I hear the rumble of the falconlike ship before I see it, but when I do, it flies so quickly over the ridgeline that it is almost impossible to track. Focusing on where that ship had crossed the ridge, I take aim with my sonic sayzer and then a deep breath. As I exhale, I see the Alameeda E-One coming over the crest of the ridge. Breathlessly I say, “The worst, Honey.”
The recoil from the sonic sayzer lifts me off my feet; I find myself flat on my back looking up at the sky. The wind is knocked out of me, but I sit up anyway. Wheezing for breath, I cringe when I notice a hole in the ridgeline. I missed! Not only that: the E-One has halted its pursuit of the falcon-shaped ship and is now bearing down on me.
I rise quickly from the ground, lifting my aching arm again and pointing it at the enemy E-One, as it grows closer. “The worst, Honey,” I say the words and I’m knocked over again.
Someone grasps me under my shoulders and lifts me up. Trey’s sexy, masculine scent is as much around me as his arms as they go to my waist. He braces my back against his chest and his voice is calm as he says, “Try again.”
He helps me lift my arm and aim at the Alameeda death ship bearing down on us. I whisper to Trey, “The worst, Honey.”
Trey absorbs the recoil while the rotorless heli-vehicle in front of us explodes into a huge, flaming fireball. As pieces of the ship fall to the ground, shouts from the Cavars come from all angles. Trey turns so that his body is between the E-One and me as it crashes hard into the dirt, shaking the fruit from the orchard.
Trey straightens, before turning me around in his arms. He brushes the hair from my face, scanning it to assess my state of mind. I’m numb. I don’t know how I feel right now, other than scared. A loud boom severs the sky again as the falconlike ship circles back around. Bracing myself, I lift my right arm, trying to track it, but Trey grabs my wrist. “It’s a Comantre ship.”
I lower my arm, relieved that I don’t have to try to take it down. It flies overhead; its jets reverse, causing it to hover for a few moments before it descends from the sky and lands in the paddock by the stable. “Go back to the house,” Trey says softly. “I’m going to see what they want. Make ready. Our position is compromised now. We’ll have to leave within the part.”
He lets go of me; I sag a little at the loss of him. He walks toward the Comantre ship, while the belly of it opens like a gaping maw. I lose my breath when Giffen emerges down the ramp with a score or more heavily armed Comantre Syndics in his wake.
I yell to Trey, “Not friendlies!” Lifting my arm, I aim the sonic sayzer at Giffen, whispering, “The worst, Honey.”
Giffen raises his hand, redirecting the killer sound I throw at him. It ricochets off the grain silo, exploding it into a shower of confetti. Giffen retaliates, throwing energy at me so that I’m knocked down once more. I lie on the ground, dizzy and confused, trying to make my eyes focus on Inium, the moon above us, but the blue orb turns dark and fades away before my eyes.
CHAPTER 15
UNSPEAKABLE THINGS
I rouse to consciousness, feeling a tug on my hair. A large hand pulls the shorn strands of my tresses away from me. The blond mass in his palm curls and disappears. A knife passes in front of my eyes, and then disappears as the person behind me moves away. I try to lift my hands, but they’re shackled around the stiff seat back behind me. Someone has removed the sonic sayzer from my wrist, I realize, as I clench and unclench my fingers.
“Kricket,” Giffen says from his chair opposite me. We’re both sitting at the table where I’d eaten with Trey and his family only a few hours ago. “Would you like some water?” He lays his hand on his rough, five o’clock shadow, rubbing it thoughtfully over the sharp angles of his jaw. I assess his beard; it’s more in character for him now than the shaven version of him at our last meeting. His golden-brown dreadlocks are pulled back from his shoulders and secured in a ponytail. The Comantre uniform he’s wearing is all wrong. He should have swim trunks on and a volleyball in his hand so all the girlies on the beach can line up to rub sunscreen on his back.
My mouth is dry. I nod my head. “Water sounds good.” Giffen produces a canteen. Opening it, he takes a sip before setting it down on the table. He pushes it in front of me. I lean forward; my hands behind me rattle the metal shackles against the slats of the chair, causing them to clang. My eyes lift expectantly to Giffen’s, but he doesn’t move to put the canteen to my lips; he slouches back in his seat negligently.