Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

authorization, which he wouldn't get. And then he had to find the man and buy his release. Then he'd return and smuggle Sebastian out of Ke'lan headquarters.
    A day was not nearly enough time to do it, but it was all he had.
    "I'll try," he said gruffly. "No promises."
    "Thank you." Sebastian grasped both his hands, and Drake hated to see him as a supplicant in this. His throat burned suspiciously.
    He gently pulled away from Sebastian and stood. "El Basque. In case –" In case the man was too far gone to speak. "How will I recognize him?"
    Sebastian blinked up at him, his long black lashes damp. "You will. You just will."
    CHAPTER 3
    Drake stepped off the cargo transport. Wind slapped him, whipping his cheeks and tunneling into the seams of his thick winter's uniform. White cliffs jutted across a too pale sky, as if the very air had frozen.
    His mind had quieted as it usually did during a mission, which dulled the surprise and frank curiosity that resulted from his actions. Bribery of a transport captain and uncertified travel between continents were both court martialing offenses. Yet here he was a thousand credits lighter and standing in the desolate tundra of Borea Prime.
    He gritted his teeth against the burn of the cold, but it was only a physical pain. Less than Sebastian had already suffered in the hands of the Ke'lan and much less than he would if Folsom had his way. If he didn't make it back in time… if Folsom discovered Drake was missing… hell.
    His boots crunched across icy pebbles as he made his way to the shack that housed headquarters. Inside was only moderately warmer, and the man behind the desk was bundled even bulkier than Drake.
    "What do you want?" he asked, his dialect slurring the words almost inaudibly.
    "I'm looking for a man –" Drake stopped as he realized he was shouting, though it was not necessary without the wind howling around them. "A man called El Basque."
    "We got plenty of men here, soldier. What'd this one do, rape your sister or something?"
    Drake stared at the man until he squirmed. "I'd like to purchase him."
    "One man's good as the next for labor. I can point you to some that works hard and don't complain none."
    "I want El Basque," he said flatly.
    The man's large shoulder lifted and sank.
    Drake tossed a pre-filled credit chip onto the desk. It landed with a thud, the chemicals mixed to the proportion matching the value it held – heavy to indicate the 2,500 credits. Exactly what the rebels had tried to extract from Sebastian and easily ten times more than a man was worth to the mines.
    The man's beady eyes widened and nostrils flared as he jammed the chip into his own monitor to confirm the contents. He stumbled back from the chair, all swaying bulk, and bustled past Drake out the door. Drake followed him out into the elements where the man led him to a large iron gate. It was locked in three places, and opened only to a short hallway with another gate.
    This pattern repeated, and reminded Drake of a joke his brother once played on him, wrapping the presents in concentric boxes until he finally reached the small item inside. That was when they still had presents. When he still had family.
    He followed the man through a final door. The air shifted, thickened with the stench of stale sweat and desperation. Rows of barracks lined the hall. These men had only a dirty cot, not even a cell. The rustles and coughs proved their occupancy although the fact that none of them spoke, none of them reached for Drake or acknowledged him in any way, embodied the death of hope.
    At the end of the corridor, they turned off into a smaller hallway and the rock surface wavered from smooth planes to jagged edges. A small lamp hung from a tiny cliff, shedding sparse light over a jumble of bodies.
    "The infirmary."
    Drake thought he detected a note of embarrassment in the man's tone, but he was too incensed to give a shit. "Step aside."
    He reached inside and picked through bodies – some stiff, some still alive but unconscious. He didn't know what he was looking for until he saw it. The man was Sebastian, thirty years older. His face was lined and gray, his hair was mostly missing, but that strong nose, those beautiful patrician features were clearly in evidence. El Basque wasn't a lover; he was a family member, most likely Sebastian's father.
    Drake reached out, grateful that he was at least warm to the touch. Shrugging out of his jacket, he gingerly wrapped the man inside and picked him