“—said the captain was with them. Tall bastard, black uniform?—”
“—bounty’s enough to retire on. I’m not letting some tunnel rats?—”
“—check every passage. Every alcove. No one gets through to the port?—”
A light swept past the entrance to their hiding spot. Melissa pressed herself deeper into the shadows, feeling Sarah’s trembling body beside her, hearing Wei-Lin’s controlled breathing behind her.
Don’t wake up, she thought desperately, willing Robbie to stay asleep. Please, please don’t wake up.
The light lingered. One heartbeat. Two.
Then it moved on, and the footsteps continued past them.
No one moved for another full minute, until the sound of the patrol had faded completely. Then Becsul let out a slow breath.
“That was too close. We need another route.”
“There isn’t one.” Kellan’s voice was tight with frustration. “Not unless we go back the way we came, and if they’ve got tracking animals?—”
“Then we don’t go back.” A new voice, calm and authoritative, came from somewhere in the darkness ahead.
They all tensed, but Becsul’s posture shifted—recognition, then relief. “Varn.”
An unfamiliar Cire stepped out of the shadows, tall even by Cire standards, with the lean, muscled build of a warrior and eyes that glittered with sharp intelligence.
“I heard you were causing trouble.” His smile was predatory but friendly. “Couldn’t resist coming to see for myself.”
“You should be on the outer rim. The supply mission?—”
“Is being handled by my second. I received Makram’s message and made… alternative arrangements.” His gaze swept over their group, lingering on the humans with undisguised curiosity. “So these are the females Naran has been so desperate to acquire. I can see why he’s upset.”
“Can you get us to the port?”
“I can do better than that.” Varn’s smile widened. “I can get you on a ship. I have a contact in the freight division who owes me a rather substantial favor. He’s arranged for a cargo inspection to be delayed by exactly thirty minutes. That should give you enough time to reach the secondary loading bay and board theMercy.”
“The patrol?—”
“Will be dealt with.” Varn’s tone left no room for argument. “Go. Now. Through the maintenance shaft at the end of this passage—it opens directly into the loading area. My contact will be waiting.”
Becsul clasped his arm, the same gesture he’d used with Makram. “I owe you.”
“You owe me nothing.” Varn’s expression softened, just for a moment. “You gave my brother a purpose when the plague took everything else from him. This barely begins to repay that debt.”
Another connection. Another life touched. She watched the exchange with growing wonder.
“Go,” Varn repeated. “And may your ancestors guide you to safety.”
The maintenance shaft was cramped and dark, but it opened exactly where Varn had promised—into a vast loading bay filled with cargo containers and the controlled chaos of a working spaceport.
Becsul led them through the maze of containers, moving with purpose towards a specific section where a medium-sized freighter sat waiting. TheMercy, she assumed—a battered vessel that looked like it had seen better centuries, but whose engines hummed with the steady promise of escape.
Another Cire male waited at the loading ramp, nervously checking a handheld device. He looked up as they approached, relief flooding his features.
“You’re late.”
“We were delayed.” Becsul’s voice was clipped. “Is everything prepared?”
“The cargo hold is ready. I’ve modified the life support to accommodate humans—the air will be thin but breathable.” The Cire gestured towards the ramp. “Get aboard. We need to seal up before the inspection team arrives.”
