Kirek awakened in darkness. Around him he sensed more than heard the endless stocking of carts. He went outside to relieve his bladder and after he finished, he turned to go back inside and saw a huge skimmer approaching. Surprised to see how quickly the skimmer was advancing, he ducked back into the warehouse.
The vehicle tripped mechanical doors and floated into the building. The skimmer’s cargo bay door opened to reveal a full cargo. As other machines began to unload, Kirek estimated it would take a few hours. Although he suspected the entire process was automated, he didn’t want to stupidly risk walking right up to a Kwadii camera that could alert anyone to his presence.
So he waited, concerned about the cramping in his legs due to lack of water. He needed to hydrate his body. An adult would have been able to go longer without fluid intake, but he was already weakening. Hot and grungy, and wary, a desperate need for water drove him toward the giant skimmer. Robots busily unloaded cargo, and Kirek realized that if he intended to depart in the skimmer he had to find a way inside.
The skimmer’s cargo hold rested on an enormous rubberized balloon of air. With the balloon side too slick to climb, he needed to find a ladder. But of course there were none. The robots possessed extended crane-like arms of steel to reach into the interior and extract the exports. Kirek saw nothing going in that he could ride.
There was no other way. He’d have to climb the robot, scoot out on the arm, and pray that the drop to a landing wouldn’t be so high that he’d break bones. Kirek didn’t like heights. He really didn’t like physical exertion. But he liked the idea of his skin shriveling up and dying of thirst even less.
When a robot went by, he counted.
One. He tensed his cramping legs.
Two. He lunged two quick steps.
Three.
He jumped and caught a cross bar with one hand. His sweaty fingers slipped. His heart raced and he kicked, frantic to secure a toehold and prevent himself from sliding under the robot’s tracks.
You can do it. He could hear his father Etru talking to him, telling him that the mind could overcome the weakness of the body.
Sharp metal dug into his fingers. Kirek ignored the pain and swiveled until he found a toehold. It seemed as though he’d dangled for minutes, but when he checked the robot’s position, he realized only seconds had passed.
Clinging to the robot’s body, he told himself not to look down. Instead, he tilted back his head, raised one arm, and grabbed the bar above his head. Next he found a toehold. Arm, leg, arm, leg. Hand over hand, he climbed higher.
Was he taking too long? He didn’t know. Didn’t want to glance down to see how much more of the supplies were left to unload. His breath came in huge gasps. He’d stopped sweating. A bad sign. Perspiration was the body’s way of cooling heat.
Shaking from his efforts, he feared if he stopped climbing to rest, he’d never start again. He could hear his father talking to him. He suspected he was hallucinating but still welcomed Etru’s comforting presence.
You can do it, son.
It’s too hard.
Doing hard things will make us proud of you.
Okay, Dad. I’ll keep going. But if I fall—
You won’t.
Tell mom that I miss her. A lot. I miss you, too.
Kirek’s eyes should have been full of tears. But he had no moisture to spare. His throat felt so dry, as if it was going to crack and tear. His legs burned. His arms trembled.
But the robot limb was so close.
Just a little farther, son. You’re almost there.
Finally, Kirek pulled himself up far enough to straddle the arm. He had to scoot out a little and just in time he reached a cross bar to hold himself steady.
Kirek’s head spun from dizziness. If he fell from this height, he wouldn’t have to worry about broken bones, he’d be dead. He wanted to close his eyes, but he didn’t dare.
Kirek crawled out on the arm until he was over the cargo. He needed to make a good landing.
Stars.
He took a deep breath and timed the arm’s swinging movement.
One.
Two.
Three.
Kirek fell from the arm onto the cargo. Landing, slipping, he belly flopped and spread his arms and legs wide to stabilize his position on top of seeds covered in thick material. Wrenching his arms, he maintained his position, then peered over the pallet. He muttered a curse very inappropriate for a four-year-old.
He had to climb down faster than the arm could retrieve the pallet or all his effort would be for nothing. If only he had his suit, he could have used his null-grav. Or if Etru had been there he could have jumped into his arms.
Using the thick material, he lowered himself, slid, and fell. He landed hard, rolled, and bumped his head.
Pain exploded.
Don’t go to sleep.
Kirek tried to obey Etru’s order. He fought the blackness. He fought the dizziness. He fought the pain.
But his efforts were futile.
He never noticed when the skimmer was empty and it went on its way.
Chapter Twelve
IF ONE COULD discount the locked and guarded doors, the quarters where Avanti brought Zical and his crew were more like a hotel than a prison. Each person had a small but comfortable sleeping room and a bathing room that included facilities to remove wastes in an odorless, efficient manner. They shared a communal cooking area, generously supplied with food and drink. While not as bracing as the air on the Verazen, the temperature was cool compared to the heat outside.
Zical had gathered his people and given them strict orders that their every word might be monitored by unseen listening devices and to be very careful what they revealed. Dora thought his precautions sound, but probably useless. These Kwadii had impressed her as ruthlessly efficient, but lacking in curiosity about their real intentions. From Avanti’s clipped sentences, Dora gathered that the Kwadii dealt with all hyperspace intruders in the same manner—by execution.
Despite her gloomy thoughts, her body still had needs. Dora helped herself to a long, cool drink of water to quench her parched throat, then availed herself of the bathing facility. Perhaps contemplating their execution was too much for her mind to bear, so she tried to ease the pain by distracting herself. She lingered over her bathing, focused on the sensation of water cleansing her skin, and noted the puckering of her fingertips and toes. For a few moments, she tried to forget their dire situation and simply yielded to the cascade’s sweet caress over her skin.
She was almost finished when someone knocked on her door. “Come in.”
Dressed in a sarong, his chest bare, Zical entered the room, took one look at her nudity, and carefully glanced the other way, but not before she noted the gleam of appreciation in his gaze and how his tone turned husky. “Get dressed. Avanti wants my help to prepare for the trial.”
“More likely she’s trying to find out how many more of us are coming through hyperspace so she can kill us all.” Dora turned off the water, grabbed a soft cotton cloth, and dried herself. Slowly. “So why do I need to dress?”
Tessa had told her Terrans preferred to bath with water even after they had suits to keep them clean. Now Dora understood why. The sensual experience couldn’t be duplicated by the suit. The drying was rather interesting too. The soft material soaking up water created a pleasant zing to her skin, and she couldn’t help thinking how much more pleasant the bathing and drying would be if she and Zical shared the cleaning ritual. But what was even more interesting was that although Zical clearly tried to turn his gaze from her, he kept glancing her way.
She liked his lack of control. She liked that he couldn’t stop looking. She’d created this body specifically to entice him, gone to a lot of trouble to take his preferences into account. But now that she was provoking his interest, she wanted more. She still wanted his passion, of course, but she also wanted him to think of her as all woman.
“You have a good mind. I thought you might help me
analyze their laws.”
“Okay.” While Zical seemed determined to maintain a professional distance from her body, she was very glad he’d sought her out because he wanted her opinion. She was determined to do her best. She supposed he would consider her teasing him with her body the act of a wayward woman, still, she took her time, enjoying his covert glances and keeping back a grin of satisfaction. Their captors had supplied clothing, and she wrapped a sarong around her hips, then tied on a pair of sandals. “You can look now,” she teased, pretending she hadn’t noticed his accelerated pulse, or the slight flaring of his nostrils.
He turned around and at the sight of her bared breasts, his eyes widened then narrowed, and a flush rose up his neck. Dora supposed now that they were about to die, she’d never understand the Terran and Rystani inclination to hide their flesh.
On the ship she’d worn clothes because it was expected, because she wanted to fit in, but her own preference was nudity. In her view, the Kwadii had adjusted well to their warm world by wearing a minimum of clothing. She dried her hair with the cloth, combed her fingers through it, and water droplets trickled over her chest. Zical seemed extraordinarily interested in a globule that dripped over her breast and clung to her nipple.
Just to distract him from their imminent deaths, she let the water droplet hang from her nipple and then teased him. “You’re staring. But I don’t mind. I like it when you look at me like that.”
“Like what?” He glared at her as if he had more responsibility on his shoulders than he could bear.
So she teased him, hoping to lighten his burden. “When you look as if you can’t decide whether to kiss me or lick me.”
“What I ought to do is …”
“Yes?”
“Leave you here.”
“But then you’d miss me and my analytical mind.”
“Behave,” he warned, but she refused to take his implied threat to leave her behind the least bit seriously. His wonderful eyes heated with a violet red flame, and for a moment the darkness in them was dispelled by light. Zical leaned forward. For a moment she thought he would kiss her, but instead he whispered in her ear. “Can they get to Ranth?”
So he’d seen the soldiers entering the Verazen, too. She kept her voice low. “I don’t think so. However, I wish we could communicate with him. We need help and I’m worried about Kirek,” she admitted.
“He’s better off alone than with us,” he whispered back.
Maybe. Kirek had the intellect of an adult but the emotional needs of a child. So while they would die together, Kirek was alone. She hated thinking how frightened and forlorn he must be.
She and Zical exited her room and strode down the corridor, and a guard let them pass through double doors and gestured for them to enter a conference room with a round stone table and many chairs with artfully curved lines. Fruits, nuts, and cheese, plus a variety of drinks, were laid out for refreshments.
Dora had expected to meet Avanti alone to go over their defense, but another man sat at the table. She estimated from his long white hair that he’d lived many years. His skin was white, his features unlined, as if he’d never spent a day in the sun. Unlike the men who wore loincloths, he’d donned trousers and a short-sleeved dress shirt of fine cloth embroidered with a fanciful gold and silver braid. She might have thought he was a man who spent his life doing no more than fussing over frippery, until she spied the strong muscles in his arms and the cords of power in his neck that could come only from vigorous athletic activity.
With a warm smile, and clever brown eyes, he rose gracefully to his feet at their entrance. “I am Rogar Delari Hikai, the prosecutor of the Fifth House of Seemar.”
“The prosecutor?” Startled, Dora turned to Avanti for explanation. “I thought we were here to prepare our defense.”
“We are. And Rogar will listen. It saves time when you only tell your story once.”
“Is there a hurry?” Zical asked, clearly not liking Rogar’s presence any better than Dora.
“Rogar and his Risorians wish the execution to take place before their religious holy day of prayer,” Avanti explained, but Dora required more information about the Kwadii to make complete sense of that statement. Apparently, Kwadii was home to at least two religious factions, and from the contempt in Avanti’s tone, she didn’t honor the Risorian beliefs.
“We would be more than happy to put off the trial until after your holy day,” Zical offered.
“That will not be acceptable,” Rogar informed them, gesturing for everyone to take seats. “Kwadii law requires a speedy trial to take place within two days of the treasonous act.”
Avanti’s tone turned to a sneer. “He intends to make an example of you, for political purposes. Our elections take place in less than a moon rotation and he would have the masses frothing to spend more of our resources on weapons, instead of social entertainments.”
“Bah. Social entertainment is sinful. Selgrens have no morals, no ethics, no sense of right or wrong.”
“You would have us work in your fields and factories all day and give us no pleasure to enjoy our nights?” Avanti’s voice was cool.
Dora glanced from Avanti to Rogar, wondering how they could play one side against the other to their benefit. Never had she wished so badly for computer access to Ranth. They didn’t have enough data to ascertain their situation, but this exchange was both fascinating and alarming. One moon rotation meant they had very little time left to live, to plan a defense—or an escape.
“We digress.” Rogar frowned at Avanti and turned to Zical. “I assume you’re pleading guilty?”
“You assume wrong.” Zical spoke quietly.
“It doesn’t matter. Our sensors recorded your transgression. The evidence against you is verifiable and conclusive.”
“It’s your laws that we question—not your findings.”
Rogar spoke as if to a child. “You aren’t Kwadii. You may not question our law. It’s not permitted.”
Dora was proud that Zical kept his tone reasonable. Under enormous pressure, he didn’t shout or rant, but wore his dignity wrapped around him as tightly as his sarong.
“We don’t recognize your laws. We have no pact with you. Unless we form a treaty of peace, many more of our people will follow.”
“It does not matter. We will execute them, too.” Rogar frowned at Avanti. “Haven’t you explained the basics to them?”
“There is no point of law that I have not considered in their defense.” Avanti’s eyes shot poison darts at the prosecutor. “I’m sure they’d prefer to spend their last days without dwelling on their fate when it cannot be changed.”
“Then why go through the farce of a trial?” Zical demanded, his tone determined. She ached to give her support and beneath the table, out of sight of the Kwadii, she placed her hand on his thigh.
“The Selgrens think a trial is civilized. A Risorian would have not put you through the agony of a trial.” Rogar spoke simply.
“He means he would have murdered you in hyperspace,” Avanti clarified.
“Better that a few strangers shall die than our homeworld be destroyed again.”
“Why do your people live in such fear?” Dora asked. “Who is this enemy that you seek to hide from?”
“We don’t speak of them.” Rogar closed a notebook and shoved back his chair, indicating the meeting was over before it had begun.
Avanti spoke with harsh emotion. “He thinks if we don’t speak of them, then we can pretend we didn’t almost suffer extermination from the—”
A squad of men burst into the room and aimed their guns at Dora and Zical. The leader of the group stepped forward and handed Rogar a disk. “These people are in league with our enemy. Here is proof.”
Rogar popped the disk into a slot and a hologram formed over the table. Dora recognized the symbol immediately. It was the same one over the door to the cavern where Zical had entered Mount Shachauri. She had also seen the symbol carved into the mountain in seve
ral other places, but they’d never deciphered the mark. However, in her mind the emblem would forever symbolize the Perceptive Ones.
At the sight of the sign, Avanti spat. “You carry the symbol of the Zinatti on your ship?”
Rogar disgustedly slapped his hand on the holographic machine, turning it off. “You conspire with the Zinatti. You deserve to die.”
“The Zin?” Zical asked. “The Kwadii are at war with the Zin?” His gaze found Dora’s. “Could the Zin and the Zinatti be the same race?”
“Do these beings come from another galaxy?” Dora demanded.
“Silence.” Rogar roared. “We will tell you nothing.”
Zical ignored the order. “The Zin are our worst enemy. They almost destroyed this galaxy. Our mission is to stop another attack.”
“Lies.” Rogar shoved back his chair and stood. “I would expect no more from those who would invite a Zinatti attack by flying recklessly through hyperspace.”
Avanti slapped her palm on the table, temper sparking in her eyes. “Rogar, you have no reason to insult these people. They may be our friends. Perhaps if instead of hiding from the Zinatti, if we join with them, the next time this galaxy is attacked, we might beat the Zinatti.”
Rogar didn’t raise his tone, but horror edged his words. “For a millennium our isolationist policies have kept the Kwadii safe. Your liberal notions are madness. You and your soulless Selgrens will destroy us all if we don’t stop you.” He glared at Avanti, who didn’t flinch. “We will stop you.”
“Stars.” Dora’s eyes widened. “Are you saying that the Zin—the Zinatti—track us through hyperspace? That we placed our own people in danger?”
Zical already suffered enough guilt for accidentally starting up the machines that had recalled the Sentinel. Now the Kwadii accused them of blazing a trail through hyperspace directly back to the Federation, as if their ship had drawn the Zin a map.
Rystani Warrior 02 - The Dare Page 17