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“Stomping on the heels of a fuss . . .” Brien said to himself, but loud enough to confuse the others who heard him.

They all looked oddly at him. He caught their eyes.

“It’s from an old song my mother used to sing to me. ‘Hold no court, know no rust, just stomp, stomp, stomp, on the heels of a fuss.’ ”

“What’s it mean?” Dasc asked.

“It means I think we might have chance to get out of here.”

THE NEXT morning Ceretus woke with nothing but challenging Parabum on his mind. The one thing that this awful predicament provided him was the discontent of some of his fellow Brutes. While Parabum and his cronies felt like they had finally achieved a kingdom on this planet, a few of the others truly longed for home and were getting impatient with Parabum’s excuses for not departing. He knew this retreat would be met with severe punishment from the Covenant, most likely sentences of death when presented to the tribunal. As soon as they powered up the Valorous Salvation, they would be discovered, hunted, and destroyed. He needed witnesses and allies to expose Parabum’s and his captains’ treachery and blasphemy.

The young naive Hammadus was the only one here strong enough to defeat Parabum in a challenge, but it would take a lot to push him to attack, even in the wake of the Chieftain’s shameful treatment of him. He followed the chain of command to a fault, betraying himself with his own fear constantly. But Ceretus thought of one powerful tool to fire him up: Hammadus’s brother and best friend, Facius. He was older, more assured, and could control his emotions a bit better. The two were inseparable, and though he did not like the idea of using a devout Jiralhanae like Facius as a means to an end, it was the only hope he had.

He walked over to the two who were once again eyeing the remaining captives.

“Not many of them left, my brothers, none with meat to savor, except for the new one.” Ceretus said.

“Chieftain was out of line last night. Hammadus was merely excited to entertain him with a great hunt.” Facius stated the obvious.

“He will use any attempt he can to dig into our fear. We need to leave this place, return home. The Chieftain is disgracing us in the eyes of the gods with his cowardice.” Ceretus appealed to their honor as best as he could.

“But he is Chieftain, what can we do?” Hammadus pleaded, excreting fear again.

“He’s no real Chieftain. He’s a barbarian who would surely choose to stay here forever rather than suffer the shame the San ’Shyuum will inflict on him. Shame he deserves, and we’ll deserve it, too, if we don’t stop him. He’s a faithless savage, just like his bloodline has proven to be in the past.”

“What do you suggest, Captain?” By his tone, Facius suspected he was leading him into something.

“My clan has been at odds with Parabum’s long before the great civil war. I’m surprised I survived last night. And any subordination from me will surely be met with a deathblow. I think you, Facius, should make a request on behalf of the pack. Your two clans have much more in common with one another. He may listen to a cousin like yourself if the argument is presented properly. I have been thinking all night on the matter, and perhaps this could work . . . Suggest to him that we reboard the Valorous Salvation and stow him away, as if he were killed in combat. Perhaps suggest yourself to act as Chieftain. We throw ourselves on the mercy of the Prophets, blame faulty coordinates, mutiny, anything that we decide is feasible . . . and if they don’t hunt us down and blast us out of the sky, we set coordinates for Warial; it is the farthest-flung of our colonies. There we attempt to assimilate, asking the gods for forgiveness and serving them entirely. It’s our only hope, other than dying slowly here with the gods’ backs to us.”

Ceretus watched the eyes of Facius and Hammadus as they assessed the idea, exchanged glances. Ceretus knew that neither of them was very smart, but they were among the most devout in this pack