"Please," she begged in a ragged voice. "Let me die during the fight!"
Her throat tightened as she listened to the sounds of battle. The old walls of the shuttle creaked ominously. Blasts struck the craft and kept it rocking beneath her.
Kiara stared at the lock, tempted to try and pick it again.
But what good would it do? She could hear the popping of damaged electrical circuits in the hallway. By now, all the power to the doors had been drained and transferred to the ship's weapons and shields.
The lights went out.
Kiara sat in total darkness, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Be brave," she whispered, her voice lost among the hissing sounds outside. She was a commander's child, and she would meet death calm ly, with dignity.
After an eternity of wrecked and tormented nerves, the craft was still. The odor of burning wires and smoke filtered into her room. Kiara coughed from the smoke until her throat burned. She was still alive, though to what purpose or fate, she could only guess.
Hearing the sound of approaching feet, she tensed, but they quickly ran past her room.
The tightness of her throat loosened a tiny degree.
She seemed to have aged forty years before she heard someone else outside her door.
Her heart pounded in short staccato beats at the sizzling sound of a torch cutting through the steel.
Kiara gripped the bed frame with her left hand and clutched the remnants of her nightgown with her right. Her head was so light from her panic, she feared she might faint.
A loud pop sounded just before a large piece of the door fell in. Her stomach knotted into a cold lum p. Light from a torch traveled about the room, stopping as it illuminated her.
Despite the pain of her adjusting eyes, she tried to see beyond the light, to whoever held it, but all she saw was a large, black blob.
The blob stepped through the hole and entered her room.
Kiara tucked her legs under her so she could quickly rise to her feet if she needed to. A trickle of sweat ran down her temple. She tensed, ready to strike out with whatever resistance her battered, tired body could muster.
The overhead lights returned, burning her eyes. Kiara blinked several times and the blob turned into a soldier dressed in a black battlesuit. A dense black helmet covered his face, preventing her from seeing what race he belonged to. No insignia or flag m arked his uniform in any way.
Who was he?
She stared at him, still uncertain whether he would help her, or harm her more. Until she knew the answer, she would play docile, lulling him into thinking her harm less. And if he did intend to hurt her, she would knee him where it would do her the most good. But he didn't move closer.
To her surprise, he shut off the torch and placed it on the floor. She prepared to run.
Unaware of her intent, he unstrapped his helmet from the lines securing it to his battlesuit and removed it.
Kiara was amazed by the handsomeness of his face. His long, brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and two small, silver hoops dangled from his left earlobe. His dark eyes moved over her body, measuring her state of disarray.
When he looked back at her face, she saw pity and concern. "I'm Rachol," he said quietly in the Universal language as if coaxing a skittish gimfry. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Kiara believed him. She released her grip on the bed. Another wave of tears washed down her cheeks. She was safe!
The soldier moved toward her cautiously. "Can you understand me?"
She realized his accent was Ritadarion, an allied planet to her own. "Yes," Kiara said, trying to staunch her tears.
He removed his jacket and gently wrapped her in it. "Everything's all right, we'll take you home." He straightened and held his hand out to her.
Kiara placed her tiny, icy hand into his large, warm one. He pulled her to her feet. She took a single step, then crumpled.
In a blurred flash, he knelt beside her. "Are you okay?" his voice was warm with concern.
"I don't understand," she mumbled. "I can't walk!" Another wave of panic tore through her.
"Shh," Rachol soothed. "You're in mild shock. Little wonder after having to be near those two. Don't worry, it'll pass." His hand gripped his ribs as he swept her with a measuring gaze. "I can't carry you," he said after a minute. "I've got a wound healing in my side and if I pick you up, I'll open it."
He lifted her chin until she stared into his kind, dark brown eyes. "Do you trust me?"
For some unknown reason, she did. "Yes."
He nodded and smiled. "I'm going to ask a friend to carry you back to our ship. Promise me you won't faint when he gets here."
Kiara frowned at his words, wondering why he felt it necessary to ask for such a promise. "I don't faint."
Rachol gave her a skeptical look, then pulled out a hand-held communicator from his belt. "Nemesis, I need assistance."
Kiara's blood fled her face. "Nemesis!" she shrieked, pushing herself away from Rachol.