alley on Keeyor 9, fighting for her life. This time, he didn’t have the advantage of her pain implant and he wasn’t as mobile as before, but he could still swing some powerful blows at her. On the other hand, she had nowhere to run to, so all she could do was fight him until she ran out of steam or Zoran came for her, whichever happened first. They had fought for a good twenty minutes, Saakshi managing to mostly evade serious injury, even though she’d taken a few glancing blows on her arms and one to her shoulder. She’d also managed to land a few hits on the Unta-Golar, who was showing signs of tiring due to his still healing injuries. Then her luck had run out. Trying to evade her opponent, she had slipped and fallen, twisting her ankle in the fall. The Ketaari had been on her in a flash, hitting and kicking at her before she could roll away.
Saakshi had thought that she was done for until two crew members had rushed in, screaming at the Unta-Golar about their Captain’s orders. They’d pulled him off her to demand that he not mark the prisoner. Their Captain had been ordered to deliver the prisoner to the Imperial Forces, and that’s what they were here to ensure. The Unta-Golar in his bloodlust had started screaming at the Ketaari crew for caring more about their Captain’s orders than what the Unta-Golar’s influential friends at the Imperial Forces would do to them. Finally, after hitting a brick wall, the Unta-Golar had taken himself and his threats straight off to the Captain.
The Ketaari crew had left her alone after a casually indifferent examination of the Budheya prisoner curled up in fetal position on the floor. Saakshi had slowly dragged herself to her feet to limp to the small supply of food and water that had been left in the Hold for her. Injured, tired and dispirited, she’d settled down to wait for whatever was to befall her next. She had been in the Hold for what seemed like hours when a jolt rippled through the Transport after it had shuddered to an abrupt halt. Though she had forced herself to get up and limp along the Hold periodically to try and stay warm, she had pretty much lost the battle by then. Constant shivers racked her thin body and her teeth chattered steadily. But at the unexpected jolt, she'd forced herself off the floor again, a wild hope awakening in her that rescue might finally be at hand. Saakshi had almost reached the wide doors of the Hold when the Unta-Golar had rushed in to fell her with one mighty swing. Her reflexes slowed by injury and cold, Saakshi had gone crashing down, hitting her head at the edge of one of the crates that littered the space.
Through the haze of pain and confusion, Saakshi watched the two Ketaari crew from before rush in to grab the Unta-Golar and hold him back from her. Even as the loud arguments in Ketar between the three males continued, she lay prone on the floor, having finally reached the point where she couldn’t muster the strength to fight back any more. Then the wide doors opened again, distracting the three squabbling Ketaari males. Saakshi used the last of her strength to turn her head limply and watch in dazed befuddlement as a group of massive black-clad creatures charged into the Hold, their disciplined formation not wavering despite their obvious hurry. Her mind screamed at her to protect herself from this new threat, yet she couldn’t seem to make herself move.
A loud roar from one of creatures rent the air, cutting through the abrupt silence in the Hold. Saakshi observed the intruders split into two groups. One dashed to where she lay in an awkward splay between crate and floor, while the rest charged the three wary Ketaari, surrounding them to prod them with their weapons into a huddle. Saakshi attempted to flee, her hands and feet scrabbling desperately on the floor as she tried to drag herself away. The intruder stopped abruptly to tear off his helmet, and Zoran’s face gazed down at her, his face tight with fury and his eyes full of concern for her.
“Zoran” she gasped out feebly, teeth chattering uncontrollably in her effort to speak. “Thank the Pura. Get me out of here.”
The wide doors opened again as a second group of Hadari’Kor rushed in to surround the Hold with their weapons at the ready.
“Saakshi” Zoran said simply, his voice strangled with a mixture of relief, concern and anger. His gaze took in the dazed expression on her face, the awkward angle of her body, the blood flowing sluggishly from numerous cuts on her, and the shivers that wracked her almost continuously.
He strapped his weapon to his thigh before tossing the helmet in his hand to one of the Hadari’Kor guarding the Ketaari. The merc grabbed the helmet with one hand to shoot a glance at his Captain. He lowered his weapon, abandoning the rest of his comrades to walk a few feet towards Zoran and Saakshi. Zoran unclasped the ties that held the armor to his torso, stripping it off himself to drape it carefully around Saakshi’s shivering body. The doors opened one more time and an older Ketaari male rushed in, coming to a sudden halt at the sight of the Hadari’Kor mercs in full armor. Some of the Hadari’Kor redirected their weapons to point toward him in one smooth, coordinated action. In response, the older male raised his arms instinctively in the universal gesture for surrender. His eyes searched the room frantically to zero in on Zoran, who was on one knee by the Budheya prisoner. The older Ketaari directed his remarks at Zoran.
“I am Tur Khosh, Captain of this Transport. I surrender the Budheya prisoner to you.”
Zoran ignored him completely, his attention on helping Saakshi to her feet. She swayed, her body ice cold to the touch. Clasping her to him with one arm,
Zoran gestured silently with his other to the merc holding his helmet. The waiting warrior strode up to his side. The Captain said something to him in a low voice and the merc used his wristlet control to raise the visor of his helmet. He lowered his weapon to meet Saakshi’s pain-filled eyes reassuringly before placing his arm around her to hold her up. Zoran shot Saakshi one last glance before turning murderous eyes on the Unta-Golar who stood amidst the circle of Hadari’Kor weapons pointed at him, his expression a mixture of chagrin and bravado.
Saakshi put out a hand to detain Zoran and he glanced back at her in inquiry.
“The Transport crew tried to keep him away from me” she attempted to explain, her teeth chattering even as she tried to form the sentence. But he seemed to understand, giving her a nod before stalking towards the Unta-Golar. The expression on Zoran’s face was enough for the Ketaari crew flanking the Unta-Golar to step away from him hurriedly, their Hadari’Kor captors efficiently herding them to their Transport Captain to leave Zoran and Ghesh facing each other.
Zoran studied the Ketaari male contemptuously.
“You’re making a huge mistake, HadKor” the Unta-Golar sneered, attempting to hide his fear. “Your little girlfriend is going to bring the wrath of the Empire down on you.”
Zoran raised a mighty fist to swing it at the male, moving too fast for Ghesh to get out of his way. The fist hit the Ketaari with a loud crack to break his nose, and he went down in dramatic fashion, pale blue blood splattering in the air in a spectacular arc. Before the Unta-Golar could do more than grunt with pain as blood rushed down his pale face to suffuse it with color, Zoran reached down to grasp the Ketaari roughly by his uniform, hauling him up to meet his gaze in a show of physical strength.
“It is you who has made the mistake” he reiterated with deadly precision, the expression on his face causing the Ketaari male to blanch. “She is my tseriya. She will bring your Empire to its knees. I’ll make sure of it.”