Another squad of cyborgs tried to intercept them two corridors on.
Laser bolts illuminated the dimly lit space as Malik, Vic, and Cathal returned fire.
Malik activated the cyan-shield on his wrist. The blue sphere appeared before him with a low hiss, giving Malik and his companions protection as they dove for the safety of the next passageway.
They continued on their way, sprinting now, while Malik swept his gaze left and right, counting the doorways.
Luckily, he knew the detention block well. He just never thought he’d one day be trying to escape from it.
“Faster!” Vic grunted, lengthening his stride. “They’re too close behind us … we’ll never get into the conduit in time.”
Malik clenched his jaw, pushing himself faster. Sweat trickled down between his shoulder blades. Beside him, Cathal easily kept pace. Fortunately, the clan-lord took pride in keeping himself fit; before taking his father’s place at the head of his clan, Cathal had served in the Mir-Brennan space fleet.
It was just one of the reasons Malik respected the man, and just as well—for Cathal would have slowed them down otherwise.
The circular metal door that led into the service conduit loomed ahead. Reaching it, Malik wrenched the wheel-lock left, spinning it to release the door.
And all the while, the blare of claxons pulsed through him. The floor beneath his booted feet shuddered from the advancing troops.
Malik threw the door open, and Cathal dove in, followed by Vic.
He raised his cyan-shield once more as armored figures appeared at the end of the corridor, the tall outline of a battle-droid among them. The shield was designed to hold off a rapid burst of laser, but not a sustained hammering.
It started to crackle ominously, and Malik heeded the warning.
Lowering the shield, he opened fire on the ceiling between them, bringing down a cascade of wires and chunks of rock—and filling the corridor with smoke.
He’d bought himself a few seconds, and he wouldn’t waste them.
Clambering into the conduit, he hauled the door shut after him.
“I don’t believe it.” Mican Mir-Ferrin stared down at the screen upon the tablet the battle-droid held out to him. “Isn’t that your wife?”
Tian, who’d just finished buckling a laser-pistol holster around his hips, froze. “What?”
“Jenna,” Mican answered, slowing his speech as if speaking to a half-wit. “She’s here.” He stabbed a finger at the screen, his expression stony, before grabbing it from the utility-droid and thrusting it at his son. “See for yourself.”
Pulse pounding in his ears, Tian grabbed the tablet and stared down at it.
The security camera images were grainy, but he could easily make out the small woman huddled behind a battle-droid. Dressed in black cargo pants and a tank top, her brown hair pulled back in a tight braid, Jenna looked nothing like the elegant ambassador who’d departed days earlier—yet her face was unmistakable. Isla and Beatrix crouched a few yards back from their rescuer.
And as Tian stared down at the screen, Jenna ducked out from behind the droid and fired a round of laser bolts haphazardly down the corridor. An instant later, she shouted something to her companions, and they ran, with the battle-droid loping behind them.
Tian’s gut clenched. What was a battle-droid doing helping her?
“Fuck,” he growled.
“Your wife should be dead,” the clan-lord replied, ice in his voice now.
Tian knew that tone well.
He’d pay for his mistake later.
“Well, she isn’t,” Tian replied, thrusting the tablet back at his father and striding toward the doorway of his solar. “But she soon will be.”
The clan-lord didn’t answer. However, there was a menace in his silence, one that made the skin between Tian’s shoulder blades crawl.
Bitterness filled his mouth.
