Captive - Cheryl Brooks Page 0,72

happened and Klara was forced to be Pelarus’s wife or concubine, she would never conceive his child. Only a Zetithian man could impregnate a Zetithian woman, which was why there had never been a bounty placed on any surviving females after their planet was obliterated. They might live out their lives, but because they would never reproduce there was no incentive for bounty hunters to seek them out.

Okay, then. On to Plan B—with a few modifications.

Their plans had always included a fight in the arena, but without contact with other prisoners, there could be no cooperation. He would therefore be forced to kill—or at least severely incapacitate—his opponents.

His mother had killed countless Nedwuts before Rutger Grekkor’s death put an end to the bounty on Zetithians. She was good at it, but she’d only done it to protect her husband, her children, and their Zetithian friends. Moe, on the other hand, had never killed anyone, and having to kill prisoners who were probably no more deserving of death than he was himself was abhorrent to him. Any powers of persuasion he possessed would count for nothing in the heat of battle. He wasn’t even sure that pretending to die would keep them from further harm. For all he knew, the bodies of the slain might be fed to the lions or whatever foul beasts this cursed planet might harbor. Or worse, processed into food for an unsuspecting public. Whatever their fate, he suspected it would be far better going into it dead than alive.

He gave a moment’s thought to escape, but soon realized that escape was unlikely. His cell didn’t even have a door or a slot for food. At least, none that were readily apparent. There was only a small hole in the floor, which was presumably the toilet. Even if he’d been inclined to use that route to escape, he wouldn’t have fit through the opening. His hands were unbound, which meant that using them would serve no purpose.

Still, there had to be a door. How else could they have gotten him in there? Plus, it wasn’t completely dark. Even though he could see quite well without it, light was getting in somehow. He started in one corner, carefully feeling the wall as he moved around the small space. His fingers eventually found a tiny crevice in the stone, barely wide enough to admit a fingernail, and another about a meter to the left. It had to be a door, but whoever had cut that rock to fit had been one damn fine craftsman. He leaned against the door, pushing with all his might. However, after two tries, he stopped, saving his strength for less futile endeavors.

A closer inspection of his “toilet” revealed the light source: some sort of bioluminescent algae grew there.

I’m all alone with a bunch of microbes.

What would happen if he shouted?

The answer wasn’t nearly as helpful as he’d hoped. Nothing beyond the echoes of his own voice came back to him.

At last, he decided there was nothing for him to do except sleep.

And plan.

Escaping from these guys wouldn’t be nearly as easy as freeing himself from Klara’s makeshift holding cell. This one had been designed by a master, effectively nullifying his inherent resourcefulness and speed. Unless, of course, someone ever actually opened the door. His speed had served him well enough in similar situations before. Unfortunately, he had a feeling he might have been left there to rot.

But why mess up a perfectly good cell with a dead body? Why not kill him and dump his body in the Barrens? Clearly, someone had plans for him.

Had Yirland put up the posters they’d made? If so, had anyone actually seen them before they could be ripped down by Pelarus’s henchmen? And if Pelarus had seen them, would he take the bait?

Of course he won’t. If he captured me, he also got Klara. With the “prize” already in his possession, there would be no need to fight for her.

Shit.

Pelarus would probably make Klara watch while Moe was tortured to death. On that cheery thought, he pounded on the door again. And shouted. And cursed.

Nobody answered.

Nobody came.

Trembling with rage, Klara glared at the smug countenance of her nemesis. “What have you done with my friends?”

Pelarus sat perfectly relaxed behind his huge, ridiculously ornate desk. Klara couldn’t help wondering how much slave labor had gone into the making of that and the other articles of furniture adorning the room, each one more ostentatious than the last. “They are currently