Free Alien Shores (A Fenris Novel, Book 2) by Vaughn Heppner

these two that I or my wardens should be aware of?”
    Chengal Ras hesitated. There were several unusual attributes to those two. Of that, there was no doubt. They had escaped High Station 3 and successfully reached Jassac. At all costs, he must acquire them and extract everything each of them knew. Would Zama Dee claim the Sol native if her wardens captured him? Yes, unquestionably she would. He might possibly bring the case before the Hundred, but they usually decided legal cases in favor of one of their own. Even if he won legally, it might be months or even years before Zama Dee returned the Sol native to him.
    Logically then, it would not pay to tell her the truth. What were the odds of her investigation team capturing them? The odds would be high, indeed. Yet those two were unique. Well, the one creature was different from the regular run of cattle. The other, if his facts were correct, was a Vomag.
    “Your hesitation does not reflect well on you,” Zama Dee said.
    “I find that an odd comment. It is, in fact, slanderous in nature.”
    “You tread on dangerous ground, 109th.”
    He switched tack because he realized she was right, and she had a deep pool of paranoia. He respected that. “I hesitate because I am attempting to remember their classification.”
    “Your memory is legendary. Therefore, your hesitation implies duplicity.”
    “I assure you it is otherwise,” he said. “The sabotage, the loss of Valiant —”
    “The incident has upset your mental facilities?” Zama Dee asked. “Is that your claim?”
    “I received an injury during the blast,” Chengal Ras said.
    “You appear well.”
    “Thank you,” he said.
    “That is not—oh, never mind. Continue your explanation,” she said.
    Good, good, she had returned to believing him a buffoon. His smoke screen had worked, at least to a degree. “To answer your query, one of the cattle is a soldier—”
    “A Vomag?” Zama Dee asked.
    “Precisely.”
    “And the second?”
    “A high-grade pilot of human norm appearance,” he said.
    “What species?”
    “Ungraded, as I’ve implied,” he said.
    “What made it such a good pilot?”
    “That is precisely what I am endeavoring to discover.”
    “Chengal Ras, I must now inform you that I perceive deception. I have taken the liberty of monitoring certain of your bodily functions. I mean your breathing rate, the twitch of your eyeballs, and the nearly imperceptible changing hue of your facial hide.”
    “I protest this invasion of privacy,” he said. She had lulled him. He would remember that. Had she become his enemy? How could he destroy her?
    “I note your protest, and have logged it now.” On screen, she tapped a panel before her. “However, I am the authority on Jassac. I find the sudden destruction of your Attack Talon to be highly suspicious. The bodily indicators show me you are not without—”
    “Zama Dee the 73rd,” he said, formally.
    Her manner changed and she stood taller, taking a more imperious stance.
    Chengal Ras thought at a furious pace. He had been reckless with his statements. Now she doubted him, and she used science to pierce his lies. He would remember her reliance upon machinery. Now he must summon the power of his supreme egotism. Several years ago, he had tested a theory on his humans and had discovered a most interesting truth. The best liars believed their own lies. It gave them the semblance of telling the truth.
    I believe. I have already started the paper. How dare she attempt to thwart powerful research .
    “I must confess,” he said. “Before the Creator, I will acknowledge my secret treatise. The unclassified specimen has shown me something interesting.”
    “I’m listening,” Zama Dee said.
    “Must you strip my data from me?” he asked. “It is a codex point—”
    “Listen to me well, Chengal Ras,” she said. “I have grown weary of your continued intent to sow confusion. You practice subterfuge at a dubious moment, to wit: directly after