“Lock, no access except for emergency clearance,” she said the instant the door closed behind her. It beeped its acquiescence.
Elisa pulled the nearby chair and table that made up her dining area so that they stood in front of the door. If someone decided to break in, the extra barrier would give her a chance for escape. When she went to bed tonight, she would also lock the door to her separate bedroom and place a chair in front of it. A butcher knife she had stolen from the kitchen would be near at hand, lying on her nightstand as she slept.
Elisa took a deep breath and sighed it back out. She took a swallow of her coffee, able to drink it now that it was no longer needed as a weapon. Tension ebbed from her shoulders and she sighed again. Another day’s battle was officially over.
Chapter 3
Zemos watched Elisa as she wheeled the midday meal cart into the cell block. The slipshod guard named Coombs followed her, looking bored and distracted. Zemos thought Coombs placed too much confidence in the security field’s ability to keep them incarcerated, especially someone of Oret’s skills. Not that the Dramok was about to complain over getting the chance to escape, especially if it could be accomplished without endangering Elisa.
Oret’s eyes were sharp as he took in the situation. It was up to Zemos and Miragin to distract Coombs and Elisa so they didn’t notice the Nobek looking things over. It was overkill for the security specialist to take such careful stock of how the pair moved as the Kalquorians were given their meals; Oret always watched his environment with laser precision. After three months, he knew Elisa and Coombs’ habits in maximum security better than the two Earthers did. However, now that the Kalquorians had given up on rescue and were making a concentrated effort to find an avenue of escape, Oret insisted on a couple of days of observation.
The Dramok part of Zemos that didn’t scream to take out their attackers in glorious battle applauded his Nobek’s caution. For one thing, they had Miragin’s safety to worry about. It had been the worst luck that they’d been attacked during one of his infrequent visits to the destroyer, leading the gentle Imdiko to be captured along with his clanmates. Neither Zemos nor Oret were in any hurry to endanger their third’s life. All precautions would be taken.
Then there was Elisa. Zemos had come to the harsh realization that they would most likely be taking advantage of her kindness and lack of combat knowledge. He felt positive they would be forced to use her to escape. As Oret had said, she was the weakest link in the chain that kept them imprisoned. She would have to be the bit that broke.
The poor woman, like Miragin, was just an innocent bystander caught up in events beyond her control. For that, she would suffer.
Zemos eyed Coombs for a moment, performing his own weighing of the situation. He thought the lazy guard wouldn’t notice a Tragoom snarling in his ear. The man seemed that dull-witted.
However, Elisa was sharp enough for the two of them. They’d have to watch her carefully. She was no fool for all her lack of military knowledge, and Zemos feared she would pick up on any slips they made.
Still, her lack of weapons, her gentle nature, and her small stature made her easy prey should they break free of the containment. The thought made Zemos ill. He could almost hate himself for what he had to do. He should be thinking of ways to protect such a creature, not attack her.
Miragin had argued passionately against using Elisa in any way, but in the end necessity had prevailed. He was the first to speak as she approached, smiling warmly at Elisa as she opened the small window in the containment field.
“Here is our favorite Earther, and not just because you bring us the best food.”
Elisa snuck a quick smile at the Imdiko. She didn’t talk because of Coombs’ presence. She wasn’t supposed to ever speak to them. That she had done so when they were alone told Zemos how lonely the poor woman was.
If Remington had been in here right now, he would have screamed and threatened the Kalquorians for saying anything to Elisa. Coombs didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he didn’t care. At present, he busied himself digging in his ear canal as he stared at the floor. Zemos thought that the man was an idiot.
Zemos bowed and offered Elisa a smile that felt too tight. “Your pretty face could brighten the darkest night, Matara.”
Her warm look faltered a little. She cocked an eyebrow at him, her expression plainly telling him he’d laid the compliments on too thick. No surprise there; Zemos was used to barking out orders, not trying to charm lovely women he cared for.
Miragin chuckled, knowing the social klutzes his clanmates tended to be. The sound drew Elisa’s attention from Oret as he took the first tray of food from her. Neither she nor the uncaring Coombs saw the way the Nobek studied Elisa’s disruptor as Miragin drew close to whisper conspiratorially.
“Not quite the poet, is he, Elisa? Forgive my Dramok’s overly enthusiastic compliments, but do not doubt his sincerity. Zemos never says things he doesn’t mean. As for the way he says them, you must remember we aren’t used to speaking to women. It’s hard for any of us to know what to say to one of you.”
As the Imdiko accepted the tray of food from Oret, Elisa gave him a sympathetic look. In the hurried conversations they’d had over the weeks, a few things had been established. Elisa had told the men that she didn’t approve of Kalquor abducting Earther women, which had started the war. Yet she also understood how desperate they must have felt about being on the brink of extinction. She’d even expressed sorrow over the rarity of Kalquorian women and the infertility most of them suffered from.
She was such a wonderful person, the kindest, most understanding creature Zemos had ever met. He felt another stab of sick guilt at having to possibly use her to escape.
As Elisa handed Oret a second food tray, Zemos acknowledged his clumsy attempts at interaction. “Miragin is our wordsmith. Did you know he’s a writer? A very famous one in the Empire in fact, as well as a gifted public speaker. I suppose I should leave the pretty speeches to him.”
The men had already told Elisa all that, but Zemos chatted in the effort to keep her distracted. He accepted his food tray from Oret as Coombs yawned. At first Zemos felt a flash of anger that the man would belittle Miragin’s accomplishments, but no, the Earther guard’s distant look said he wasn’t even paying attention. He was there in body, but not in mind. Zemos was certain Coombs hadn’t heard the first word of their conversation.
Elisa handed in Oret’s dinner. She would be leaving soon. With a guard standing there, they had no way of prolonging her stay. Zemos admitted to himself that it wasn’t just Oret’s recon that made him want to find a way for her to tarry. Awkward or not, had he been given a real chance, the Dramok would have attempted to romance the lovely Earther female. Much as he’d been overpoweringly drawn to Miragin in a bar over a century ago, he was attracted to this woman. If they could escape, if he could somehow convince her to go with them...
Miragin continued to talk even as Elisa readied her cart to walk out. “I may put words together well, but the pretty voice that does the singing ... well, that would belong to you, wouldn’t it, Matara? That melody you hummed yesterday is still running in my head. I wonder what lyrics go with such a happy tune? I wish I could hear them.”
Elisa ducked her head, smiling again. The sight tugged hard at Zemos’ heart. The little Earther didn’t smile nearly enough. He wished he could do something to change that. He didn’t mind the mature lines that creased at the corners of her eyes when she really beamed. In fact, he adored every one of them, an accounting of years passing and wisdom gained. A young woman wouldn’t have that world-weariness that Zemos himself knew so well. She wouldn’t know that disappointment wasn’t the end of the world, nor that success meant all would be right forever. Elisa knew what it was to see life’s newness fade. She would understand how every moment was meant to be savored rather than rushed through for the next novel experience. She was perfect.
Elisa closed the hole in the containment field and began to push her c
art away in the wake of Coombs’ lumbering. The guard was supposed to watch her back, not leave ahead of her. Asshole, Zemos thought before he remembered he was supposed to want slip-ups. It still pissed him off that the lazy bastard didn’t put Elisa’s safety first.
Damn, he had it bad for the sweet little woman if he wanted her protected from himself.
The Dramok watched her leave with a sense of loss that mere lust couldn’t account for. The few minutes each day that he saw Elisa raced by much too quickly. Everything about her was pleasing, from her sweet face to the lovely collection of curves she still possessed. Looking at the way Elisa’s bottom twitched as she walked away, he noted she continued to lose weight, as those of the crew he had seen all seemed to be doing. The battlecruiser was implementing strict rationing on the Earthers’ food from the looks of things, though Zemos and his clan were given plenty to eat. The Earthers went without while the prisoners seemed to be fattened up for the slaughter ... or at least, kept well fed.
They really did need to escape soon.
A pure, sweet tone suddenly startled Zemos, words swirling in the loveliest voice he’d ever heard. Zemos started and stared after the departing Elisa.
“He is my world/My everything/My warmth of summer/My waking spring...”
She sang, the music pouring from her throat as golden as any sun Zemos had ever set eyes on. The gorgeous sound filled the brig’s grim space. Elisa sang, and it was stunningly beautiful. Even Coombs had wakened from his foggy world to gape over his shoulder at her. He walked right into the doorframe that led to the guards’ office. His curse as he went out of the confinement area was a small interruption in the spell that Elisa’s voice wove.
“I had no choice/But to hopelessly fall...”
Elisa had reached the doorway, and as she walked out, she looked back at the Kalquorians, her smile mischievous. Zemos could only stare at her in stunned amazement.
“He is my world/He is my all.”
She walked out.
Zemos realized he had stepped right up to the containment field to watch her for as long as possible, to hear her for as long as he could. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts, he stepped back and noticed his clanmates doing the same. They seemed every bit as struck as he felt.
Miragin spoke first. “By the ancestors. Not even Matara Oli could match that.”
Zemos was inclined to agree that Kalquor’s most recognized and adored singer might well meet her vocal match in Elisa. “That was amazing,” he blurted in the understatement of the century.
The Dramok shook his head again, forcing himself to emerge from the magic of the Earther woman’s voice. He had an escape to plan. “Oret?”
His Nobek blinked a couple of times as if coming out of a trance. He snapped to attention and squared his shoulders. “I need at least that partial field disruptor to get us out of here. I’m not sure how I can get it, though. The amount Elisa opens to slide our trays in won’t allow me to reach any farther out than halfway up my forearm. If I could get her to come closer and open the field at her waist level, there’s a very small chance I could take it off her belt.”
Zemos considered. “The odds of that aren’t good. Any attempt would be best made with Guard Coombs as her backup. Remington would keep her more distracted, but he’s too alert.”
Miragin snorted. “Coombs is as conscious as a lusgo worm. And almost as pretty.”
Oret smirked at that, but Zemos couldn’t find any humor right now. Their situation was as it had been for the last three months: not totally hopeless but as close to it as they could get. The odds of getting one of those field disruptors, even Elisa’s, was slim at best. His original plan of fighting their way out of the situation when the ship got to wherever it was going still looked to be their only real chance. The trouble with that was they’d have a lot of armed guards to get through.
What bothered Zemos most was that he didn’t know where they were headed. He could only wonder how dire the situation would be. It meant that if the chance came about to get hold of Elisa’s field disruptor ... or even Elisa herself ... they would have to act.
Zemos slammed his fist into the wall, something he’d done a lot of since being taken prisoner. “Damn it. I don’t want her hurt.”
Behind him, Oret said, “I have no intention of hurting Elisa, only taking her hostage if given the chance. I don’t harm Mataras.”
Zemos turned to him. The words he spoke were so foul he could almost taste the rot of them on his tongue. “The situation is bigger than one woman, Oret. Though we’ll do our best by her, we’ll do what we must. We have to get out, and we have to find out what Walker plans to do to us. For all we know, the repercussions of whatever he has in mind could reach throughout the Empire.”
Refusing to acknowledge the first part of his Dramok’s statement, Miragin said, “I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who thinks the threat that hangs over us might reach beyond your crew.”
Zemos eyed his Imdiko. Miragin was the first to acknowledge he knew nothing of warfare or battle strategy, yet he too had considered Walker might be playing a bigger game than what appeared on the surface. Zemos was sure of it, especially after thinking over their last conversation with the Earther captain.
He told his clanmates, “It’s something major. I see it in the fear in Joseph’s eyes. Whatever is in store for us, it’s playing hell with his conscience.”
Oret had other matters more important to him on his mind. “You can’t ask me to injure the woman. Elise is a sweet child and an innocent.”
Zemos was the Nobek’s clan leader. He was also his captain. It still didn’t mean Oret would automatically obey him, not when his conscience was at odds with what had to happen. While it would have made Zemos’ life easier if Oret simply followed orders, he felt better that his longtime companion challenged him on important matters.
The Dramok told him, “Of course you’re to do everything in your power to avoid harming her, my Nobek. But we have a duty. The Empire comes first, and if what’s going on threatens Kalquor—”
Zemos had to stop and swallow against the sudden thickness in his throat. He didn’t want to be the reason Elisa found herself in terror or pain. His soul cried out against it. Yet the threat hanging over his crew’s heads, a threat that might be big enough to encompass the Kalquorian Empire itself left him little choice.
He drew himself up and glared at Oret. “Do what it takes to get us out of here. That’s an order.”
Oret’s face purpled in sudden rage. He threw his untouched tray of food, sending it crashing against the wall. Zemos had little doubt Oret had preferred to throw it at him.
The Nobek turned his back on Zemos. He hadn’t gotten over how his leader had knocked him out when the Earthers had disabled and boarded the destroyer. When it had become obvious the Kalquorians would be overcome, Zemos had known Oret would fight to the death.
For Zemos, losing his ship was calamity enough. Losing his Nobek as well was intolerable. He’d dealt Oret a brutal blow to the head when he wasn’t looking, injuring the man and yet ensuring his survival in an unwinnable battle.
Miragin looked from one to another of his clanmates, his concern plain. He kept quiet however, knowing the tempers of the men he was linked to for life. If Oret snapped and went after Zemos, Miragin would jump in between them, putting his own health in jeopardy to keep them from harming each other. Zemos thought it must be hard to be clanned to a ferocious Nobek and a Dramok with equally violent tendencies.
Oret didn’t move however. Little by little, the three let the quiet soak in and cool quick tempers. It was too bad the enforced timeout left Zemos with nothing to do but contemplate what it would take to get them out of here. Elisa’s last glance at him as she’d left the cell block seemed burned into his retinas; it was everywhere he looked. Her smile wouldn’t leave his mind, its sweetness mocking him with a promise he might have to destroy.
* * * *
Captain Joseph Walker sat in his
chair, staring at the vid transmission of a man almost everyone thought was dead. Holy Leader Browning Copeland had not just survived Armageddon, he had escaped Earth before it had even happened. He had also avoided the trials the Galactic Council of Planets had imposed on Earth’s surviving leaders. Living on another rogue battlecruiser, Copeland flew about space, hiding from those who would see him answer for the deaths of billions of people. The Galactic Council of Planets would not care that he had been the Voice of God on Earth. Copeland would be made to pay for genocide if they ever caught him.
The Holy Leader showed few of the trials Joseph’s crew had endured since the end of Earth. His wavy hair was carefully combed back, the alabaster sheen of it gleaming with an aura of almost divine radiance. It put the supposed white of his robes to shame, making them seem dingy in comparison. His crystalline blue eyes were creased at the corners, a slight testament to his 68 years since gracing Earth with his birth. Besides the few lines that marked the passage of time, Copeland’s complexion was flawless, almost ageless. His shoulders were broad and strong. Even over the vid he projected serene grace.
The ruin of their planet, her creatures dead or scattered amongst the stars, was all the evidence Joseph needed that Copeland was not the infallible messenger of God he’d been revered as. Yet he still felt insignificant in the man’s presence, even over a vid communication. Worst still, he remained driven to worship Copeland whenever they spoke. Joseph hated that he was so brainwashed. Even knowing Earth’s former leader was little more than a snake oil salesman couldn’t halt the instinctive need to seek praise from him.
Right now, the Holy Leader looked quite pleased with Joseph. It took all the control the younger man possessed to not howl his unworthiness to receive Copeland’s approval.
Inwardly, he cursed himself. Damn it, the man was nothing but a charlatan. The whole religion had been a sham, at least the way Earth’s government had used it. Joseph knew he should be screaming at Copeland, insisting the Holy Leader tear the mask of righteousness off so his true monstrousness could be revealed.
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