The
human woman watched him fixedly as he piloted the transport pod back
to Talyn. Sitting with her knees clasped to her chest, chin resting
on top of them, her eyes were dark with fear. Crais ignored her,
silently guiding the pod into Talyn's landing bay.
When
he discovered she was the same species as Crichton, he took her on
without much consideration. What would he do with her now? Use her as
a bargaining chip with Scorpius should he and Talyn be captured?
Offer her to Moya's crew as a token of truce should their paths cross
again? And more importantly, how would Talyn react to her presence?
These thoughts raced through his mind as he rose from the pilot's
chair and motioned for her to follow him.He transmitted an order to Talyn to set the drds to work unloading the provisions. They hummed and squeaked as they skittered on board the pod. Reaching into a nearby crate, he fished out a parcel of personal toiletries and handed them to the woman.
"You will need these," he said bluntly.
She examined the package briefly before tucking it into her tattered shoulder bag.
"Are you familiar with a type of ship called a Leviathan?" he asked as she followed him into the docking bay.
"I've heard of them," she replied.
"They are biomechanoids," he explained. "Living ships. Intelligent, aware, loyal. This one is named Talyn. He's a very special Leviathan hybrid. We have a unique. . .bond. He senses your presence here through me. And I must explain to you that he may dislike your being aboard."
She raised an eyebrow, seeming to consider the thought, but said nothing. Her eyes never left him, still filled with a mixture of expectancy and panic.
"We have been on our own together for quite some time. The presence of another may. . .upset him."
"You run this entire ship alone?" she asked in disbelief. "Good thing the folks on Luculla Primus didn't know that."
"Quite so." He replied. "Come with me. I will find a place for you to stay. I trust you will follow me and not wander off. This Leviathan has weaponry and would easily kill you wherever you tried to hide."
She nodded and followed him without a word. He could almost feel her anxiety replaced by awe and astonishment. As they walked through the tiers toward the crew quarters area, she looked around with the rapt delight of a child. She casually stroked a hand along one of the metallic-looking archways. Crais could feel Talyn's response. Not offended, but somewhat curious and nonplussed.
"Can he. . .Talyn feel it when I touch him?" she asked softly.
Crais cleared his throat. "Yes, yes he can."
"Should we be walking around in boots?" she asked a moment later. "Wouldn't that hurt him?"
Crais was completely taken aback by her question. He stared hard at her for a moment, his brows knitted, head tilted. Could she be that naïve? Or was she perhaps so empathetic of living things that the thought occurred to her?
After a bit he shook his head and almost laughed, "No, Senna. Our footfalls don't hurt him. He was bred as a Gunship and is capable of supporting a rather large contingent of soldiers and crew. Or rather, he will be capable when he fully matures."
"You're saying he's a child?" she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"Yes," This time Crais did not pull away from her grasp, impressed by her obvious concern. "He is a little more than a quarter cycle old."
"He's only a baby," she sighed.
A smile crossed her face then, spreading to her eyes. She released her hold on his arm and reached with both hands to gently stroke the bulkhead nearest her.
He could feel Talyn responding to the touch, somewhat fearful yet inquisitive.
Crais was rendered speechless. He considered her there, lightly stroking Talyn's inner hull, with a mixture of feelings. He thought of his hatred for Crichton and resultant repulsion for the entire human species. It was a combination of Tauvo's untimely death due to Crichton's appearance and the mandate about contamination from unclassified aliens.
He was repelled by her disheveled appearance, her dirty clothes and hair; though he knew he shouldn't judge her by such a thing. What she had been through at the hands of her Tirysp captors must have been more terrible than anything he could imagine. And yet, here she stood tenderly touching Talyn like a mother caressing her child. Something about this brought up painful memories of Darinta Larell and he shuddered.
He cleared his throat again and motioned to her, "Come this way, please."
With a final gentle stroke and a smile she followed him farther down the passageway.
"This will be your quarters," he said showing her inside the small chamber. It was little better than a confinement cell, but all he had to offer.
She looked around thoughtfully, unexpected gratitude plain on her grimy face.
"There are hygiene facilities through that door where you can clean up and I will find fresh clothing for you." He instructed.
He entered his own quarters across the hall from the one he had given her. The drds had already brought the small parcel of men's clothing he purchased, leaving it on the floor beside his bead. He opened it and retrieved a pair of plain black pants and a black undershirt. It would have to do until they could make another stop for provisions. It would also give her the outward appearance of a Sebacean and Peacekeeper. He was not certain if this was for his benefit or to protect her in the event of a hostile encounter. He crossed the passage and entered her quarters, holding the clothing out before him.
"These are mine and will have to suffice until we can reach another commerce planet." He explained as she took the proffered garments.
She pressed her lips together and nodded. "Thank you."
She seemed to be waiting for him to leave and when he did not, she tilted her head quizzically at him.
"I will not leave you alone," he explained. "You cannot possibly have free run of this ship."
"Actually, it occurred to me just this moment, I don't even know your name." She said eying him with far less dread.
He smiled slightly. He hadn't even thought of that.
"My name is Bialar Crais."
"Senna Romero," she said extending her right hand out to him.
He looked at it with confusion. She shook her head.
"Never mind, Bialar."
She went into the hygiene chamber, closing the door behind her without another word.
Seeing her tattered knapsack on the bed, he sat down and opened it. He sifted through her few belongings, as he waited for her to finish showering. Ragged bits of clothing, a container of round silver disks, a flat, squarish black object with cords trailing from it to a standard power pack. Next to nothing, he thought somewhat sadly. He considered the lavish accommodations assigned him on the Mhultaan, experiencing genuine pity for her.
Examining an inner pocket more closely, Crais came across a small vial filled with a red powder. Though he had never dabbled in contraband narcotics himself, he knew immediately what it was: Hecho red. Those who sold and consumed it called it Red Death. He could only assume the Tirysp used it to control the woman. He secreted it into his sleeve pocket. She will not need it aboard my ship, he thought gruffly.
The power pack slid from atop the pile and bumped roughly against her music device. It twanged its disapproval deeply within its hollowed out interior, the sound resonating around the room.
In all his travels, he had never seen anything like it before. It had the curvaceous shape of a woman and a circular hole near the center. Metal wires were strung tightly along its body and down its long neck to pegs at the opposite end.
He reached hesitant gloved fingers toward the strings and touched them. The music device responded with a soft, vibrating sound. Crais inhaled sharply and touched the strings again, harder this time and the sound his caress elicited was far louder.
"Be careful," her voice startled him and he rose from her bed somewhat guiltily. "The guitar was my grandfather's. It's one of the few things the Tirysps didn't steal from me to sell. Probably because they liked my playing."
"I heard it as I was coming into the village," he admitted. "It's very. . .evocative. It drew me into the tavern. I've never heard anything like it."
"Neither had the Tirysps apparently," she said, combing her wet hair back from her face with her fingers.
He noted that she had put on his clothes, but her feet were bare. He remembered her question about boots possibly hurting Talyn and smiled despite himself. The black uniform-like pants and undershirt, though far too large, suited her and the transformation was an agreeable surprise. She was no great beauty, but her gentle smile made her rounded, olive-skinned face and large, slightly slanting eyes pleasing.
"Would you like me to play for you?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied quickly.
Crais watched as she walked lightly across the room and retrieved the device from the bed. She sat down cross-legged on the floor, holding it closely in front of her. She wrapped her left hand around its long neck and positioned the fingernails of her right hand against the wires.
She stroked gently upon them, slowly at first then with rising urgency. The sound was hypnotic. It rose and fell in volume. Some of her fingers seemed to keep a sensual rhythm while the others coaxed a passionate melody from the vibrating wires. At one point they slid up the instrument's neck, eliciting a high-pitched, tickling cry. Crais was enthralled both by the sound the device made and the motion of her slender fingers on the wires. The music was ethereal, passionate, seeking to wring emotions from the very depths of him.
Without warning the door to her quarters slid open and she stopped playing, frightened, standing up quickly.
"I thought you said we were alone on this ship!" she hissed, trembling visibly.
He rose quickly and moved toward her, a hand held up to placate her. "I assure you we are the only people on this ship. Talyn was simply responding to the music. Leviathans are extremely sensitive creatures and certain types of resonant tones and music appeal to them. Talyn opened the door himself. I could have warned you, but I was. . .preoccupied with the music myself."
"Warned me?"
"Yes. As I said, Talyn and I have a unique covenant with one another." Crais explained. "Through a special neural interface, I am able to experience his senses."
"You mean you can see what he sees, feel what he feels?" she asked incredulously. "How is that possible?"
"It would be too difficult to explain," he replied. "Suffice it to say, we are. . .bonded."
"Is the reverse also true?" She asked after a microt. "Can he feel what you feel?"
Crais' brow knitted and he pursed his lips. Sharing consciousness with Talyn had always filled him completely. He had never given it much thought. He supposed on certain levels, it was true. He asked him through the link and Talyn confirmed it.
"Yes," he replied simply.
"That's incredible." She said, setting aside her music device. "My division was working on something similar back home without much success. Is it telepathy, an implant in your brain or something?"
Crais touched the back of his neck without thinking. He could feel the round neural interface beneath the collar of his uniform tunic. "Actually, it is embedded just below the base of my skull."
"May I see it?" she asked coming toward him, hand extended.
"No," he snapped stepping away from her.
"It's perfectly safe, you know." She assured him. "Back home I was a computer designer. I built computers, wrote their programs, tried--unsuccessfully--to forge a direct link between my species and the artificial intelligence we've created."
"All the same," he replied. "I would prefer that you. . .not."
"Why?" she smiled, not put off. "I won't hurt you and I only bite upon request."
Crais made a sour face and took another step back. "There are things we must get quite clear about your position on this ship."
He drew himself up stiffly, submerging any compassion he had for this woman beneath his wall of Peacekeeper racism.
"I purchased you because I need information only another human might provide." He continued coldly. "You are my slave at best. That could swiftly change to something far less pleasant if Talyn disapproves of your presence or if you were to make a nuisance of yourself in any way. Are you clear on this matter?"
"What? Do you not like girls? Do I smell?" she laughed, obviously trying to hide her fear at his sudden transformation. "I bathed with the soap you gave me."
He looked coldly at her. "Your. . .humor. . .is irrelevant. Please acknowledge that you understand your status."
"Look," she replied heatedly. "You're the one who wanted me to come along for this little ride."
He spared her a harsh look. Now she sounded like Crichton.
Sighing and crossing her arms over her chest she said, "Yes, warden. I get the picture. I'm a prisoner paroled on good behavior. I'll make no waves."
"Very good." He said stepping backward through the doorway. "I will apprise Talyn of the situation. For the time being, you are confined to these quarters."
He locked the door and headed directly for Talyn's command tier.
Crais spent the next several arns soul-searching. Talyn was not averse to her presence, solving one of his concerns. Still, there was the other matter. What to do with her? He was accustomed to being aboard Talyn alone. Another person, particularly someone as uncomfortable as a human female addicted to Hecho red, made him apprehensive.
He dried himself briskly as he stepped from the shower, his skin glowing red from the rough towel. He dressed slowly, enjoying the feeling of new clothing. The black tee shirt and trousers were far lighter than his uniform and more comfortable. The new boots on the other hand pinched across the arches of his feet. They needed a good stretching and would take much getting used to.
Standing before the mirrored console, he applied the new spice pomade he'd acquired on Luculla Primus. He smoothed it between his palms and slicked his hair back evenly. Taking the black thong in his right hand, he gathered his hair with his left. His fingers worked quickly at wrapping the thick curls into a neat queue. He examined his handiwork with a thin smile.
He was deliberately dawdling. He was unsure how to handle the situation. She could not have the drug, that much was certain. He had disposed of it immediately after leaving her locked in her quarters. There were medicines that would help in clearing the Hecho from her system, but she would have to kick the addiction on her own. He knew nothing about human physiology or psychology, but in Sebaceans giving up the Red Death was a terrible misery. Many had chosen to end their lives rather than live without it.
He ran his fingers tentatively along the prisoner control collar on his console. After leaving Talyn's command following their discussion of Senna's presence, he'd unpacked it. Always one to be prepared, he'd purchased it from the Tirysp just in case he needed to control the woman. He pocketed the device's remote control and took the collar in his hand before leaving his quarters.
Senna lost track of how many arns she'd been alone, locked in the quarters the captain had given her. She spent the first few trying to quell her anxiety at being in the hands of a Peacekeeper. Next she pondered the possibilities ahead now that she was finally free of the Tirysp slave master.
It could be a worse life, she figured. She had been with far more repugnant creatures in her time as the Tirysp's slave. Crais was a breath of fresh air compared to the company she'd been keeping. He was also a source of great fear for her. From all the stories she'd heard and the few Peacekeepers the Tirysp had pimped her to in their travels, she knew enough to dread Crais. If he only brutalized her sexually, she would be getting off easy.
When hunger and thirst began to make her increasingly uncomfortable, she set up her laptop computer. She played solitaire, the only game she had on the machine, to keep her mind off her dry mouth and growling stomach. It was a mindless pursuit, but helped nonetheless. It was better than trying to sit still and wait for whatever Crais had in store for her.
When she had given up hope of ever seeing him again, she got up from her bed and rummaged through her shoulder bag. Keeping on eye on the door, she reached into her secret pocket.
"Gonna ride. . .gonna ride. . .ride the red horse," she sung huskily to herself.
The vial was gone. She knew she'd placed it there before leaving the planet. It was the last of her private stash, the only one she'd managed to keep from her Tirysp master. A sudden chill of fear tore through her as she dumped the bag onto the floor, its contents scattering across the room.
Frell!
She hated herself for the weakness that engulfed her, but she was addicted to the wretched dren.
Damn him, she swore silently. He took it. He was poking through her things and took it away. God only knew why. Some Peacekeeper rule, knowing how anal retentive they were supposed to be. No illegal substances aboard their vessels.
Frell!
She would just have to figure out a way to get it back from him. There was so little left. She had already planned to wean herself free of it, but over time. Not cold turkey starting today.
As she picked up her strewn belongings, the lock to her quarters made a soft bleating sound and the door opened. Crais stood pensively in the opening taking in the disarray of her things. He looked fresher and was wearing some type of spiced, musky fragrance. He had obviously showered and put on clothes similar to the ones he gave her.
She steeled herself for an attack and any brutality he had in mind. He surprised her by simply standing and looking at her for a microt or two. The silence made her more uncomfortable than him rushing in and forcing himself on her. She had become accustomed to the pain and humiliation of the latter. Calculating her chances, she decided to take the long way around in trying to get the Hecho back.
"I don't mean to be insulting or anything," she began, her nerves getting the better of her. "But, you're one lousy host. I could use a drink of water and some food if that's okay. I mean, I'm more than willing to earn my keep. I know nothing comes for free, but do you think I could at least get a drink first."
Crais was letting her babble on nervously.
"Do you know how mind numbingly boring it is to play two hundred losing rounds of solitaire in a row," she went on. "I may never be able to play it again. And I've always been rather fond of it, actually."
He stepped farther into her quarters and her entire body tensed as if expecting an attack. She held her breath as he clasped his hands behind his back and continued to gaze at her.
"Look," she began haltingly. "I know I was pretty rude before. The comments about biting upon request, you not liking girls. It's just the company I've been keeping the last cycle and a half. They weren't the most polite. I, um. . .I apologize."
"You say you wish to earn your keep aboard this ship." Crais stated finally. "I have been without a server for a quarter cycle. Is what the Tirysp said about your talents true?"
She inhaled sharply, moved her feet out from under herself and stood. She knew the smell of her fear permeated the room. He pursed his lips and continued to speak to her in a quieter tone.
"Can you cook?" he asked.
She relaxed and laughed nervously.
"Yes. Even the Tirysp liked my cooking," she replied.
"Very good," he said coming toward her.
She now noticed he held a prisoner control collar in his hand and she winced. Not that again. All hope of getting the Hecho back was rapidly slipping away.
"I will require that you wear this during your time on Talyn," he said reaching to place it around her neck.
She stepped back swiftly and his face grew hard.
"Is that really necessary? I mean, where am I going to go?" she asked in a trembling voice.
"Nevertheless," he replied sternly, approaching her again. "I will require it for our mutual safety."
Her back was against the wall of the room. She knew that this powerfully built Peacekeeper could harm her without much effort. She held her breath and closed her eyes while he lifted it over her head and locked it into place. It hummed and vibrated against her skin when he activated it. The two red warning lights on the front glowed to life and began to feel hot against her skin in only a microt. She fought to keep the tears in her eyes from sliding down her face. She had traded one master for another that was all.
"Come with me now to the galley area," he instructed turning away from her and leaving her quarters. "You may begin by sorting and storing the provisions there, then preparing a meal."
She followed him without a word.
Cracking open another case, Senna made a sour face at the contents. The hard, greenish lengths of nelvek jerky smelled worse than dog food and its stench quickly quelled the growling of her stomach.
"Why would anyone buy freeze-dried nelvek?" she asked him with clear distaste.
"It was all they had and we will require protein." Crais explained as he sat on the far side of the cooking console watching her.
"Let me guess," she said with a heavy sigh. "The Tirysp told you that and you believed him?"
"Considering the rapid decline of civility in negotiating for you, I felt it ill-advised to question his veracity." Crais replied stiffly, lips working around the words and eyebrows arching in emphasis. "Were there fresher sources?"
"Of course. Nelvek ranches surround the entire area. Tahboa, the village where you found me, is considered the best place on the planet to purchase prime nelvek." She said unpacking the offensive smelling jerky, placing it into a storage container and sealing the lid quickly. "I think my duties should include procuring provisions as well from now on."
"Typical," Crais snorted. "I detest Tirysp. If I had more numbers behind me, I would have gladly taken his head!"
"I would've gladly helped." She agreed bitterly.
"How did you come to be in the Tirysps' possession?" he asked, still watching her sort through the provisions.
"A couple of cycles ago," she began, hands still busy with her work as she spoke. "Just a little after the whole incident with that astronaut, Crichton, my boss at my division came to me with a unique opportunity. Wait let me back up. I worked for the Artificial Intelligence Development division of my country's Department of Defense."
"A government worker?" Crais seemed to understand the concept.
"Exactly," she answered giving him a brief glance before returning to her work. "DOD had been commissioned by our President to develop a method of directly connecting human subjects with the AI we were working on. A direct interface like the one you have with Talyn, though I'm sure not as advanced.
"We were close to success, or so we hoped when the project was put on hold," she went on. "Dozens of people were furloughed, others fired outright. Then, the remaining few of us were split up and sent to differing posts around the country. I wound up in Washington D.C., three thousand miles from home.
"Not long after this, my supervisor came into my office and offered me the chance of a lifetime: a trip into space." She smiled briefly at the memory then her face turned hard. "Humans only live on the one planet, you understand."
"Yes, John Crichton has told me this," he said.
"As you can probably imagine, this was incredible to me." She explained. "I think most human beings dream of space travel, but with our primitive technology it isn't possible for the vast majority. Only astronauts like Crichton.
"I jumped at the chance without asking enough questions," she paused for a moment, her gaze distant. "That was a mistake. Our government was counting on our being so emotional over the very idea of space travel. They weren't disappointed.
"We were given about six months of indoctrination. Then, nearing the day of our scheduled departure, we were briefed on what was actually going to happen. Our government, along with the United Nations and IASA--the organization Crichton was with--had been contacted by an alien race. The Tirysp. Naturally, they kept this a secret from the rest of the planet. Earth's inhabitants have this common misconception that we're superior, God's chosen, whatever the hell you want to call it. The news that there actually are other life forms out in the universe would topple our governments and cause chaos on a global scale.
"The hundred of us chosen for this little jaunt into space accepted the government's story without question," she said between clenched teeth. She began to handle the provisions more roughly, slamming packets onto the counter, kicking empty cartons aside. She felt his disapproval, but a growing desperation for the Hecho had her nerve endings on fire, her temper a short fuse.
"We thought we were doing our part for the human race," she grated. "After all, the Tirysp were promising to give the government incredible technologies, advances we'd never make on our on. Not for centuries at least. Medicine, computers, space flight, you name it. They were promising it all. . .in exchange for a handful of human ambassadors."
"None of which the Tirysp supplied, I'm sure." Crais said.
"Oh, they threw them a big enough bone that Earth's officials didn't back out," she replied. "But we knew at the very end that it wasn't an ambassadorial trip we were being sent on. And it certainly wasn't a round-trip sightseeing tour. Our government had no intention whatsoever of telling the world where all the new technologies came from."
She spared him a harsh look, "Furthermore, they couldn't very well have a bunch of people return to tell the world about their whirlwind tour of outer space. Unlike your friend, John Crichton. . .I have no desire to return home. . .not to the death sentence waiting for me there."
She turned her back to him and leaned heavily against the cooking counter. "The Tirysp knew this, of course. It didn't take them terribly long to show their true colors. They brought me to Luculla Primus a few months ago looking for fresh business. We were all captured by the Vingasha and spent the time waiting to see who would come out on top."
"How did you manage to stay alive when all your fellow. . .travelers. . .fell victim to the Tirysps'. . . tactics," Crais asked harshly.
Surely he wasn't that stupid. She turned a look of sheer hatred on him, eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears. She leaned across the counter toward him.
"What do you think?" she asked sharply. "You don't think I got by with just my guitar and winning personality now do you?"
Crais said nothing, but she could see the reaction flit briefly across his face.
"They whored me," she stated between clenched teeth. "I was a tralk. You understand? You get what I'm saying? When I wasn't cooking, cleaning and repairing the odd power pack or other, I was loaned out for currency by the Tirysp. . .to whoever had the price of a frell."
She saw the disgust in his face, the twitching jaw muscles, and the thick beard-framed lips working.
"If you were a Sebacean woman," he said finally with a dangerous growl, his head lowered and cocked to the side. "I would go back to that planet and personally take the head of that Tirysp and lay waste to the village!"
"If," she said coldly shaking her head. She turned back to her work with a shrug. It wasn't like she expected more.
For a long time there was silence between them. She felt his eyes on her as she worked, but did her best not to look in his direction. At last, as she was beginning to prepare the meal she looked up at him, her face hard and eyes glinting.
"So, what are you planning to do with me?" she asked stonily. "Take me back to your High Command as a lab rat. Dissect me to see what makes us primitive humans tick?"
"Nothing like that," he assured her.
"Then what? I mean, why all the trouble?" she pressed. "Why waste your money on an obviously loathsome tralk like me?"
"As I told you before," he said obviously uncomfortable with both her tone and her gaze. "You may possess information that I can use. Nothing more."
"Information, nothing more," she repeated with a smirk. "Pardon me if I don't hold you to that too seriously."
"Rest assured," he countered coldly. "Your. . .virtue. . .is inviolate with me."
The tone of his voice, the insult he implied cut her to the quick. She couldn't fathom why. After all, shouldn't she be glad to finally make her way through this part of the universe off her back? She was instantly self-conscious and looked away from him. He did find her truly revolting. Every nerve in her body screamed for the Hecho and she had to nearly bite her tongue in half to keep from asking him for it. She wasn't sure which brand of suffering was the worst; being a Tirysps' whore or this Peacekeeper's slave.
"Well, that's a relief," she said finally as she dished food onto two plates and poured two glasses of water. "One less thing to dread."
He looked sharply at her, but she was too angry and hurt to fear him now. She averted her eyes and began to wolf down her portion of the food.
Crais lay in his bed, still fully clothed, pondering the situation. He felt a pang of regret for insulting the human. It was an emotion nearly alien to him, a man who never left himself time to regret the things he did, good or bad. He could have explained his lack of interest in her sexually with a bit more tact. He was needlessly cruel.
Even after a quarter of a cycle away from the Peacekeepers with nothing but Talyn and his own thoughts for company, he was no better than he'd been before. He had changed very little in the scheme of things. He wondered if the notion of irreversible contamination would be with him forever, like some hateful second skin he couldn't shed.
After all was said and done, he would never have chosen to leave his position aboard the Mhultaan. Only Scorpius' threats made him flee. He was a Peacekeeper first, last and always. Since he was seven cycles old their world was all he knew. He learned quickly to protect himself and Tauvo, his younger brother; it was kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten. Over the next thirty or more cycles he perfected his predatory abilities to a fine art. He was popular with High Command and dreamed one day of ascending to the Admiralty and First Council.
Then the human, John Crichton, appeared causing Tauvo's death in a fiery prowler crash. He helped the Leviathan--Crais' Leviathan--to escape along with its prisoners, destroying any hope of continuing his hybrid project or discovering how the traitor Velorek sabotaged it two cycles before.
Something in his mind snapped then. No matter what he tried, it was beyond repair. Admittedly he hadn't tried very hard. His grief over Tauvo's loss was all consuming, as was his hatred for Crichton. In the end, the incident with Maldis was the catalyst that drove him over the edge, causing him to kill his loyal second officer and ignore direct orders to return to High Command. No matter what he told others, he secretly knew he was the architect of his own unraveling.
With automaton-like precision and unparalleled skill, he ripped apart the life he worked so hard to build. The life he sweated blood for and withheld an ocean of tears over. All those cycles of proving that a mere conscript with no House and no family was as good as or better than those noble fools with name and lineage.
He remembered EL-Vashti's distaste at the very thought of him touching her. Siring a child on a woman of such noble birth was no small feat. It was a dark pleasure knowing he had created with her the second generation necessary to be called House Crais. One more silent scream to the uncaring universe, 'Bialar Crais was here.'
He turned on his side and slowed his breathing, trying to will himself to sleep. Unfortunately, it was proving elusive. His mind would not be silent. Filled with thoughts of his past and the woman across the passageway from him, his brain fought sleep like an attacker.
He allowed himself to think of Tauvo. Sweet, gentle Tauvo whose years as a Peacekeeper never corrupted or changed him.
Tears stung his eyes and he swallowed them back, still too much the Peacekeeper to admit to such a weakness. The image of his burning flesh conjured up by Maldis haunted him. Of all the deaths he could image, burning alive had to be the worst. Though his mind seemed to play the prowler's collision with the asteroid in slow motion again and again, the death was most undoubtedly swift. Thank the universe for small favors.
Talyn was speaking to him then. Upset, frightened, concerned. He informed Crais that the woman was in distress in her quarters. Without a second thought, he was up and on his feet. He grabbed the syringe from his bedside table without even bringing up the lights in his quarters. He crossed the passageway in three strides and keyed the lock on her door. It slid aside to complete darkness and the sounds of whimpering. He instructed Talyn to increase the illumination in the room.
As the lights came up, Crais saw the woman huddled in the far corner of the room. She was squatting, trying to make herself as small as possible. She had the thin blanket from her bed wrapped around herself in such a way only her eyes and nose could be seen. When she saw him she screamed and began to cry.
"Here, now," he demanded coming toward her. "What is all this about?"
She seemed to recognize him then and her eyes became more coherent. She remained huddled in the corner, but looked up at him intently.
"What's the matter?" he asked more softly standing above her.
"I have bad dreams," she replied hiccuping on her tears. "When I woke up it was so dark in here. I forgot where I was and panicked."
His forehead creased, brows knitted as he bent down on one knee in front of her. She seemed to flinch and he kept his distance with hands held up before her.
"You took something," she panted hoarsely. "Something from my bag. I need it. Give it to me!"
"I cannot allow you to have the Hecho red, Senna." He replied gently, using her name for the first time since she was aboard Talyn.
"Oh, God!" she wept bitterly. "Please! I'll do anything if you just give it back."
"I disposed of it immediately after I found it among your belongings," he said not unkindly. "You must allow this process to run its course."
He held up the syringe and she cried pitifully. It was a sound that tore at his heart, though for the life of him Crais did not know why. She was a tightened coil against the wall, backed into a corner of the room. She shivered violently as he pulled the blanket aside. Her reddened eyes squeezed painfully shut as he injected the medication into her neck just above the control collar.
"Whether you choose to believe it or not," he said softly. "You are safe here. I can only image the things you have endured. That is over. Peacekeeper honor dictates that there are times when one must care for and protect the less fortunate. I am honor bound to protect you while you are in my custody."
She didn't seem convinced if the fear in her eyes was any indication. He considered her there for several microts, still huddled like a frightened child. Then gingerly, he put his hands on her upper arms and raised her to her feet. He guided her back to the bed and eased her down on it. He helped her rearrange the blanket over her fully clothed body.
"I know what it is to have bad dreams," he admitted. "I understand being ripped from all one knows, thrust into an environment where your every thought is of nothing but survival. I am not prepared to say more."
He stood over her for a microt longer, instructing Talyn to lower the lighting in the room to dim, before leaving her alone again.
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