Alien Paladin's Redemption - Mina Carter Page 0,4

Indra’s clothing as they turned and made their way out of the hall. “I don’t suppose I could get you to change? We have an important arrival today, and Danaar would like us on hand to greet him.”

Indra looked down at her clothing. It was nothing special, a ship suit she’d acquired from the mercenary ship that had rescued them from the prison planet of Mirax Ruas, knotted around her waist, a skinny-fit wifebeater vest, and heavy boots. Practical. Comfortable. She felt like herself, not some primped-up popinjay, which she would if they tried to force her into a getup like Madison’s. Hell, she mused, eyeing the instruments of torture strapped to her friend’s feet. She’d break her neck if she ever tried to walk in anything like that.

“Yeah... no,” she replied, amused as Mads rolled her eyes. “You already knew the answer, so why’d you ask?”

“Because I live in hope, obviously.” The taller woman chuckled as she led the way down the corridor.

Indra recognized the route. They were headed toward the command sector of the ship, which made sense if they were about to have an important guest.

Why she was invited, she had no idea, but since Madison could have left her high and dry back on Mirax Ruas and hadn’t, she didn’t argue. She’d be forever grateful to have such a friend. Not that anyone would ever have thought they’d become friends. In what reality would a high-ranking politician and a ganger ever have met, never mind form such a bond?

“So, who’s the bigwig?” she asked, the two women drawing to the side as a group of warriors marched by in formation. The corridor was large enough that no one had to stop and wait for anyone else to pass, something that still amazed her.

But then, this was only Indra’s second alien spaceship. She’d seen murderous rock worms and survived a death sentence, so alien spaceships? No big deal. The first one she’d been on, the Sprite, had been a little more like human ships, all cramped corridors and exposed pipework. But the Izal’vias was something else entirely. It was more like a huge futuristic cathedral with its sparkling white corridors and high-vaulted ceilings… if the priests wore leather and were as hot as hell.

“His name is Nyek S’Vaan,” Madison replied as they reached the command deck. The two guards at the door nodded and stepped aside to let them through. “He’s going to be Danaar’s second in command. And believe me, my husband is pissed about it.”

2

The Izal’vias was a war cruiser. Not the biggest in the imperial fleet’s line but plenty bigger than the garrison aboard a civilian freighter. Nyek’s eyes widened as he approached, hands confidently perched on the console of the aged flyer that was all D’Rek would offer him to report to his next assignment.

The thing was hardly space-worthy but then his former CO wouldn’t lose sleep over it if the flyer suffered a catastrophic systems failure and he died en route to his new ship. He was just glad to get Nyek off his ship and for him to become someone else’s problem.

Besides, from their last conversation, it was obvious he was assuming Nyek had been recalled to face punishment for something. His wrists tensed, the scars there pulling slightly. He’d paid for his past sins, real and imagined, publicly. Liaanas herself had granted him mercy and the right to live.

But... this was an empire. If the emperor himself decided he was no longer worthy, for whatever reason, his braids would be stripped from him and he would be dishonored. Was that what this was? Was he being dishonored even after undertaking the trial of Vesh? The unholy glee in D’Rek’s eyes as he gave Nyek his new orders indicated he thought it was. Or he hoped it was. Probably the only regret the male had was that he was not the one to perform it. Not for want of trying either. In the two years Nyek had been assigned to the Tev’tolath, D’Rek had studied his behavior and actions like a Kinerys hawk, looking for any reason he could dishonor him.

Nyek had made sure never to give him one. His conduct had always been exemplary, as if he served in the imperial court itself.

The console in front of him flashed with an incoming communication. Long fingers swift, he acknowledged the message and approach vector, adding a small message back that his audio systems were nonoperational. Another parting gift from D’Rek. No