The Soul Monger

by Matilda Scotney

  The man had sat bolt upright in his seat since the moment he arrived; if he was scared, he wasn’t letting on.

  “Ho ancora utilizza,” he said, looking Shabby Man in the eye.

  “There you go,” Shabby Man grinned back at Laurel.

  “What did he say?” Helen asked.

  “He said he still has his uses,” Laurel translated. “He’s Italian.”

  The old man nodded that she had translated correctly. Laurel found learning Italian a useful skill in Chicago.

  Helen waved a finger between the old man and Shabby Man, “Did he understand the things you said?”

  “He heard them, same as you all did,” Shabby Man said. “Full understanding will come later.”

  “But you understand Italian?” Laurel pointed out.

  “I can speak many of your languages. Hers…” he pointed to the tall woman, who looked up and sneered. But it seemed defiance was short-lived here; the man didn’t care, he had a nasty robot and restraints, and confidently, the upper hand. The woman looked to her left at Helen and Laurel.

  “I’m German,” she said, her face contorting at the pain in her throat. “I speak fluent English. I’m Marta.” A tear rolled down the woman’s cheek as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  The old man spoke again, this time in accented English. “Our age isn’t the issue; it’s our ability they want.”

  “Ability?” Helen said, shaking her head. “I work in a hardware store, at a checkout, I was terrible at school, and I can’t cook. I’ve got nothing to offer anyone.” She began to wail, “I just want to go home.”

  “Home?” the man laughed, ignoring her tears. “Why would you wanna go home? You just said you got nothing to offer anyone.”

  “I have my life, I know it’s not much, but it was mine.”

  Laurel heard the anger mixed in with Helen’s tears, or maybe it was bravado, she didn’t know which, but she instinctively felt it might not pay to challenge this man.

  “It’s okay,” Laurel reached out to Helen, but the robot moved towards her, and she quickly withdrew her hand. “We all have lives.” She turned to Shabby Man, to try to reason with him. “You can’t just remove us without our consent. No civilised government endorses enslavement of its citizens.”

  “That’s no problem. You’re not a citizen, at least not of the treaty planets or the League.”

  Anger needled at Laurel with the man's refusal to give a satisfactory explanation as to why they were here. His replies were nonsensical, as though he were amusing himself at their expense.

  “Nothing you say makes sense,” but Laurel kept her voice level. The others looked from her to the man, waiting to see what the exchange would produce. “League? Treaty Planets?” she shook her head, raised her hands. “We don’t know what you mean.”

  “You’ll see soon enough,” he said. “We don’t have too far to travel now; it’s because of the incessant questions I keep you asleep,” he laughed. Then he paused, glancing at the old man. “It’s not physical labour the League needs you for.”

  The old man leaned forward and fixed his calm gaze on Laurel.

  “They want our minds.”

  Chapter 3

  Laurel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Empaths?

  Shabby Man nodded. “The old man’s right. You’re empaths. Earth’s the only place to find them.”

  Reason and civility weren’t values this man appreciated, Laurel thought, but what could he expect if he layered confusion on confusion? All this talking scorched her throat, and she closed her eyes briefly against the pain, but she wouldn’t be silenced, not now.

  “Humans aren’t empaths,” she said fiercely. “If anything, given the state of the planet, we’ve lost our empathy. And you are as human as we are, only playing some kind of sick joke.”

  Shabby Man looked unimpressed. “Joking? Not a concept I’m much into, and I’m not an Earth human, although my species is identical to yours physiologically. We eat, sleep, shit, piss, f…”

  Helen held up her hand, cutting off his next word. “Hey—there’s a child present,” she indicated to the young girl, still curled up.

  Shabby Man grinned, but he didn’t continue with the colloquialism for sex. “I’m not a whole soul. You are. Many people from your planet are whole souls.” He adopted a tempo of speech used when one was repeating the same phrase for the hundredth time. “People from my planet are half-souls. Other societies are quarter-souls. The League is made up of half and quarter-souls.”

  Laurel mouthed the words, “Your planet? Whole souls? Half-souls?” looking at the women on either side of her, both were shaking their heads. It had to be a joke. It had to be. But then there was the robot. And the control room. And that mist outside.

  With a wave of his hand, the man transformed the dividing forcefield into a map of stars; he pointed out Earth and highlighted a cloudy, drifting disc of dense colour. “See this? That’s the Transcender; a dimensional shift your people will never discover, no matter how far into space they go. I infused your lungs and gut with a salve, a protective fluid to protect you from the Transcender—that’s why you’ve all got ugly mugs. That tube you saw as you woke does that work for me. I keep you in stasis through the Transcender because your bodies take time to adapt.”

  “Am I dreaming?” the young girl whispered, uncurling, and rocking her body to and fro. Laurel wanted to comfort her, but her fear of the unknown, and the restraint stopped her from suggesting it to Shabby Man, but the tall woman reached out and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. The black robot, though its evil eyes watched, did not move. Thankfully, Shabby Man kept up his reasonable tone; Laurel even wondered if whoever was employing him had told him to, “play nice”.

  “No, little lady, you’re not dreaming. You’re in space, with me. I’m Darlen; I’m a Soul Monger. I did this run with my father before the League barred access to the Transcender. My father trafficked before me, and his father before him and so on and so on. It provided a good livelihood for centuries. Then the League reduced us to the level of lowly traders. The League knows that only Soul Mongers know how to find you. Even with all their resources, they haven’t been able to discover that secret!” He snorted a laugh. “I’m the last one, brought out of retirement by the League.”

  “It was a government who specifically asked for us?” Laurel said, deciding it might pay to humour the madman.

  “Yup. They’re pretty holier than thou until they found they needed whole souls. Soul mongering’s been outlawed in the treaty systems for—I don’t know, centuries, but the Transcender was accessible to us, with some minor tweaking of League space, until 30 or so of your years ago. Then the League developed a way of sealing it. Now it’s just me left. I haven’t bothered to try to find a way around it, but now, there’s a threat to the League, and they need you, so I got contacted. I’m the only one who knows how to cross the Transcender.”

  “I’m a nurse,” Laurel said, privately dismissing as nonsense the words that came out of the man’s mouth, but also seeing the wisdom in humouring him. “I consider myself sensitive to other people’s needs. I’d hesitate to describe myself as empathic.”

  Her comment gave Helen a clue what the term “empath” meant. “I’m not either. Like I said, I work in a hardware store.”

  “I am,” the old man said, his quiet affirmation stunning them. “If you mean psychic or clairvoyant.”

  All eyes turned to him, even the young man who up to now sat shivering silently in his seat, looked up, sweat dripping from his chin, his suffering from not having partaken of the liquid and bapth evident in his pain-stricken face.

  “I’ve been sensitive to the thoughts and feelings of others since I was a child,” the old man continued, “I can sense your thoughts…” he looked from one to the other, then at Darlen, “and yours for that matter.”

  But Darlen merely waggled his head and shoulders nonchalantly, curling his lips into a sneer. He couldn’t care less what nastines
s anyone saw inside him. “Then I did well,” he said.

  “Now, Mer will come to each of you to put a compress over your face; you’ll be able to breathe through it, but not speak. If you struggle, Mer will render you none too gently unconscious, so take my advice, be submissive, he’s got a nasty programming streak. The compress will dissolve quickly; it feels unpleasant, but it’ll get rid of the swelling and bruising on your face and settle the irritation to your vocal cords; not that it stopped you jabbering,” he looked at Laurel. “Can’t hand you over to your new owners looking battle-scarred before the battle, can I?” Then he turned away with a laugh and left them to his metallic thug.

  The only one to resist was the young man. The robot despatched him calmly into oblivion with a spark between his eyes. Laurel doubted the young man would feel better afterwards, but after this display of the robot’s abilities, the others meekly obeyed as it applied the masks via a conduit on its claw.

  It took a few minutes for the masks to break down into their skin. Laurel’s throat rapidly became less sore; she found it much easier to swallow and assumed the others were having the same experience. Speaking now would be so much simpler; but they remained silent. Even Laurel had nothing to say. Compelled to silence by the mask, there now followed a time of reflection on everything the Soul Monger told them, not least why they hadn’t received this therapy before he got them talking. She wondered if adding to their pain and discomfort was part of his fun, but didn’t dwell on that; instead, she turned her thoughts inwards, arranging the events in order in her mind, and speculating why, in what should be terrifying circumstances, the atmosphere was merely sombre and expectant. Even the young girl was hushed now, her eyes closed, and the chamber still and quiet after the question-and-answer session that really didn’t answer any questions.

  “I don’t believe we’re in space,” Helen declared to Laurel at length, her voice noticeably stronger and the swelling on her face greatly reduced. “I’m with the little lass over there. This is a dream. A nasty one, but still a dream. I think I had an allergic reaction to something in the massage oil they used on the beach.”

  The “little lass’s” appearance was also improving, the redness and swelling giving way to a sweet heart-shaped face with a fresh complexion. She was fair-haired, slightly built and no more than sixteen.

  Laurel smiled across at her. “What’s your name? I’m Laurel, and this is Helen.” The girl didn’t respond, she opened her eyes, glanced up, then bowed her head again. The old man smiled and introduced himself as “Xavier”. The young man cradled his head in his hands, but looked up as they made their introductions, his dark brown eyes bloodshot from his brush with suffocation. Laurel sensed something of the hunted and isolated about him.

  “And you are?” she encouraged, whatever this was, they were in it together.

  “Eli,” he mumbled as he turned his face away.

  “Laurel,” Helen drew her attention to the smaller room, “how come he’s got so many Macca’s wrappers, there’s no Macca’s in space.”

  “Macca’s?”

  “Macca’s. McDonald’s. That’s what we say in Australia.”

  “There’s McDonald’s everywhere, Helen,” Laurel said with a feeble flash of humour she didn’t feel. “There’s three within easy walking distance of my home.”

  “Hilarious,” Helen retorted.

  “I mean we must be close to civilisation. McDonald’s is global,” Laurel pointed out.

  “But what does he mean by half-souls and whole souls and quarter-souls? And what threats? Sounds like…” Helen trailed off as Darlen stood and came towards them.

  “Well, don’t you look a lot more human!” he snickered at his joke. “The threat is a threat of invasion, a threat of a takeover. The government can’t repel the invaders, so they sent for you.”

  “I can’t fight anyone. I’m scared of fighting!” Helen waved her arms around to add emphasis to her words, but Darlen ignored her protests.

  “Yeah, yeah, we know, not an empath, not a fighter. You people don’t know yourselves.”

  “Xavier can’t fight,” Laurel said, hoping that pointing out the obvious wouldn’t land her in a heap of trouble with the robot who turned to face them. “He’s too old. What’ll happen to him?”

  “As he says, it’s your other ability they’re mainly interested in… well, the fighting too. You’re in good health, old man?”

  “Arthritis and a bit of heartburn.”

  “They’ll sort that out.”

  “I can’t fight,” Helen gesticulated again. “I’ve never even seen a gun.”

  “You’re limiting yourselves,” Darlen dismissed her fears with a wave of his hand. “Living on that backward planet, with its peculiar time conjunction stops you reaching your potential. Out here, the skies the limit.”

  “Not if we’re slaves,” Laurel said, unable to keep a note of harshness from her voice.

  “You’d be surprised what heights a slave can reach,” Darlen said, ignoring her tone.

  “We’ll resist,” Helen looked him in the eye, her lips set in a hard line, but he exploded into laughter.

  “Oh my God, that won’t happen!”

  But Helen stayed defiant. “I don’t accept we’re in space. I think this is a hoax. You’ve got McDonald’s wrappers all over the floor.”

  The man glanced around at the mess. “I like McDonald’s. I get fed up with bapth and dried-up space rations.”

  “Doesn’t your robot tidy up for you?” Laurel asked, courageously glaring at Mer, but he was much better at glaring than she was.

  “Nope, not routinely, he knows I don’t care, when it becomes too much and gets on his nerves, he cleans up.”

  “He has nerves?” Helen eyed off the robot.

  “Just circuits that get offended easily,” Darlen flashed an evil grin.

  “How can we cross dimensions and travel in space,” Laurel asked, hoping it sounded like a legitimate question, as she peered around the man to the extensive array of technology with which he seemed so familiar. “That technology isn’t invented yet.”

  “Not by your people, but it is by us, and it’s commonplace, except for passing over the Transcender. That mist outside,” he pointed to the window, “that’s widespeed. We’ve crossed the dimensional border, and we’re almost at our destination. I’ll tell you when; keep your eyes to the front, you’ll see it change. It’s quite a sight.”

  The young girl raised her hand. She looked up at Darlen from under her eyelashes as if afraid to speak. “Can I ask something?” she said, timidly.

  “Go ahead, young lady,” Darlen responded, suddenly sounding quite amiable. Probably because he’d soon be rid of them, Laurel thought.

  “If it’s a dimensional border,” the girl said, her voice barely audible. “Are we outside our universe?”

  “You sure are! Clever girl!” Darlen smiled an actual, real smile.

  “How many universes are there?” Helen wasn’t convinced even if the girl was.

  “I don’t know,” Darlen shrugged and looked around at Mer, who made a mechanical retort. “The Transcender has many paths leading from it. I can only access one, but legend says they’re gateways to other universes. I can’t testify to that. I only know of two for sure; the one I took you from,” he grinned ominously, “and the one you’re going to.”

  Chapter 4

  There was no way of knowing how much time passed. The captives infrequently spoke, restating their disbelief of what was taking place, except for Xavier who seemed accepting of the situation. Eventually, the young girl told them her name—Chloe, but offered up nothing else. The young man continued in his silence and suffering.

  As promised, bodily function returned, and in turn, they suffered the none too gentle ministrations of Mer as he escorted them to the toilet. Laurel couldn’t look at his face; it would have been less scary if it had just been blank. Drawing on nasty features showed how despicable Darlen’s character was. When it came to Chloe need
ing the toilet, Mer escorted her, but her crying and distress started afresh. Darlen went to investigate, his presence resulting in more shrieking. He grabbed Helen, disengaging her from the chair with a metal rod he carried in his shirt.

  “Show her what to do.”

  He dragged Helen away. It was unlikely Chloe had ever seen a toilet like this. Little more than a flexible funnel sticking out of a wall, Laurel at once worked out how to use it. Automated cleaning did the rest, but it was noisy, and to an already distressed young girl, very unnerving, made worse by the robot’s stand over tactics.

  Helen took the sobbing Chloe back to her seat, scowling at Mer who followed closely. Helen stopped in front of the forcefield. “Call your dog off. What the bloody hell do you think we’re going to do?” she yelled at Darlen, surprising them all with her outburst.

  Darlen laughed and waved Mer away as he reattached Helen and Chloe’s restraints.

  “Have you ever considered the effect on the people you abduct?” Laurel asked, as Darlen bent over Chloe’s seat. She was not at all sure if this man had any empathy himself or insight into his conduct. Or even remorse.

  “No,” Darlen straightened up, scarcely glancing at her. “It’s my job. Ask Eli there if he ever thought about his victim’s feelings?”

  Helen and Laurel looked over, but Eli said nothing.

  Darlen bent down and forced Eli to look at him, but Eli pulled his face away from Darlen’s grip.

  “I took him from prison,” Darlen continued to study him. “He gets his jollies mugging people and making trouble.”

  “I don’t like whites; they don’t like me,” Eli mumbled, his arm raised defensively. Darlen didn’t engage in any more questions, just made a huffing sound and prepared to return to the controls.

  “If you’re from another planet,” Xavier stopped him. “How do you speak such good English?”