Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [81]
“Here,” Manathas said, offering his captive a sip.
She gulped it down greedily, coughed it out, then gulped down some more. And she would have kept on gulping if he hadn’t withdrawn the sack, concerned that she would harm herself.
“Easy,” he told her. Then he reintroduced the water.
This time, Crusher tempered her enthusiasm. Before she was done, she had taken almost all the water in the sack.
“You drank more moderately at your wedding,” Manathas said.
She looked at him, a little stronger now but still dull from her ordeal. “What…?”
He grunted. “Nothing.”
Again, he tried giving Crusher some bread. This time, he met with more success. Afterward, he took some himself-just enough to keep him going.
Then he turned his captive to one side and inspected her bonds. They were red with human blood and almost completely worn through. It was a good thing she hadn’t severed them altogether, or he might have discovered her outside in the snow instead of in the shelter of the government hall. And then he would have had to explain her demise to the praetor.
Just then, his com device bleeted at him. Removing it from his thermal suit, he retreated to the far side of the hall and said, “Manathas.”
“This is the vessel charged with taking you home,” said a voice the spy didn’t recognize, speaking in terms that wouldn’t give anything away if his transmission were intercepted. “You have cargo, as I understand it.”
Impeccable timing, Manathas thought. “That is correct. When can I expect you?”
“In six hours. Send me a signal on this frequency and I will transport you aboard. But make certain you’re at a viable location. The magnetic fields on Kevratas- “
“I know,” said the spy, wishing to keep their conversation as short as possible.
“I suppose you would. Six hours, then.” A moment later, the com link was broken.
Manathas replaced the com device in his suit. Though it had looked bad for a moment, everything was in place.
It wouldn’t be difficult to find a viable transport site; he had surreptitiously identified them all with Sela’s instruments and made a mental map of them. However, getting Crusher to one of the sites would be a different matter entirely.
After all, Sela’s men would be looking for two fugitives, one Romulan and one human. In their thermal suits, they would be difficult to miss.
So Manathas would have to sneak out and obtain some less obtrusive garments for them, a task he had been unable to carry out the first time. He shook his head as he considered the magnitude of the job-even for someone like him.
At least I won’t have to worry about more food. For the next six hours, they could subsist on what they had.
Sighing, Manathas returned to Crusher’s side. She was sleeping again, but the nourishment had brought some color back to her cheeks. In a little while, he would wake her and give her more food.
He would need her on her feet if they were going to make it to the transport site.
Beverly opened her eyes, saw the centurion’s face come into focus, and shot backward in an attempt to get away from it.
Unfortunately, her hands were still bound behind her back, and the effort ignited rings of fire around her wrists. Clenching her jaw against the pain, she glared at the Romulan.
“I guess you’re still alive,” she said, her voice thin and harsh, and not at all like the one she was used to.
“I guess you are as well,” said the centurion.
Then the doctor remembered: He had given her something to drink, hadn’t he? And something to eat. When had he done that? An hour ago? A day? She had lost all track of time.
“Get up,” he told her.
He seemed to be in a hurry. Her instincts told her to drag her feet, figuratively if not literally. “I don’t think I can.”
The centurion trained his disruptor on her face. “Then you put me in a difficult position. You see, there is a ship entering orbit at this very moment, sent here expressly