J’ar loped over to a man on the end of the row of prisoners, lifted him up, and all but dragged the prisoner over to where she and Nowicki stood. J’ar handed the Obam male a com unit set to the current code.
“Mistress Dmitros.” The man bobbed his head in greeting. He was a typical male from the Obam region. Thin and tall to the point of being a walking skeleton with skin colored a pale orange. His sky blue gaze met hers briefly then shifted to the floor.
A brief memory of sharing a cool icy snack with him one very hot, dusty day flickered across her mind.
“Slate, isn’t it? You dug for my parents on Obam IV.”
“Yes, Mistress.” His eyes looked everywhere but at her. Obam males culturally avoided looking foreign females in the eyes; it was considered rude.
“What are you doing with the pirates?”
“Thought we was in it for money and goods.” That did not surprise her, that was why most of the Obam people helped with her father’s dig—for the chance to find and steal treasure. “But once on board found out differently. Then couldn’t leave. So, exist.” He shrugged.
Slate didn’t act ashamed or even guilty. But she expected that. As far as he was concerned, he was not like the men he ran with.
She reached deep inside and used the extra sense that no one knew about and that had saved her many times to read the Obam.
His energy was calm and his aura read as truthful as any of his race ever did. His voice presented the facts as they were—or as he perceived them to be. The Obam were like that, they took things as they came and adapted. The morality of it all was as fluid as their adaptive lifestyle. She’d bet he’d avoided the killing during raids. No Obam male she’d ever met had the balls to kill. They were even vegans. Stealing was okay, but killing was not in their genetic makeup.
“You know men like me, Mistress. We do not kill. Slate waited for escape.”
“Do you believe him, Captain?” J’ar’s Volusian pale blue skin tones had darkened to a deeper blue, almost as dark as a deep space void. J’ar was angry.
While Volusians were a warrior race, like the Prime, they abhorred anyone who fought without honor. Even more, they despised ambiguous morality like Slate’s. To J’ar, Slate was just as evil as a warrior without honor.
“Yes. Obam males are like that.” She looked at Slate who smiled and good-naturedly nodded his agreement with her conclusion.
“Yes, Mistress. What happen to Slate now?”
“You will sit with the other prisoners. Later, once we control the ship, I’ll make sure you are sent back to Obam for judgment.”
“Thank you, thank you, Mistress Dmitros.” Slate bowed his head, his chin almost touching his chest. Bringing his sly blue gaze to look past her right ear, he said, “You can not make way to the Prime crew in the engine room. There are many, many pirates left.” Obviously, Slate had been Nowicki’s source for the pirate head count. “Most of them are lizard-people. Very, very bad, mistress. They not need air as much as human-types and tough to kill.”
Lizard-people was Slate’s name for the Erians.
With Slate’s extra information, Nowicki’s decision to stop at two levels was even more judicious. Erians were damn hard to fight. Their skin was thick and leathery. Lasers would merely sear them and they’d continue to fight, even more enraged. Just as the Antareans she’d killed on the jump station, knives to their main blood supply was the best way to kill them quickly. Damn. Her men would have to fight hand-to-hand.
The risks had just increased. And the self-destruct clock still ticked in her mind.
“How many, Slate? An estimate is fine.”
“Still living? One hundred, maybe?” He looked around the docking bay, his eyes reflecting his skepticism. “You have not enough men to take them. Why not bring more?”
“Later. I need to establish contact with the Prime.” She turned to Nowicki. “Looks like the maintenance tunnels are the best bet to get to the engine room.”
“No! No! Mistress do not do that. Slate could never face your sire Dmitros again here or in the afterlife. There is death in the tunnels. Five men went in and never came out. Please do not go.”
“Thank you for the warning, Slate, but I know what I’m doing.” She smiled at the Obam man.
Slate muttered dire warnings in a mixture of Obamian and Alliance Standard, his head shaking side-to-side with his agitation.
“Ensign J’ar take good care of Slate.” She glanced at the line of prisoners, who eyed Slate with narrowed, angry glares. Many of the Erians would kill Slate if they could.
“Might be a good idea to keep him away from the others. Have one of the guards get any other intel from him that they can. He is not lying.”
“Thank you, Mistress.” Slate bowed his head.
A still skeptical J’ar led Slate away.
Mel turned to A’tem and Nowicki. “We have, by my count, very few hours left on the countdown clock. I want you to take the away teams and the prisoners off the ship and dock with the Leondias outside the blast perimeter and stay there until I give the all clear.”
“What in the frigging hell are you planning, Mel?” Nowicki hissed under his breath.
Her second only called her Mel when they were private or he was under the influence of a strong emotion. Since they were not private, he must be furious.
“I wasn’t sure until Slate confirmed it.”
“Wasn’t sure of what?” A’tem asked.
“That we might not be able to get to the Prime crew’s location and get the Prime captain to turn off the self-destruct device. Slate just confirmed it.”
“All we have to do is bring in ten more teams and take out the pirates,” Nowicki growled.
“You know how the Erians fight. You had a hard time taking those few over there,” Mel said, placing her hand on Nowicki’s tense arm. “You heard Slate. The bulk of the remaining pirates are thick-skinned, hard-to-kill reptile-like men with enough cunning to know that you’ll have to engage them hand-to-hand. We’d eventually win, but it would take hours and a great risk of loss and injury to us. And then there is the self-destruct. I will not risk that many soldiers. I refuse.”
She lifted her hand when Nowicki would’ve spoken. “Royce,” she whispered.
“Don’t worry. I can make it through the traps. I read Prime dialect. I’ve read the military texts my parents unearthed and cataloged. I know the types of traps they use. They used them in their battle fortresses and I have encountered many of them on the digs. They’ll use similar traps here.”
When he tried to speak once more, she glared him into remaining silent. “Plus, the traps will be aimed at large male intruders. I am, if you haven’t noticed, smaller than most men and female. I can get through.”
“Dammit all, Mel. I don’t like it.” Nowicki ran a hand through his hair.
“I know. But there is no other choice. I’ll be fine.” She shot him a quick grin. “I’m betting they have cameras in the tunnel and maybe communications. I might be able to establish contact that way and get them to shut down the traps—and the countdown, and then I’ll contact you and we can figure out how to flush the rest of the pirates out with the help of the Prime. We’ll use the usual sequence of signals.”
“Why not just have the Prime call us in when you get to a useable comm point?” Nowicki asked, still belligerent.
“No, no one comes back unless the order comes from me. I’m not willing to sacrifice the crew’s safety when the pirates could contact you as easily as the Prime, and you’d never know the difference.”
“Then let me go in,” Nowicki begged.
Mel shook her head. “They’re more likely to ignore a man and let him die. Me? They know the pirates don’t allow women on their crews. I have to be an Alliance officer.” She shook her head in warning as he opened his mouth once more. “I won’t risk any of you.” A’tem looked from one to the other of them with a look of extreme concern in his navy blue eyes. “Commander Nowicki, the Captain is well within her authority to act in this manner. I do not think you have the authorization to say her nay.”
“Thank you, A’tem.” Mel smiled at the always proper Volusian. “I know I can always count on my Volusian officers to be the voice of reason.”
“Dammit, Mel!”
She patted his arm. “I’ll be fine, Royce. Now move it, mister. We don’t have that much time. I’m counting on you to get these men away and to advise our ships and Captain Warten as to the plan.”
“Yes, Captain.” Nowicki saluted and stalked away, anger in every line of his body.
“I’ll watch him, Captain. He’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, A’tem. He’s the closest thing I have to a brother.” She’d always known her second-in-command felt more than brotherly love for her.
His emotions right now were off the map of the proper relationship between a superior officer and her second. She’d striven never to give him any idea she might return that love. She couldn’t return an emotion she didn’t possess. She was pretty sure her whole squadron knew how Royce felt about her, but they also could never point to any action on her part that welcomed or accepted anything more than close friendship.