"Hid deb one for be!" he called. A comrade boosted his captive onto the flatbed with an enthusiastic boot.
Joat looked up as the two men returned, and jerked a tight-lipped nod towards the scene.
"I-" Joseph began. Then he looked down at his hands, opening them and closing them once. "He should not have insulted my mother…" He looked up. "And there has been no news of the Benisur Amos for more than three weeks. He is my Prophet, my brother, my friend… and I have failed him."
Joat sighed and let her shoulders relax. "Okay."
It was Joseph who'd taught her to keep her emotions out of business, though. Nobody's perfect. I guess learning that's part of growing up. Even Simeon lost it sometimes, and he could control his emotions, literally, by regulating the endocrine feeds to the body inside his Shell.
"You are right, Joat," Joseph admitted. "It was foolish of me and it will not happen again, you have my word."
"Mine too, Boss."
She sighed. "Thank you. And you're right, no harm came of it. Except for your bruises." And I hope they hurt! she thought.
She reached over and gripped Joseph's hand. "I realize you're under pressure, Joe. Sorry I snapped at you."
"Hey, Boss, what about me?"
Joat looked at Alvec out of the corner of her eyes and growled softly.
"Yeah," he said, "that's kinda what I figured."
She stood. "Let's go, I want to hustle up a cargo if I can. It won't look good if we leave with an empty hold."
"D'ya mind if Joe and me stick around here and have a few, get acquainted?" Alvec asked. "We're going to be on the same small ship for a long time." He shrugged: "Unless you need us for something?"
"No," Joat said, a little surprised. "Go ahead. Just remember…"
"You have my word, Joat," Joseph said firmly, but with a smile.
"Well, see you later then," she said, uneasy.
I trust them not to get into another fight, she realized as she left.
It was what the heck else they might get up to that worried her. Alvec had a positive gift for trouble, and Joseph was half-crazy with worry over Amos. Rightly so, if Amos was in the hands of the Kolnari.
She didn't believe in the Bethelite hell, but being in the Fist of High-Clan Kolnar was a pretty good approximation.
Chapter Five
"Clan Lord," Karak called.
Belazir paused on the threshold of his quarters and turned his head to look coldly at his approaching son.
"May I speak?" Karak asked him.
Belazir considered the request, wondering what aggravation his eldest son had in store for him. Then he surrendered to curiosity, gave a short nod.
"The scumvermin female languishes in her cell, Great Lord, ignored and lonely."
Belazir sighed and turned towards his son, contempt visible on his face.
"When I was your age, child, I too was excited by the terror of the prey. But I am older now and have known the pleasures of conquest often. I refuse to feel obliged to take every screaming, worm-colored girl I come across simply because it is expected of me."
Karak's face was expressionless, but the stiffness of his posture told Belazir that he was humiliated by his father's response.
Had his son asked for the girl outright Belazir might well have given her to him. But this behind-the-back way of asking annoyed him. He had never been easy to manipulate and this exceedingly clumsy effort was an insult.
"Leave her to my pleasure, Karak. See to her health and well-being, but do not touch her."
Let the young hot-head chew his spleen over that, Belazir thought in amusement. With a nod to his son he turned and entered his quarters.
Soamosa paced her small cell, seven paces one way, five the other. She counted her steps. She had walked nine thousand one hundred and fifty four steps since waking. The cell was featureless save for its minimal furnishings, a neutral-gray box of ship metal. Doubtless intended to weaken prisoners by sensory deprivation.
The thought came to her that she should be praying. That she should find solace on her knees instead of on her feet. But she had tried that and it didn't work. Soamosa found herself praying for things that reminded her of the terrible fate that she and the Benisur Amos and the Captain shared.
At first, the prayers had been for deliverance, and for the safety of the Benisur, and then she had prayed that she not be raped, or locked in and left to starve. With every prayer Soamosa had brought herself closer to mindless panic. And so she paced and counted her steps, to keep her mind cleared and calm. And that worked.
Her back was to the hatch when it opened and she froze. Soamosa had made it her habit since being imprisoned in this cell not to look at the Kolnari who brought her food.
She had found them disturbingly beautiful, uniformly tall and blond, with shapely figures and stern features. Her mother had warned her not to be fooled by their appearance.
"You can tell that they are not human by the way that they despise all that is. If ever you should be so unfortunate as to meet them do not let their beauty blind you. They are devils in the world of flesh, inhumanly cruel and selfish. You dare not look upon them lest you should be lost."
Their leers and gloating remarks had made her all too aware of her torn dress and unbound hair and she had been unable to keep the tears of shame out of her eyes. Her only means of preserving her modesty and her dignity was to keep her back to them when they came.
Besides, she did not want to see their faces as they attacked her; which she knew they might do at any time. She had resolved to keep her eyes closed if it came to that. And she would sing a hymn, the one about smashing the enemies of God like pottery. That would show them what Bethelites were made of.
"Turn around, scumvermin," a stern voice commanded.
Soamosa stiffened, and after a moment complied.
"Look at me, scumvermin."
She bit her lips to keep them from trembling.
"No," she said coolly and clasped her hands before her.
Karak was astounded. It had never occurred to him that this tiny female would defy him. He was honestly puzzled and completely put off his stride by her refusal. What would his father do? And how did he make her obey without touching her? Coercion he knew all too well, of persuasion he was ignorant.
She turned her head away from him and looked up at the ceiling before lowering her eyes again.
"What do you want?" she asked haughtily.
Karak frowned. He'd lost the initiative and must wrest it back from her. This is not like the simulations. One did not allow prisoners to ask questions. He felt a spurt of anger. It wasn't as if she was a person.
He stepped close and began to circle her, allowing her to become aware of his bulk and to feel him looming over her.
Soamosa fought her trembling, fought to keep her eyes lowered and her feet firmly in place while her heart hammered and mind demanded run, flee, hide! She could feel the floor vibrate under his heavy tread and the heat from his near-naked body was extraordinary. He felt like a dark sun orbiting her.
The girl wasn't intimidated in the least that Karak could see. She kept her place, her face a mask of cool disdain.
His own face warmed in shame. All of his life he'd been laughed at and called soft because he lacked ambition in the arts of war. "The Poet" his agemates had named him and made his life a hell of mockery. Only his elder brother had befriended him: