He didn't even care anymore that his body no longer functioned. His injuries hurt so much worse now. He was dying. He understood that, but he didn't even care. He welcomed it.

  More people surrounded him. He screamed when they touched him and tried to move him. That one soldier kept holding him at gunpoint the whole time--like Richmond could move well enough to put up a fight.

  The pain knocked him out again, and when he woke up the second time, he found himself lying on a bare, thin mattress on an iron bed in an otherwise empty prison cell.

  He burst out in hysterical relieved laughter. Tears even sprang to his eyes when he recognized where he was. He was in the brig of a Chronon Vanguard battleship. Thank heaven.

  He was wearing plain grey cotton shirt and pants usually reserved for hospital patients. The clothes had no decoration, Vanguard insignia, or any kind of prison number designation.

  More armed soldiers stood guard outside his cell. The cell's front wall was solid steel with one section of reinforced glass where the soldiers could look in and check on him.

  He took one look at them and gulped down emotion. They were human. Human men. He was home. He'd made it.

  The Vanguard must have given him medical treatment, but his body didn't feel any better. He must have gone through multiple surgeries. He still felt the incisions. The Vanguard didn't have the Vasyke's or the Brath's healing technology.

  Richmond had been getting off easy on Narillia all this time, but he couldn't even resent going through however many surgeries it took to fix everything that was wrong with him. He could only lie here and rest, now that he was finally safe.

  He was in the brig--and that somehow made him feel so much better. No one would send him back into combat anytime soon, if ever. He might be too broken even for that.

  The soldiers gave him quizzical looks when he made eye contact with him. Did any of them know who he was, or any of what had been happening to him all this time?

  Richmond expected Marshal Huntley to come visit him, or at least to get involved in this. Marshal Huntley must know by now that he had made it back to the Vanguard.

  Then again, maybe whichever battleship had taken him into custody was still engaged against the Brath. Maybe the officers in command of this battleship didn't have a chance to relay the news to Marshal Huntley.

  The Nephima might even have gotten destroyed in the war. Marshal Huntley might be dead. All of Richmond's friends, allies, and subordinates might be dead. He might be the only person left alive who knew what had happened on Narillia and afterward.

  The Vanguard had a policy of treating people like him as suspicious. If he couldn't corroborate his story, they would assume he was lying.

  How much information could the Vanguard recover from the warship's log records? The drive reactor explosion might have wiped them.

  The Zoth would be able to corroborate Richmond's story. The Zoth had been watching him through his entire tenure in the Necrodrome. They might even have recorded the Necrodrome broadcasts. Other faction rebels would be able to corroborate his story, too, but that would take a lot of time.

  He frankly didn't care how long it took, or even if he had to spend the rest of his natural life in the brig. He almost hoped he did. Anything would be better than facing reality right now or ever.

  He didn't get out of bed, and in a little while, the soldiers on guard held him at gunpoint, opened the cell, and some medical people came in to do an assessment on Richmond's vital signs.

  The soldiers entered the cell and held him at gunpoint through the whole assessment. He didn't move or even respond to the medical people examining him.

  They lifted his shirt to study incision sites all over his chest and stomach. Then they made him roll onto his side so they could check more incisions on his back.

  He put up with all of it until they pulled his shirt down and let him go back to his former position. The soldiers brought him some food, locked him in, and left him alone.

  He got emotional again when he saw the food. The tray wasn't flimsy metal like the ones the Vasyke had given him in the Necrodrome. This one was made of a synthetic composite with a levered top that covered the food. He couldn't see any of it just from looking at the tray.

  The soldiers left it on the floor next to his bed. He had to drag himself onto his side before he could pick up the tray.

  He didn't pick it up right away. He lay there on his side staring down at the tray.

  He had been eating out of these trays his entire adult life--ever since he'd joined the Vanguard as a teenager. He had never eaten any other food since he left his parents' house. The few months he'd spent on Narillia were the only times in his life when he hadn't eaten off these trays.

  He might have been able to ignore the sight of human men standing guard outside his cell and even holding him at gunpoint. He might have been so addled by his injuries that he hallucinated human medical personnel treating him when the Vanguard first took him into custody.

  He might even have been able to trick himself that he was still in the catacombs underneath the Palace of Sevao instead of in a Chronon Vanguard brig.

  The sight of the tray sitting on the floor confirmed it once and for all. He really was back with the Vanguard. He really, honestly hoped he never ate any other food again for the rest of his life.

  The tray made him so emotional that he couldn't eat for a long time. He had to roll onto his back and stare up at the ceiling while he struggled to process that this really was real.

  He already knew what he would find under the lid of that tray. He didn't even have to guess.

  The Vanguard used a thirty-day menu rotation. The commissary served the same food on the fifth day of the month no matter which month it was. The Vanguard officers and servicemen ate the same food on the eighteenth day of every single month all year round.

  Richmond had eaten so much of this food for so many years. He would instantly know the day of the month the minute he took the lid off that tray.

  He could rehearse in his mind the exact smell, flavor, and texture of every single one of all thirty of those meals. He didn't have to taste or even see them. Their flavors and textures remained permanently imprinted on his mind for all time. He would never be able to forget them.

  He'd blocked them out while he was on Narillia. He didn't allow himself to think he would ever come back here and see one of those trays sitting right next to him.

  He fell asleep and woke up hungry. He groaned when he rolled onto his side. He would take a long time to recover from all these surgeries. He wouldn't go back into combat. He couldn't.

  He turned onto his shoulder and tilted the lid off the tray. The food was roast beef with a side of potato salad and a stack of cooked green beans. It was the seventh day of the month.

  The food had all gone cold while he was asleep, but he really didn't care. He picked up one of the green beans, put it into his mouth, and collapsed onto his back, groaning in ecstasy when he tasted it.

  He was still chewing when the soldiers entered again, held him at gunpoint, and brought him the next day's tray.

  He already knew what that one was. It would be lamb stroganoff with a side salad and a slice of peach pie. He couldn't wait.

  One of the soldiers scowled at Richmond's uneaten tray. "Didn't you finish it yet?"

  "I'm just starting. I was asleep." Richmond glanced at the second tray. "You can leave them both. I'm hungry."

  The soldier frowned and then shrugged. He put the second tray down next to the first one and left.

  Richmond couldn't help but grin at the soldiers through the window. Seeing human beings charmed the ever-loving shit out of him. He understood their reactions and facial expressions so well. He never had to wonder what they were thinking.

  Pure affection for his own people overwhelmed him, but it also made him miss Zuna. He sure hoped she and the others had made it out and that they were all right somewhere.

  He wouldn't find that out anytime soon--not as long as the Vanguard kept him locked up here in the brig.

  CHAPTER 17

  Richmond sat up on the edge of his bed, put his feet on the floor, and rubbed his head. The Vanguard had kept his hair shaved close while he was in the brig--so that was one good thing that came out of all of this.

  He ate his breakfast off the tray next to his bed and then eased his weight onto his legs. He'd only just gotten back on his feet in the last two days after recovering in the brig for more than three weeks.

  All his surgical incisions still hurt. He could barely hobble back and forth across his cell before he sank back down on the bed in a cold sweat.

  At least he was getting his strength back. He didn't have to worry about getting reinjured as long as the Vanguard kept him in the brig.

  Richmond was beginning to get restless, though. He wished something would happen one way or the other. It shouldn't have taken the Vanguard three weeks to figure out who he was or what he was doing on the warship when he escaped the exploding Marauder.

  Even if, by some disastrous turn of events, Marshal Huntley was no longer around anymore to intercede on Richmond's behalf, the Vanguard should at least have gotten Hayes' and Leatherwood's statements by now.

  Richmond had been locked up in here long enough for the novelty to wear off. He would no longer be satisfied to spend the rest of his life in the brig, but he didn't really have a choice. He just wished the Vanguard brass would shit or get off the pot and make up their minds on what to do with him.

  It didn't take long before he had reason to question the wisdom of that attitude. He barely started to relax when the soldiers came back.

  "Stand up," one of them told us. "The brass are taking you in for questioning."

  Richmond's head shot up. "Questioning? Since when?"

  The soldier shrugged and made a face. Richmond had gotten to know all the soldiers who guarded him on a regular basis. This one was a corporal by the name of Cranston. He had a wife and triplet daughters waiting for him back home.

  "Who knows what's going through their heads?" Cranston replied. "They want to talk to you. That's all I know."

  "Who is it?" Richmond asked. "Who's doing the questioning?"

  "I have no idea. No one tells me anything. We're just supposed to take you. That's all I know." Cranston waved toward the door. "Let's go." Then he smirked at Richmond. "Don't make us have to restrain you."

  Richmond snorted. He might be able to shuffle his feet around his cell, but he was in no condition to resist anything.

  The soldiers understood that extremely well now. They didn't bother to hold him at gunpoint anymore when they came to deliver his food, or when the medical team came to give him checkups.

  He groaned when he stood up for the second time. Walking to wherever he had to get questioned would be the most physical exertion he'd accomplished since he came back to the Vanguard. He wasn't even sure he could get through that, but whatever.

  He hobbled painfully out of the cell. His other four guards stood around in relaxed postures. They all knew him well enough to know he posed no threat to them or anyone else.

  He was on friendly terms with all of them. They didn't even straighten up when he walked out of his cell. They kept leaning against the walls and didn't even hold onto their weapons to guard him.

  Richmond and Cranston headed off down the corridor. The other soldiers followed at a leisurely pace because Richmond couldn't walk fast. He couldn't even stand up straight.

  They took him to an interrogation room in another block of the brig. Richmond couldn't stop himself from looking around at everything in delight. He had never spent this much time in a battleship brig. He barely even knew what they looked like before this.

  He had never seen these interrogation rooms at all. Every detail of their position and layout gave him an inexplicable rush of pleasure. He was on a Vanguard battleship, seeing parts of the vessel he'd never seen before during all the years of his service.

  Cranston told him to sit down in a chair behind the one table in the room. The rest of the room was stark white with no other furniture.

  Cranston pretended to stand guard, but in reality, he just hovered there next to Richmond's chair. He barely paid attention to Richmond at all.

  Richmond didn't have to wait long before a youngish woman in a Vanguard uniform entered the interrogation room. She couldn't have been more than thirty years old, and her uniform insignia indicated that she was a sergeant.

  Her nametag read Edmonds. She kept her dark hair twisted into a swooping ridge on the back of her head. She looked pretty like that, but she also looked like a desk jockey.

  She actually reminded Richmond of the chirpy female voice that had first addressed him when he hailed the Nephima. He wouldn't have been at all surprised if she was the same person.

  He already knew she wasn't. Whoever that chirpy young woman had been, she had been posted on the Nephima's bridge, probably as a communications officer. The Vanguard wouldn't send someone like that to question him.

  She confirmed it when she asked her first question. She didn't have a chirpy voice at all. She had a silky, sultry, velvety voice.

  "Your medical reports indicate you're recovering from your injuries according to your medical supervisor's expectations, Captain," she began. "Do you have any complaints about your medical treatment or any other treatment you're receiving in the brig?"

  "No," he replied. "I have no complaints about it--beyond the fact that I'm even in the brig. Why am I in the brig? Doesn't the Vanguard know who I am by now?"

  "Our investigation into your actions is still ongoing. At the moment, you're listed as an enemy combatant. We'll complete our investigation and determine whether to change your status."

  Richmond snorted. "Enemy combatant? I was on my way to rendezvous with the Nephima when I got captured by the enemy. I escaped in exactly the same ship I was planning to use to rendezvous with the Nephima." He scowled at her. "Are Corporal Hayes and Sergeant Leatherwood also being treated as enemy combatants? Are they even alive and back in Vanguard custody?"

  "No, neither of them is listed as an enemy combatant. They're receiving medical treatment as well, so neither of them has returned to active duty yet."

  Richmond wilted in relief. He didn't care what happened to him after this. He didn't even care if the Vanguard treated him as an enemy combatant.

  Hayes and Leatherwood had both made it back--which meant all the rest of Richmond's friends made it, too.

  "Does the Vanguard plan to give my friends asylum the way I asked?" Richmond frowned at her again. "Where is Marshal Huntley? Why isn't he intervening in this? He was the one who gave the order for us to rendezvous with the Nephima."

  "I'll ask the questions here, Captain. You claimed in your original transmission that you were held as a captive on Narillia against your will."

  "That's right," Richmond replied. "Didn't Hayes and Leatherwood tell you all about it?"

  "I'm asking you. How did you come to get shot down on Narillia in the first place?"

  "I can't tell you that. My Splitwing got hit and I passed out. I woke up on the planet. That's all I can tell you--and Hayes was already on the planet, too. I don't know how it happened, and I don't know how Leatherwood got there, either. You'll have to ask them--but I do know that Hayes was too injured. He won't be able to tell you how he got there, either. His Splitwing was completely destroyed. He barely survived, so he must have gotten shot down the same way I did."

  "Quartano Company wasn't deployed anywhere near that planet. It shouldn't be theoretically possible that you could have crashed there, much less that all three of you could have crashed there. The only explanation is that the three of you flew there for some reason."

  Richmond made a face. "I'm sure your log data from the Durudan and our Splitwings synchronized to the rest of the Vanguard fleet. I'm sure you can trace our movements through the whole battle. You know as well as I do that neither Hayes, nor Leatherwood, nor I flew anywhere near Narillia during that battle."

  She compressed her lips, so of course she did know it. She was just trying to be a hardass for some ridiculous reason.

  "How did the Narillians keep you as a captive?" she asked.

  "The Narillians didn't keep me as a captive. It was the Vasyke. They aren't native to the planet. The native Lilri are a slave class of enforcers who carry out the Vasyke's bidding--or they did. I don't know the political situation on the planet since we escaped."

  "Kindly keep your strategic assessments to yourself, Captain, and simply answer the question. How did they keep you as a captive?"

  "They held us at gunpoint," Richmond snapped. "Is there another way? After that, we were confined until we found a way to escape."

  "You found a way to escape from captivity, but you didn't return to the Vanguard."

  Richmond gasped in exasperation and rolled his eyes to heaven. Was this interrogation really worth the minutes out of his life?

  "We escaped from captivity, but we didn't find a way to get off the planet. The Lilri and the Vasyke were hunting us--but you already knew that, because you must have already questioned Hayes, Leatherwood, and all the rest of my friends. Why am I even here? You already know what happened, and you have the log data from the warship. If you want to list me as an enemy combatant, just do it. Send me back to the brig and leave me alone. I shed enough blood for the Vanguard. I don't need to do it again here."

  Edmonds must have had the brains to sense him shutting her down. She didn't push it any further--like she didn't already know everything before she'd even walked in here.

  He knew that now. The Vanguard had all the data, evidence, and testimony they needed. Sergeant Edmonds didn't need to ask him shit. Hell, the Vanguard might already even have contacted the Narillians about it.

  He sure hoped Marshal Huntley understood enough to contact the Zoth. That would be the most ideal scenario.

  Sergeant Edmonds gave orders for Cranston and the others to take Richmond back to his cell, thank God. He collapsed and didn't get vertical again until the next day.

 

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