Then with an almost regretful sigh, Belazir decided that fate had given him a backup plan, and at the same time had punished his son's treason.
He glanced suspiciously at his joss in its niche.
Or perhaps it is some punishment for the disaster of the SSS-900-C. Karak was, after all, the last of his children still living. And it was custom to cull the children of traitors.
No, he shook his head. Not this time. I will not sacrifice all of my seed. Especially given their precious immunity to the Great Plague.
However, Karak could bravely serve the Kolnar as a sacrifice to expediency. Belazir smiled. Yes, I rather like that. He called up Kiriss at the command post on the bridge.
"Great Lord," Kiriss said, bowing his head respectfully.
"Clear and seal all corridors between the brig and the hangar until further notice. And be prepared to sterilize those areas."
"Yes, Great Lord."
"Karak will be taking a fighter and our two prisoners; let them go unmolested."
"Yes, Great Lord."
Belazir could almost feel Kiriss's curiosity, well hidden behind an impassive face. Kiriss waited for further orders.
"That is all," Belazir said and cut contact.
It wasn't quite all; Karak would contract the mind-wasting disease as surely as the Captain had, though not as quickly. That would leave the girl to pilot them to Bethel, assuming she could pilot a spacecraft. Whether she managed to get to Bethel or was lost in space to be picked up by the Central Worlds Navy or some hapless freighter, his own goal would be accomplished. The mind-wasting disease would be unleashed on the enemies of his people, revenge accomplished, and honor sustained. And it cost them very little, one fighter and a traitor already on his way to a form of living death.
It had a certain symmetry that pleased him. Then an idea struck him. It is something I can tell the scumvermin Amos. He smiled wickedly, golden eyes bright with mirth. After all, he had plentiful deposits of Karak's seed, frozen. There were Kolnari girls enough who would be eager for the prestige of bearing it.
"Your Captain Sung and the young lady have fled in one of our small craft," he said aloud, liking the sound of the words. Surely it will give him hope.
Belazir showed his teeth and threw another gobbet of meat at the plants. Their tendrils waved in the air, clicking in rhythm with his deep chuckle.
Amos lay stiffly upon a cold metal table. He struggled to move, to open his eyes, and could not. There was no light, not even the swirling patterns behind closed lids.
Anything, he thought frantically. A finger, a toe, an eyelid, something move dammit! I call upon the God!
But nothing did. His body was utterly indifferent to his commands. He could feel. The technician had proved that by plunging a needle into various sensitive areas and had seemed quite pleased by Amos's lack of response.
"Excellent, excellent," he kept murmuring, continuing his probing long after there was any possible necessity of doing so.
Amos wished that he could at least glare at the man. But he was helpless even to do that. There is no dignity in helplessness, he thought.
Now, there is a useful thought, he told himself bitterly, what a pity I can not write it down. He railed at himself for allowing things to come to this. Why did I not kill myself and take this weapon from their hands? How could I let myself live to be used like this?
He thought of heroes he had read about that chewed through their own tongues rather than betray their people. Why did I not do so, when they brought me here, when I knew what they meant to do?
Too late for such thoughts. Too late to do any good at all. Amos began to pray. That, at least, they can not take from me. The God was a loving, forgiving God.
There was a sound by his side. A rustling like that of the technicians sterile suit. He remembered the man's smooth dark face through the face-plate of the headgear, sweating slightly, his dark bronze eyes fearful. Fearful of the threat Amos represented if the suit should in any way be punctured.
If I had that probe, you pirate swine, I would puncture more than your suit!
The sound came again, closer now. Then Amos sensed something huge looming over him and cold sweat broke out on his forehead; he tried desperately to open his eyes. Feeling, at last, only the barest quiver, so slight it might have been imaginary.
After a terribly long wait that scraped away at the last remaining shreds of Amos's self-control, a cold voice said quietly:
"I have news, scumvermin."
The sweat beading his brow slid down his face and into his hair.
Belazir watched the evidence of his enemy's distress disappear slowly into Amos's thick dark hair.
He smiled, sighing sensuously. Of such little pleasures are the best memories made, he thought.
He glanced around the sterile box of a room, his eyes resting for a moment on the kneeling, shivering medtech. He wondered if it would be best to have the creature spaced after handling the scumvermin Amos.
No, he thought, that would express doubts about the efficacy of these suits. And here am I, wearing one. It was unwise to put such ideas into the heads of ambitious subordinates.
"Leave us," he said to the medtech, and waited till the creature had scurried from the room.
"Once," he said, leaning over Amos's unmoving form, "We had no need of such rooms as these. It does not please me that I am responsible for making them necessary. Or perhaps I should say we. Such rooms as these are common among the scumvermin races," Belazir continued. "But they are probably rare on Bethel."
He watched Amos with a downward quirk of his lips. For all his enemy's responsiveness, the Benisur could have been asleep. This grew tedious. Still, there was no reason to discard his plan.
He leaned close and whispered in Amos's ear.
"The little blond girl, she has rescued the Captain and has fled the ship. I knew you would wish to be informed," he said in mock sympathy. "There is no telling what might befall her, a young woman all alone with only the pathetic remnant of Captain Sung. Tsk, tsk, tsk." He watched Amos, hoping for some sign that he heard, but there was no response. Save… yes, the scumvermin's heart was accelerating slightly. "I considered pursuit, of course, but then I realized that it would be unconscionably rude to force hospitality on an unwilling guest. I do hope she will be all right."
Belazir straightened and began to walk heavily around the table, one hand trailing lightly along its edge.
"In any event, we must discuss our immediate plans for you. Soon, you will be placed in an escape pod-I thought that a particularly nice touch," Belazir said with satisfaction. "Then you will be taken aboard a ship that we have arranged to take you home. By the way, interestingly, the captain of this ship is named Joat Simeon-Hap. Ironic, is it not?"
This was useless. Belazir contemplated the paralyzed body of his enemy in disgust. Why did I not think of this before I had him prepared? He sighed. It would have been good to watch his enemy try to hide his feelings. These untrained scumvermin were so blatant in their emotions. Ah, well, it would have to be enough that he knew the Benisur had heard him, and that every word had left teeth-marks in the scumvermin's heart.