“You will train the beast!” the Prime ordered. “If he did not come from the Sandcor then we shall turn him on them.”
“His is not a beast to be trained, my Prime,” Delevy tried to explain once again. “He is a thinking, reasoning being. Why would he fight on our side if he does not even come from here? He has no stake in our war.”
The Prime came from around his desk and grasp Delevy’s chin in his powerful hand. He raised her head so she could look into his angry, dark eyes.
“He has become quite close to you,” the Prime hissed. “You will convince him to fight for us and we will see what he is worth.”
He gave her chin a powerful squeeze which ground Delevy’s teeth together in her jaw. He dropped his hand. “You may pit him against the Sandcor prisoners. He will fight or he will die. Prepare him. I give you one full turn to make him ready.” The Prime swept back around his desk and flopped into his chair. “Go!”