Echoes of the Storm

Chapter 7

The first thing Jack felt when he opened his eyes was his body's desire for more sleep. Was it too much to ask for a peaceful hour or two, without the nightmares. The invasion... Norse's promise about a life together. Lies! He'd never meant a word of it.

He gripped the bed and shuddered, his knuckles white. Bastard. Go away!

Where am I? It was quiet here, wherever here was, except for a low thrum and a soothing vibration that might lull him back to sleep. Monitors on the wall shed dim light in the room. Captain Chase stood silhouetted in the doorway, talking with someone wearing a dark tunic.

Chase? He tried to call to him, but his mouth was parched and the words wouldn't come. He couldn't even lift his hand to wave.

That's not Chase.

"Where—" he croaked. He struggled to raise his arm, felt the scrape of leather against his wrist. "What the—" He was strapped to the bed.

The memories struck him, as fierce as a storm on the Sakan Plains back home. Pirates!

"Welcome back," the pirate-who-looked-like-Chase called. He finished his conversation with the man at the door, and then approached Jack. He picked up a cup from the bedside table and held it to let Jack take a sip. "Feeling better?"

His stomach churned. Cloe...lying in a pool of blood. Words caught at the back of his throat.

"I know it doesn't do much good, but I'm sorry about Blax's behavior. That's what I get for agreeing to help a friend. Son of a bitch." The pirate blew out a breath. "The son. Not my friend."

The man's voice was calm and even, authoritative yet friendly. No discernible accent—nothing like any pirate streamer Jack had seen. He couldn't help but stare. Colonists, the man's resemblance to Chase was uncanny.

Stone. He remembered now. That's his name.

Clearing his throat, he tugged at his restraints. "Are these necessary?"

"I don't know. That depends on you," Stone replied. He paused, turned away for a moment, then looked Jack in the eye. "Would you stop that?"

"What?"

"Looking at me like you've seen a ghost." Stone's brow furrowed. "You did the same thing earlier when we rescued you from Blax."

Jack shook his head. "In the shadow of the door you looked like someone I know."

"Tricks of the light, I suppose," Stone said and planted himself in the chair by the bed. "Do you feel up to answering a few questions?"

"Where's Cloe?" Jack asked.

"Who's interrogating whom here?" Stone asked with a half frown. He had a boyish charm that the scowl on his face couldn't hide.

Jack waited for an answer.

"The one who skipped off with your transport?" Stone's frown was replaced with admiration. "Good trick. The man's a great pilot and either very bold or very stupid."

"Stupid? I don't think so. He got away, didn't he?" Jack countered, unable to hide a grin. "Anyway, I meant Cloe. They said they were taking her to the lock up."

Stone grew pensive. "The blow to her head was pretty serious. Chief Redstone is doing what he can, but he doesn't deal with much more than cuts and burns."

"Get her to a med facility," Jack insisted.

"In a few days—"

Jack slammed his fist on the bed. He struggled against the straps holding him down. "That might be too late." Closing his eyes he turned away, his throat tightening with tears.