The hostages had remained silent when Korvaal was tossed unceremoniously into the cell. In the following thirty minutes they had grilled him six ways from Sunday, finally convinced he was who he said he was and that his message was genuine.

Marc read the message in a whisper to the huddle group then handed it to Bodluk and asked, "Do you know any of these names Bodluk?"

The soldier scanned the letter slowly shaking his head then suddenly he froze, an amazed expression on his face, "Dame Wen! I know this women. She was the wife of a comrade of mine years ago," he slapped the paper with his hand and delivered a broad grin, "I can't believe it! We were very good friends once, before her husband died."

"What of the others? Any of them?"

"No, none. But if they are behind Dame Wen I'll bet my soul they're good people," Bodluk sat back chuckling in disbelief.

"Okay then" Marc started enthusiastically, "we have to reply somehow- so they know we received this and how we might communicate further."

"We'll need some kind of proof for them," Zag offered, "or they won't know if it's really us answering."

"Proof. Right. Well, we know his name," Marc gestured to Korvaal.

"So does that Amazon Terron," Prer Jolly pointed out.

They fell into a hush, each man searching his brain for a solution.

"Wait a minute," Bodluk exclaimed, "we can use this." He tore a patch of cloth from his breastplate and handed it to Marc, "Dame Wen will know this. It's a decoration given to me during the Pengat wars. Her husband and I both received one for our performance. We were the only ones."

"Great, that should do it," Holden agreed.

Prer Jolly leaned into the group, his unlit pipe jabbing the air, "The main problem gentlemen, is how do we get this to these people?"

Korvaal raised a timid hand and coughed for attention, "I described the location of the cell's window to Isben before I came here. They will come at night to see if we have managed to pass something through for them."

"And how will we do that pray tell?" Prer Jolly queried.

"With your permission, Commander Zag. Leave that to me," Church piped up.

"The task is yours Lieutenant," Zag replied.

Excited by the prospect of a plan, Marc began scribbling a reply on the back of the paper including the number of hostages and their names as well as a few names of soldiers that Bodluk had allowed could be trusted. He signed it with a brief sentence of gratitude and a wish for Reb's blessings. "We'll need some kind of weight to make sure it reaches the ground through the trees or bushes if any."

Zag removed his empty sword belt and handed it over, "This should see it to the ground."

Marc tore a broad strip of cloth from his tunic and bundled the letter carefully inside, winding the belt tightly around and tying it securely. He looked around the group for any comments then handed it to Church, his face an open question mark.

"Holden, you and Bodluk are the tallest. Clasp your hands together and make a foot rest. I'll climb up and on a count of three, heave up with all you have."

Prer Jolly sucked loudly on his empty pipe, "This should be entertaining."

The two men moved into position and on the count, tossed Church upward as high as they could. His outstretched hand scrabbled at the window ledge, lost its grip and he crashed back to the cell floor.

"That had to hurt," Prer Jolly winced.

Rubbing the bloody scrape on his arm, Church nodded to the men to try again. This time his fingers made a purchase, and with a mighty grunt he thrust the bundle through the bars before falling heavily once again to the cell floor.

"That really had to hurt that time."

Church struggled to his feet rubbing his arm and side, "Yes , it did."

The group stood awkwardly for a moment having nothing more to do, then each settled into a section of the cell to be alone with his thoughts.

*****

Dame Wen sat cross legged in the back of the wagon fingering the cloth badge they had found in the bundled message. Her eyes watered, sparkling in the glow of the lamp. Memories of her husband flooded her mind. The laughing times they'd shared in their cottage; parties every week with the soldiers from his company- and Bodluk. Bodluk, the handsome young Captain who flirted outrageously with her at every opportunity. She held the badge to her cheek and cried silently.

"We were lucky," Bryan described, "the bundle landed in an open patch of ground right out for all to see."

"Luck is something we'll need plenty of," Nettie commented as she spread out the sleeping blankets.

"Speaking of that," Isben pointed out, "this Bodluk fellow is a real break for us. With the names he has provided you and Dame Wen can begin your search tomorrow for some weapons."

Nettie nodded bravely and climbed into the wagon with the blankets for she and Dame Wen. Tomorrow their plan would gather some meat. They would increase their numbers and be armed as well. Isben and Bryan settled down on their blankets for the night, sharing a confident smile, each praying this new found luck would hold.

*****

"Haxxor," Terron growled impatiently, "fetch that weasel Korvaal. I might as well have him do something useful. He can put his cunning little mind to work drafting a letter of our demands to Gothag."

The hulking giant thudded of across the room and down the stone passageway to the cells, his spikes shooting sparks carelessly as they scraped the walls on the way down.

As though a mere toy, he shoved aside the heavy steel door and lumbered into the room, taking Korvaal by the scruff of the neck and dragging him out. It happened so quickly the others barely reached their feet before the huge door slammed shut ominously behind Haxxor.

"What's that about?"

"You don't think they found our message?"

"We'll just have to wait and see."

*****

Terron reclined on her chair in a lazy slouch, the heel of her long crossed legs balancing on the table's edge, "Well my smarmy little advisor, here we are again." She leaned forward with long scarlet nails and plucked a handful of grapes from a large wooden bowl, placing one between her lips and sucking it in.

"G-greetings Mistress. May I ask-"

"NO!" she fired a grape at him and laughed when he ducked in panic as though it were a deadly missile, "You ask nothing. I TELL!"

Korvaal swallowed trying to will his knees from banging so noisily.

"You will compose a letter to Gothag and the Azwan people stating my demands. I sense you have a knack for devious words dear counselor, prove me right- or," she held a grape out toward him and slowly burst it between her fingers.

Korvaal's stomach dropped and he gagged at the sight of the dripping grape, "Uhhh, of course Mistress. A letter. Right. Whatever you desire."

"You'd better believe that," she confirmed nastily, "find some paper and a pen and I will dictate my demands."

Korvaal bounced around nodding eagerly, his eyes casting about the room for something to write on.

"What are you doing? Hopping around like a wounded sparrow," her voice cut the air in a shriek.

"Uh, paper Mistress. I don't uh . . ."

"Ahh Reb. You useless idiot!" she swung her legs down and banged across the room to a huge carved cabinet. "Here dolt! Paper and a pen, now stop wasting my time and get to work."

Korvaal moved like a bottle filled with lightening, gathering a fistful of paper and the pen, yanking a stool over to the table and readying himself for dictation. Terron rolled her eyes and crashed back down on her chair, her boots missing his face by inches as she swung them back to their previous resting place on the table.

*****

A brilliant sun blazed through the windows of the space ship picking out billions of tiny dust motes in the lounge air. A feeble meal of stew and rancid wine had led to a restless and uncomfortable night. The three members held prisoner on board, had been forced to sleep sitting in their chairs while the guard watch changed several times.

The arrival of the morning did little to improve their outlook as well as their concern for the rest of the delegation. Something had to be done and Captain Wilde was about to break one of Azwan's most strict laws.

Ever since the Ryka's attempted coupe at the festival of Reb so many years ago, stunners had been banned from the planet. The weapons had been gathered and destroyed with the exception of a select few. These were assigned to the space boats, one for each, and intended solely for the defense of the vessel.

As there had been no travel of any kind, the regular recharging had been neglected and their existence all but forgotten. All except the one Captain Wilde was attempting to free from the panel beneath the pilot's seat.

To his credit as captain, he had continued regular maintenance of his ship including the necessary recharging of the stunner, a procedure of habit more than anything else. Now, as he watched the soldier guarding the cabin doorway, he inched his fingers down beside the seat feeling for the panel release button.

Nervous sweat beaded on his forehead in fear of being noticed. Ramos and Lieutenant Timon sat on opposite sides of the lounge watched by two other guards who were engaged in conversation with the one in the cabin doorway. His fingers probed the surface of the panel frantically trying to detect the button for its release.

The conversation lulled and the guard at the door turned, throwing a casual glance at his captor. Captain Wilde froze then slowly withdrew his hand from beside the seat, his heart pounding.

"What's the matter with you?" the guard demanded gruffly.

"Huh. Nothing. Nothing, I just don't feel very well," Wilde wiped the sheen of sweat from his face and stared back blankly.

"Oohh, the poor captain doesn't feel well. What a shame," he turned back to the others and repeated his discovery, "hear that boys? The poor captain isn't feeling very well. Shall we tell him now that he won't be feeling anything at all soon?" They all broke into a sarcastic laughter, brandishing their swords menacingly at the prisoners .

Wilde expelled a puff of breath and let his head fall to his chest, "Please let me find that damnable button soon," he prayed silently.