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Where does she get the nerve to even suggest that I don’t care?
I’m so enraged that I’m paying no attention to what I’m doing. But as I bang open another door and glance inside, I freeze.
“What the…”
All my emotions leave me as I look down a flight of dimly lit stairs into a barren, concrete room. A single lightbulb spotlights a pale green Zvezdi man whose every limb is tied to the chair he sits on, and for a long moment I just stare.
Does… Tzelik have a prisoner in his house? What?
The man’s head snaps up towards me, bright green eyes wild and angry above a firmly gagged mouth, and he begins grunting and straining his hands from where they’re duct-taped to the armrests. I notice that on one of his hands, he’s missing a finger.
Should I…do something?
“Ah, Miss Martin.” One of the guards I’ve been seeing around lately pops out from the unseen side of the room. “What are you doing here?”
He comes towards the stairs, stopping at the bottom and partially blocking the bound man from view while he wipes his gray hands against a handkerchief.
“I was just…is he alright?”
“Oh, him?” He looks briefly over his shoulder as the green man begins to throw himself against his bindings and topples his chair, partially breaking the wooden frame and prompting another black-suited guard to come striding into view. “Yes, that lowlife is just fine for now. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Uh…”
One of the prisoner’s hands come free, and he rips off his gag with a snarl. “What the hell are you doing, you stupid female? Help me—” And then he’s pulled upright and punched in the face, which sends his chair toppling backwards again, breaking it entirely apart from the impact.
“Perhaps I could escort you back to the main wing of the house?” the guard offers, meticulously folding his handkerchief as the prisoner behind him stands, hefts a chair-leg, and charges at the second guard.
“No, that’s fine,” I say faintly as the two men clash dramatically in the background, one of them reaching towards a metal table filled with strange tools. “I just, um…what’s going on?”
“Nothing for you to worry about.” He slips the hanky into his breast pocket, adjusting it slightly. “We have everything under control.”
“He has a flamethrower,” I say in a disbelieving sort of deadpan, and as the room is lit up with the warm, whooshing glow of fire, a platinum embellished sleeve reaches across me and pulls the door shut, cutting off the sound of mad, cackling laughter.
I stare up at Tzelik, whose gaze flicks towards me briefly before landing back on the holo-screen hovering before him. He puts a hand against my lower back and begins to lead me away from the door.
“You are not to let her on my planet,” he says in a clipped tone. “I want her blocked from all inbound transport.”
I can see that Syeshin is on the line, but the sound on Tzelik’s device must be set to directional because the screen is tilted away from me, and although I can see the other man’s lips moving, I can’t hear a word he’s saying.
“No,” Tzelik says again, looking like he’s interrupting Syeshin mid-sentence. “She is not to come near my son, and I will not speak to her. That is my final word.” Then he taps his wrist to disconnect the transmission before his hand makes its way to my back again, and we walk on in silence.
“So, um…you’ve got a guy with a flamethrower in your basement,” I say in a detached voice.
“Yes,” Tzelik hums, and I turn my eyes up towards him.
“Should I be worried?”
“It’s just politics.”
“Does the word ‘politics’ mean something different here on Zvezden?”
He smiles faintly at me—and no, Ana, he’s not attractive when he smiles; he’s dangerous and ties men up in his basement for fun.
“Politics are the same everywhere you go.”
“Mr. Tzelik”
“Sir—”
