D’Nesh was still sullen, but her expression grew chastened. “You’re right, sister. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Navaar’s eyes shifted to Zankor. “No. It won’t.” She gestured to an Orion male whom Garos recognized as Parrec-Sut. The tall, wiry Orion came up to Zankor and seized her from behind.
“What? What are you doing?” Zankor cried.
“I’m so sorry, Eldi,” Navaar said, reaching out and stroking her shoulder. “I do believe you sincerely meant to prove your worth to us, and I cherish your devotion. Unfortunately,” she went on with a coquettish frown, “the Federation now knows your syndicate was behind the shooting at Babel. That will lead back to you, Eldi. And it’s very important that we make sure the trail ends with you.”
“No.” Zankor gasped as she realized what was about to happen. She screamed and struggled as Parrec-Sut bodily removed her from the suite. Navaar gazed on with a mix of sympathy and grave disappointment. D’Nesh looked away, her features bitter and embarrassed. Maras giggled and clapped; she tended to find violence funny.
In this case, at least, Garos could agree. He smiled broadly as he contemplated what state Zankor’s remains would be found in—if they were ever found at all.
“That is such a shame,” Navaar sighed once the screams subsided. “This alliance was going so well, and now we have to sacrifice one of our major players, along with her entire network. Those resources and connections will be hard to replace.” She ran a hand through her hair. “And all because that gisjacheh Mazarite wanted to show up Jofirek. We’re supposed to be working together, not bickering and challenging each other.”
“You’re right,” D’Nesh conceded. She reached out a hand and brushed Navaar’s wrist. “I guess . . . this means we have to work all the harder to hold on to Rigel. Help Garos . . . so we all win.”
Navaar’s expression slowly warmed into a smile, and she clasped her sister’s hand gratefully. “Thank you, love. Yes. That’s exactly what we need.” Her piercing dark eyes turned back toward the visual pickup. “Garos, you have our full support from now on. You remain our most important ally.”
Garos granted her a courtly nod. “Thank you, Navaar. I appreciate it. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . . I have some damage control of my own to handle.”
“Of course.”
The screen went dark . . . and Garos growled under his breath, praying for the time when Raldul would be strong enough that he no longer needed to indulge those ludicrous green females and their childish seduction games.
He had to search the console for the intercom control. He really should remember its location by now, but the design was that confusing. “Bring in the prisoner, please.”
Garos rose to meet the human female as a pair of the Thamnos’ guards led her in, her wrists bound in front of her. “Welcome, Lieutenant Valeria Williams,” he said, spreading his arms graciously. The Starfleet officer didn’t seem to be in much of a condition to appreciate the gesture, though. She was bruised from the beatings that the Corthocs had futilely used to attempt to elicit more from her than her name, rank, and serial number, and she had been stripped to the flimsy cotton undergarment of a Zami female servant. He supposed her captors might find this alluring, for her mammalian attributes were not unlike those of the Three Sisters in their curvature and prominence, although the underlying physique was more tautly muscular. “I trust,” he said, “that your time in the Corthocs’ custody was not . . . excessively invasive.”
Her eyes blazed defiantly. “I taught them to keep their hands to themselves.”
“An impressive achievement, given the Corthocs’ appetites. I guarantee, however, that it would not have lasted. Sexual abuse is one of their favorite forms of domination.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Yes, and nobly attempted to intervene, so I gather. I applaud the effort—oh, rest assured, in case you were wondering, I am entirely indifferent to mammalian charms. Although that does not mean my own interrogation methods will be particularly agreeable.”
But Williams’s gaze had sharpened at the previous sentence. “The dancing lizard.”
“Excuse me?”
“And how are things in the Raldul alignment lately? Do I have the pleasure of addressing Dular Garos himself?”
Garos beamed. “Ahh, how refreshing—another intelligent female to talk to! If, perhaps, somewhat rude.” He gestured to one of the guards, who forced the woman into a seat and strapped her to it with a leather band around her waist. “I think you could stand a lesson in humility.”