Page 8 of Hope Forged
Illan tapped his O.D.I. and activated the language protocols for Yithia.
“…No space for more prisoners. Why not toss them in with that unknown species?”
A slap silenced the algri, sending his six eyes spinning in their sockets.
“Durns are not as precious,” the Yithian spat, proving he did know Galactic.
Illan jerked back, stunned at the revelation. What species could hold more value than a Durn?
That does not bode well.Iddan ventured deeper into the cell.
The door sealed shut, and a sickly yellow light flickered on. The wave of people shifted to grant him and his brother a little space.
“This is not good,” the algri muttered, shuffling to the rear of the cell, the crowd flowing around him.
Time blurred for Illan, made almost bearable with the limited use of his O.D.I. and constant conversation with Iddan. Six visits from the soldier marked the passing of days. Yithian bitter pastes and packets of water held more than enough to sustain his body, but neither removed the persistent chill.
So when the door opened to a female, his focus snagged on her, standing there, her pale skin and hair remarkable. Iddan stiffened, his eyes widened, and his thoughts fell silent.
“We’re staging a mutiny,” she said in Galactic.
A strong feminine voice demanded something in a language Illan didn’t know.
The female nodded, then peered at the prisoners. “Does anyone know the design of this ship?”
Illan stood. “I am Illan and a Durn,” he said, striding on stiff legs toward her. He stepped through the door and halted.
A tall, muscled female with long, yellow hair tumbling around her, eyed him, distrust in her expression. And yet, she held a blaster with such confidence. A peek into their gaping cell showed unconscious Yithian soldiers. She’d done that? Escaped her cell, gotten her hands on a blaster, and taken down a few guards?
She handed him a blaster, commanded something from the other female but kept her gaze on him.
Illan scowled as he slapped the kill button on his weapon. No, no, this would not do. In order for this to be successful, they needed to communicate. But the solution was a little extreme.Should I?He cast a glance at Iddan.
Do it. We will learn how to shield each other.
Very well.Illan crossed to the yellow-haired female and pressed two fingers to her temple. “Argale,” he mumbled,bracing himself for the flood of information that slammed into him.
She was human, her name was Quinlan Marsh, a sister to three brothers and their four friends. Until the Yithians had taken her, she’d lived an interesting life as a travel photographer on planet Earth.
Intriguing.Iddan drew closer to her new friend…Cyndi Stanford.Thank you for the introduction.He smirked.
Quin cried out and swayed. Illan caught her by the elbow to steady her.
“Dammit. What the hell did you do that for?” She rubbed her forehead.
“My apologies. I am aware this technique is painful, but the circumstances necessitate the connection.” Her preferred language sounded odd to his ears.
“You can understand me?” She gasped.
Yes.He thrust his answer at her while trying to silence Iddan’s thoughts as he conversed with Cyndi.
Holy shit.Quin peered at him. “Did you just—?”
They did not have time for this. Illan harumphed.Yes. You, too, may communicate with me as such. Think your words.
She shrugged. What the hell?Might as well try it. Aliens. Telepathy. It can’t get any more bizarre.She met his white gaze.Can you hear me?
He winced at her roar.Perhaps lower your volume.
