Read Online Cobra Slave-eARC by Timothy Zahn - Free Book Online Page B

position. Consciously, he uncurled them again. It was Dyre, of course. It was always Dyre.
    “Merk!”
    Not turning around, Merrick lifted a hand in silent acknowledgment.
    “Yeah, put your wobble hand down and get your squatter out of there,” Dyre growled. “You’re in my spot.”
    Merrick lifted his eyes from his shallow bowl to the slender woman seated across the narrow table from him. Anya Winghunter was gazing back, her pale eyes locked on his, her bright blond hair almost glowing in its contrast with her slightly darkened skin. Her lips parted a couple of millimeters, but she didn’t speak.
    But then, she didn’t have to. She and Merrick had already been over this territory a hundred times, and they both knew what he had to do.
    Which wasn’t to say that either of them liked it.
    “I said move.”
    A dozen sarcastic retorts flashed into Merrick’s mind. Once again, he forced it all back. The men and women of Anya’s world spoke an odd dialect, and while he was mostly able to understand it, he had a long way to go before he could speak it without drawing unwelcome attention. Anya had suggested early on that their safest course would be to pretend he was mute, and he’d reluctantly gone along with her reasoning.
    “Merk—”
    “Give him a moment,” Anya interrupted, her voice and expression stern as she stared up over Merrick’s shoulder. “His hearing is not so good.”
    “He’s in my spot,” Dyre repeated.
    Merrick clamped down on his teeth as he stood up and started working one leg out from under the table, trying not to jostle either of the two men sitting beside him on the long bench. There were no assigned seats, of course. Not that Dyre would have cared if there were. Merrick and Anya had tried several different spots over the course of the past few meals, and Dyre had claimed every single one of Merrick’s choices as his.
    “Come on. Come on.”
    Neither of the men beside Merrick was giving him so much as a millimeter of extra space, either, which made it twice as awkward. Either they were afraid of Dyre, or else they agreed with his assessment that Merrick was the person to pick on during this trip. Maneuvering carefully, trying to avoid kicking anyone, Merrick got one leg over the bench and was finally able to turn around.
    And since there wasn’t much room between the bench and the wall, he found himself looking up into Dyre Woodsplitter’s glowering face.
    Dyre was a big man, a good fifteen centimeters taller than Merrick, with a broad-shouldered fighter’s physique that filled out even the extra-large version of the slaves’ standardized gray jumpsuit. His hair wasn’t quite as blond as Anya’s, but it wasn’t far behind. As far as Merrick had been able to tell from their brief interactions, the man’s emotions had just two settings: silent brooding and loud anger.
    So far that anger hadn’t actually overflowed into physical violence. But it never seemed far from the edge. The big man had joined the transport ship a week after the slaves from the Qasama invasion force had been put aboard, and for whatever reason he’d taken an instant dislike to Merrick.
    “I’m sure he apologizes,” Anya continued. “We will find another place.”
    “Just him,” Dyre said, not taking his eyes off Merrick. “You can stay where you are.”
    “I choose to go with him.”
    “And I choose that you don’t.” Dyre jabbed a finger toward the far end of the table. “Go. Now.”
    There was nothing to do but obey. Merrick turned and picked up his bowl, sending a questioning look at Anya as he did so. Her face was puckered, but she gave a small confirming nod in the direction Dyre had indicated. Merrick nodded back, and with bowl in hand he headed down the line of other diners. He’d never liked bullies, and it galled him like a festering sore to have to back down in front of this one.
    But he had no choice. Standing up to Dyre would probably precipitate a fight, and exposing even a hint of