2
Marguerre thought grimly. These huge gray-skinned humanoids were aggressive as hell -- they were nicknamed Sharks as much for that as for the facial resemblance -- and this one looked even less well-intentioned toward him than his guards did. "My ident code's TERHE6-2063-4121. What're you doing with my wounded?"
"They are medical treatment receiving," Joste said. "Though there little chance for their recovery is, the physicians their best doing are." At least, he thought, the man had the decency to show concern -- even if it had to be false concern -- for the two survivors of his raiding party, both of whom were female. "What your purpose was, here coming?"
Marguerre didn't know what caused the loathing he could sense from the three massive Traiti, but it was intense enough to frighten him in spite of almost a year's active combat. Still, fear or no fear, he wasn't about to tell them what they wanted to know. He shook his head. "Sorry, that's all I'm allowed to say."
Then he winced as the one holding his shoulder and neck tightened that grip, and the one doing the questioning started to smile. This, to put it mildly, looked less and less like it was going to be a friendly party, and he was suddenly very thankful he'd been given the anti-interrogation condi- tioning before this mission. Not that he intended to use it unless he had no other choice.
Good, Joste thought. The man was going to be stubborn. "You mine now are, Major, and you will much more say. When you have enough pain had, you will to me gladly speak." Slowly, almost luxuriously, he reached for the man, extending his claws.
Marguerre tasted fear, his mouth bitter-dry as he watched the clawed gray hand approach. He remained still, though he could feel himself going pale. He'd expected death if the mission failed, but not like this -- not being tortured for information while two of his people lay badly wounded in a Traiti military hospital. He knew his interrogator was right; everyone had a breaking point. He could onl