Between

Chapter Twenty-Three

Holding Deck aboard the Corzean Research Liner, CRL Lorskoto, Extreme Northwestern Corzean Sea

J'taka practically leapt from the cot when the heavy cell door clanged open. The guards dragged the woman through the opening and deposited her unceremoniously upon the cold metal floor. One of them gave her a swift kick to the midsection and she sputtered helplessly, droplets of crimson spewing onto the floor and dribbling down her lower lip.

"Maybe next time you'll be a little more forthcoming when we ask you questions, bitch."

J'taka didn't understand the meaning behind all the words, but he could discern from the tone of voice that the final word had been derogatory in nature. As they laughed to themselves and disappeared, J'taka dropped to his knees and studied the woman as she sat back on her rear end and folded her legs to one side.

She had been removed of her previous garb, dressed instead now in the same bland green uniform he wore. A passing anger swept through him as he wondered whether she had changed clothing on her own or whether they had violated her dignity by changing them for her or forcing her to do so in their presence. The Kinnarr bore feathers over much of their bodies, and what wasn't covered with feathers was covered instead with scales. For the most part J'taka's kind was content to travel with naught but armor upon their figures. Humans, as he understood them—females in particular—had a tendency to safeguard their unclothed bodies from the view of all but their intimate partners. In some cases, even the touch of an unfamiliar human would be taken as a personal attack. It troubled the Kinnarr so much so that he wondered if he should bother helping to move the woman from where she sat.

He took in the sight of drying blood and a number of dark bruises lining both of her arms, as well as the red stains in the center of her back where he suspected she had been struck with one of the horrible electric prods. Though he himself had been dealt a fair number of strikes, he had never been made to bleed from them.

The woman doubled over again and wretched, but nothing came up save for a few more strings of blood. Afterwards she spent a few seconds coughing, and promptly broke into a series of crackling sobs.

The Kinnarr, pained by his empathy for the human, clicked his beak quietly.

"I thought I was stronger than that," she whispered, still coughing. Her head shook from side to side and her body quaked. "I thought I could handle it."

The Kinnarr fixed her with one green eye.

"You are still alive," he observed, tilting his head and lifting his crest slightly. "That means you are stronger than most."

"I gave them what they wanted," she sobbed, her small body contorting again as she heaved yet another round of blood through her lips. She wiped away the remnants with the collar of the decrepit green uniform. "I gave them what they needed to be able to undo everything I set into motion. They'll find her now, and there's nothing I can do about it. I messed everything up."

"What do you mean?" asked the avian. His crest flattened against his head as he racked his brain to recall some of his past dealings with humans. Those who had somehow found themselves living among the Kinnarr could hardly be looked upon as an accurate representation of the species' tendencies, but J'taka had seen evidence of self-blame in virtually all of them before. Often they had come from desperate situations they refused to talk about, and J'taka, being but a lowly ketchmaster, had never been in a position to demand they elaborate. He had discerned, though, that humans were more emotional and introspective in nature than the Kinnarr, and once familiar with their extensive facial musculature and physical dexterity, those emotions could be read as easily as words spoken aloud could be heard.

The woman looked at him, the whites around her eyes now stained pink and red, and wiped the wetness from her face before she spoke.

"I gave them her Sector Residency Number."

"What is that?"

"It's the means by which they maintain control over an individual person. With that number they can find her virtually anywhere."

J'taka tilted his head and looked at her out of the opposite eye, scraping his beak in thought.

"How is that possible?" he inquired, trying to make sense of the human female's strained ramblings. She shot him a glare that might have alarmed him had he not been so exhausted himself. She seemed angry that he wasn't following her.

"Because her tracker holds that number!"

Flustered now by the woman's growing irritation, J'taka stood and offered her his hand. She looked up at him for a moment, then studied the scaly, four-fingered appendage, before slipping her own into it and allowing him to lift her upright. Her weight, albeit inconsequential when compared to his own, was enough to make the weakened avian gasp once he had helped her to the cot. He stepped back then, leaning his wings against the wall, though he was careful not to put too much pressure against the injured one. It was healing quickly enough—all Kinnarr were blessed with fast healing, after all—but it would be several more days before he would be ready to make use of the limb again. Still, he winced, and when he folded his tail beneath him and slid to the floor, a trail of bright blue followed him down the wall. The gasp that sounded from the woman on the cot startled him again, and he looked up at her, his crest lifting in surprise.

"What is it?" he asked her quickly.

"You—your blood!"

The Kinnarr only stared at her, feeling somewhat annoyed this time.

"The woman...her blood is the same color."

The edges of his mouth where beak turned to skin tipped downward in a barely visible frown. He looked away as his crest lowered.

"You have referenced a female several times during this conversation and you still have yet to explain the reasons behind your...very evident concern for her. Do you intend to enlighten me or shall you continue to babble incessantly about her and then grow frustrated when I do not understand?" There was a pause, during which the human looked upon J'taka with what might have been surprise at his gall. "It would also be helpful to know the name of the one with whom I share this prison."

From the human woman came a sigh, and she sagged back against the wall behind the cot.

"My name is Isla Williams," she said after a few seconds of silence. Her eyes briefly shifted to the security camera in the corner of the room, and then fixed back on her companion in the room.

"And the female about whom you speak?"

"Wren Miller."

J'taka nodded to indicate understanding, and then settled a green eye upon her from where he sat on the floor beside the cot.

"And you are concerned for her safety?"

"In a way. I am more concerned about her whereabouts than whether she is alive or dead."

"That is...why would..." the silvery Kinnarr trailed off, shaking his head. "I am afraid I do not understand how that can be so, Isla Williams."

"I suppose it is a bit of a long story," came the human voice, sounding resigned, "and that I should start at the beginning."

A rustling of feathers and a grunt of pain accompanied the sight of a Kinnarr standing upright and coming to sit beside the human on the bed.

"You tell me your story, Isla Williams, and then I shall tell you mine."