Star Brigade: The Supremacy (SB3) (47 page)

Khal shook his head. “I feel really...drowsy.”

“You might have a concussion from the crash. Open your mouth.”

Khal did as asked. No obstructions in his airway. “Then again,” Liliana added, “I’m still exhausted... Must be whatever they dosed us with.”

Khal frowned with deep loathing. “The Ghebrekh.”

“I don’t think they’re our captors.”

“Whatever,” Khal sniffed, letting Liliana turn his head side to side to inspect his ears. Both looked clear. “How are you feeling with the whole Uyull thing?” he asked, sounding genuinely worried.

Lily stiffened. She had avoided thinking about the Nirandian’s death.

Now, thanks to Khal, that situation barreled to the forefront of her mind. She steeled herself before replying. “I did everything I could with the resources I had,” she stated evenly, like reading from a script. “Which weren’t many.” In her heart, Liliana believed that. She just hoped that Byzlar did, too. And she hadn’t even thought about Uyull’s body...and what whoever held it had done with it.

“Any tingling in your fingers or toes?” she asked routinely, testing out his right arm’s range of motion. Khal shook his head, jostling that ebony mop of hair. She repeated this test on his left arm.

“You look fine,” Lily announced, wincing a bit at her word choice. She recovered with a final question, “Anything else you want to tell me about?”

“Well...” Khal’s face began to contort. The doctor’s concern spiked when Khal grabbed at his stomach uncomfortably. “I do have this intense burning...down there.”

“Down where?” Lily’s gaze darted below Khal’s waist instantly. Her medical mind began to sort through possible ventral or lower-body issues: stomach cramping, bad reaction to the suppressant?

Khal’s response was wild laughter. She glanced up to find his smarmy expression, and understood. Feeling a white-hot jolt of anger, Lily fought the strong urge to punch Khal “down there.” She rose to her feet instead and stomped away from him.

“Just lightening the mood,” Khal called out, still quaking with laughter.

She slid down in a huff to sit on the opposite wall of their cell. “I’m starting to see why no one wanted you on CT-1,” Lily hissed, wrapping both arms around her legs.

Khal’s smarmy smirk dropped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lily looked away, growing angrier than before. She had planned on keeping quiet. Airing others’ dirty laundry wasn’t her style. But his crude behavior left her few options. “The night before we left Magnasterium, I saw you with Uarya Ipmas.”

Khal recoiled. “You know her name? And how much
did
you see?”

She scowled, only acknowledging his first question, “I researched before the mission, like you should have! Uarya’s father owns one of the largest megacorps on Faroor. And she’s betrothed to Maorridus Magnus’s heir!”

“Huh.” Khal shrugged casually. “I knew something about her was familiar. You told Nwosu?”

“No.” Lily shook her head. “Not unless you stop acting up. Hopefully Uarya wasn’t a spy—”

Khal stared at her as if she had grown a third eye. “Relax, Mom! That highborn slut has too much at stake to open her mouth. She liked what she saw, not that I blame her, and we had fun. End of story.”

His unrepentant arrogance left Lily breathless. “What if some Ttaunz official had seen you and told that creepy Defense Minister? Do you even care how that could compromise Star Brigade’s mission…or your career?”

Khal leaned back with a knowing wink. “Obviously, someone cares about me and my career.”

Liliana rolled her eyes. No, she didn’t care. Not at all.

Before she could vocalize that sentiment, a scraping of stone on hard earth interrupted. She turned in the sound’s direction and her eyes bulged. A tall slit in the red wall next to her abruptly jutted out and slid toward her.

Liliana scrambled to her feet. Khal, already standing, grabbed the doctor by the arm and yanked her behind him. His demeanor shifted to commanding and protective.

The scraping continued as the stone slid left on its own accord.

“Stay behind me,” Khal ordered tersely. The doctor, too frightened to argue, squinted as her eyes adjusted to the flood of smeary crimson and gold sunset lancing into their prison cell. Khal’s lithe and wiry build stood just under three inches taller than her, not providing much protection—especially without his telekinesis. But he stood ready to defend her.

That didn’t stop Liliana’s heart from pounding as the first silhouette stepped through.

Habraum awoke in a haze of fog, with no clue where he was or how he got there. Then, the events of Inorskii Fields bludgeoned his mind like a full-speed hovercar—the failed confrontation with Ghuj’aega, fighting the jusha beasts, and Uyull’s demise. He quickly sat up, noting his missing uniform. Instead, the Cerc sported a dark t-shirt and cargos taken from their ruined transport.

He was in a prison cell—the dim lighting enough to grasp his surroundings.
The Ghebrekh can’t be our captors.
Why would they change his clothes or keep him alive?

And unshackled
. He aimed a fist at the reddish wall to blow it wide open. Nothing happened. “What the...” Habraum aimed again, and again, getting the same results. Something had suppressed his biokinetic abilities…

Another figure sprawled a few feet away distracted him from this new obstacle. Marguliese.

Relieved to see someone from CT-1, Habraum scrambled over to the unmoving Cybernarr. She looked asleep, her long red locks fanned out. A thin slash across her right cheek revealed angular circuit-like cyberorganics underneath.

“Maggie?” the Cerc whispered, shaking her gently to no response. He shook harder. She stayed limp.

What if she’s...
Habraum squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to believe the Cybernarr dead like Uyull, because of his failings. The colossal guilt impaled him through the chest.

“No.” Habraum shook his head. “She’s alive.” He would not wallow. This mission needed completing, and CT-1 needed their field commander resolute. Habraum steeled himself and shook Marguliese again.

“Marguliese, get the
fekt up
now
!” The Cerc shook her so hard this time he heard a spongy squish beneath her. Frowning, he rolled the Cybernarr on her side, jarred by how floppy she felt. Black, oily goo of some sort was lodged onto the middle of her back, shifting in shape.

Not sure what this material was, Habraum reached down to pull the goo off. One touch shot a cold shiver through his forearm, bone deep. The Cerc gasped but didn’t let go, getting a firmer grip. The oily substance stretched with a strident whine as he pulled, the numbing chill now seeping past his forearm.

Finally, Habraum yanked the substance off and tossed it across the cell.

From afar, the oily goo slithered and spasmed, shifting in shape with wild abandon. Ignoring it, the Cerc shook some feeling back into his forearm before laying Marguliese on her back.

Her hand snaked out and caught his wrist.

“Easy!” Habraum yelped in surprise. “It’s me.”

Her drowsy, probing eyes flicked from him to his hand. “What happened?” she asked hoarsely.

After Marguliese released his arm, Habraum filled her in on their situation.

“It cannot be the Ghebrekh,” she declared, regaining her smooth and mechanical cadence. “They would have eliminated us on the Inorskii Fields.”

The Cerc couldn’t dispute that truth. To his surprise, the Cybernarr struggled to sit upright. He swooped in to assist. Her unbound hair spilled down her back in scarlet waves.

Now seated, Marguliese’s cerulean eyes glazed over. “Self-diagnostic complete. Systems at 54.343 percent efficiency and rising. Purging of paralytic toxins commencing.”

“Maggie?” Habraum stared at her, trying to bring her back to the now.

Her ocean-blue eyes refocused on him, and melted. “Systems should normalize in twenty-two macroms. With your powers suppressed, operating at optimum capacity is essential for our escape...” Her golden visage twisted with bewilderment, as if the Cerc had asked her something beyond her understanding. She looked surprisingly…
human
.

“Maggie, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, taking her face in his hands without thought.

She shook her head. “Watching Corporal Uyull was my responsibility, and I…failed.”

Habraum blinked, that name knotting up his insides. He swallowed his regret with great difficulty. “Maggie, you were nearly overwhelmed during that battle. We all were.”

“
Irrelevant
,” Marguliese retorted, almost sounding angry. “I was assigned to guard his blindsides and I could not complete my task—”

“Marguliese.” Habraum sighed as she met his gaze. “I could tell you the blunders I’ve made on this mission. But what does that accomplish? Mistakes happen. Beings die, despite how hard we try to prevent that.”

Marguliese listened, her gaze stabbing into his brain. She knew his words were as much for himself as for her. The Cerc pressed on to his point, “This isn’t the end. Ghuj’aega is still out there. I
need
you sorted when we escape, find our team, and take Ghuj’aega down.”

She nodded, her left eye flashing like a sapphire starburst, features going blank. “Understood.”

Habraum, realizing his hands still cradled the Cybernarr’s face, awkwardly let go and gripped her waist, pulling them both upright. “C’mon.”

His head swam. Was this because of whatever drug his captors dosed him with, or because of how deeply Marguliese gazed back? Her face remained impassive, her eyes unreadable save their bright, ocean-blue intensity. The gash on her cheek had completely healed.

Shifting uneasily, Habraum let his hands slip off her waist. The Cybernarr pulled away as well. “Systems at 85.98 percent efficacy and rising.”

Way to break the tension,
Habraum mused in relief. A scraping noise interrupted his thoughts.

Habraum and Marguliese both turned. A narrow shaft of light accompanied the noise from the cell’s left sidewall, widening as it shifted right... A doorway?

Habraum glanced at the Cybernarr and gestured left of the opening. With a terse nod, she rushed in that direction while he dashed right. Both stood mute and coiled, ready to attack as the door opened fully.

A skinny arm reached around the doorframe. And Marguliese struck.

She grabbed the arm and yanked its owner inside. By the time the being cried out, the Cybernarr had their petite visitor slammed into a wall, pressing the Farooqua’s arm against its own neck like a guillotine.

The Farooqua’s cry cut off into a panicked gurgle as its feet dangled far off the ground. Marguliese stood statuesque as always, unmoved by her captive’s struggles. Habraum inched forward to check for any other “guests.” The answer came from a sharp whistle.

The Cerc lurched back—right as a large, paddle-like bludgeon struck where his upper body had just been. The crude weapon wedged against the wall briefly, giving Habraum a good look at the serrated teeth lining its wooden paddle’s round edges. He gulped. The weapon’s wielder, a tall and wiry male Farooqua, sprang into the room, expertly brandishing a toothed bludgeon in each hand. By the tawny pelt or the pitch-black circular tattoos on his chest and arms, he wasn’t Ghebrekh. His braided mohawk whipped about wildly as he spied Marguliese choking his cohort.

Without powers or field armor, Habraum knew he was exposed against those spiked paddles.
Have to end this quick
. The Cerc aimed a side kick at his head. Sensing the motion, the warrior spun and raised a forearm to block Habraum’s kick. But the force from the strike sent the Farooqua’s bludgeon flying from his grasp. In lightning-like defense, the warrior lashed out with his other bludgeon, forcing Habraum deeper into the cell.

This fighter was skilled; Habraum could barely duck and sidestep the flurry of swipes whistling at his head and torso. With his big, crimson eyes watching Habraum’s every movement, the Farooqua swung his paddle in wide, slicing arcs to force the Cerc further back. After each slash, his wiry arm recoiled like a snake for another strike.

Behind them Marguliese stood like a golden statue, still holding her captive but not moving to intervene. Habraum knew she would assist if needed.

As the Cerc arched back from another slash aimed at his throat, he recalled how Farooqua read body movement the way other species read written languages, which was how they communicated.

Body language was also how they outmatched opponents in combat, reading strengths and weaknesses like holobooks in order to pick said opponents apart.

Habraum recalled Tyris conveying this to CT-1 during their flight to Faroor, making his unease blossom into full-grown horror. The Farooqua warrior had almost driven the Cerc into the cell’s furthest corner where he could no longer dodge those ferocious swings.

Habraum arched his head away from another slash—leaving his abdomen exposed.
Rogguts!

The Farooqua seized advantage with a piston-like front kick. But Habraum threw himself forward, tightening his stomach to absorb the attack.

The Farooqua didn’t expect that, Habraum’s sudden charge staggering him backward. Still, the swift blow and the resultant flare of pain shook through Habraum and dropped him to one knee.
Your move
. He looked up at his opponent, feigning defeat.

The Farooqua switched his grip on the paddle-like bludgeon with lightning quickness, pointing the toothed edge at the Cerc’s head and stabbing downward—as Habraum expected.

The Cerc clasped his hands together as if to pray, stabbing them up between the Farooqua’s. Springing to his feet, Habraum swung his forearms outward, forcefully breaking the Farooqua’s grip apart. The toothed bludgeon flew from the warrior’s hands as he stumbled back.

Without a break in motion, Habraum rammed a vicious double palm thrust into the Farooqua’s chest, knocking air out of his adversary with a whoosh. The Cerc immediately exploded upward with a knee to the Farooqua’s jaw.

The warrior’s mouth snapped shut with a clack of teeth, and the Farooqua collapsed in a heap. Habraum grimaced at the dull ache in his abdomen, turning over the tooth-lined weapon in his palm by the handle. “Glad I did my sit-ups,” he muttered.