She pulled off her clothes, folding them neatly to one side, because she had learned to take nothing for granted, and she may need them again, and then stepped into the shower.
The Tecran were a little taller than humans and a lot bulkier, so the shower stall was roomy for her. She worked out how to switch it on, and stepped back for a couple of seconds to let it come up to temperature, only to find it came out hot straight away.
As soon as the spray hit her face, she closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and at last, private and under cover of the sound of falling water, let herself cry.
3
Dav could hear his own breathing inside the biohazard suit and nothing else, except for the occasional curse from one of his boarding team over his comm as they came across more and more dead Tecran littering the passageways and cabins.
They seemed at first glance to be merely asleep, their thick-set bodies lying up against walls, as if they had sat down to rest and just slid sideways, the feathery protrusions on their heads limp.
He lifted the concentrated beam of his laslight to illuminate the dead littering the area just outside the launch bay, pressed up against the doors as theyʼd tried to get in.
The interior doors had been locked when Dav and his team had arrived at the bay in three gun carriers, and theyʼd had to hook the wiring up to the power system on one of their own ships to get them open.
Dav could only assume the power failure had left the doors in lock mode, with no way for the Tecran crew to make it to the fleet of smaller explorer and fighter craft in the hangar. If they had been able to, a lot more would be alive. All they would have needed to do was start the engines and close the doors, and the on board systems would have provided them with the air they needed to breathe.
There were a few alive, though. Mostly officers with personal breathing apparatus, and one patient who was on a ventilator in the sick bay. Lucky for him, the ventilatorʼs backup power came from a powerful battery built into the machine itself, not the backup system on the ship, or heʼd be dead too. According to one of B Team, he was nearly there, anyway, his chest barely lifting up and down.
Dav turned his laslight back to the one thing on this ship that had no business being here and studied it a little more. It was a dead animal of some kind in a cage, nothing heʼd ever seen before. He would bet quite a large chunk of his pay that if it were breathing, it would show up orange on Kilaʼs little screen.
This one life form, of all the life on this ship, had not died of a lack of breathable air. It had been killed by lethal injection, the syringe still in its shoulder, as if the person whoʼd plunged it in was too scared to pull it out. Looking at the incisors and the claws on the animal, Dav didnʼt blame them.
He played his light over it a little longer, and then tapped his comm. “Final casualties, Commander?”
“Four hundred and eighty-three, sir.” Commander Appal had to clear her throat. “Kilaʼs confirmed from her side. We havenʼt missed anyone.”
They had the captain alive, along with most of his senior officers. And none of the hassle of a large-scale prisoner population. All their would-be prisoners were dead.
Dav wasnʼt sure what he thought of that.
If the Tecran ship hadnʼt been disabled, he knew they would have shot the Barrist out the sky and killed every single person on board. If heʼd had the fire-power available himself, he would have done the same to them.
But this seemed like a waste of life. A tragedy.
And the burning question was, what were the Tecran doing in Grih territory to begin with?
He tapped in to the Barristʼs comm system. “Weʼre secure, Borji. Bring your team over and find out what the hell happened to this ship.”
The place on the Grih planet Dav came from, Calianthra, had a saying: beware of unexpected gifts.
He was wary, all right. Very, very wary.
She was clean, and she was cried out. Wrung out like a limp rag. Only thirty minutes had passed of her hour, because she was worried about working out how to use the hyr fabric, and she didnʼt want to ask Sazoʼs advice.
Her hair hung below shoulder-length, clean but in need of a good brush and a hair tie, smelling of the gel Sazo had provided. A sort of cinnamon and vanilla spicy mix that was amazingly good.
She sorted through the garments, and realized she was humming a tune while she did it. Sheʼd always enjoyed singing, but since sheʼd been taken, sheʼd hummed and sang more than she ever had in her life. There was something so pithy about song lyrics. They got right to the heart of things in a few words.
She didnʼt doubt she was sane because of them.
She lifted out an item that must surely be underwear, although so big she could have got both legs in one leg-hole. She pulled them on, and then bunched them close to her skin. The fabric contracted, and as she pulled and arranged, it obeyed completely, shrinking, molding itself to her, until she had exactly the kind of underwear she preferred.
Flushed with success, as well as the humid air of the shower room, she pulled out a sleeveless tank top which she guessed was a bra equivalent and went to work again. When she worked out she could have any level of lift and separate she wanted, she played for a good five minutes, grinning as she made her breasts do the impossible, giving herself cleavage that would be the envy of any playboy bunny. The beep Sazo said heʼd send at forty minutes sounded, and she toned it down a little, although not totally. She was tired of being grubby and drab.
The pants and long sleeve t-shirt were easy, and the fabric was stretchy enough for her to move freely.
She ran into trouble with the shoes.
The only ones in the pack looked like massive ballet slippers. The Tecran had big feet, and she wondered how the hyr fabric in the shoes would work. Sheʼd prefer trainers, something she could run in.
Sazo said the Grih were peaceful and had strict rules guiding their encounters with alien life. They would never subject her to what the Tecran had. But call her a cynic. Sheʼd like the option of running, if she could.
Of course, sheʼd been without shoes for three months, so anything was an improvement.
She slipped her foot into one, and then the other, and they started to contract. Ballet slippers, it was, then. They were comfortable, at least. And the soles were probably thick enough to run over rough ground.
She closed up the packs again, still wishing for a brush and a hair tie, but the Tecran had feathery stuff on their heads and if they brushed it, there was no evidence of that in the things Sazo had gotten for her. She combed her fingers through her hair and then braided it in a French braid.
“A hair tie, a hair tie, my kingdom for a hair tie,” she sang under her breath.
“A hair tie?” Sazoʼs voice came through the speaker by the door.
“A stretchy, thin band to wrap around the end of my hair, to keep it in place. Iʼd be happy to see a comb or a brush, too.” She kept her voice neutral, but she didnʼt like that heʼd been listening to her. Although she knew she could be misunderstanding. He was in the craftʼs systems, and if she spoke, he would hear it, whether he was actively listening to her or minding his own business completely.
And what else did he have to do at the moment?
Boredom was a huge problem for Sazo. Idle hands do the devilʼs work had never been more applicable. Although, this time, the devil had been totally in her corner.
Theyʼd needed each other——Sazoʼs access to the shipʼs systems and her mobility and opposable thumbs——and their plan had worked.
She walked back into the small cockpit, still hanging on to the end of her braid, peered out the porthole one last time at the Tecran ship disappearing into the distance, and gave them the middle finger.
4
“Nothing happened to this ship.” Borji stood to attention in front of Dav in the darkness, his biosuit visor lit only by the portable screen in his hand. He looked like heʼd taken a bite of something sour.
“Clearly, something did.” Dav told
him.
“The system shut down, yes, but from within. Everything was done through the master system, and I canʼt find any malfunction, any virus.”
“Why didnʼt they switch it back on, then?”
Borji lifted the portable screen he was holding and tilted it for Dav to see. “This piece of code could be the reason, but again, the Tecran did it to themselves. They set a timer on the power and air shut down. Two hours. It should be coming back online in . . .” He flicked his left sleeve for the smart fabric time display. “Three, two, one . . .”
All around them, lights flickered on, and the gentle hum of the air filtration system vibrated through the wall Dav was resting his hand on.
Well, damn.
They now had a fully functional, undamaged Class 5 in their possession, something the Grih had tried and failed to get since theyʼd first had a sniff of their existence.
He could see good things in his future for being in the right place at the right time, because there was no question the Barrist would get the glory for this.
Trouble was, he hadnʼt done a thing to earn it.
Something a few of his fellow captains would no doubt be happy to point out to Battle Center. For whatever good it would do them.
It was time he and his crew staked their claim and became the experts in Class 5 tech before the back-up theyʼd originally requested arrived.
Dav wanted to sink his teeth into this one so deep, theyʼd have to pry his jaw open to make him let go. He pulled off the helmet of his biosuit and gave Borji a look he knew his systemʼs engineer would be blind not to interpret correctly. “Get your team and learn as much about the way this ship functions as you can.”
“Yes, sir.” Borji grinned, and went off, tapping his comm to call his team to him.
There was a polite buzz from his comm, and he linked to Kila.
“You wanted to know what was happening to those oranges, sir. Theyʼve just entered Harmonʼs atmosphere. Weʼre tracking them.”
Seven oranges. Six on one craft, one on the other.
It had looked to Dav as if the dead animal in the launch bay had been meant to join the rest of them, but something had gone wrong and it had been killed by the Tecran. Or at least, a Tecran death injection. Whether the hand that had wielded it was Tecran was something Dav wanted an answer to more and more urgently.
Were the other seven like that thing in the cage? He thought what it might look like, alive, standing, and pissed off.
If he were the Tecran, he might have decided to get them all the hell off his ship as well.
He tapped his comm again. There was only one way to find out. “Commander, I want to talk to the Tecran captain. Where are you holding him?”
“In the cells theyʼve got here, sir. Some kind of holding facility. Looks like they were keeping . . . things . . . prisoner.” The way she spoke, Dav guessed the Tecran had been violating the Sentient Beings Agreement. But then, that really was the only explanation for the orange heartbeats.
“Iʼll be there now.”
He took a tube down to the third level and walked past enough dead Tecran to make the sense of urgency driving him ratchet up so tight, it was a relief to finally see Appal leaning against the corridor wall.
She could have been waiting for him, but he sensed instead she was avoiding the place sheʼd left their prisoners. She looked up at the sound of his footsteps, her biosuit helmet under her arm now that Borji had given the all-clear, her heavy-duty shockgun held easily in her other hand.
“The smell in there.” She shook her head. “I sent the rest of my team to help with the bodies because they couldnʼt take it. The Tecran were keeping the area they held their prisoners relatively clean, but no one seems to have been on clean-up duty today. Whatever the things they captured are, they arenʼt in there anymore.” She pushed off against the wall. “Itʼs extremely secure in there. Iʼm sure the Tecran canʼt escape, which only makes me wonder where those things they kept in there are, and how they got out.”
“Just as the air and power went, two explorer-class craft left this ship, containing seven orange heartbeats between them.” Dav watched Appal process that.
“You think the Tecran evacuated them? But why would they save the beings they had so little respect for they held them captive, and not save themselves?”
Dav gave a nod toward the door. “Letʼs find out.”
Appal seemed to steel herself before she punched the button on the side of the door. It slid open soundlessly and Dav had to force himself not to reel back.
His commander was right. The stench was overwhelming. Probably made worse by the fact that for two hours, there had been no ventilation here at all.
About fifteen Tecran were split between three cells, all with transparent walls, and there were at least twelve other empty cells down a long stretch of corridor.
Dav noticed that Appal had put them in the three worst cells. Some of the empty ones were actually pristine, as if nothing had been kept there, and one . . . He looked at it and frowned. It was different to the others.
And there was that one craft with just the one orange signature in it. He forced his attention back to their prisoners.
Most of them were sitting down, trying to find a clean place amongst the muck. Some still wore their personal breathers, others trusted the systems were up again, and had taken them off.
Dav remembered the Tecran didnʼt have the same acute sense of smell as the Grih, otherwise theyʼd probably all still be using their breathers.
One Tecran rose to his feet when Dav and Appal stepped into the holding area, and the look he gave them was cold and calculating.
Dav watched him back, taking in the thick-set, muscular build, the large eyes, the sleek brown and cream mottled feathers over his head. They were ruffled at the neck, a sign of extreme agitation. “Which of you was the captain of this ship?” he asked in broken Tecran.
He knew already.
If the Tecranʼs body language hadnʼt been clear enough, Dav had been taught to read Tecran military uniform insignia. But the Tecran didnʼt need to know that.
“I am Vai Gee, and I am still the captain of this ship. I donʼt know how you pulled us into your territory and disabled us, but if you return us now, perhaps the Tecran High Command will not launch an immediate attack on the Grih.”
Dav lifted his brows. Vai Gee knew the Tecran would have to pry this ship out of the Grihʼs cold, dead hands; although, what did he have to lose demanding they send them back home?
The Tecran captain was breathing hard. “This was mass murder. Most of my crew are dead.” There was a trace of a screech in his voice. “And you will release us immediately from these inappropriate quarters.”
Dav considered him as Appal went very still at his side. “We didnʼt pull you into our territory. Youʼre in the dead center of Grih airspace. The only way you could have gotten here is if you set a course before a light jump, and that light jump would have had to have originated in the outer edges of our territory to begin with. My systems engineer has confirmed you disabled your own ship and killed your own crew. Iʼd like to know why.”
The Tecran captain drew in a sharp breath. Shared a look with one of his officers. “Why would we do that? This must be your doing.”
Dav shrugged. “It wasnʼt. Perhaps youʼve annoyed someone else?”
Gee stood very stiff.
He was thinking, Dav could see it. Running through which of the many enemies the Tecran had made who could have done something like this. And why they would pull the Grih into the mess.
Heʼd really like the answer to that one, himself.
There could be no doubt the Tecran ship had been deliberately placed in Grih territory, but he was pretty sure the gift of a Class 5 meant that whoever was responsible understood the outcome would be . . . messy. And he was also pretty sure his superiors would more than forgive the diplomatic firestorm this would cause when the trade-off was a Class 5 in pristine condition to play with.
> “Iʼd like to know, if these quarters are so inappropriate, why you were keeping anything in here?” Appalʼs Tecran was worse than his, but sheʼd obviously latched on to that particular part of Geeʼs tirade, and wasnʼt letting go. “It looks like a contravention of the Sentient Beings Agreement to me.”
“Do you see any alien sentient beings here?” Gee stared straight back, but there was a muscle jumping under the pale pink skin of his jaw.
“There is a dead one in your launch bay.” Dav thought back to that crumpled thing he had a feeling had been so much more when alive. “Iʼm sure my team will discover plenty of genetic material in here to confirm. By the looks of things theyʼll have quite a bit more to work with than they need. And of course, there is the lens feed.”
Gee flicked a look at the lenses spaced along the corridor above Davʼs head and then looked down.
Something vicious and angry rose up in Dav. There had been a strange tightening of the skin around Geeʼs eyes and his beak-like mouth, a real fear, and Dav knew there were things on that lens feed that would possibly get Gee the ultimate penalty for breaking the Sentient Beings Agreement.
He tried to keep his voice even. “Easiest of all is we saw the rest of them shipped out on two explorer craft to the surface of Harmon before your power went down.”
Gee sucked in a breath at that, and Dav would have sworn he didnʼt know the creatures heʼd been illegally keeping in his holding cells had been sent to Virmanaʼs moon. But if Gee hadnʼt given the order as the captain of the ship, who had?
Gee stretched himself impossibly straighter, his slightly rounded chest puffing up. “Iʼm finished talking to you.”
Dav stared at him until the Tecran turned away, then he walked over to the one cell that was different.
He could feel Geeʼs eyes on him, sense Appalʼs interest, as she also picked up what he was seeing.
This was the cell of an advanced sentient. He could see a chair and table, a handheld tablet and a bed made up with sheets and blankets. He looked up and down the row, but this was the only cell set up like this. He looked over at Gee, but the captain was still turned away, his shoulders stiff.
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