Cradle of War (A Captain's Crucible Book 3) by Isaac Hooke

Author:Isaac Hooke [Hooke, Isaac]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2016-08-22T06:00:00+00:00

twenty

Barrick approached the airlock of the berthing area, and waited while the Raakarr with him authorized the outer hatch to open.

Inside awaited a crew member in a spacesuit. There were no escorting combat robots: their absence would place the Raakarr guards more at ease, which was precisely what Barrick wanted.

He stared at the lone spacesuit. Those outfits were the great equalizers: their bulk hid male and female forms while enhancing strength. No matter what your gender or physical capability, a spacesuit made you exactly the same as every other human—discounting the specialized exoskeletons of the special forces, of course.

One thing the suits could not hide were the faces, however. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true—some people employed suits with one-way displays that could replace the owner’s face with another. But that was not the case with the woman who stood before him.

Behind the faceplate her exotic features readily stood out. He would have recognized those high cheekbones, pouty lips, and that immaculate nose anywhere. Throw in those expertly trimmed eyebrows above the steel blue eyes, with tanned skin framed by jet black hair... she was perfection embodied. The culmination of a billion years of evolution.

“Hello,” Barrick said, his voice shaking very slightly. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”

“Captain Dallas gave me an order,” the woman said over the comm. She sounded bored. “So here I am.”

“But you could have refused that order,” Barrick insisted.

“Hardly. He’s my commanding officer.”

Barrick smiled sightly. “In any case, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Right.” Sil stepped from the airlock. “Can we get on with this?”

“Certainly. This way.” The hatch closed behind them, and Barrick followed the two Raakarr through the passageways. Sil strode at his side.

“You’re supposed to be pretending you’re ill,” Barrick told her.

“I doubt the Raakarr could tell either way,” Sil said. “Our physiology is just as alien to them as theirs is to us.”

Will the Organism make it to the examination room? one of the guards asked him mentally. Barrick called that one Banjo, because the ancient musical instrument was the closest match to the image the guard returned when Barrick asked his name.

The Organism will make it, Barrick replied. He could have mentally substituted the word ‘human’ for Organism, but the strange looking three-dimensional point cloud that the Raakarr sent to his mind was not specific to human beings—the aliens had used it to describe other species in the past, including the Elder.

Good, Banjo said. I don’t want to have to carry the repulsive thing.

Never fear, Barrick returned. If it comes to it, I shall carry the Organism. If only.

“Are you talking to them right now?” Sil asked.

“A little bit,” Barrick admitted.

“What about?”

“They’re wondering if they’ll have to carry you,” Barrick said. “I told them no.”

“Probably a good thing,” Sil said. Barrick thought she shuddered behind her faceplate.

“For a xenobiologist, you seem to have a remarkable aversion to these aliens,” Barrick said.

“Is it that obvious?” Sil asked. “You forget I spent some quality time as their prisoner. We were treated worse than cattle. They treat us little better even now.

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