Page 164 of Pets in Space 10

Lochan hoped she was correct. The little dog had been fascinated by the tiny fish that darted about in the shallows. But they would not have any leisure until the Nightingale rescued them and the despoilers were eradicated.

As if understanding, Rogue abandoned his current quest, trotting eagerly onto the dunes. They were halfway to the pebble beach when the dog halted, turning to strain toward the woods.

Lochan’s hand found his pistol. “Would he know that tigers are predators?”

Adele frowned at her pet. “He is not worried. His ears are pricked forward, and his tail is wagging. He hears something he likes.”

A second later she paled. “Falling stars. It could be the carts.”

The little creature would associate the sound of carts with rescue. They needed cover. “Run.” He grasped her arm and started to move. Raising his voice to carry to the pair making their way to the lake, he ordered, “Get down the dunes to the beach. Lay flat.”

***

Adele curled around Rogue, trying to quiet her rasping breath.

Nearby, Samson and Lace huddled together.

Lochan was crouched beside her, pistol in hand.

The grassy bank had ended abruptly in a three-foot drop where part of the dune had fallen away.

It offered more cover than the gentle slope farther south where they had searched for the gliders.

In the distance she heard the faint hum of the carts.

Lochan’s lips grazed her ear. “They are headed to the flyer. Keep low. The shelter cannot be far.”

Every cell in her body screamed to stay huddled and hidden, but she nodded and followed, choking up on Rogue’s leash to keep him close. The soft click of the pebbles seemed to echo, but she knew it was her imagination.

She could not hear Lochan’s whispered words to Samson, but she sympathized when Lace shook her head in denial.

At Samson’s urging, Lace nodded. Once again, Samson was in the lead, but instead of Lochan following, the Nightingale security chief was at the rear where he could protect them from the greatest threat.

Her heart ached at the evidence of his valor.

He had known her for a sevenday, the two colonists, not even twelve bells.

Yet, he would do all he could to ensure their survival even at the cost of his own.

Her crush on the media hero was a pale thing compared to her increasing admiration for this remarkable man.

“Halt.”

At the hissed command, she froze. Glancing back, she saw a cart on the crest of the dune near where they had left Lochan’s glider. She pressed hard against the rough wall, hoping her dirty coverall would blend in.

With a muffled curse, Lochan slipped past her.

Samson and Lace had either not heard his order or were too frightened to obey.

At the warrior’s approach, instead of freezing, they bolted, scrabbling over the rocky surface in panic.

Shooting her gaze back to the cart, her worst imaginings became real.

It had turned in their direction and was picking up speed.

Abandoning stealth, she lengthened Rogue’s leash and chased after Lochan. “They have seen us!”

His muffled curse was inaudible, but he slowed his pace, allowing her to catch him. Grabbing her wrist, he held tight as they chased their guides to where the pebbled beach was giving way to tumbled rocks. The sound of fireburst had her crying out in shock. Lochan’s stride did not slow.

More fireburst chased them as Samson and Lace darted into the rocks, Lochan and Adele still several paces out.

The rocks became boulders. They dodged one and clambered over several others, finding themselves in a shallow canyon created by the mountain on one side and fallen rocks on another. There was no sign of Samson or Lace.

Lochan scanned the area and then pushed her into a narrow opening between two boulders. “We cannot outrun them. With the Five Warriors’ grace, they may fail to find us.”

“Can we set the beacon?”

He looked at the rock walls and shook his head. “It cannot escape these rocks.”

At her feet, Rogue gave a low whine, ears forward.

She picked him up, cuddling him quiet. Straining with her ears, she sought any sound of pursuit.

From his expression, Lochan was doing the same.

Long moments passed. Rising on her toes, she put her lips near Lochan’s ear. “How long until we know it is safe?”

He turned, his breath warm against her cheek. “We wait for dark.”

The distinctive hum of a cart echoed against the rocks.

Lochan stiffened. “There is more than one cart.”

Voices echoed on the rocks, men and a woman arguing.

He slipped an arm around her and palmed his pistol. In the dim light his expression held sorrow and resolve. “I am sorry, sweetheart. It appears, we are fated to die in battle with the despoilers.”

Fireburst hit the edge of the entrance, followed by a man’s voice. “Nightingale, come out. We will not harm you, but we will dismember your friend if you do not surrender.”

Friend? Lochan saw the question in Adele’s eyes and shook his head.

The voice came again. “Samson, let Nightingale know we are serious.”

An anguished cry echoed in the canyon. Rogue’s hackles rose with his growl.

“Nightingale? We have a use for a valuable hostage. You will not be harmed.”

Confused, she whispered, “Hostage?”

Lochan’s expression turned speculative. “They seek safe passage. Escape.”

It made sense. The despoilers knew that they did not stand a chance against the Nightingale. Their only hope was to find a means to escape the Thirteenth System. Hostages would provide leverage.

Samson screamed again, the horrible sound turning her stomach.

“This slave is of limited value, and we can make him scream for days.”

She knew the despoilers had revived the vile practice of enslavement, but it was appalling to hear it expressed so casually.

Lochan tucked the pistol into the back of his belt. “I have a plan.”

Horrified, she whispered. “You cannot surrender.”

“They could have killed us on the beach.” He slipped the satchels from his shoulder and pulled out the beacon. Raising his voice, Lochan called out, “That man is naught to me. Why should I trust you?”

He ran his fingers over the sphere until a cobalt blue light rimmed it. “The beacon is active. Wait until you are certain they are gone and set it just above the high-waterline.”

The man outside called back. “Thirst will drive you out eventually, and we have entertainment while we wait.”

This time, Samson’s cry was guttural, as if he had been struck hard.

Juggling Rogue with one arm, Adele grabbed his shoulder. “There must be another way.”

Cupping her face, he pressed his lips to hers, the contact hard and urgent. “Set the beacon. That is an order.”

He was at the entrance before she could react—and then he was gone.

***

Keeping his hands loose at his sides, Lochan walked forward.

The last remnants of the despoiler fleet were a pathetic lot: six men and a woman who did not appear much better fed than Samson.

While their well-made uniforms had endured the wilderness better than Samson’s rags, they were stained, missing fasteners, and mismatched.

Of course, the elite of the despoilers were on the combat vessels, not the freighters.

Samson was on his knees between two militia, blood seeping through a pant leg in two places. To Lochan’s surprise and relief, there was no sign of Lace.

A scrawny man a foot shorter than Lochan stood to one side, the insignia of a militia commander still visible on his collar.

Unlike the others, he was not cradling a rifle but brandishing a bloody dagger.

His lips twisted in an unpleasant smile.

“Nightingale Security Chief Lochan Rondel. That is almost as good as Raleigh himself.”

The commander gestured, and two of the other three men grabbed Lochan’s arms. He could have dropped them without trouble, but more than anything else he wanted these scum-sucking trolls far away from Adele.

The sixth male despoiler, body-searched Lochan, his technique rough and intended to humiliate.

He was also incompetent, brandishing the small pistol and overlooking the blade tucked in Lochan’s boot.

He expected to be bound, but not that the bindings would be some type of woven cord.

In their rush to abandon the freighter, it appeared that the despoilers had not thought to bring incarceration-quality restraints.

When Lochan was ready, the restraints would not last long.

Not needing to feign ire, he said “I have surrendered.”

The despoiler commander’s laugh was chilling. “But your companion has not.”

He gestured at the woman, her tattered insignia indicating lieutenant rank. The lieutenant fired at the entrance of the small boulder canyon. “Come out or Commander Lochan loses an eye.”

Troll guts. He had feared as much but hoped for better. “You promised not to harm me.”

“I lied.” The commander raised his voice. “At the count of ten, he loses the right one.”

The lieutenant began to count. At five, the commander moved closer in anticipation. Did Adele doubt the despoiler’s intent?

“Seven.”

Lochan knew a destroyed eye could be regrown, but the wound would be agonizing, and an injury would hamper escape.

“Eight.”

Adele appeared, a satchel over one shoulder, Rogue in her arms.

At the sight of the dog, the despoiler commander chortled. “They let you bring a pet?” He glanced at his militia. “Fresh meat tonight and no hunting required.”

Adele gasped and twisted to one side, setting Rogue on his feet. “Run, Rogue! Run!”

Lochan watched in wonder and admiration as the little dog raced away, appearing to fly as its paws barely touched down. That explained what delayed Adele. She had removed Rogue’s harness.