“Welcome home, sailors.”
“Let’s go,” Ardin said, walking toward the bay doors. Lang muttered, but followed nonetheless.
“You two head to the bridge, and I’ll take our guests to their quarters.” Avienne called back and Ardin’s walk stiffened.
Josmere and Layela exchanged a glance, both having noticed the change in Ardin’s pace. Avienne did not miss their exchange.
“Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you,” she sighed. “I am going to lock you up, but that’s simply because we know nothing about you and this ship has its own secrets. But don’t worry,” she added with a grin, “I’ll make sure you have plenty of blankets.”
“You expect us to trust you?” Layela asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No. I expect you to be smart enough to know when to quietly follow and wait. You needed to get off the planet and, well, we’re getting off the planet. Now come on. I have to get to the bridge too, in case they need me.” Her hand dropped to her gun as she motioned for them to start walking.
“Let me guess,” Josmere said dryly. “Tactical control?”
Avienne grinned but didn’t answer as they passed through a metal door, the light of the docking bay shutting off as they exited. The corridor that now stretched before them was even more poorly lit. She passed in front of them, her hand no longer on the gun. Instead she flipped a knife, throwing and catching the blade in lazy sweeps with barely a glance.
“Hope you don’t mind climbing,” she said. The knife vanished and she opened a latch to reveal a ladder. She indicated to Josmere to climb first, and took the rungs next, leaving Layela little choice but to follow. The ladder reached up into the darkness of the hull, its length not fully illuminated, the metal rungs so cold they stung Layela’s bare flesh. Her arms and ribs protested each movement, the cuffs still hanging from her left wrist clanging on the metal as she climbed.
Thankfully, they only had to climb one level.
“Don’t you people have elevators?” Josmere asked as she helped Layela out of the shaft, Avienne flipped her knife once again, boredom etched on her ivory features. No wonder the Malavants were both in good shape, if they did this regularly!
“We do,” Avienne said as she nodded with her head towards another poorly lit corridor. “But that requires more power, so unless we have cargo, which we don’t at the moment, we climb.”
“Are you sure you don’t have cargo now?” Layela asked, gritting her teeth as she fought to hide the waves of pain from her ribs now washing over her, reducing the length of her breaths. The smuggler looked surprised for a moment before laughing heartily.
“I guess we do! Fine, next time we’ll take the elevator.” She punched a number into a nearby keypad, shielding the code with her body. Her gun was now in her hand.
“In the meantime, if you ladies will make yourselves comfortable, we’ll see to your needs in a few hours.” She motioned grandly towards the simple room with two beds, plenty of blankets as promised, and stark lighting.
“I’m asking nicely now,” Avienne said as her grin widened. Not a good thing with this woman, Layela had already decided.
“Aren’t you just the grateful one,” Josmere hissed as she walked past her into the room. Layela followed.
“I consider us even, actually.” The woman softened for an instant. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Someone cared enough to send help your way.”
With those words, the door closed and Layela took a deep, cold breath. She watched it steam out of her mouth, and wondered how safe they would be in the hands of these unsuccessful smugglers.
i
“I’m disappointed she escaped,” Dunkat said softly. The words had the desired impact on the Kilita, who reeled as though physically struck. The Berganda, a mercenary Dunkat fully realized he had precious little control over, shrugged where she sat, as relaxed as Aquilone was stiff.
“Your troops got in the way, Colonel,” the Berganda — Seela — said mildly. Dunkat was not fooled for one second by her silken tones and young looks. She was ruthless, he knew, which was only part of the reason he had sought her expertise. The fact that she was a Berganda willing to be contracted out was where her true advantage lay. A bloom above the rest.
“Those troops were adequately punished for their...zeal. Still, I expect two individuals with your vast talents could overcome such a small obstacle as a platoon.”
Aquilone seemed both elated and crushed. He cleared his throat.
“Permission to speak, sir,” Aquilone asked, still standing at perfect attention despite the obvious backhanded compliment he had received. Dunkat really liked the man’s discipline and pondered promoting him to second-in-command once this mission was accomplished. What a stir that would cause.
Noro would surely object.
“Permission granted,” Dunkat said with no decorum, which he knew the Kilita would respect.
“I touched the girl with my bare hands in the flower shop, sir. Directly on her skin.” The Berganda looked up, interested. “She passed out the first time, possibly due to... fatigue. But the second time, there seemed to be little reaction. She actually managed to fight me off.” He pondered a moment further, seeking the right words. “If she is what you suspect her to be, my skills would have incapacitated her.”
Dunkat felt his anger rising, all thoughts of promoting the man gone. He kept his exterior in check, but knew his dark eyes blazed as he looked deep into the Kilita’s.
It was her. Layela Delamores. He was as certain of who she was as he was of what needed to be done. The Kilita race’s ethereal connection had simply weakened over the past twenty years, to the point of becoming useless. He wondered if the Berganda’s powers were still somewhat intact, or if she would prove useless as well.
He turned from the Kilita and looked at the Berganda.
“She travels with another Berganda. Do you know her?” Dunkat asked. Seela looked up with no interest
