Page 50 of Alien's Challenge
“Yes, yes. Critique my appearance instead of thanking me for freeing you.” Perrigaul produced a key card and swiped it through the lock. The barrier flickered and dispersed. “Now hurry.”
“I knew you would return. Alice believed you abandoned us.” Faris gently jostled his mate’s shoulder, rousing her from sleep.
“I should have,” Perrigaul said. Then, in a quieter voice, “Why must you always insist on rescuing strays?”
“I rescued you.”
“Which shows a remarkable lack of judgment.”
“She needs me. Us,” Faris added hastily.
Perrigaul huffed. “I suppose she is not useless. She did take a baton off a guard and club him. That was amusing.”
Faris was sorry he missed that. “I saw the damage.”
Alice yawned and stretched. “Sorry, I thought the grogginess was over. Oh, he came back,” she mumbled.
“We are leaving,” Faris said, rising to his feet.
“Yes, let us hurry before one of these drones realizes that I am an imposter,” Perrigaul said. Then, in a louder voice, “On your feet. The warlord wants to see your sorry face. Now.”
Perrigaul’s tail wagged when he noticed the broken cuffs. Faris held his wrists together, as if they were still bound. Alice imitated him automatically.
His mate had such an instinct for subterfuge. Pride blossomed inside him. She was a scholar, supervised an archive, and shaped the education of young hatchlings. She was talented, curious, fearless, and, most remarkably of all, thought he was worth loving.
He imagined her at the Imperial court, adorned in finery. She had complained about complicated politics, but he knew that she would master court intrigue quickly. She’d be an arachnid, sitting in the web she spun, pulling the strings to direct the court as she saw fit.
She’d be a glorious empress.
A baton hit him on the shoulder, and not lightly. “Focus,” Perrigaul said.
“You are enjoying this,” Faris hissed.
“Very much. Now, look like you want to snatch the quills from my head. Good.” Then, in a louder voice, “March, you blight on your house.”
They marched down a corridor toward a locked door. Perrigaul’s stolen card unlocked the door. On the other side, a guard sat at a desk. Beyond that desk was the exit.
The guard frowned at a data tablet in his hands.
“The warlord requested the pleasure of their company,” Perrigaul said, pitching his voice low.
“I do not have a transfer order,” he said.
“I was unaware that the warlord needed your approval. That seems to be something worth mentioning to Davith.”
Color drained from the guard’s face. He entered a code, and the final door unlocked. “Go on through, sir.”
Perrigaul gave a crisp nod, then shoved his baton into Faris’ back. “Move.”
Outside, Faris resisted the urge to grab the baton and give Perrigaul a taste of his own treatment. Too many eyes were watching. They marched through the streets of the trading post, meandering until they ducked into a narrow alley.
Crates stacked precariously provided enough of a boost for Perrigaul to climb up a building. From the roof, he gestured to Faris to hurry up.
“I don’t have the upper body strength to do that. I couldn’t climb the rope in gym class,” Alice said.
“I will carry you.” He squatted down, intending for her to climb onto his back. “Hold on tight.”
One hand gripped his shoulder and the other arm wrapped around his throat. The pressure was not comfortable, but he could tolerate it.
