The captain's attention was drawn to a steward with a club. He was examining the area of the wall that Hailan had scraped, then reached into a cell of the lattice reinforcement. The metallic clang reached the people.
"Hughes, what are you doing?" the captain called out to him.
"The plating here seems to be peeling off a bit," the steward grunted, not stopping his work.
"We should pry it up..."
"Let's do it with four hands?" Solka suggested, quickly assessing the situation.
Approaching the steward, he bent back another piece of plastic, and peered deeper, trying to understand what he was talking about, and how best to help him.
Hughes emerged from the structure, poked the end of the pin into a barely visible gap at the seam of the metal plating sheets on the outside.
"Here. Maybe use one of the iron bars as a hammer?"
Hailan shook his head negatively:
"I don't want to make noise and attract attention. It's better to try to use a couple of people's feet to push. And the effort will be greater than just banging."
"Then let me handle this," one of the passengers chimed in.
"I won't fit through this hole anyway, and I've never complained about my strength."
A muscular man was getting up from the floor, a wrestler by his build.
"Please," Solka readily moved aside.
"Two of us," the athlete explained.
"I'll be on one side of the sheet, you on the other."
He had to stick his legs into adjacent cells – he wouldn't fit into one. Grabbing the rebar with his hands and leaning his back on the passengers who had come to help, he asked:
"Ready?"
Settling between the bars, with his feet closer to the gap, and leaning comfortably, Hailan replied:
"On the count of "three"... One, two, three."
And he straightened his legs with force.
The combined effort was such that it not only bent the plating outward but also warped the rebar. The seams of the plating cracked and creaked, but held – until someone else climbed between Hailan and the wrestler and added their five credits to the common pot.
The sheet of plating fell into the corridor, slightly more illuminated than their cell.
"Good work," Solka whispered.
After waiting a few seconds, he picked up the improvised club in his hand and cautiously peered through the gap between the sheets, first in one direction, then in the other.
The corridor was empty. But around the left turn, shots suddenly crackled.
Hesitantly, Hailan turned to the others:
"We could try to sneak there and hit them from behind, where they don't expect us. Get weapons. Are there any fighters? Any volunteers?"
"I'd go, but I won't fit through this sieve," the strongman spread his hands in dismay.
"There were a few," a guy separated from the passengers, short and flexible.
"I can risk it. It's better than waiting here to see who wins."
"Especially when you don't know if there are any good guys there at all," the steward chuckled.
"I can too."
"Then we'll move on for now," Solka replied to the strongman.
"and you can try to loosen a couple of bars here. Maybe something will come of it."
With these words, he slipped between the bars, carefully climbed into the corridor, and, waiting for the others, moved along the wall towards the turn. Quickly, but trying not to make noise. And especially not to step on anything. This corridor should be passed as quickly as possible, because they were in it, as if in plain sight.
Around the corner of the corridor, desperate gunfire erupted again. A look around the corner revealed two bodies lying on the ground and two living people, firing randomly somewhere beyond the next turn. They were no more than twenty meters away.
Peeking out and assessing the situation, Hailan raised his hand:
"Someone's pinned down here. Two of them. Completely pinned down, in the middle of the corridor. And there are already two bodies. It's too far for them, no point in rushing in with our clubs, or we'll get hit by a stray bolt. We'll wait here. If they're not idiots, they'll retreat."
The next moment, something flew out from around the corner and fell at the shooters' feet. They stopped shooting and rushed down the corridor – towards the ambush waiting for them.
"They're running. Shoot simultaneously when they appear, so they don't have time to react. If both make it, of course."
Only one reached it, as it turned out immediately after two shots fired in pursuit. He burst around the corner, his face a mask of utter terror, paying no attention to the fugitives.
"I wonder what they're so afraid of? Maybe we should be too?"
The thought flashed distantly and vanished, adding adrenaline. Haylan didn't use the club he had already raised; instead, he simply stuck out his leg.
The pirate, armed with a heavy blaster, tumbled head over heels. The short young man managed to hit him between the shoulder blades with the club, and a mournful howl echoed through the corridor. The blaster flew further away, and the steward picked it up, handing it to Haylan. Skillfully twisting the captured pirate's arm behind his back, the young man secured the prisoner and looked around.
"Do we finish him off, interrogate him, or use him?"
"We'll hold onto him for now. No time to interrogate, and no one to use him on. He might be useful later. Tie him up."
With these words and a grateful nod, Haylan snatched the blaster, checked the power cell charge, and cautiously peered around the corner.
In the corridor, a fighter in light armor was discovered. Kneeling on one knee, he had the landing aimed at him. Behind him, another was creeping along the wall – armored, but without a helmet, clearly covering his partner.
A few steps from the turn lay a corpse.
"There are two of them," Haylan quietly informed his companions, "in armor. I think we should warn them not to shoot. And someone, check the other end of the corridor. Just in case anyone shows up."
Easier said than done. Without sticking his head out, Haylan loudly announced:
"Hey, don't shoot. We were held captive here. We knocked out the one who was running away."
The steward trotted off to check the turn behind them. The young man busily tied up the prisoner with his own belt, not bothering too much with the Geneva Conventions on the treatment of prisoners of war.
"Lay down your weapons and come out one by one with your hands up," the counter turned on the external speakers, which carried his words to the hostages, "we won't touch you."
The senior behind him lowered his blaster, muzzle to the floor, listening to the voices in his headset. Where he had sent his men, positional combat was underway. So far, with no clear advantage for either side.
Haylan weighed all the pros and cons.
"Alright, we're coming out," he shouted.
Then he quietly whispered to the young man:
"I'll risk it. If anything happens, the blaster is here."
With these words, he carefully placed the blaster and club against the wall and, keeping his hands visible, stepped out from around the corner.
The young man nodded, tightened the knot, and picked up the weapon, leaning his back against the bulkhead.
Just in case, Haylan prepared for anything. First and foremost – to jump back.
"Sir, the others can't come out yet. They're busy. One is tying up a slaver, the second is guarding the far end of the corridor, just in case someone shows up."
It seemed the nightmare was continuing. A heavy, agonizing nightmare, which the sleep was saturated with under the influence of the gas. For a few moments after waking, Iris couldn't understand if the dream was continuing or not. No. In a dream, your head doesn't hurt like this. Smells aren't this vivid, disgustingly vivid. The Falienka tried to sit up. Her head was spinning, and she had to lean on her hand to keep her balance. It was good that the light was so dim – a little brighter, and this reality would be completely unbearable. Although it was already unbearable.
Iris licked her dry lips, ran her palm over her face. She was cold. She desperately wanted to drink. And standing up felt like a feat. Her thoughts moved slowly. It was hard to concentrate. But it was vitally necessary.
Iris gritted her teeth, closing her eyes with her palm, forcing herself to think. The ship. "Hunter's Gems." Pirates. Her fingers still bore the marks of the rings that had been removed. Then – an explosion, the smell of gas. Darkness and disgusting nightmares. Her fingers, covering her face, trembled.
"Think."
The room promised nothing good. Pirates. No. Not just pirates. She was here. Alone. Alive. Clearly locked up. Sleeping gas.
The simplest logical chain was forming with difficulty. It was still hard to think. She wanted to drink too much. Not just pirates. Slavers. Looking not just for jewels. Live cargo.
Iris forced herself to examine the cabin again. To listen to the sounds. The smells. To think.
She understood very well what she could do now. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She couldn't escape. There were many passengers on the "Gems." She was here alone. Either they were all held separately. Or... Or the Falienka was too valuable to leave among the others. What if the merchandise got damaged?
With an effort of will, she forced her hands to stop trembling. Claws digging into the mattress she was sitting on. She was scared. So scared, as she had never been before. Iris could imagine what might happen next. She saw no good options. Except perhaps… Perhaps she could offer a ransom for herself… Maybe that would be enough?
She needed to relax. To calm down. They shouldn't see the fear of Lady Xander. If she was still alive, it meant she had a chance to get out. There was always a chance. But you could only see it by maintaining calm and composure.
The Falienka gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stand. Her head was spinning. Her muscles ached. But she could stand. The dizziness would pass soon. And there was water here. Although, what was surprising about that? Who would benefit from ruining valuable merchandise? The icy water quickly brought her to her senses. Her head stopped spinning, her thirst no longer tormented her, and hunger was not such a big problem for a lizard that could go without food much longer than weak warm-blooded creatures.
Iris sniffed the air. Coming to her senses, it was easier to understand what was happening around her. Processed, purified air, dirt, people… Something else… Something familiar… dangerous... Chemistry... No, not just… Maybe…? It smelled like one of the common drugs. But maybe not. The smell was faint, too dirty.
Somewhere in the distance, a strange noise sounded. Iris listened intently. Gunshots? Explosions?! She felt the floor shake. What was happening here at all? Had someone attacked these slavers? Most likely – other bandits. Maybe, of course, not, but it was better to assess the situation soberly. And not to expect the situation to improve.
All that remained was to wait. Just in case – as far away from the locked door as possible. Listening and sniffing.
The distant sounds of gunfire didn't get closer. But footsteps became audible. Someone was approaching, very quickly, almost running. The footsteps died down at the door behind which Iris was locked.
Someone… alone?.. Iris listened to the footsteps. Who was there? What difference did it make?!
"Help! Let me out of here!"
A shot rang out very close, and the door flew into its frame. A tall man appeared on the threshold. His cloak hid his figure, but couldn't hide his green skin and eyes with vertical pupils.
Hissing as she inhaled, the Falien darted towards her, tearing off her cloak. The dense, heavy fabric, warm and permeated with the smell of alien scales, fell onto Iris's shoulders.
"Don't be afraid, lady. I won't hurt you."
Iris expected anyone. But not a Falien. In fact, she didn't expect the door to be opened at all – but it would have been foolish not to try. But a Falien?
"How did you…?"
But she quickly regained her composure. Composure is the main thing. We'll be surprised later. If this lizard can get her out of here – great.
"My name is Jar," the Falien looked back at the door. Judging by the sounds, someone else was running towards the cell. Two of them.
"You will be taken from here. You are safe."
Iris didn't even have time to introduce herself. Events were developing too rapidly for the not-so-recovered Falienka. But she managed to understand something – Jar was clearly in command here.
And a moment later, the floor disappeared from under her feet. Instinctively, Iris wrapped her arms around the lizard's neck, a little afraid he would drop her.
"Strong..."
And somehow suspiciously attentive to her specifically. A lot for a suddenly discovered compatriot.
"Maybe I can walk myself?" she finally asked cautiously.
"It's easy to misstep here, lady," Jar replied. "You've been lying down too long..."
"What's happening here?" the girl didn't even try to insist on her right to walk herself. What's to hide – she hadn't been carried in anyone's arms before, and she enjoyed such attention. And besides, Jar was right – she wouldn't be able to run properly here. All that remained was to hope that no one would shoot in this passage.
"Those who dared to harm you are being punished here, Lady Iris," the spiral staircase under Jar's feet began to hum.
"Me?" surprise, almost indecent for a lady, sounded in her voice.
"You," the Falien confirmed.
The staircase ended in a passage, which Jar entered with bent legs – too low for the tall lizard. Chaos reigned in the hangar, and it smelled of burning, blood, and death. A transport stood a few steps from the passage. As the Falien appeared, the ramp began to lower.
Iris was silent. She was thinking. This lizard knew her name. And the King had no daughters with a similar appearance or name… Perhaps Jar mistook her for someone else. Someone from a wealthy family. Or perhaps her family had received an unexpected inheritance. The former was more likely. She saw no other adequate reasons for such timely, but therefore only more surprising, care. This meant she had to use the situation to her advantage as much as possible. At least to get out of this terrible place.
"Thank you, Lord Jar," she hadn't yet managed to determine how noble this lizard truly was – everything was happening too quickly. But even if she guessed wrong – her address should have flattered him.
The Falien easily climbed the ramp with his burden. He did not confirm his noble status. But he did not deny it either.
"My cabin is at your disposal, lady," Jar carefully set the Falienka on her feet.
The girl swayed slightly, almost imperceptibly. Now she was in relative safety. And she would have time to look around. And, perhaps, learn more about the owner of this cabin. Every little detail would be important. To understand what was happening, and what she should do about it. For now, the lady looked bewildered, though she tried to appear confident.
"May I count on your company later? I hope you can tell me more."
"I hope so too," the lizard made a restrained bow, his head clearly indicating at least close acquaintance with the manners of high society. "Now I'll bring you something to eat, lady. I doubt you've been fed all this time..."
He turned and quickly left.
High society, of course, is wonderful. But anyone who had even the slightest connection to it knew perfectly well that compared to it, a snake pit was a quiet, peaceful, and very safe place.
And she didn't want to be a pawn in the game of a lord who hadn't fully introduced himself. Not at all… But who said this lord wouldn't be useful? The thought wasn't exactly unexpected – it just meant that Iris was starting to feel much better.
The first thing Lady Xander did after Jar had definitely gone far enough – checked if he had locked the cabin behind him.
The door was open. The corridor was empty.
Sensible. But it didn't answer the question about her situation. About her real situation. But running around the ship didn't seem sensible. Not yet. She needed to look around… And why deceive herself – to come to her senses. She really wanted to get into the water and change. Much more than to eat, and only slightly less than to find out what was happening here.
Iris wasn't going to run around the ship. But she needed to examine the cabin. Carefully, and at the same time – politely enough. She might be watched, and the owner of the room could return at any moment.
It was clean here. Very. The neatly made bed gave the impression that no one had ever slept in it. The same applied to everything else. Everything was tidy, neat… And it didn't look lived in.
There wasn't even a smell.
"This is not your cabin, Lord Jar. Either you've been on this ship for only a few hours, or you don't want to give clues to your identity..."
Iris smiled almost imperceptibly. It was so… interesting.