Sedom shrugged. “You get used to it.” She dismissed the incident, turning to Qilo. “You mentioned you could fly. What did you do before?” Sedom asked. The man said little, making Sedom more uneasy about Qilo than Rosanheer.
A long sigh exited Qilo's lips, helping him think of the right words to speak. “A pilot. I worked for Rycal for ten years until Mandate Tipton gave the orders to turn on my people in the battle of Nogoana. I intentionally took damage, ran my ship aground here and I’ve been on Matrador ever since.”
Sedom turned away frustrated. “Battle of Nogoana? Is that what they're calling the annihilation of my people?” she asked. Suddenly her throat filled with bile. She gulped hard, forcing the nasty taste into the pit of her stomach.
Qilo grunted, watching Sedom with slight concern. “The closest moon and technically where the first battle was initiated. They didn't want to name the battle after the planet, I guess. Bad for tourism,” he joked.
“Nogoana,” Sedom griped. She continued ahead, wanting to be alone.
Both men turned to Zion for answers. Zion raised his hand out in front of him to guard himself. “Hey, I warned you she gets moody,” he returned. He glanced skyward, thinking. “That's right… damn. I remember her saying her mother's name was Nogoana. Sounds like adding insult to injury.”
“When she gets in these moods, does it affect her ability to fight?” Qilo asked, seriously.
Zion watched Sedom as she hurried ahead, her hands ripping apart any low-hanging branch she happened to walk by. He shook his head. “If anything, it makes her a better fighter. She becomes extremely focused when she's pissed off.”
“I'm surprised she hasn't reopened Gathow if she's so pissed,” Rosanheer mentioned.
“Not from the lack of wanting. She just can't find the manpower,” Zion explained.
Rosanheer raised his hand. “I'd gladly volunteer.”
Sedom paused, hearing Rosanheer's words. She turned back to him, staring directly at him. “Why would you, Marisheio?” she asked, her hand motioning to his tattoos. “You look pretty dedicated to the Empire.”
Rosanheer stared back at her. “Well, I was lulled into joining the wrong side for a time and I realized my mistake. I made some corrections to my life map and now I'm back on track. Like you and your grandmother. Your grandmother made a mistake by not reopening Gathow, which cost your people a lot. You’re fixing her mistakes and now you’re back on track. We're both a little late, but better late than never.”
Her mouth opened to protest, but the words wouldn't form. Frustrated, she turned away and continued ahead.
“This is a first. I’ve never seen Sortec at a loss for words,” Zion called to Sedom, hoping to get a rise out of her.
“Shut up,” she grumbled back.
All three men chuckled. Secretly, Sedom chuckled also. Rosanheer did get her good, though she'd never admit to it.
Zion's lips contorted as if his thoughts were suddenly disrupted by disillusionment.
“What's with the look?” Sedom asked, not bothering to look at him. Somehow she knew something was on his mind.
Zion pointed to the city in the distance. “I don't recall the city being this close. It took forever to reach Gathow,” he mentioned, recalling the events when Sedom rescued his group from the Marisheio.
Rosanheer pointed to an orb lingering only a few hundred yards away. “Watch out or they'll watch us.”
Sedom nodded, acknowledging his statement. “It did take forever. You were injured, carrying a dying woman. Beyond having to move at an extremely slow pace, I'm sure the journey felt like an eternity.” Sedom thought back to their first meeting. How strange it felt working alongside a man who nearly choked her to death. But even as she waited by the roadside to rescue Zion and his group, she could recall telling herself how she needed extra help in situations like that. Now that she had the extra help, she couldn't help, but feel a little nervous for their safety.
“I don't recall the city having a wall around it,” Sedom mentioned.
Rosanheer grunted. “The Marisheio constructed it after they took over the city. Most of the citizens were killed in a military action.” He paused, running his black tongue over his pearly-white teeth. “The citizens took up arms and tried to fight back. The Marisheio,” he paused, uncertain if he wanted to say more. “The Marisheio didn't care much for their disobedience.”
The group continued to pass by the half-decayed remains of a man and a child. Sedom paused, staring down at the remains. Images flashed in her thoughts of her city, of the bodies that lined the walkways and the street gutters. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on something else, anything else.
Zion grabbed her, forcing her away from the site. “Stay focused. This is why you do what you do. Focus on revenge and know you can personally stop this,” he whispered.
She moved away from Zion, unable to clear her thoughts. She continued to a tree and let her head fall against the rough bark.
Qilo motioned over to Sedom, concerned. “Is she okay?”
“Centering herself, give her a moment. Sometimes these things bother her. The Chadon’s been through hell and back and still she continues to fight,” Zion said.
Qilo's almond eyes turned to slits. “We can't afford...”
“She's twelve, give her a moment. Trust me, she's good for it,” Zion demanded.
Outside the Marisheio’s compound, the group watched as a military transport rolled up to the main gates. The gates opened, allowing the transport to enter.
“That's the only way in or out. I've been watching this compound for months now,” he mentioned.
Sedom stood behind the men. “Why… why have you been watching the compound?” she asked, curiously. It was rather peculiar how their paths were so closely
