Ziv’ri forced a smile as he patted him on the back. “We’re hardier than they think.”
Though Jak’ri’s people lacked the amazing regenerative capabilities of the Lasarans, Purvelis did have incredibly robust immune systems. Though he loved the oceans, rivers, and lakes on his planet, they teemed with naturally occurring bacteria, viruses, and other microorganisms. And every time he transitioned from using his mouth and nose to direct air through his lungs to using his mouth and nose to direct water through his gills so he could remain underwater indefinitely he was exposed to those microorganisms.
Yet they never sickened him or anyone else on Purvel.
Releasing him, Ziv’ri shifted to lean his side against the bars. “But they’re getting closer.”
Though Gathendiens were primitive and barbaric in their views on other alien races, determined to conquer instead of fostering good will, they were brilliant drekking scientists. And the grunarks were perilously close to discovering a virus that could wipe out the Purveli race.
“How close?” Jak’ri murmured with concern. His brother’s shoulders slumped with weariness. Tremors shook his form even as sweat beaded on his forehead and trailed down his temples.
Ziv’ri sighed. “My fever has reached heights that make it difficult to concentrate. Were there anything in my stomach, I would’ve lost it many times over. Yet my body is fighting whatever they gave me.”
Jak’ri reached for the canteen of liquid the Gathendiens kept his cell stocked with and passed it through the bars. “Drink.”
If the guards had their way, Jak’ri and Ziv’ri would either starve to death or die of dehydration. But the scientists knew that—if they wanted to exterminate all Purvelis and take their planet without destroying its resources and infrastructure through war—whatever virus they concocted would have to kill healthy individuals with access to nutritious meals, beneficial liquids, and top-notch medical care.
Which was not to say the grunarks didn’t withhold food and drink on occasion. If one brother didn’t cooperate, the other was starved and given only enough liquid to cheat death. And if that didn’t drive them to cooperate, the Gathendiens resorted to torturing them in front of each other.
Ziv’ri took the flask.
Jak’ri’s worry grew when his brother’s hand shook from the effort it took to raise the small container to his lips. Though Ziv’ri was younger than Jak’ri, he was usually a little thicker with muscle. Their bouts with starvation had left both significantly thinner, but…
Seeing his brother so weakened by illness made a lump lodge itself in Jak’ri’s throat. He was supposed to protect his little brother. He was supposed to keep him safe. And look what had happened.
Neither could remember how they had come to be here. When they had awoken, Jak’ri had believed they could free themselves. Purvelis could wield their telepathy like a weapon. If they merely wanted to stun their enemy, they could produce a sound in enemy soldiers’ heads that could temporarily deafen them and make them drop to their knees in pain. And if that didn’t work, Purvelis could emit a senshi that would increase the pressure inside an attacker’s skull to such an extent that their eyes, ears, and nose would bleed and they would lose consciousness. If Purvelis persisted, the senshi would kill their attackers.
When he and his brother had regained consciousness, the guards had opened Ziv’ri’s cell door first. The moment the lock disengaged, Jak’ri had emitted a senshi. Ziv’ri had done the same. And triumph had filled them when they felled the guards.
But Saekro and Kunya, the scientists who waited in the lab beyond, had merely winced. They hadn’t fallen. They had instead shot his brother with a stunner that instantly dropped Ziv’ri to the floor. While Jak’ri continued to emit a senshi, hoping to kill every drekking Gathendien on board, Saekro had swiftly propped his brother up and held a laser scalpel to his throat.
“Cease or he dies,” he’d said, inexplicably immune to the senshi.
It was something neither brother had encountered before.
When Jak’ri hesitated, unwilling to abandon hope that he could defeat them, Saekro cut Ziv’ri deep enough to inspire a grunt of pain.
Jak’ri had emitted an even stronger pulse.
And the grunark had cut his brother again.
Terrified they would kill him, Jak’ri had stopped. The shorter scientist—Kunya—had then shot Jak’ri with something that looked like a thorn. Before he could yank it out, the pointy nub melted into his skin. Within seconds, he’d lost the ability to communicate telepathically. And he’d watched in horror while they’d tortured his brother, breaking bones and cutting into him to extract samples while Ziv’ri cried out in pain.
If Jak’ri cooperated, they sedated his brother and forwent breaking bones. If Jak’ri didn’t cooperate or attempted to rebel in any fashion…
His gut churned as he noted the many scars his brother now bore.
Jak’ri boasted almost as many. But he was the older brother. He was supposed to keep Ziv’ri safe and had sorely failed in that task.
Ziv’ri sighed as he handed the flask back. “Where are our torturers?”
He shrugged. “A ship-wide alarm sounded. They haven’t returned since.”
“How long ago?”
“I don’t know. Hours, I think, but I can’t be sure.” He nodded at the operating table in the lab. “I was unconscious when the alarm began. And the sedative left me so groggy that I fell asleep shortly after they tossed me in here.”
His brother’s brow furrowed. “How are you?”
“No illness yet. I don’t know if they injected me with something else or merely took more samples.” How they loved taking their precious samples. Skin. Muscle. Organ. Jak’ri couldn’t decide if they actually learned something from the many bits of flesh they took or simply enjoyed inflicting pain.
Ziv’ri grunted. “I guess we’ll know soon enough.”
Nodding, Jak’ri settled more comfortably against the bars. “While I slept, I dreamed I was back on Purvel.”
A sad smile turned up the corners of his brother’s lips. “Did you?”
He nodded. “I climbed to my quiet place.”
“The cliff that overlooks the Runaka Sea on the north side?”
“Yes.” Feeling as parched as he had in the dream, Jak’ri partook of the nutrient liquid. “I felt so free. No walls closing in on me. Just the sun shining overhead, the ocean stretching before me, and a breeze cooling my skin.”
Ziv’ri loosed another sigh, his look turning wistful. “I’ve forgotten what that feels like.”
“The breeze or the freedom?”
“Both.”
Jak’ri nodded.
A long moment passed.
“There was a woman there,” he added softly.
Ziv’ri arched an eyebrow. “Where? Your meditation spot?”
“Yes.”
A hint of amusement entered his brother’s silver eyes. “Was it Shek’ra? She used to pester me endlessly, trying to get me to reveal the location of your quiet place.”
Jak’ri laughed. “No. And once more I thank you for not giving it to her.” Shek’ra had been relentless in her pursuit of Jak’ri. And he’d been attracted to her enough to give in to their shared desire. But he had swiftly come to regret it. Shek’ra talked more than anyone he had ever met. And once they had become intimate, that talk had shifted from flirtation to bloviation that usually revolved around praising herself and spreading nasty gossip about others.