Privateers in Exile Page 14

  “Put him in the hold,” the leader insisted. “We’ll take him to tree-hugger jail and get him tucked in right nice.”

  Two pairs of hands guided me toward the old ship and unkindly pushed me into an open hatch. My feet were sinking into the soft dirt and my hands were behind my back, so I had no chance of meeting the floor cleanly. I tried rolling to the side as I fell, but only managed to land heavily on my ribs.

  “Get in with yah,” the man who’d taken my engagement rings insisted, pushing me roughly as his partner lifted. I struggled to get my knees beneath me as they did their best to make sure I hit every surface of the airlock.

  Once on my feet, I followed their instructions, heading aft into the cutter’s main hold. The ship was ancient and sported technology that I’d only read about. Levers, buttons, and manual valves all had either a thick layer of corrosion on the surface or some sort of sludge oozing from the seals. Despite the decay, it felt reassuring to once again have a flat surface beneath my feet.

  “What are the Highborne doing on Fraxus?” the leader of the three soldiers demanded even while the other two struggled to clip my restraints to a loop of chain bolted to the floor.

  “I’m not Highborne,” I said. “I was dropped on Fraxus, apparently because I don’t play well with others.”

  “So, yah got exiled and sent native, did yah? Well, if you thought the fraggin’ tree-huggers was gonna help you, you sure got that wrong,” he said. “Ol’ Chappie himself marched right up to their king and demanded they turn you over. These Scatters know one thing for sure. If they don’t find you guilty, we will. It’s just a matter of politicking and time.”

  Chapter 13

  Trial by Farce

  "That's quite a vac-suit you got there," the soldier who'd taken my engagement rings said as the cutter's engines struggled against Fraxus' gravity. "That something new the Highborne been working on?"

  His language was an older Mars dialect and my AI had no difficulty creating a translation.

  I shook my head. "Looks nice, but it's a piece of crap. I barely got enough energy to heat," I said, shivering as I attempted to match the man's slower, cruder speech pattern.

  "Are you making a move on Fraxus?" he asked. "We didn't detect any ships through the gate."

  I shook my head. "I'm not with Highborne anymore," I repeated, having no idea what I was talking about. "They dropped three of us about a year ago. Command wanted us to infiltrate the locals. I'm the only one to make it this long. Frakked up, too, 'cause I finally made some progress and some asshat punches a hole in my ride."

  The hold leaked air like a sieve and rays of sunlight painted pinpoints of light onto the opposite bulkhead. The cutter had to be a local resource as I couldn't imagine it leaving the atmosphere in this condition. The ship's design was entirely unfamiliar, and appeared to be very old. Some of the components looked like those I'd seen on derelict mining machinery back when I was a kid. Other parts looked newer, enough so that the Belirand mission must have created some manufacturing.

  "Asshat," the soldier chuckled at my insult. "Try twisted pervert. Jared Thockenbrow sure loved the locals, though. Think he owned five or six of 'em. I thought about making a bid on 'em, but my buddy says they're all sort of messed up."

  "Slaves?" I asked.

  "Yeah, slaves. What else? Don't tell me you're one of those bleeders who wants to go all uplift?" He eyed me suspiciously.

  I’d need to be more careful. Instead of leading him into giving me information, I'd given away my own lack of knowledge about this society. "Nah. Just been on my own for a long time."

  "Well, I hate to say it, but you're well and plenty screwed," he said. "Nobody liked Thockenbrow, but that doesn't mean we'll put up with Highborne messin' around in our shite on Fraxus."

  I nodded, staring at the deck. He was no doubt right about that.

  We'd only been in the air for a few minutes when the engine sound changed. We began a descent that abruptly ended with the screech of metal against stone and a single hop.

  "Now, you're not gonna give me any trouble, are you?" the soldier asked. "We've been getting along, but that don't mean I won't plug yah one good."

  "No trouble," I said, leaning against the pipe where I'd been chained to push up to a standing position.

  Efficiently, the man unclipped the braces around my wrists and refastened them, keeping my hands behind my back. I played a few scenarios through in my head. The shackles were loose enough that I could slip my hands under my feet and probably take the guy. My musings, however were quickly ended as the other two soldiers joined us, both leveling their blaster rifles at me.

  We exited the ship onto a broad brick courtyard at the back of a low stone building. A single arched entry door stood open, flanked on each side by two of the deeply-tanned, light-green-eyed Scatters. The elfish guards both wore crystal swords on their belts but had neither shield nor bow.

  "How do the Scatters keep anyone locked up without weapons?" I asked, mostly to myself.

  "That's why we're here," one of the other two soldiers said, punching the back of my shoulder, causing me to stumble forward. "They opened their jail just for you. You should feel special."

  "We can take the prisoner from here," one of the Scatter guards said as we approached.

  "Frag off, pixie," the leader of the soldiers said, picking up speed and lowering his shoulder so he caught the smaller Scatter by surprise, knocking him back. "You can show us where he’s gonna be kept and we'll get him squared away."

  "Ya-yes, mi-lord," the Scatter answered nervously.

  "See that? Just takes a little elbow grease to show these butterfly humpers proper respect. Don't forget that, men," he said, leading us into a wide, well-lit stone hallway. "Now, git in there and strip."

  The Scatter stopped at an open cell and I was propelled forward by a blow between my shoulder blades. With my hands still bound behind my back, I was unable to catch myself from falling. Old reflexes kicked in and I dipped down, rolled on my shoulder, and more or less came to a seated position. I looked back at the unfriendly trio who stood in the doorway as I pulled my knees up to my chest and slipped my hands around my feet. The maneuver earned me a raised eyebrow from the lead soldier.

  I held my cuffed hands out, knowing that to resist wouldn't be a good idea. The soldiers had positioned themselves so that, even with free hands, I wasn't getting through the three of them. The offer caused the leader to laugh. "Nice try, kid," he said, pushing one of the others out of the way and pulling the thick wooden door closed.

  The cell door had two openings, the highest one about two meters off the ground, just a little too high for me to look through without jumping. The other was a thinner rectangle and about a meter off the ground. That opening looked wide enough for small items to be passed through to a prisoner, but not much more.

  "Take off that suit or we'll be comin' in for lesson time," he said.

  "Doesn't work that way," I said. "You got my wrists cuffed."

  "Nobody that stupid," he answered. "Push 'em through the slot."

  I did as I was told. When I didn't immediately retract my arms after the cuffs were removed, a jolt of electricity sent me flying backward. As I landed hard, I heard laughter on the other side of the door.

  "Frak, was that necessary?" I asked, picking myself up off the ground.

  "Suit," the leader's muted voice growled.

  I was loath to remove my grav-suit but I complied, first shutting it down with instructions to not power up beyond basic vac-suit function without my direct command. I was completely naked by the time I handed the suit back through the slit, this time careful not to allow my hands to be within range of the shock stick.

  "Yer learning," the lead soldier said.

  I heard heavy scraping against the door. The wooden beam I'd seen leaning against the outside of my cell had been dropped across the door, locking me in. Nick had explained how short the Small Magellanic Cloud area was on iron, but something about the hol
low sound made the significance of that scarcity clear.

  The cell gave me a new appreciation for how the Scatters made do with the materials available. Four meters by five, the space was roomy. Along one wall was a bed with a stretched, woven tarp that served to keep the prisoner off the floor when sleeping. Light streamed in from high windows that appeared to be filled with either glass or some sort of crystal, as the cold of the day hadn't entirely filled the cell. Despite that bit of protection from the outside elements, I was growing colder by the moment and there was absolutely nothing in the cell that I could use as clothing. The only other item in the room was a lidded, wooden bucket sitting in the corner. I suspected that was my latrine. With nothing else to do, I lay on the bed, curling in on myself to maintain my body heat while avoiding the stone that radiated cold into the room.

  After three hours, according to my earwig that still retained some AI function, I heard a knock at the door. I got up, crossed the room and crouched down carefully to look through the slit in the door. I couldn’t see anything except more wood. A second knock followed.

  "Yes?" I answered tentatively.

  "The prisoner will stand away from the door," a Scatter's voice announced.

  I took three steps back, crouching down again so I was on level with the slit. "All right, I'm not next to the door."

  Preceded by mechanical sounds, the plank against the opening flipped down and out of the way. A moment later, a thin board with folded clothing and a blanket slid through the hole.

  "You may remove the items," my jailer informed.

  I took the pieces gratefully. Surprisingly, the sequence replayed itself two more times. The Scatter passed through a set of boots and then a steaming bowl of something that caused my stomach to growl. I was disappointed when the door was once again secured and my jailer walked away, leaving me alone with the supplies.

  The tan pants fit reasonably well, aside from being a little short and only coming to mid-calf. The boots were tall and I laced them up. They covered my ankles and tucked in just beneath the pants. My toes were cramped, but they were also so cold that I wasn't about to complain. Finally, I donned the jerkin-style shirt and a thin jacket that came to mid-thigh. With the clothing on and the warm soup in my stomach, my deteriorating mood quickly improved. I wasn't sure how I’d get out of this current mess, but hoped I'd be able to talk sense into the king.

  I spent most of the day doing yoga, something I’d learned years before. Meditation had always helped break up the monotony of a long journey and now, alone in the quiet cell, it gave me something to do. I was sitting in a lotus-pose when there was a light tap on the door.

  "I'm here," I said as I moved to the door.

  "I have brought evening meal." The voice belonged to a female Scatter. I was surprised to discover my earwig had enough processing power left to translate her words.

  "Thank you," I said, waiting for the slot to open.

  The flat board used to transport items to me slid in. As I reached for it, the wood jerked wildly, throwing the food and the bowl of water into the air. Frantically, I grabbed for the water.

  "No, please," the Scatter woman begged as the board fell, dumping the remaining contents onto the floor. I heard a scuffle on the other side of the door and realized that the loss of my water wasn't the worst thing that was happening.

  "Come on, just a little fun tonight." The voice belonged to a human male. My AI identified the speaker as one of the soldiers who had accompanied me to the cell.

  "No, please! I have a family," the woman said, but I could hear the resignation in her voice.

  "Get off her!" I yelled, throwing my shoulder into the door. "You can't do this!"

  The door didn't budge a centimeter as I threw my weight at it. Apparently, even without iron, making a solid door wasn't a problem for the Scatters.

  I heard the close sound of the man's voice as he leaned into the door. I could also hear the scuffling as the Scatter woman no doubt continued to look for any escape. "Don't get yourself all worked up. They like it," the soldier said. "And if they don't at first, they always do later."

  I’ve always had a habit of biting my tongue when I get upset. Blood trickled into my mouth as I tried to come up with something to help the defenseless woman. An idea came to me in a flash and I lashed out, kicking the wooden slat back through the door. I was rewarded with a painful-sound of air escaping from the soldier on the other side of the door.

  "Somebody's looking for a beating," the soldier grunted menacingly.

  "No, I'll be quiet," the Scatter woman said. "Don't hurt him."

  "Frak you, scumball!" I yelled, slamming my fists into the door. "Go ahead and bring your lame-ass beating in here."

  "Ooh, somebody's got a temper." The man laughed. "If I didn't have a date here, I'd gladly hand you that beating."

  I slammed my hands into the door again and called out, yelling just about every obscenity I could think of – which was a lot, considering I'd been raised on a mining colony. I quieted, straining to hear what was going on, but there was only silence on the other side of the door. They were simply gone.

  I stood at the door for more than an hour, pacing back and forth. Finally, I heard the wooden plank as it suddenly wobbled and was retracted from the hole. I could hear the sound of sniffling on the other side of the door.

  "I'm sorry," I whispered, sinking to the floor. "I'm so sorry."

  Fortunately, this scene did not replay itself again, although mentally, it left me in a tough spot. I knew bad people existed. Frak, I'd been around tons of them. Never before, however, had I so intimately witnessed a crime while being so totally helpless to stop it. For days I had difficulty eating and I simply lay on my cot. Finally, on the fifth day I realized I was doing no one any good with my quiet protest.

  Not until the fifteenth day of my incarceration, however, did my prospects change.

  "When am I going to talk to someone?" I asked, repeating a question I'd asked daily.

  If I hadn't been scratching marks into the stone wall, I might not have had any sense of how much time had passed. I'd been asking the same question for days and each time the response had been the same. “Not today.”

  Today’s response came as a surprise.

  "Liam Hoffen will clean himself as he will be brought to account this day," the voice said. My heartbeat quickened at the news. I'd rehearsed a million times in my head what I wanted to say in my own defense. I'd imagined myself in front of judge after judge, pleading my case, imagining different questions and answers.

  A bowl with clean water, a towel, and what I suspected was some sort of soap was offered through the hole. After the guard left, I set about scrubbing myself down, careful to set my clothing on the bed so I wouldn’t soil them further. By the time I was done, the bowl was dark gray with a few suds, but I was clean. What I wouldn't give for the simple groomer device I'd taken for granted most of my life. My hair was longer than ever and my beard had grown out enough that I was starting to look like Nick.

  I dumped the bowl into the latrine bucket, grateful for the suds that would help knock down some of the smell. After that, I set the bowl and towel next to the door, knowing the guard wouldn’t forget about either one.

  Expecting a long wait, I sat on the bed and was taken off guard when the wooden beam lifted from the door. I rose and turned, careful not to stand too near the door. I was disappointed, but not surprised, when two of the Belirand soldiers stood in the doorway, guns leveled.

  "Is the Highborne ready to face judgment day?" asked the soldier who I knew to have raped the Scatter woman. "Don’t think that little stunt of yours, acting like you care about these fairies, will make any difference. You'll be brought to justice for the murder of our man, Thockenbrow."

  I allowed my hands to be bound but said nothing. I hadn't been asked a question and at least for now, I didn't have to answer to this man. Internally I seethed, wondering just how many Scatters had been abused by this descendant of Belirand a
nd his compatriots. I yearned for a weapon because regardless of cost, I'd have happily put him down.

  "Don't worry, we'll have a chance to talk after King Nkosi is done with you. Maybe I'll even let you off the leash for a few minutes and we can see who the better man is."

  The guards hesitated for a moment, waiting to see if I would respond. When I didn't, they turned down the hallway, a human soldier at the front. Two Scatter guards, one on either side of me, came next, and two more Scatters filled in behind us. As we walked, I realized that the jail was empty. Either Scatters didn't get into trouble or this was a jail for a special kind of prisoner. Both ideas seemed equally plausible. The décor slowly changed from utilitarian to more and more ornate as we moved between buildings.

  Finally, we arrived at a rather unimpressive door. One of the Scatter guards who'd so far been quiet turned and addressed me. "In the presence of King Nkosi, you will not speak unless spoken to. If you cannot respect this demand you will be removed from the hall and we will commence your conversation later. Do you understand?"

  "I understand," I said.

  "Follow me," the Scatter answered, smiling politely.

  I’ve observed many tribal chiefs, faction leaders, and even those who considered themselves royalty. For whatever reason, the encounters, although often stressful, were always a bit of a thrill. Royals or leaders were generally just like the people around them, with a few differences. In my experience, the leaders tended to be the most beautiful, or the most savage, or whatever had led to the tribe's success. Royalty tended to represent their group’s most important quality, although often these features were extreme. I stayed observant as my captors led me into the meeting room, knowing that I would be able to pick up clues about this leader by what he or she surrounded himself with.

  King Nkosi was not difficult to identify. He sat atop a huge gilded throne, behind which a brilliant display of multi-faceted and colorful crystals sprouted from the floor, soaring tens of meters into the air in a grandiose fan. He wore a tall golden crown laden with sparkling jewels and a dark, rich violet robe. A thick gold cord crossed his chest, holding in place a long flowing white cape, its folds pooling at his feet. I tried not to shrug. The look was predictable for a king and I was surprised that the whole purple is royal thing had made it all the way out to the Small Magellanic Cloud.