who’d broken up the fight was almost worth the trouble Tukui was in.
Almost.
“Navigator Tukui. Technician Zevs. Thank you for leaving me plenty of skin to flay. My office. Now.”
Though what was coming was nothing Tukui wanted to rush, delay would land him in more trouble. He was on his feet and moving toward the dreaded punishment as fast as he could, with Zevs at his side. The two Dramoks glared at each other the whole while, though they stayed silent. They didn’t dare speak with the weapons commander on their heels, primed to tear them limb from limb.
Which he might do anyhow.
Less than five minutes later, Tukui stood in the waiting area outside Lidon’s office, wincing at the muffled sounds of pain coming from behind the closed door. He felt no sympathy for Zevs. All his pity was for himself, waiting his turn for a disciplinary beating.
He’d hoped to go first. Waiting and listening to what was to come made it worse. Fighting on board a spyship, a craft dedicated to the dangerous task of infiltrating enemy territory, was only a notch below the crime of insubordination. The crew had to be a cohesive unit, as any instant of faltering could prove deadly. The penalty for physical dispute among the vessel’s men was harsh, as Zevs’ growing yells attested.
At least the punishment took place in somewhat private circumstances. As much of a hardass as the weapons commander was, no one would see Tukui clinging to the pole while dancing under the strikes of Lidon’s stick. It would still be humiliating, however. In the long run, that embarrassment hurt more than the beating itself.
Not a lot more, though. The weapons commander was well-accomplished in physical discipline.
The disgrace—ancestors, he hated to confront it. Tukui shrunk inside, imagining the withering looks he’d get from Captain Tranis. And then there would be Osopa and Yorso to explain to—
Tukui groaned and tried to block out Zevs’ worsening cries.
It seemed ages later when the other Dramok staggered out, flushed and gasping for breath. He stumbled to the corridor without looking at Tukui.
“Navigator Tukui.” The deep, growling voice called him to his doom.
Tukui drew himself up straight. Lidon would add strikes for shrinking from his sentence. Since the young Dramok’s only goal was to yell less than Zevs, he needed every advantage in his favor.
He marched in and faced Lidon, blinking in the glare of the too-bright lighting. No doubt the excessive illumination was for his benefit, adding to the discomfort of the next few minutes. It seemed hot in the office too, but that could have been from nerves. He didn’t let his gaze stray to the pole in the corner, where he’d soon stand gripping the leather straps. Where he’d howl as blow after blow landed on his ass and thighs. Nor did he dare glance at the thin whipping stick on the weapons commander’s desk. It was impossible to ignore the stink of Zevs’ sweat, however. Whether it was from fear or pain made no difference. Tukui’s would join it soon.
He bowed to his superior officer and rose again, once more meeting the tough bastard’s gaze. The smirk the older man wore brought a tremble to his legs. It was the look of a man who enjoyed his job. Or was looking forward to releasing a little more pent-up frustration.
Lidon had plenty to be frustrated over. The rumors had been flying thick and fast in the corridor during Tukui’s interrupted walk from Medical to the bridge. Security was still searching the convent for the white-haired Cassidy Hamilton, the captured general’s granddaughter. And the rumors whispered in the corridors said the general wasn’t giving up the information Lidon wanted.
It meant Zevs had gotten the warmup. Tukui would be the main event. Lidon’s first statement bore that suspicion out.
“Zevs says you swung first.”
Ignoring the worsening tremor in his legs, Tukui answered in as steady a voice as he could manage. “That’s true, Weapons Commander.”
“I suppose you had reason?”
“None that would interest you, Weapons Commander.” The question had been a trap. Lidon despised excuses. He’d go harder with discipline if Tukui offered any.
Just get this over with, you terrifying son of a bitch.
“How is your Matara settling in?”
The question surprised him so greatly that his careful control dissipated in an instant. Tukui deflated, his shoulders sagging as he thought of Tina the night before. He could see her as clearly as if she stood before him. The dark circles under her eyes had damned near been inky,