The Last Narkoy: Gathow: Book 2 by Elizabeth Price (good e books to read .txt) 📗

Alree grinned. “I missed you too.” He reached over, patting her hand. “I promise to stay out of trouble while I’m here,” he said.

Ratisha glared back at him. “Are you planning to cooperate with Sortec?” she questioned.

He nodded. “If she can keep me safe and fed, then I’ll tell her everything she needs to know. There’s no way in hell I ever want to return to the Midossier. Besides, Sidoc will kill me.”

“Good to hear,” Zion spoke up from behind Ratisha. “Makes my job far less stressful,” he mentioned.

Ratisha turned to him with a questioning gaze. “Zion?”

He motioned over to Alree. “I’m supposed to question Alree. Is he well enough?”

Ratisha crossed her arms over her chest. “Rosanheer joining you?” she questioned tensely, knowing exactly what kind of interrogator he was.

Zion grinned, feeling her anxiety. He could tell that she didn’t trust Alree, but she didn’t want to see anything happen to her old friend. “I don’t see the need… right now. He said he was going to talk willingly.”

She moved aside, allowing Zion to take her place. As he passed her, she grabbed his hand gently. “Find me after,” she requested. He agreed.

Nearly an hour later, Zion strolled into Ratisha’s lab. He cleared his throat, making his presence know. She glanced over at him through magnifying spectacles. “How’s the research going?”

She turned back to her experiment, shaking her head. “Not well. How about Alree?” she asked back.

He strolled further into the room, leaning back against one of the counters. “Decently. He’s missing a lot of information, but I can tell it isn’t entirely his fault. His mind is scrambled.”

“A little like mine?” she half-joked. Zion watched her, waiting for an explanation. Without saying anything, she lifted a section of fake brown hair, revealing a six-inch scar. “I figured you could tell. A lot of my mind was destroyed when I left Lord Wyice’s service. I have three chips in my brain to help me reconnect my thoughts.”

Zion frowned, uncertain if he wanted to ask. “Why would he do that?”

“Partly out of revenge for leaving him and partly because he didn’t want me to do,” she held up a vial of yellow liquid, “this. Patto and I didn’t exactly fall in love as I mentioned. He was part of a Rycal team who was supposed to arrest me and my co-contributors. But when he saw me, he knew I wasn’t a threat to anyone. I barely knew my own name. He smuggled me away and helped nurse me back to health. Truth told I don’t remember who I was or how to do this. But I can’t tell Sortec that, she wouldn’t believe me.”

“But… you’re a doctor. I’ve seen you heal people,” Zion pointed out.

She nodded. “That’s how I retrained my mind. Patto had medical books on his shelves, so I would read while I hid and healed. Before this,” she motioned to her scar, “I was a bio-engineer.” She turned her chair to face him. “Alree probably went through something similar, if Sidoc allowed him to leave. Sidoc is a sadistic sool and he doesn’t allow anyone to leave his service unless they’re useless or they’re dead. If he doesn’t have this same scar well--”

“What are you saying?” Zion questioned concerned.

“Alree’s probably a spy,” she stated with a grumbling sigh. “He’ll tell you what you want to know and then some. But by him just being here, he’s managed to gain far more information than he could ever provide us,” she pointed out. “Think about it. He disappeared right after arriving, didn’t he?” she mentioned.

Zion’s eyes glassed over. “Son-of-a—“ he rushed out of the lab back towards Alree’s room.

“You’re welcome,” Ratisha whispered.

TEN

Inside a dark bar, Danstu found an older Crehail man sitting at the bar, his rear end barely able to fit on the stool. In front of him sat a dusty glass. At the bottom of the glass was an inch of purple liquid. He took a seat next to the man, not saying a word. The man took another glass next to him and proceeded to pour Danstu a drink.

“I figured you’d be the only one to find the last drop of alcohol in the place,” Danstu mentioned. He downed his drink, seething from the liquid burning down his throat. “Damn! What is it, engine fuel?”

“My guess is its five-hundred-year-old cooth. Burns going down, but it does the job,” the man returned. “After a day like this, I needed something to take the edge off. Have you thought of what might have happened if the Marisheio found you?”

Danstu nodded. “They’d have to kill me if they did. They wouldn’t risk the Windrit coming after them,” Danstu mentioned. “Sortec offered me a job. I thought you might want to join me.”

“Doing what?” The man returned, speaking into his glass as he drank.

“We need people. You’re good at social development. I thought you might want to lend me a hand.”

“Social? Do I look social to you?” The man laughed so hard, he nearly spilled his drink. “I know what you’re asking, and it has nothing to do with being social,” he accused.

Danstu turned on his stool to face the door. “We’re inside a military base, armed to the teeth and splitting at the seams with ships. What we don’t have—“

“Is any sense,” he grumbled back.

“Come on, Terman. This is what you do, what you live for,” Danstu said, attempting to entice him.

Terman poured himself another shot. “How many people do you need?”

“We have a lot of space here and the Chadon wants this base filled. Find as many as you can,” Danstu answered.

Terman forced himself off his stool. “Least I could do for her saving my life, hum? I’ll see what I can dig up.”

Danstu patted his shoulder. “Good.