Deciding to try a bit of positive reinforcement – something she had learned all about through hard won experiences over the long months she was Haruhi’s primary caregiver – Morgan responded to this less creepy comment.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Morgan said dryly, not sure what to make of the advice. These ‘movement’ types were a confusing lot. Dealing with pirates, or even the street thugs back on Zion, was much easier. They wanted what you had, and weren’t afraid to hurt you to get it. These people were not so straightforward.
“Do you think she has scars on the rest of her body?” the newcomer asked Big Arms when they were almost to the door.
“Are you curious enough to risk the Old Lady’s wrath to find out?” Big Arms asked in return.
The newcomer scoffed at this.
“’Course not, I’m not stupid.” He actually paused his saunter out of the room. “Do you have more scars?”
“Lad, you’re being weird.”
“What, it’s a simple question.”
“It’s a weird question. She won’t answer you, and I certainly don’t blame her for that. Now enough of your weird and stupid questions, and let’s get some food, before the Old Lady finishes up dealing with Ms. Ice and finds something else for us to do.”
As soon as they were gone, Morgan did her best to get a feel for the room.
She was pretty far back in the corner, so she could see at least the outline of most of it.
The table was uninteresting, just a basic flat surface bolted onto a central pillar. It was surrounded by chairs of the same kind as the one she was tied to, at least as far as she could tell, so she focused on them.
Metal chair, gap in the back, four legs.
Oh. There didn’t appear to be anything connecting the legs beyond the seat itself.
Are they seriously that stupid? What am I saying; of course they could be, Morgan thought, I can just slip the ropes on my legs off the bottom of the chair legs. Arms will be a bit harder, but what else is new?
Okay. I get off the chair. That’s still the easy part. Where do I go from there? Duck into the hallway and into another room? I don’t know how many of them there are. Most of the rooms could be empty, or none of them.
I could wait for that lady to come question her, hide behind the door and take her by surprise… And then what? Hold her hostage?
That might be ironic, and a little funny, but would it work?
Don’t count your ore before it’s in the cart, Morgan reminded herself. First I have to get loose. I probably don’t have much time.
The first question was how to actually get one of her limbs free.
Yes, she could slip the ropes down off the chair leg, but how? The rope holding her hands was quite high on the chair leg; she’d have to bend quite far to get it off.
Start with the legs, then, she thought.
Her legs were spread rather wide to get them alongside the chair legs, but at least her feet were touching the ground.
Gently Morgan pushed off the ground with the balls of her feet, tilting the chair back just a bit and stretching her legs out.
She could feel the rope sliding down, just a bit, against her bare legs.
Just a little further.
Her concentration on the task at hand was shattered as footsteps approached.
Out of time, Morgan thought, bringing the chair legs back down to hide what she’d been doing.
Only, they didn’t come back down evenly. The chair wobbled a bit.
Morgan couldn’t see what had happened, but feeling at the rope with her ankle she could make a good guess.
She had been close – close enough that one of the loops of rope had come off the chair leg entirely, and was now caught under the leg.
Tilting back up she tried to use her legs to maneuver the rope back on, which turned out to be a lot harder than getting it to slide off was.
And still, the steps came closer.
Morgan stepped up her efforts, putting more force into shoving up against the ropes.
It even worked – right as the door started opening Morgan felt the rope slip back on. It also backfired. She had accidentally tipped the chair more than she realized in her attempts, and the last violent shove tipped it just enough more that the whole thing went crashing down.
It went backwards, rather than the sideways the man had warned her about, but that was worse in its way.
With no way to soften the fall or catch herself, Morgan cracked the back of her head against the hard floor, the chair pinching her arms painfully between the chair back and the tiles.
Morgan was sure she looked quite undignified, and vulnerable too, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it, especially since she was no longer alone in the room.
“I don’t think I’ve seen a more ridiculous and pathetic sight in some time.” It was the second woman, the one who maybe was in charge of the actual attackers. The Old Lady, they’d called her. She was wearing something bulky hanging off her belt, probably a weapon, though Morgan couldn’t see it clearly enough to be sure.
Morgan just shook her head as best as she was able, trying to focus through the ringing in her ears, the pain in her arms, and headache the blow had instantly given her.
“I don’t think I’m strong enough to get you upright again,” the woman said, sounding actually apologetic, “So I guess you’ll just have to stay there for the moment.” She chuckled, and if Morgan was being fair she could see the humor of the situation. But she wasn’t feeling particularly fair, so she returned the chuckle with a scowl.
Morgan couldn’t see much of the room anymore, besides the ceiling, but she could hear the woman step closer and pull a chair over near her head.
“Of course it is your own fault for trying something. Not that I blame you. Almost everyone does. I must admit, there has even been a time or two I found myself tied to a chair,” the woman sat down, then slid the chair just a little bit closer, “though I never ended up quite so… exposed as you.” This was followed with another quick laugh. “You’ve even managed to lose your shoes! Or did you lose those earlier?” The woman stood back up, evidently looking at the area around Morgan. “Not exactly been your day, has it?”
Morgan’s head had cleared enough that she felt she could respond without sounding drunk.
“Let me go. I’ll go find my shoes and come back.”
The woman laughed again, with more mirth this time.
“Humor, good. It’s always frustrating when your prisoners are too terrified to even speak. Makes the whole process so much more tedious.”
“I’m glad I can be of help.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are. I must say though; I am surprised at your bravery. You don’t look like much, if I may be frank.”
Morgan took a moment to think about her response before speaking.
Boastful? Tell them I’ve dealt with worse? They call themselves revolutionaries, they probably think they’re the ‘good guys.’ If I act like she’s a criminal she might get offended, but she might also start thinking of killing me as the wrong thing to do.
Dismissive? Or do I try and play nice with her?
Decision made, Morgan answered.
“Kidnapping is a new one, but I’ve been dealing with nasty people my entire life.”
“Really? You claim hardship, and yet you were caught up in our little assassination attempt only because you were traveling here. When I was still working, before I saw the light and joined the movement, I couldn’t save enough for a trip off-world in a dozen years, and yet you managed it in what? Two, five on the outside? You can’t be a day over twenty-five Earth years old, and probably less than twenty.”
I obviously can’t tell her I came here in Emily’s ship, Morgan thought, trying to decide what to say instead, And she’s right about it being expensive. The expense of space travel pays my salary, after all.
“I came here looking for work,” Morgan said at last, thinking through her lies even as they came out
of her mouth, “I needed someplace new.”
“What kind of work?” the Old Lady asked, clearly doubting Morgan’s story.
“I’m a starship mechanic.”
“And you couldn’t find work where you were?”
“Oh, sure,” Morgan said, rolling her head around to try and loosen up her tense neck muscles. “The problem wasn’t the job, it was the location.”
“For the job that takes you all over the quadrant? Lying to me really won’t help you, girl.”
“There were too many reminders,” Morgan said, realizing it was, at least to an extent, true. “I wasn’t lying about dealing with nasty people. On my last trip out pirates tried to take the ship. Lots of people died. You ever had to work somewhere, day after day, where people you knew died? I just wanted to find a new ship to work on.”
“Yes, I have,” the Old Lady said, quietly, almost as if she didn’t realize she was answering Morgan’s question. “Let’s say I believe you, that you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I still can’t risk letting you go.”
“What, because the other lady says so?” Morgan asked. She was banking on the Old Lady hating Ms. Ice enough that she’d discount everything the other woman suggested.
“No,” the Old Lady flatly answered. “What she wants doesn’t enter into this. You are a danger to us, but more importantly, you are a danger to the cause. What happens to me, or any of my men, doesn’t matter, as long as the cause continues.”
“And what cause is that? I hope it’s important enough to be worth shooting at a whole bunch of innocent people.”
“We took care not to hit anyone but our actual target,” the Old Lady said, defensively, before adding, “But yes, it is.”
Morgan said nothing, waiting for her to continue. It was also getting more uncomfortable to try and have a conversation in her current position. Her arms were starting to go numb, and her headache was only worsening. Plus her legs didn’t feel too great either, she was decidedly hungry by this time… and she’d have to be sure to ask about a bathroom before the woman left, embarrassing as that was sure to be.
The Old Lady paused for a bit longer, waiting to see if Morgan had anything to add or ask.
“Anyway,” she continued at last, “Our cause is righteous. We are dedicated to the eradication of the oppressive system of nobility on our beloved homeworld, and the rise of absolute equality between everyone, with no poor or rich, no bosses and wage slaves, just people.”
Morgan couldn’t help herself. She burst into hysterical laughter.
“How dare you think this is a joke,” the Old Lady said, standing up from her chair so quickly that it too joined Morgan’s chair on the ground. “You have no idea what it is like to live under the oppression of people who rule over you because of an accident of their birth.”
This only set Morgan to laughing harder. Part of her knew she was only hurting her own chances, but she couldn’t help herself. She left Hillman to be free, and this woman wanted to bring it here, all of the horrors and hypocrisy, to a place that was so much better.
Morgan’s first clue that the Old Lady was more than a little upset was when her foot connected with Morgan’s side.
Morgan was more surprised than anything, though the pointy ends of the Old Lady’s shoes didn’t exactly tickle.
Letting out a scream of rage the Old Lady then grabbed Morgan’s hair and pulled, uprighting the chair in on swift jerk. That hurt quite a bit more than the kick had, and Morgan wondered if she’d find she was missing chunks of hair latter.
“I thought you weren’t strong enough to do that,” Morgan said, wincing.
This earned Morgan a slap across the face.
It stung, a bit, Morgan supposed, but more importantly one of the Old Lady’s nails snagged the edge of the blindfold, yanking it down and almost off entirely.
She did not look like Morgan had imagined, beyond the gross shape of her she’d already seen.
She was young, especially to be called Old Lady by her subordinates. She was certainly older than Morgan was, though by how much she wouldn’t hazard to guess. She was also quite pretty, especially for one so gruff and angry. Her looks were slightly marred by a scar running down her left temple and then across her chin, but Morgan thought it made her more distinctive, not less.
I probably don’t mind scars as much as most people, though, Morgan thought to herself as she locked her gaze on the woman’s blue eyes, waiting to see who would blink first.
“A temper like that does your cause no favors,” Morgan said, still not breaking eye contact.
The Old Lady snarled, bringing her hand up to slap Morgan again, but she stopped herself and lowered it again.
“And what do you know of causes?”
This would be the tricky part. Morgan couldn’t even begin to guess how the Old Lady would react to finding out that Morgan came from a planet that had supposedly achieved what she sought. But if she framed her past properly…
“You think Albion is the only place with leaders who are born rather than chosen? Rather optimistic of you, unfortunately. My homeworld is far worse than Albion is.” Morgan shrugged her shoulders, since she couldn’t actually point at herself with her arms tied. At least I’m getting some feeling back in them. Almost worth the pulled hair, she added mentally.
“You see these scars? Did you really look at them? I got these working the mines on my homeworld. I started when I was eight Earth years old. I only stopped working them when I escaped.”
Morgan hoped that the Old Lady would ask the obvious question, and she didn’t disappoint.
“Didn’t you have medicine? Quickheal has been around since before we left Earth.” The Old Lady’s voice had calmed down quite a bit. That was good. Morgan wasn’t really afraid of what the woman could do to her, physically, but the distance between hitting her and just killing her was far too short for Morgan’s liking.
“You think the leaders cared about how we looked? We were there to work for them, and stay far, far away. Quicknit was more than good enough for us.”
Morgan didn’t add that Quickheal was only very slightly more expensive than Quicknit. She wanted to make her point, not beat it into the woman’s head. If she played her hand too strongly it could arouse suspicion.
“Eight years old?” the Old Lady whispered, stepping back and almost tripping over her own discarded chair. She righted it, and then sank down onto it. She didn’t seem to realize that she had lost the staring contest, or even that Morgan’s blindfold had come off, really.
“They’d probably kill me if I was ever caught,” Morgan added. As always, Morgan’s mind shied away from considering what that meant for her parents, when they had discovered she was missing back home. Subconsciously she knew what had likely happened to them, but consciously she just didn’t think about it. She couldn’t, not and live with herself. “So, tell me, who do you work for? The people? Or do you work for the ‘leaders’ who want me dead?”
The Old Lady didn’t answer. She didn’t even move for more than a minute. When she did finally stand up she did not answer Morgan. Instead she replaced Morgan’s blindfold, straightened her dress for her, and then put the other chair back under the table.
“Someone will be along later with food for you.”
The door closed behind the Old Lady with a faint click, leaving Morgan completely alone.
CHAPTER 5
Engineers are funny things. We’re quite good at visualizing things, planning them out in the minutest detail. We also do incredibly dumb stuff, like put vital components in hard to reach places, or plan out access ways that only have enough room if you assume the repairman doesn’t need space for themselves and their tools. Remember, even smart people can be stupid.
- James Talbot, Head Architect, Ballard & Bednar Design
FOR THE time being Morgan left off any attempt at escape. She was confident she could get off of the chair eventually, but there were still too many things she didn’t know before s
he could try a proper escape from the building. Getting loose from the chair now would only make it harder for her to find out, since their next method of locking her up would almost certainly be more difficult to get loose from.
There also wasn’t as much a need to rush through things.
The Old Lady hadn’t said so, but Morgan could tell she’d gotten to her. Unless something else changed, or Ms. Ice had far better people skills that she’d shown earlier, she was safe. For the moment.
For certain loose definitions of the word, at least.
They left Morgan alone long enough that it was in serious doubt which biological necessity was the most pressing, and none of them comfortable, when at last the door to the room opened.
Morgan had to crane her neck around to get a glimpse at the person entering the room, as her chair had not ended up in the same position it had started in. Not that it helped much, but she was at least able to tell that it didn’t seem to be anyone she’d seem up to this point, and it was a man.
Man. Or is it a boy? Morgan wondered, checking her earlier assumption. Looking at the lanky person walking towards her with a tray clutched in both hands, something about the way he held himself, the way he walked, suggested to her insecurity and immaturity.
Like the Old Lady, he was wearing a weapon in a holster at his side.
“I’ve brought you food,” Lanky said, his high pitched (for a man’s) voice confirming her suspicions about his age. He set it down on the table in front of Morgan, and then stepped back, waiting for something.
If it had been one of the men she’d dealt with in the initial attack, Bert or Ernest for example, she would have immediately assumed she was being mocked and toyed with.
As it was…
“Um,” Morgan started to say, moving her torso back and forth as much as she could, “I can’t really eat while tied to a chair.”
“You just want me to untie you so you can try to escape.”
Morgan rolled her eyes – not that he could see her do it – and sighed.
“What’s your answer then? Are you going to feed it to me?” Please don’t feed it to me, Morgan mentally added.
Black Holiday (The Black Chronicles Book 2) Page 8
