to keep track of her--with an eye to killing her if he got the chance.
That had never happened, and then Paxe had met Imogen, and realized he'd been wrong to try and hurt the woman he'd had in his hold. He'd been too embarrassed to tell Imogen what he'd tried to do, but moments before he died, he'd sent the information to Oris.
Bane guessed the Tecran thought Paxe had taken that secret with him when he'd been ripped to pieces. Or hoped he had. Hoped very hard.
Oris had shared what Paxe had told him with Sazo, Bane and Easi. So far, all four of them had kept it to themselves, carefully listening for any hint she'd survived, searching for information wherever they could find it.
If the information was out there, they would get it eventually.
Sazo had found a few strange reports from a research facility on the outskirts of Fa'allen that seemed promising, so Bane would start there, would get into the facility's systems when they arrived in Tecra in a day's time, and try to find her.
And in case he did track her down, he would have to decide who on the UC leadership team to trust, because he couldn't physically go down to Tecra and get her out himself. The three Grih, the military head of the Fitalian team, and one of the Bukari were currently at the top of his list, but he would choose carefully.
He would do nothing to endanger the woman more than she already was. And he would save her, if he could.
If it wasn't already too late.
And if they did have her, he would bring down the punishment they so richly deserved.
Chapter 3
Dray Helvan left the Urna's conference room alone--the first to make his escape.
He had an excuse, but it was just that, an excuse. He chose to prioritize the request sent to his comm unit from Grih Battle Center over the small talk that had broken out at the end of the meeting.
Sometimes, that's when the real business got done, during the informal chats after meetings, when people were less on their guard and every word they said wasn't being weighed.
Although Dray had a very strong feeling that every word of the small talk was being weighed and judged. He glanced to his left, out of the long transparent side of the ship, to look at Bane. The Class 5 was easily keeping pace with the Urna--in fact, they were probably slowing him down.
Something about Bane, the shape of him, or rather, the ship he inhabited--like a prickle ball from Dray's home planet of Xal--skewed Dray's thoughts. He felt a strange push and pull in his head.
He'd been raised on the notion of how dangerous thinking systems were, yet there was a fundamental Grihan connection to the Class 5s that drew him. They had been built according to the designs of the long-dead Xalian scientist, Fayir. Dray's fellow Xalian had certainly caused a lot of trouble hundreds of years after his death, but there was no going back to the way things had been.
The light jump, as the saying went, was already in motion.
Thinking systems were once again part of the UC's reality.
And that didn't sit well with some of the UC leadership team. Especially those who weren't Grihan, and didn't have the same relationship the Grih had with them.
“Dray.”
The call came from behind him, and he just resisted making a face. He hadn't gotten away as cleanly as he'd thought.
“Yes, Ambassador.” He turned smartly.
His fellow team leader was from the Grihan planet of Nastra, and she wore the flowing robes the Nastrans favored, the bright orange contrasting pleasantly with her warm brown skin and light brown hair tipped with gold.
“I told you, call me Yolandi, or I'll be forced to go back to calling you Commander.”
Dray nodded, but said nothing. He preferred Battle Center's habit of referring to people by rank, but he would have to adjust. This wasn't Battle Center.
Yolandi sighed. “I don't know what you're thinking.”
His lips quirked. “That I need to get out of my Battle Center habits. For years, my only family has been my colleagues in Battle Center, and I think I've become a little stuck in my ways. I'm not used to civilian life.”
She tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes full of sympathy. He wanted to tell her he didn't need it. The friends and colleagues he trained and fought with, his created family, were more than enough for him.
“Titles aren't