by Drew Avera
“Excuse me,” she said to a worker in tan coveralls. He stopped, staring at her with his eyes wide. The man’s skin was ashy and dirty like he had not bathed in days. His fingers kept twitching, drumming against his chin, and it made her wonder if he was a User. She had never seen a User in person before, but she knew the signs. “Could you please direct me towards someone who I could hire to contract repair work on my ship?”
The man looked side to side nervously and his peculiar behavior made Anki nervous. She draped her hands around herself, feeling the comforting reminder of her weapon just beneath the fabric of her coat. “No one speaks to us,” he whispered. He bounced on his toes now, looking as though he was ready to run at a moment’s notice.
“What? Why not?”
Frightened brown eyes darted left to right. “Tan coveralls…all of us…prisoners.” The staccato response made her question whether or not his nervousness was because he was a User or if he thought his life was in danger. His eyes were pleading, sad as they looked up at her. She noticed his lips were dry, cracking, and bruises shown through on his neck where he was clearly choked by someone recently.
Anki craned her head, looking over the man’s shoulder where she saw a guard approaching. “Oh, no,” she said as the guard drew nearer. That answered the question about why the man was acting abnormal.
The man turned in time to see the guard’s baton swinging heavily towards his head. He dodged the first swing, but the backhand thrust of the guard met the prisoner’s jaw, the noticeable crack of bone letting Anki know the man would be unable to speak after a strike like that.
Part of her wanted to scream, but she knew it would only perpetuate the scene. Screaming was a distraction, just a way for the mind to release nervous energy, but she would need that energy if the guard brought his discipline towards her. She was relieved, though, when he stopped, hovering over the bleeding man in tan coveralls, whose jaw was slack and twisted.
“Don’t talk to the prisoners,” the guard ordered. His voice was authoritative, but not angry.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just looking for directions and I did not realize he was a prisoner.”
The guard was kneeling next to the unconscious man, checking his vitals when he looked up at her. “You want directions? You’re a Luthian on a world owned by Greshia. Farax isn’t the safest place for your kind, at least not yet. I suggest you get in your ship and get the hell out of here before the next storm passes through.” He stopped talking to her and pulled out a com-unit, whispering something into it that she could not make out.
“That’s not an option.”
He rose, looking her in the eye. “Neither is talking to the prisoners. If I see it again, the prisoner dies and you get taken in. got it?”
Anki’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded her consent.
“If you need repairs, go to Dock Nine. It’s run by recently released prisoners trying to earn whatever they can. I don’t suggest going anywhere else, Luthian.”
“And why is that?”
He canted his head to the right and looked down the long row of buildings and roving machines skittering across the tarmac. “Because, like I said before, you’re in Greshian territory now. The rest of the businesses do background checks and will flag you. I doubt you want to be in the system right now.”
Anki nodded. “Thank you.”
The guard looked down at his com-unit for a moment. “You might want to get out of here. You didn’t hear any of this from me. You don’t even remember my face.”
“I’ve got it,” she said, turning to leave.
“One more thing.”
She stopped, not turning around. “Don’t let anyone else know you’re armed. Like I said, Dock Nine is full of parolees. You don’t want them to take your weapon and use it against you.”
Anki realized she had been fidgeting with her gun the entire time she was in the presence of the guard. It was a tell, and one she hadn’t realized she had. She stalked off down the tarmac, keeping her hands neutral as she walked passed the crowd of people. The guard’s warning about not being safe on Farax echoed in her mind. It was a truth she was already aware of, but hearing it stated by a citizen of the world made it seem all the more real to her. This is just what I need, she thought, to escape Greshian hands just to fall into them willingly.
Dock Nine was a short distance from where she encountered the guard. The building was old and dilapidated, one of its doors completely missing where the framing around it looked as if the door had been breached with explosives at one point. Interesting. Anki took a deep breath before stepping into the dark interior of Dock Nine. All around her were men and women in blue coveralls, many of them from worlds she did not recognize, but she knew their worlds were probably extinct like her own. The eyes of the crowd followed her as she made her way to a desk that simply had the word “service” hand-painted onto it.
“Can I help you?” The woman seated at the desk asked, hardly looking up. She was very short and squat in stature. Anki looked down at her and noticed the woman had a false eye, a light scar evident over her left eye which was reminiscent of a star shape. Whatever had happened to the woman’s eye was no accident, Anki thought.
“Yes, I need to contract repairs for my ship.”
“We don’t do contracts,” the woman said. “You request how many workers you require, pay the fee, and they are released to you to do what work you need done. The minimum hours to hire are six, they typically work ten hours per day, and by law cannot exceed fourteen hours per day, which good luck getting any of them to give you an honest six,” she said dryly.
Anki calculated the repairs needing to be done and how long it would take. “How much for ten workers at ten hours?”
The woman blew her hair out of her face and tilted her head to the side. “Ten Kil per head,” she said.
Kil? She could only imagine that was what the currency on Farax was called. “I’ll get the money, when can I have the workers?”
“Bring the Kil tomorrow and you can have the workers then. There will be release forms to fill out, but most of the paperwork will be completed before you arrive. Just put you information here.” The woman set a tablet in front of Anki.
“Are you going to put me in the system?”
The woman looked up. “Hell no, most of us have been tracked while we were in the prison system. We want nothing to do with that shit. I just need your information so I can put the work release together.” The woman laughed a deep throaty laugh.
Anki grabbed the tablet and put in her information. When it came to answering how many was in her crew she paused for a moment. Do I tell the truth or pretend Brendle isn’t here? After hesitating, she listed the crew as three. Better to be safe than sorry.
Anki placed the tablet back onto the desk.
“Thank you. Be back tomorrow,” the woman said, snatching the tablet from the desk and reading it over. Anki stood there, watching, waiting. The woman looked back at her. “Be back tomorrow.”
Taken aback, Anki turned and walked towards the door. That woman has the personality of a rock, she thought as she closed in on the exit, but someone was standing in the corner, waiting for her. She stopped.
“Bad luck about your world,” a tall man said, scars running down his face as if he had been mauled by a wild animal. “They did it to my world too.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Anki said.
“It’s lonely when you’re the only one.”
“The only one, what?”
He stood up straight. “The only Purclam. My people die with me.”
“Like I said, I’m sorry,” Anki said, moving to the side to walk past.
He sidestepped, blocking her path. “Maybe you want to help me keep my people alive? I can help you too.”
Anki glared at the man. “I don’t think so,” she said bitterly, shoving past him.
He grabbed her arm in a tight grip. That was his mistake.
Anki spun, swinging at th
e man’s face, dotting his eye with her fist. It was like hitting a stone wall, but his head lolled back and his body sagged. He tried to stand on shaky legs, but his balance was off. She could kill him where he stood, but he wasn’t worth it. She placed her palm on his forehead and shoved him backwards, his body hitting the ground to the sound of roaring applause.
All around her, Anki watched the people laugh and cheer. It was peculiar to her until she saw a man collecting money from a group of people. They took bets on me? She laughed and looked down at the poor sap they had tossed into the ring with her. She wondered if he knew what he was getting himself into. In any regard, she thought it was funny the cruel way the parolees sought out having fun at one another’s expense. She remembered a time when the military on Luthia was the same way, especially during the early days of training, before the isolation began. It was true what people said about serving in the military being a lot like prison, she thought as she stepped out into the sunlight, shaking her head at how ridiculous a situation it was. This is a bizarre day, she thought as she walked through the crowd. I’ve been on the ship so long I almost forgot what the real world was like. Since I’m done here, I may as well see what else Pero has to offer.
18
Crase
Despite their small stature, Lechun men carry a bit of weight. This wasn’t news to Crase as he laboriously carried Malikea back to Tesera. He was surprised by how easy it was to carry him unopposed through Pera to his waiting transport. What few eyes did look at him quickly averted their gaze. Perhaps I should reconsider my hatred for this planet, he thought, it’s not every day you get to boldly violate the law in front of the general public’s noses. I thought that was something I could do only in the towns where my reputation precedes me.
He sat Malikea into a seat and belted him in before giving the man a sedative. “I don’t want you waking up in the middle of the flight and trying to be a hero,” Crase whispered, stabbing the needle into Malikea’s neck and pushing the pinkish tranquilizer into the man’s veins. “Autopilot, take us to Belstar, and make it fast.”
The transport immediately rose as Crase strapped in next to Malikea. A part of him wanted to nap again, to take advantage of the flight in order to rest his aching body, but he knew better than to sleep with a prisoner next to him. Though Malikea did not look like a threat, Crase refused to underestimate a Lechun man again. This was one of the men who stole his ship. This man was one of the ones who got away, soiling Crase’s ego, and potentially tanking his reputation in the trafficking business. If not for Lechushe’ being destroyed and all evidence of Crase’s failure gone, he very well could have been killed by his employer at the time. Death doesn’t do well for business.
Silently seething, Crase reclined in his seat, staring at the stark white overhead of the transport, wishing it was the Replicade. He looked over at Malikea as the man slept peacefully. “Enjoy it now, because if you survive the blood transfusion, I’m going to use you to get my ship back. On second thought, I’ll use you either way,” he said, the taste of revenge teasing his tongue. His thoughts drifted to Neular, the only Lechun he was able to save that day. It took weeks for the man to regain consciousness. It was pure luck that he did not remember Crase. Perhaps it was the torture, the cutting, that blocked the memory from the man’s mind, opening the door for Crase to implant new memories, new truths. For months Crase worried that the memories would return, that somehow his manipulation would wear off and the Neular would seek retribution for what had been done to him. Those were trying times, Crase thought, who would have guessed I would need you so.
The transport landed in Belstar without incident and twenty minutes earlier than Crase expected. He rose and removed the restraints from Malikea, who still sat unconscious from the sedative. A purplish bruise on the back of the man’s bald head was darkening every minute. Crase did not feel bad about it. He could have harmed the man far worse and still got what he needed of him. Crase squatted down and heaved him onto his shoulders where Malikea lay limply, a dead weight compressing Crase’s spine. Crase left the transport and headed for Tesera’s home, thankful the ship landed closer this time. He didn’t know if he would be able to drag this man all the way across Belstar like he had Neular.
Crase inhaled deeply every few steps, held it for a few more and released in a long exhale as he tried to conserve as much energy as possible. His body ached, but what else was new. He was getting older, the wounds of his past not healing as easily as they once had. That didn’t make doing what he had to do any easier, but at least it justified the extent he was willing to go to get the job done. I’m nothing without the job, he thought as he made another turn. He stuck to the dark alleys, not because he was afraid to be seen, but because the winds were kicking up again and it wasn’t easy to carry another person across your shoulders as the wind fought against you. Better to work smarter and not harder, he thought as he rounded another corner.
Tesera’s place was across the street and down another tight alley. It took most of an hour to haul the man this far, and Crase’s back screamed in agony. He hadn’t worked a day this hard in years, at least not like this. He panted heavily as he jogged across the street, avoiding the moving carts and bustling people as the wind pushed him from behind, pelting him with pebbles and debris.
“This better be worth it,” he hissed, straining to heft the Lechun man higher onto his shoulders as he darted down the narrow alley. He came to rest outside Tesera’s home and kicked the door with the toe of his boot. He waited impatiently for the door to open and he barged in, narrowly missing Tesera’s face with Malikea’s legs.
“Excuse you,” she said sardonically.
“Yeah? You try carrying a grown man on your shoulders halfway across town in this weather.” Crase knew it was rude of him, but he didn’t have the patience to be cordial. His body hurt and his mind was racing. The only good thing was that she had not called him with any bad news in regards to Neular, so hopefully they still had a chance to help him.
She frowned back at him, her large eyes staring back into his with pity. “Bring him. Neular is waiting,” she replied, showing none of that insinuated compassion in her tone. It was just her way of speaking and he knew it all too well.
Crase groaned as he lifted the man back up and followed Tesera back to the room where Neular lay unconscious. He noticed a breathing machine was already running, and tubes shot out from Neular’s arms. She pulled out every piece of equipment she could use to save his fading life and Crase hoped it was worth the effort. Otherwise, he didn’t know what he would do. “How is he?” Crase asked as he dropped the Lechun man hard onto the bed across from Neular.
“His heart is slowing from the poison; most likely his body’s way of fighting the poison, but the oxygen machine is keeping his blood oxygenated enough to maintain brain function. If I don’t work fast, he will expire in less than hour.”
“Only an hour?” A worried tone accompanied his question as he looked down on Neular’s paling gray body. I thought we had more time.
“I was rounding up,” she said, with no emotion in her voice at all as she got to work sticking and stabbing Malikea in order to pump his blood in Neular’s veins.
Crase watched her work helplessly. He knew he should do something to assist her, but the emotional ups and downs of the day were exhausting. He stepped closer, but she didn’t seem to notice, just toiling away with needles and tubes as Crase stared at the scene, taking in the smells and sounds of her makeshift hospice facility.
He knew that caring was a weakness. Neular was not family, or even a friend, but a subject of Crase’s deception. Why did he feel so strongly about whether or not the man lived or died? Was it even that simple? Crase could not help but feel broken in some way. It stemmed from the thoughts permeating through his mind were those of someone who lost touch with who they were and experienced the mental breakdown that turned them against their former selves. What was more unsettling was that he expected Neular to appreciate wha
t he had done for him in saving his life. The irony being, if not for Crase’s influence the man would have had a much better life to begin with. Maybe it was the company of the room, three people affected by Crase’s stepping into their lives—three people who would have done better never meeting him at all—that made him feel this way. It felt like a mirror into his soul, and what he saw was ugly.
Crase stepped out of the room, desperately needing to get away from his thoughts and the reminders of what he had done. He needed to void his mind of weakness; what was to come would be more vile, especially once he had his hands back on the Replicade. He stopped at Tesera’s bar. It was nothing more than a few bottles of Farax’s best alcohol, but it was enough. He poured himself a drink, feeling the burn of fermented wheat laced with berry flavoring scorch its way down his throat. It was numbing in a way. He poured another and another, until he felt that he didn’t care anymore. And then he drank some more.
19
Malikea
Groggy eyes opened to reveal a dimly lit room. The soft glow of white lights accompanied the gentle sound of air pulsing through a nearby breathing machine. A scent of a sterile solution barely masked the nearby smell of something decaying. It was a more pungent odor than the one Malikea experienced when the ship first landed and they disembarked. It was a smell distinctly Faraxian and that was when he realized where he was. Malikea tried to sit up, but found that he was restrained by his wrists and ankles. The confinement caused panic as he struggled against the straps, pulling hard in hopes of freeing himself. His dry mouth tried to call for help, but the tube shoved down his throat muted him. After a moment he realized the breathing machine was for him, and his restrained arms were bound in order to protect the blood-filled tubes running from his extremities. He was not in pain, but tears filled his eyes as he looked on in horror.
