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The lovely reporter ignored them for a change. Her goal seemed to consist of escaping the General Assembly building as fast as possible. Her impish, heart-shaped face was set, her gaze pointed toward the exit.
She reached the outdoors and fairly ran down the steps. Barely two minutes later, she was at the visitors’ stretch of shuttle pads. She was soon boarding her small vessel, and Selt entered it behind her.
No sooner had the hatch closed, lending her what she believed to be utter privacy, when she burst into tears.
“Ah, fuck. Please don’t,” Selt groaned.
“Sorry shithead-asshole-motherfucker!” she screamed at no one. “Lousy fuckwad!”
At least she was crying from anger and not because her feelings had been hurt. It made it less painful to watch. Selt settled in a seat behind the pilot’s chair and gazed at her as she bawled and vented an impressive array of curse words.
He wondered if it was too late to beg Admiral Piras to allow him to return to the spyship duty he’d left to take the job on Earth.
It wasn’t that his current work was overwhelmingly personal. He had opportunities he’d enjoyed little of on board a fleet craft. On Earth, he could see his opponents up close. Could confront them. Interrogate them. Hurt them, if they deserved it, as the bastards who’d attempted to kill the governor and bomb the orbiting space station had. His enemies were no longer faceless foes he was forced to attack from a safe distance, like a pathetic coward.
His clanmates Deram and Hadlez still served on the spyship Selt had been transferred from. They’d recently been in danger, which had him second-guessing his decision to accept his current assignment without debate. He belonged at their sides, guarding them no matter how worthless he’d begun feeling his previous duty had been. If he couldn’t keep them safe, then he was fine dying trying to.
His current task wasn’t helping matters. Watching his subject be treated like shit on a regular basis, often merely because she was a woman, drained his soul. Seeing her cry, even only as a release from the terrific fury he’d learned she was capable of, strained him to the breaking point.
Blythe was an assignment, nothing more. Nonetheless, a throb of protectiveness tempted Selt to storm to Mitchell’s office and slap some decency in him. Standing by while she was insulted to the point of tears had him feeling useless again.
“Sometimes I hate this job,” Blythe snarled as she stopped crying. She took out her handheld and had it bring up a holo-mirror to check her makeup.
“Me too,” Selt said.
* * * *
Kalquor
Degorsk smiled at the young man seated on a bench in the garden area of the fleet psychiatric hospital. Unsurprisingly, Dramok Ilid failed to smile back. His morose expression was a cloud among the spring greenery.
Degorsk bowed. “Ensign Ilid, I’m Dr. Degorsk, the psychiatrist assigned to your case. It’s a privilege to meet you.”
Ilid blinked at him. “A privilege?”
Degorsk detected the first of what was no doubt numerous issues following the hell Ilid had been through. “I’ve reviewed the story of your bravery in escaping and warning the empire about the Darks. You faced incredible odds. May I?” He motioned to the part of the bench left unoccupied.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Belatedly, Ilid stood and bowed. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
“The pleasure is mine. Please, you don’t have to stand or call me sir. I’m an on-call consultant, no longer an official part of the fleet.” Degorsk settled next to him.
“Did you serve on a spyship? Or just here, putting broken men together again?”
Broken men.Issue number two. “I was part of a couple of destroyer crews as a medical doctor. I ended my career on a spyship, so I’ve had some experience similar to yours where such assignments are concerned.”
“Did you know a Dr. Umen?”
Ilid named the doctor from his former duty vessel. According to the report the young man had submitted, Umen been overcome by a Dark rider. Under its influence, he’d performed horrific experiments on Ilid and others.
“I wasn’t acquainted with him. I hope the fact I once held the same rank won’t disturb you.”
Ilid gazed at him. The Dramok’s face was young and vulnerable. Degorsk wondered if he’d looked so childlike and lost before his shipmates had been attacked or if his experiences had sapped the strength from him.
“You don’t look like him. You don’t talk like him either. I guess I’ll be okay around you.”
“I hope so. I want to help you.”
“You mean you’re ordered to help me.”
