Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [70]
It was a reasonable request-one he was certain the praetor would grant. It was just a question of how long it would take for the vessel to arrive from some nearby world-one already in Kevratas’s star system, if luck was with him.
Had Tal’aura been Manathas’s only patron, he would have put the communications device away at that point. However, Eborion was waiting to hear from him as well.
Keying the device to another channel, the spy repeated some of what he had told Tal’aura: that he had wrested the doctor from Sela and hidden her where the commander wasn’t likely to find her. Then he added that he had undermined Sela’s influence with Tal’aura in accordance with Eborion’s wishes.
He refrained from discussing the Romulan variant of the plague. It was the kind of information that Eborion might let slip, and if he did, the praetor would be interested to know where the nobleman had heard it.
“I will keep you abreast of further developments,” he told Eborion. Then he did put the device away.
Earlier in his career, Manathas would have choked on the idea of serving two masters. And if one of them was the praetor of the entire Empire? He would have recoiled from the notion as from a Vobilite rock-serpent.
But not now, he thought.
It was a dangerous game he was playing, no question. More dangerous than any he had ever played before.
However, it was critical that he secure a future for himself while he was still able to do so. And that meant accepting as much as he could as often as he could, from whoever was willing to offer.
Ironic, wasn’t it? Tal’aura had hired him to keep an eye on Sela, whose loyalty-at least on the surface-was beyond reproach. But it was really Eborion whom the praetor should have hired someone to keep an eye on.
And yes, Manathas conceded, on me as well.
He wouldn’t have put it past Tal’aura to do that-to hire a second spy to look after the first. But he couldn’t let the possibility bother him, or he would lose sight of more certain challenges.
After all, it might be days before a ship arrived for Manathas and his captive. If they were to survive, they would need food and drink, and extra clothing. And Manathas had to obtain those items now-disease or no disease-before Sela’s spreading net of centurions made it too difficult.
With that in mind, he left the shelter of the doorway and set out for the nearest Kevratan supply house.
Beverly woke with her face pressed against the cold marble floor and her hands tied tightly behind her back. Her feet, she discovered, were bound as well. It seemed her centurion “friend” had found something dark, strong, and rubbery, though she couldn’t say exactly what it was.
He had done her one favor, at least. The ache in her head wasn’t as bad as it could have been, so he must have kept his disruptor impact to a minimum. I’ll have to remember to thank him, she mused.
But it would be infinitely better if she could escape before the Romulan came back, and to do that she would have to at least free her feet. Unfortunately, there was no way she could get her hands in front of her-not with her wrists so securely bound together.
Pursuing her only other option, Beverly bent her legs up behind her and reached down with her hands until she could feel her ankles. Then, though she couldn’t see any of the knots, she started digging at them with her fingers.
It was slow work under any circumstances, but the gloves she wore made it even slower. Despite the protection they offered her, she pulled them off finger by finger. Then she resumed her task.
And she reminded herself that whatever hardships she had to endure, whatever prospects she had to look forward to, they were nothing compared to the plight of the Kevrata.
There might have been a hundred thousand of them in the capital alone, all dying horrible