Page 80 of Hope Forged
Illan skimmed ahead, glancing at Ziamee when she slid to his side.
“I am no more. I hate my own thoughts, my company. I cannot bear it anymore. Please…I beg you… Save me.”
“The air filtration system failed,” Brac said, swiveling a 3D hologram of the station’s ventilation. A section flashed in green.
“He did not feel a thing.” Coll sighed, glancing around the dull gray metallic space, every surface covered in buttons, dials, or inert display vids. Only a short counter was clear, housing the replicator and rehydrator.
“It will take a few minutes to download the station’s data,” Brac called from a console, in front of which was the only available chair. “Sec cams are dead,” he mumbled. “He would not be able to view the stars, passing ships, or oncoming danger.”
“Poor male,” Ziamee whispered, squeezing Illan’s arm.
He glanced at her and caught the light shimmering off a teardrop hovering inside her visor. With a gentle tug, he pulled her against him, offering her what solace he could.
“Done.” Brac marched past them to the tube.
Coll did, too, but he’d hoisted the stiff corpse over a shoulder.
Illan grunted. The male had every intention of returning the body to its family. If Illan had a say, he’d blast this station, destroying its very existence.
Thankfully, despite the chaos of his thoughts, he could rely on the Etterians to do the honorable thing. Besides, they might need this station intact as evidence. This…catastrophic tragedy had to be brought to the council’s attention.
He grimaced as he imagined several such sessions in his future. Clasping Ziamee’s hand, he led her down the tube to the scimitar’s door. There, they waited for the depressurization. The lights changed from green to blue—the return of gravity—to red—full restoration of life support. Ziamee clung to his hand, her eyes wide despite the paleness of her face.
A tap of his heels deactivated the magnetics, and a rush of noise slammed into him when he flipped up his visor. Ziamee didn’t say a word, just gripped her helmet under her arm and headed to the barracks.
“Returning to Vora,” Ulta announced via the comm system.
Coll carried the corpse to the med-E.D., no doubt to run full scans, including his DNA, to best locate his family.
Brac headed to the comm room.
Illan stood at the center of the common, his mind reeling. An hour ago, he’d been drowning in Ziamee’s cries of pleasure. Now, a cold certainty had dampened his ardor and solidified his purpose. With her beside him, the last of their race, he could fight for justice.
Xeus would back him, which added influence. The truth would pierce the veil of control the Global Council thought they had.
Though what could Illan ask as recompense? What could the Maloidians ever give him and the remnants of his people that could make up for this? Their deaths? Then he’d be no better. Innocent females and their offspring killed for the deeds of their fathers?
And cutting off the only supply of Maloidian steel would have an economic impact on the galaxy. So stripping them of theirtech and isolating them for a thousand years wasn’t an option, either.
He pinched his brow, massaging it in the hopes of finding a solution and canceling the impending headache. What he could do is check on Ziamee. In a burst of energy, he jogged to her quarters, opened the door, and froze.
She knelt in the cleanser, her sobs filling the room. Tossing aside his helmet, he crossed to her and engulfed her in an embrace, uncaring that the water drenched him. Her sorrow was overwhelming, tainting the air with a bitter note.
“I shouldn’t care. The ass helped kill my people, but…” She met Illan’s gaze. “I do. That poor male.”
“Let us hope his soul found the light.” What else could Illan say? His heart ached at her suffering, for he, too, had a lingering pain in his chest.
He helped her to her feet and stepped back to strip off his boots and sodden armor. While the air dryer went to work, he cradled her close, dusting her temple with gentle kisses. His kok came to life, and even though he craved her, comforting her mattered more.
He guided her to the bed. Together, they sprawled, limbs entwined, facing each other. Gazing into her eyes, he evened his breathing, willing her to do the same. And the stroking of her braids calmed her. At last, her eyelids fluttered, and she drifted off. Had he made her his dhutya, she wouldn’t have drifted off. Every contradictory thought would be hers to sift through. Each swing of his emotions she’d endure. She’d discover that he was far from calm.
Brac and Coll would keep Xeus informed, for they were excellent warriors. Illan need only comm the king to strategize.
“Illan?” Ulta’s voice via the O.D.I. jerked Illan awake.
“What is it?” he mumbled, gathering a grumbling Ziamee against him.
“We arrived at Vora and have awaited your appearance. My apologies. I did not mean to disturb you and assumed you would notice the change in the engines.”
