For a split second, the ship seemed to come to a dreamlike halt. Then we hung in space like time thieves. A brilliant white blast lit the cabin, like a small supernova, then a fan of multicolored light trailed behind us, shearing by our viewport as the familiar rainbow of an enormous light highway set us moving to the far stars.
Then only silence.
Free, at last from that bastard’s clutches! It was almost too surreal to be true.
A part of me, a grim, primal part from way back in incarnations of my war-torn past, vowed that the next meeting with Master Mong, if ever there was a next, would not be under such one-sided conditions.
Chapter 28
We passed the metal tin of flesh-regen around our company. I could feel its magic working as I lifted my torn monk’s robe and ladled the smelly orange paste on my ravaged ribs. The stuff was good for cuts, tissue tears, small organs like a missing ear, damaged tongue or even major skin damage, but generally not for regenerating bones. Except the heavy-duty regen like we had. The pulse weapon that’d tagged me left no lead in my guts, fortunately, only burns, so the regen worked at stitching the flesh together, sparing me the agony of pulling metal out my hide. Luckily none of us had heavy-duty bone issues, outside of Blest with his busted shin. We’d have needed Mong’s tanks for worse injuries. We said little and were indeed a glum party, though we had everything to be grateful for—being alive. There lingered the secret fear that Mong was still about lurking like a ghoul around the next corner as we raced across the cosmos at hyper warp speeds. Where was the lowlife? Why had he let us escape so easily? What happened back on Othwan?
Grild sat apart from the others lost in a world of his own. I passed by and gave him the tin, wincing with the sting of my own wounds. “Dry up those cuts, Grild. Don’t let them get infected.”
He took the tin with a heavy grunt of little enthusiasm. “Voj bit it down there.”
“I know. I could see you two were friends.”
“He was a loyal ally and a brave man.” The young man’s eyes were bloodshot, his fleshy cheeks grime-smeared. Ordinarily, a youngblood like him’d be apple-cheeked under that camo cover. A definite defiance on that tough face with the flat nose and the flared nostrils—a kind of proud, physical fighting ancestry that went way back, perhaps to the stone ages. I could see why Wren had chosen him.
“How much of our booty is left?” I asked Wren.
She shrugged. “When you didn’t show up at Gainor, our usual place, I knew you were either dead or they’d captured you. I really hoped not dead. The information came at a high cost, Rusco. There’s virtually nothing left.”
I gave a wheezing sigh.
“You’ve got your life to thank for it, so be grateful.”
“I’m getting used to it.”
“You’re bleeding still,” she pointed out.
“Ah, just flesh wounds,” I mumbled. The regen was working, but slowly, and waves of hot pain stung my side, arcing from rib to rib as the flesh knitted together. I’d become almost immune to pain after Mong’s long cruel sessions. Wren lifted my blood-soaked smock and balked at the scars building there. Good thing she hadn’t seen me before the tank dunking.
“Forget it.” I pushed her hands away. “We’ve other things to worry about. Throw me some more regen after Grild’s finished, I’ll slap it on and be done with it.”
“As you wish.” She took the tin from Grild’s upraised hand and tossed it my way. “Got extra just for you, Rusco. Knew if we did find you guys in one piece, you’d be needing it.”
If I came across as an unhappy man, it wasn’t because I was not glad to see Wren. I just wasn’t in an affectionate mood. No one could blame me. Torture and too much senseless death kind of does that to one. Deadens a person to the finer things in life, like a wholesome, caring woman. I looked over to Blest who had the look of a lost soul. Couldn’t blame him either. Degradation and torture had made him a withered husk. Guilt hit me that he’d suffered too much for my sins at the hands of that sadist Mong. Follee dead too, Voj dead. How many more casualties before this was all over?
Wren reacted to my melancholy. “Going to take some getting used to you with no hair, Jet. The one and only Jet Rusco, bald as an eagle. Who’d have thought?”
“Yeah, well there’re always changes happening in the universe.”
“I take it Mong was not gentle with you?”
I made no comment.
Blest interrupted with a surly snarl. “Very nice chitchat, lovebirds, but how did you get the drop on us, Wren?”
She shrugged. “We gave it exactly twenty minutes to get you out and warp to safety before Mong got wise and crushed us like bugs.”
“And you managed it,” I said, “minus a few flesh wounds.”
“Speak for yourself,” Blest said, rubbing his slow-healing injury.
“With your funds from the Myscol payout, I purchased this new ship, an Alpha 9, as you see—” Wren swept out her arms “—also bought reliable intel that pinpointed your place of captivity at Othwan. We also learned some rogue planet was going in for a strike against Mong—at his monk’s retreat to steal back the Countess. If it hadn’t been for the Vendecki’s diversion, I would have given up, thrown any rescue plan aside as suicide.”
A dead silence. We were happy
