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“Dobruk uhu hirux,” he deadpanned in Ara-Cope.
“What does that mean?” I stalled, hoping for a miracle. My gaze riveted on the blaster.
His fingers tightened on the grip, and he winced. “Dobruk uhu hirux,” he repeated, and, this time, one word stood out—dobruk. Aeon had used that word, and, a split second later, Lomax had flipped out. “Peace through chaos,” Lomax intoned in Terran Universal.
Disorder and unrest did not result in harmony. Destruction caused strife and misery. But arguing politics with a man a finger-twitch away from blasting me didn’t seem wise. “Dobruk means peace?” I mangled the Ara-Cope, but that was probably fortunate, since a hunch suggested peace in his language was one of his triggers. An evil irony. What other words would trigger him? Love? Joy? Charity?
“Don’t you remember anything of who you are? Don’t you remember me? The time we spent in the garden? I love you. You said you loved me,” I cried.
He raised the blaster, aiming it at my chest. His forehead contorted, and the blaster dipped but then immediately came up. “You are not with us, so you are against us. You are a threat.”
“I am not against you. I’m not a threat! Don’t you know me? I’m Kat! Your bond-ma—”
“Ghadt?” Lomax blinked.
“Yes, Kat.”
Dead eyes revitalized—then widened with horror at his outstretched arm holding the blaster. “What—what—” He dropped his arm. “Kat? Zigqat! What am I doing?” He fumbled the weapon back into his holster. He looked at me, his gaze confused. “What’s happening? Where are we?”
I ran to him, hugging him tight. “It’s you. Oh, thank god, it’s you again.”
His arms came around me. “Where am I?”
“We’re on an LOP ship. You and the four-armed alien hijacked it.”
“Seeher? No…”
“She did. Listen, we don’t have a lot of time to figure things out. What does my name mean in your language?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. There’s no word for your name in Ara-Cope.”
“What’s the closest-sounding word?”
“Ghadt.”
“Ghadt,” I repeated. “What does it mean?”
“Safety. Why?”
“It triggered you into turning into your normal self.”
He shook his head. “The triggers were removed. Sandria Seeher deprogrammed me.”
“No, she didn’t. She indoctrinated you further. She turned you into a zombie.”
He shook his head. “She sent a report to my mother and father. We had a celebration dinner…”
“The report was bogus. The deprogramming was a hoax. You’re still under the influence.”
His expression turned grim as he began to accept the truth. “Seeher must be with the GJW. We only had her say-so she was with the LOP. We were so relieved they sent someone to help instead of having to wait a month, we didn’t question it.”
“Tell me what you remember about the banquet.”
He shrugged. “My whole family was there. I remember you were nervous, but you relaxed and seemed to be having a good time. I felt optimistic, excited. I’d told my mother about our bond-mating before the banquet and, afterward, I was going to inform my father.”
“Do you recall talking to Aeon?”
His forehead scrunched. “Yeah. We were saying we hoped for things to return to normal, to be quiet for a while.”
