Chapter 7

Zardock's body ached. Sleep deprivation laced with consistent beatings and a starvation diet was beginning to take a toll on him. Today would be the day, he decided. It had to be. He wouldn't survive much longer. He didn't know if Kurr or Shara or anybody else were still alive, but the longer he remained debilitated, the more harm they fell into. It would have to be today.

The door slide open, and the human colonel named Nicole walked in. At least, Zardock thought it was her. Humans all looked alike to him. It didn't help they all wore similar body armor, nor that the vision in his eye was still blurred from the gunshot wound suffered a week ago. But the subtle curve of her chest marked her as a female. And since there were so few females at the base, he made the assumption this was his usual interrogator.

"Good morning commander. Did you sleep alright?" she mocked, taking a seat across the table. "Feel like talking today, or should we continue with our usual routine?" Drawing a small knife and removing her gloves, she began to clean her nails. It was a strange act, one this human did most constantly. He guessed it was more of a nervous habit than necessity of cleanliness.

She was brilliant with that knife. Her preferred method of torture was to drag the sharp edge along the commander's skin, applying pressure ever so slowly, until the skin was cut. It was a small amount of damage, virtually painless when done singularly. It was a method of interrogation that favored volume over a single large amputation. One scratch was nothing. A thousand, all over his body, was agonizing. What few precious moments of sleep Zardock had managed to steal away were fitful, laden with an inescapable sensation of burning on his skin.

The commander said, in his deep strained voice, "You're all going to die here."

"What?" Nicole asked, amused.

"Perhaps we could have formed a truce, but I realize know you creatures are just as cruel and sadistic as the Jiralhanae. You are brave. You throw yourselves at us in the interest of protecting your comrades. But you are too vicious to ally with us."

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"You should be flattered really. Your bases are so well hidden, I don't even know where we are now. But the Jiralhanae will be here soon."

"What are you talking about?" she repeated.

"You were a fool to leave me my suit," he said with a sly voice.

"Stop talking in riddles?" she growled.

"You are smart, human. You took my weapon and my armor, but I am smarter. There is a tracking device my skin suit. I deactivated it when I was running from the Jiralhanae, but I thought it wise to reactivate it now that I am your prisoner."

Nicole was furious. That was good. She'd do something stupid next. And sure enough, she slammed her small knife down onto the table. Excellent, Zardock would have smiled if he didn't wish to risk tipping the human fool off.

"You've killed yourself," she accused. "We die, you die. The Brutes will kill everyone here."

"Perhaps," Zardock shrugged nonchalantly. "I'd of been executed down the line. This way, we take you with us. If Shara is still alive, she may have a chance."

"You're all dead," she growled. "I'll see to that."

She was upon him in a moment. Her fingers tightly embraced the small knife, and with a blur of glinting steel, she crammed it into area of his cheek where his mandibles met. He spat a wad of blood, but he continued to laugh. "You're dead," she warned.

"Captain," Nicole breathed as she ran to Michael Coffey. Tall, well-muscled, with dark brown skin and a cleanly shaven head, he stood as the archetype of a good soldier.

"What is it Corporal?" he asked.

"We need to fortify the base," she breathed. "The Brutes are going to attack."

"Corporal, Nicole, calm down. What's happening?"

"I was interrogating the prisoner, the Spec Ops Elite. There's a tracking device in his skin suit. The Brutes are coming, this has all been a trap."

"Nicole, we've analyzed the skin suits the Elites wear. Nothing is show about a tracking device. Nothing is even metal. Its all just a tightly woven fabric, like Kevlar."

She stopped for a moment, his words taking a long time to reach the part of her brain that could comprehend what had happened. "Oh god," she realized, and in an instant she was running back to the cell. Her lungs burned, she nearly slipped on the hallway floor once or twice and broke her neck, but she continued moving. She burst into the cell, crashed into it; her sidearm was drawn and ready to execute the prisoner. But the cell was empty. Only the knife she had used to clean her nails was left, lying mockingly on the table in a pool of purple blood.

"Nicole, what's going in?" asked Coffey.

"Oh god," she whimpered. "He's escaped."