The three captives looked upon them with wide-black eyes. They cowered in the corner of their cell and seemed altogehter inapproachable.
“Open it,” Locke ordered.
“Ma’am?” the guard questioned.
“Open IT!” she iterated.
Their escort nodded, “She is ranked Captain and is here at Vargus’ behest.”
“Don’t let them touch you!” the guard warned.
“They’re harmless!” Morris pushed.
“If you say so, sir!”
With the swipe of an old key-card, the door opened and the crew entered. The clang of the shutting door made Tarn jump. He went to his people, and the 4 Grenna put their heads together as if in greeting.
“They all look alike!” Karapanov commented, “How do we tell them apart,”
“We probably look the same to them, Vitali,” Locke suggested.
After a moment or two of deliberation, Tarn turned and beckoned for Jim to come forward. He pointed to the taller of the 4 Grenna, “This Bael,”
“Ah,” Morris smiled, “I am Jim Mor..”
“He not understand,” Tarn shrugged, “Touch hand,”
Bael’s hand was outstretched; Morris hesitated.