fortuneswheel by Lisanne Norman

heavily to the deck floor.

Transferring his grip to the collar, M'ezozakk dragged the creature along the corridor to the command center.

They'd been running on emergency power till now, feeding just enough to the view screens every few hours so that they could monitor the situation around Keiss. His current predicament was unenviable, but at least he'd survived so far. Had his ship not been called away from this sector, he'd have been a sitting target when this enemy fleet had arrived.

He flung the creature on the floor at the base of his seat and turned to look at the main screen.

"Divert power to the forward scanner," he ordered. The lighting dimmed as the screen came on line, showing the Cheku and the Khalossa surrounded by their small fleet of cruisers floating starkly against the blackness of space.

"The passive scanners have shown that all is quiet for the moment, General. They sent out a patrol over an hour ago," said his first officer.

He sat down in his chair and reached forward, pulling the female up on her knees. Cupping the back of her head with his hand, he forced her to look at the screen. He pointed to the two craft. "Yours?" he asked, prodding her in the chest.

The inner nictitating lids were almost closed. She could barely see the screen.

Still holding her by the back of her head, he shook her until she finally mewled with pain and fear. Again he forced her to look at the screen and repeated his question, tightening the grip on her head and neck until he felt his talons pierce her flesh, then he eased off.

"Yours?" he demanded.

The inner lids closed and she went limp in his grasp. Disgusted, he pushed her away, letting her lie where she fell. He was sure that these ships belonged to her species, the same species whose planet he had helped destroy.

When he'd intercepted the small craft, he'd ordered it disabled so they could take captives. He'd intended to use them to add to his already strong position back home on M'Zull. He came from the ruling family— only a cousin to be sure— but his discovery of this world twelve years ago had ensured that his branch reached prominence in the Royal Court. Now he'd lost it all. The fact that he'd survived would be an embarrassment to his family. It was one they'd rectify by his murder— and call it an execution— if he didn't commit suicide as tradition demanded.

Somehow death had no appeal for him, which left him with very few options for the future. His crew would support him because his defeat was theirs and they would likewise be condemned to death. He had a plan, an audacious one worthy of the Emperor himself, if he could pull it off.

He stilled his hand, aware that he'd been tapping his claws on the armrest, an unacceptable sign of weakness. His men were twitchy enough without that. His plan was a double bluff, but first he had to hide the Holy object. He might appear to defect, but he couldn't allow his family's sacred totem to fall into the enemy's hands, and he would need to recover it before they could return to M'Zull. The captives were of no use to him now, but he knew where he could trade them for supplies, and hide the totem at the same time.

"Power up," he ordered, his mind finally made up. To wait longer was only to deny the obvious. The whole plan was fraught with danger, but this first step was the most daunting.

     
    * * *
     
    Raguul looked on in disbelief as the ship came careening out of the asteroid belt and headed for deep space, the fighters from the Khalossa instantly following.

"Where the hell did that come from?" he demanded, watching as the foremost craft fired on the intruder.

"It must have been hiding in-system since we arrived, sir," said Tactical. "Nothing could have come in since then without our noticing it. We called you when we detected its engines coming on-line."

Another hit was scored on the fleeing craft, then there was a blossom of light as it went into jump, igniting the fighter behind it.

"Gods!" swore