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Amig froze and stared. So did Nil. Irene gaped at Sherv, then quickly assumed a bland countenance. He was playing his last card in an attempt to keep her safe. She wondered if it had any hope of working. She doubted it, but until there was no hope, she’d play along.
The captain recovered quickly. “Your clan’s Matara? Don’t make me laugh, Sherv. Go on, Weapons Commander.”
“You better check, Nil. Just as you should have before attacking my lifebringer on the Beonid station. You made huge mistake terrorizing her. I intend you pay for it.”
Sherv’s commanding tone was equal to Nil’s. It gave Irene a shiver.
Amig snarled as he pulled a handheld from his belt pouch and began tapping on it. “It’ll take me ten seconds to check the registration, you know. The only thing this delay is doing is pissing me off, and I’m not a man you want to piss off.”
“Neither am I.” Sherv’s rasp had become a growl. “Well? What does it say?”
“It says—” Amig broke off, his scowl fading into shock. He stared at his readout.
“Weapons Commander?” Nil glanced at him. “Amig?”
“Irene Jonson, registered as the Matara to Clan Sherv. According to Records, they were clanned while they were still on the Beonid station.”
Jemi uttered a funny sort of squeak. Rusp peered at Sherv again, his face stunned for an instant before he wiped it of all emotion. Sherv continued to glare at Nil, his expression saying he was livid, but there was a stiffness that didn’t quite match his fury.
“Impossible. It must be some sort of trick,” Nil spluttered.
“You can’t fake the clanning registry.” Amig continued to tap violently on his device. “Unless they paid off an official, and theselusgo osikcouldn’t afford to do so.”
“No, but they might have ties to someone who could call in a favor.” Nil’s gaze shot to Rusp, who’d forced wrath onto his features. His eyes kept darting toward Sherv.
“Two days after Clan Sherv showed up on the station, they registered their union with Matara Irene, according to this. As far as the empire’s concerned, theywereclanned when we attempted to collect her.”
What was happening slowly dawned on Irene. Sherv wasn’t merely pretending to have clanned her. Somehow, he’d done so without her knowing. He’d registered as his Matara, and the Kalquorian Empire believed it an official union. It was in the heated glares Nil and Amig exchanged, in the stiff set of Sherv’s posture. In Jemi’s stunned disbelief and the minute tremble in Rusp’s frame.
Nil’s outrage returned to Sherv. “I have no idea how High Commander Ezrob pulled this off, but it won’t stick. Your clan doesn’t rate a Matara. You’ll be forced to de-clan her so a clan of superior rank can claim her.”
Sherv shrugged. “They welcome to try. We clanned before the empire went on insane kidnap spree. Whatever your orders, they don’t apply to us. She’s Matara Irene of Clan Sherv. That’s all.”
That’s all.A scream welled in Irene’s throat.What have you done, Sherv?
“It isn’t all. I refuse to release you. You’re staying on this ship, we’re taking you to Kalquor, and the courts will figure it out. Amig, escort this bunch to quarters. If they give you trouble, toss them in the brig.” Nil glared at Irene. He spit words like bullets. “Friends of yours from the opera asked me to give you a message if I found you. Maybe it’ll convince you to do the right thing. You’ll find it waiting on the room com when you get there.”
He wheeled around, and the Nobeks of the security detail jumped out of his path as he left.
As soon as Irene and Clan Sherv were in the cabin they’d been assigned, Amig said, “The door will be locked and guards posted. Don’t try to leave. Only Irene may walk freely on the ship, but she requires a guard to do so.” He stepped out, and the door hissed closed.
Lorj, Taru, and Anez had already been ushered into quarters they’d have to share after being given the same instructions. Irene supposed it beat being thrown in the brig, but they were still prisoners.
The room was cramped, most of it full of a sleeping mat. There was a small bathroom through the doorway. A table that was more of a thin ledge was attached to the wall. A com unit sat on it, its yellow light blinking.
Down to the four of them, Sherv’s haughty expression failed. He stood close to Irene, though he didn’t touch her. “Irene, I can explain—”
She pushed past him, refusing to speak. She sat on the edge of the bed before the table ledge. She pressed the blinking button. An electronic male voice spoke in Kalquorian.
“It says for you to identify yourself for the message.” Rusp was quiet and cautious.
“Irene Jonson.”
A small vid bloomed: Fausto’s and Valentina’s worried faces, frozen and gazing at her. Or rather, at the device they’d recorded on, which made it appear as if they looked at her. Irene swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.
“Play the message.”
Apparently, the com understood English. Fausto and Valentina blinked and moved.
