Friends in low places...
Piper stepped out of the Kalquorian craft behind the man
identified as Weapons Commander Sesin. She kept close to Ob, almost plastering
herself against his heavy frame. She could smell the Kalquorians’ hatred for
her companion as well as she could Ob’s natural reek. She feared they would
renege on their promise not to kill him until he had a fair hearing from their
captain.
At least his collar had stopped tormenting him. He snuffled
as if he had a runny nose, but that was normal for Ob. And better to listen to
than squeals of agony.
Her grip stayed tight, if sweaty, on the knife she’d stolen
from her master’s head torturer weeks before. She remained vigilant, though her
gaze luxuriated in the bright light levels of the raider’s small shuttle and
fighter bay. Her skin rejoiced in the cool temperature. She damned near sighed
to be free of stifling heat after years of living in the baking, dark
environment the Bi’isils preferred.
As they descended the short ramp to the bay floor, Piper
darted a glance at the bearded warrior behind her. Despite his fearsome aspect,
fed by many scars and two missing fingers on his left hand, Subcommander Terig
seemed the most civilized of the group. And he wasn’t so bad looking, not now
that she could see him closer and in better lighting. Once past the scars, he
was quite attractive, in fact. Better yet, his gaze was bright with
intelligence—more than the brute Sesin, who’d spent most of the time on Prince
Yel’ek’s shuttle arguing to kill Ob, even if that meant teaching Piper a lesson
by killing her too.
Terig had made it plain he would not allow that. A reluctant
ally, since his glare at Ob told Piper he’d rather see the Tragoom dead as
well.
Not after all Ob’s
done for me. Not after all he’s suffered already. That her companion was a
finer being than her, Piper knew without a doubt. He was probably superior to
these Kalquorians, too.
She owed him. Once she told their captors what was
happening, they’d realize they owed him too.
