Daughter of Nox

Chapter Nineteen

"Get that one on her feet, Clane," said another soldier, a set of sergeant stripes pinned to the collar. His voice gravely voice seemed at odds with his young face. "The Separatists stopped shooting, but it's not going to last. We need to clear out before that fire goes out and they get a bead on us."

"Can you walk?" the soldier holding her–Clane, she assumed–asked her.

"I think so." Freya let her weight settle on the leg, wincing a bit. "It hurts, but I think I can do it."

"Oh flaming hell, will you quit playing the hero, Clane?" another soldier said. "Just get the slagging Novice on her feet so we can get out of here."

Clane shot the other a savage look. "Shut your face, Rangel."

Rangel took a step toward them, his plasma rifle swinging up from the ground to point at Clane. Clane stood, unflinching from the gun barrel.

Rangel's mouth turned up in a feral grin. "You think I won't do it, Rimmer?"

Freya let out a surprised gasp at the slur. People from Ministry colonies near the Core tended to think of themselves as better, or more civilized than those who hailed from worlds along the Ministry's Rim. Positioned further from the Core's resources, Rim worlds tended to be poorer than colonies closer to Perfidy, and it was indifference toward the Rim–either real or perceived–which had led to the Separatists into taking up arms against the Ministry in the first place. Now, with civil war raging throughout the Ministry, those with the inclination to look down on Rim-Worlders felt emboldened to use words like Rimmer, though Freya had never heard someone say it with so little thought to the consequences.

Freya saw Clane's hand clench into a ball at his side.

"That's enough!" the sergeant barked in his rough voice. A chilly silence fell over the group.

He pointed at Rangel. "Point that thing at another of my men again and you'll never see the outside of the brig. Understand?"

Rangel seemed too stunned to speak. His eyes fell as he nodded.

"And you," the sergeant spun on Clane, "are the lowest man in this squad. So do what you're told and keep your mouth shut about it."

Clane's eyes narrowed. "Yes, Sergeant."

The sergeant held his gaze on Clane for a beat before addressing the whole group.

"We're going back to headquarters," he said. "Command is going to want to know about this, so we'll drop the Founder off with the rest of them and then head back out on patrol. Understood?"

A chorus of affirmatives rang out from the group. Freya noticed Rangel had looked up from the ground and was staring daggers at Clane. Clane didn't seem to notice, or he was choosing to ignore it.

"Did you see the cruiser I ejected from?" Freya asked Clane as the sergeant moved away. "My Father was in it, and I–" Freya broke off as her voice failed her. "I didn't any wreckage, and I thought maybe he got away."

"I lost sight of it when we started taking fire." Clane's expression softened. "I'm sorry."

Freya felt her throat tighten. She gave him a stiff nod.

"But that doesn't mean he didn't get out," Clane said, sounding hopeful. "No news is better than bad news."

"You're right," Freya said, even as her heart twisted in her chest. "He's a great pilot. If anyone could pull out of here, it's him."

"Positive thinking," he said, smiling. "I like it. Now you sure you're going to be okay on that leg?"

"Should be," Freya said, testing her weight again. "So long as it's not too far."