We took our time outs and rested in our cabins. Noss and Wren took shifts watching the helm as we sped through the light highways on our long journey to Veglos. Why Veglos? Well, where else? Volia still hadn’t said much, staring in her vacuous way in a cloud of shock. Likely processing her part in the whole affair—the Vendecki assault, the conquest of her planet, the death of her husband and her old way of life. A chunk of the Countess’s soul had died on Othwan and I’m reckoning it had for Blest and me too. She kept to herself, said little, nursing her wounds. Zan was Zan, still blank-eyed and a partial zombie after being strung up on Mong’s chicken wire so long. He’d not had the luxury of a tank healing to repair his wounds and relied solely on regen. Blest had taken some serious leg damage, which was no secret to any of us. Like me, he’d been stoic about his pain and the regen recovery process. Luckily we had the extra duty regen, costly as it was, otherwise Blest’s shin would have been a lot sorrier than it was right now.
Zan and Grild had bonded and played mindless games to pass the time. Crockseye and Bad Leader—computer board games with AI players to up the ante. Wren and I had a lot to catch up on, but there was a distance between us. Of my time with Mong I spoke little and was evasive at best. Though she managed to catch pieces of it from Blest who spoke in grunts and whispers from time to time but was at best unreliable. Next time she saw me she was all hushed up and our eyes did not meet, as if she were reluctant to trigger my depressed moods or broach any sensitive territory involving physical torture. I let it stand at that. I wasn’t even prepared to talk about it to myself. I couldn’t imagine how Blest was coping with it. His video games and rough-guy talk worked to some degree. As did hiding behind a Scroogely-curmudgeon persona and mask. As good a protective mechanism as any.
Volia later approached me and others on the bridge as we munched on assorted goodies in nutrition packs: veal alfredo, spacer’s ghoulash, tofu teriyaki, all washed down with instant coffee. “I want to thank you for what you did, Rusco. From what Zan and Blest said, you went out of your way to get me, at risk to your own safe getaway. Is there anything I can offer in return?”
I shrugged. “Nothing I can think of.”
“There must be something—”
“After being in the Mentera tank, there’s nothing much matters any more, Volia. Materially anyway.”
She frowned, confused at the tank reference. I gave her a ham-faced grin, opening my mouth to say something then thought better of it.
Volia touched Wren on the arm. “I am indebted to you too, Wren. If not for your dogged persistence and courage, we’d all still be slaves down there.”
Wren nodded. “We’ll drop you wherever you want to go, Volia. I’m guessing it won’t be on Melinar.”
“No,” she said, with a rueful shake of her head. “The capital, Baki on Vendecki soil should be fine.”
Wren hesitated. “Isn’t that a little close to the war front?”
“We’re still allies in the uprising against Mong. Like it or not, I’m leader of my people and the titular commander of this war.”
Wren swallowed a mouthful of microwaved lamb. “Not envious of your position in life, nor eager to trade places with you, Volia. But if I were in your shoes, I’d keep up the fight for freedom. I’d do everything in my power to take down that murderer Mong.”
She flashed Wren a moon-eyed stare. “It’s as if I know you from somewhere.” She blinked and shook her head. “All of you. As if we’ve been here before and done this in another time.” She shook her head again, wiped her brow of sweat. “I must be losing my mind, or experiencing some major case of deja-vu.”
Remembering my flashbacks in the tank, I guessed it was contagious. Maybe good old Mong’d plunged her into a tank and she didn’t remember it?
A tear drifted down her cheek. “After all the tragedy, my people slaughtered, my husband…” She couldn’t say more and turned a desolate gaze upon me. “I misjudged you, Rusco. When I saw you there on that ship of Mong’s, I thought—only a brutish thug, one of his trained animals.”
“Yeah, well, you know what they say about first impressions.”
“I see a good man in you.”
I laughed. “I wish I could frame those words, Lady Volia, and put them on the wall here. Somebody appreciates me after all. Hear that Wren?”
She grinned.
Volia grabbed my wrist. “Rusco, we could use freedom fighters like you. Join us. Come to our haven. There’re more than a few rebels down there you’d take a shine to. We need support, your kind of gutsy, off-the-wall leadership.”
I smiled. “Sorry, Volia, but think I’ve about used up my nine lives in this lifetime.”
Blest’s snort seconded that opinion. No sooner had I acknowledged Blest’s dog-eared sneer than a sharp pang hit my heart as I remembered my vow to take down that fucker Mong. Grudgingly, I remarked, “But I’ll take you to Baki at least and listen to one of your talks. If you need help flying supplies in, or black market war props, I could help you out—for a price, of course.”
She gave a crooked grin. “Always the businessman, eh, Rusco? Consider it a deal. Your services are more than welcome.”
Chapter 29
Down on Baki we congregated in a huge war hall at Independence Square. The place held eight hundred or more avid supporters, a mix of Melinarian refugees and Vendecki sympathizers. Volia
