Revolutionary Right

by Wayne Basta

  Jairyd eyed Zeric out of the corner of his eye while keeping his gun pointed at Maarkean. “Lower your weapon, or I’ll kill your friend.”

  Zeric smiled, trying to put as much of a sinister look into his expression as possible. “We’re not that close. But shoot him, and you’ll be dead before you can hope to target me. Then your friends will be defenseless.”

  Edging away, Maarkean tried to put some distance between himself and the Kowwok he had been fighting.

  At first, the Kowwok let him go, but then he seemed to change his mind. He put himself between Maarkean and Jairyd.

  Clearly, not everyone in this group agreed with Jairyd’s plan. There had to be some way he could use that to his advantage.

  While Zeric considered his options, the Kowwok said, “Let’s everyone lower our weapons. No one needs to die tonight.”

  “Sounds reasonable to me,” Zeric replied, keeping his eyes on Jairyd.

  When still nobody moved, Zeric decided someone needed to act first. Hoping he wasn’t sealing his own death sentence, he lowered his weapon slightly. Since Jairyd was not aiming at him, he felt confident enough to give that much ground, but it was still a risk.

  Everyone’s eyes shifted toward Jairyd, who now held the only readied weapon. The scrutiny did its trick. After a pause, and with a shake of his blond-haired head, Jairyd lowered his weapon, too.

  Chapter Four

  A shake of her shoulder brought Saracasi awake. Barely any sunlight came through the room’s small windows, casting the prison barracks in an eerie shadow. Struggling to open her eyes, she saw Chavatwor hovering above her. The shaggy grey and brown Kowwok smiled down at her, his blue lips barely visible through his facial hair.

  “Breakfast time.”

  Nodding groggily, Saracasi pulled herself out of bed. The other residents of Building 15 were all lining up in the central aisle. She followed Chavatwor and Larin into the line, feeling out of place next to the furry Kowwoks. There were no guards visible, and she was surprised at how orderly and rhythmically everything happened. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had not eaten in some time. She fought down the urge to push forward.

  Once everyone lined up, the doors to the outside world opened. Guards outside directed them through the courtyard and past the fences into the main building, where she had initially been processed. The line shuffled along at a moderate pace, and after only a few minutes, Saracasi smelled food.

  The moderate pace of the line then slowed to an agonizing crawl. Inching forward, they moved closer to a set of double doors where the food smells were coming from. After an eternity, Saracasi moved into the room and found a cafeteria-style setup. As the line progressed, each person grabbed a tray and then moved to where a worker handed them a plate of food. Despite the different dietary needs, everyone received the same watery concoction.

  After she was handed hers, Saracasi followed Chavatwor into a large room filled with tables. She was surprised at the number of people in the room; she realized there were far more people than had come out of Building 15. Once she thought about it, it made sense. With at least fifteen buildings full of prisoners, the guards couldn’t bring them in one building at a time, or they’d never get done.

  Chavatwor led them to a table in the left corner of the room. Saracasi recognized the blue-skinned Liw’kel woman who had arrived with her, seated with a purple-toned Liw’kel woman and Faide Darkthorne. Chavatwor smiled at the group and took a seat beside Faide. Saracasi followed his lead and sat down at the only open spot, next to the new Liw’kel woman.

  Not waiting on ceremony, Saracasi dug into her food. She had heard that prison food was the worst slop ever created, hardly worthy of the name “food.” However, at this moment, it tasted like the best thing she had ever eaten.

  Several minutes later, when she had consumed most of what was on her plate, she looked at the group seated around her. None of them ate with the vigor she had displayed. Chavatwor sat in silence with his eyes closed, though his lips moved as if speaking under his breath. After a moment, he placed his hand to his forehead and took a small, hesitant bite of his food. Faide talked quietly to the blue Liw’kel, who had not touched her food. The new purple-skinned Liw’kel caught Saracasi’s eye.

  The woman picked at her food slowly while watching Faide and the other Liw’kel. She was perhaps the most beautiful woman Saracasi had ever seen. Her skin was nice shade of purple and her face had soft feminine features. The look of compassion she wore for the other woman gave her face a sense of warmth and her antennae flowed in a comforting dance. When she noticed Saracasi, she smiled. Saracasi felt herself getting lost in the other woman’s jade green eyes.

  “Hi,” she said in a melodious voice, breaking Saracasi from her reverie. “I’m Asirzi Z’ren.”

  Stumbling over her words, Saracasi managed to get her name out.

  Asirzi’s smile broadened. “You were part of the new group who arrived yesterday?”

  Saracasi nodded, and Asirzi continued, “So was Gamaly. She’s taking it harder than you, unfortunately. I’ve only been able to get her name.”

  Looking back across the table at Gamaly, Saracasi saw the saddened and vacant look in the Liw’kel’s eyes. She recognized that Faide and Asirzi had been trying to talk to the woman all this time, but she hadn’t responded. Remembering what had happened when they first arrived at the prison, Saracasi felt for her.

  “A friend of hers tried to protect her when we arrived. He was beaten and taken away,” Saracasi explained to the others.

  Asirzi gave Gamaly another look of compassion, and Faide nodded as if he finally understood something. He patted Gamaly’s delicate long-boned hand with his hairy paw and tried to smile. The Notha’s sharp teeth gave the expression an unfortunate, dangerous tinge.

  “They will have taken him to isolation, then. Once he’s been in there for a short time he’ll be returned to the regular prison population.” His consoling smile faded as he continued, “Unfortunately, there is no guarantee he will end up in our building. But, on the bright side, to prevent us from making regular contact with other buildings, the guards rotate the groups we eat with. In time, we’ll see him in here for meals, no matter which building he ends up in.”

  Gamaly seemed to brighten slightly at that news and finally spoke. “That is, if they ever let him out. I doubt he’ll stop fighting until he finds me again. Gu’od is incredibly stubborn about some things.”

  Asirzi and Faide brightened when Gamaly spoke, and Saracasi decided to seize the opportunity to keep her talking. “He was quite amazing. It took several guards to bring him down. Where did he learn to fight like that?”

  Gamaly looked up at her. “Gu’od was once a Ni’jar. He left the order when we met, but he still practices the arts.”

  Saracasi nodded in appreciation. A secluded group of monks that originated on the Liw’kel homeworld, the Ni’jar were renowned throughout the galaxy for their martial arts skills. Common belief said that no one could a match a Ni’jar master in a one-on-one fight. They were renowned as much for their isolation as for their fighting skills. Few ever left a Ni’jar conclave after they joined, and the Ni’jar refused to involve themselves in galactic affairs.

  “He must love you very much,” Faide said consolingly.

  Gamaly nodded. “He does. Which is why I worry so much. If they put him into another building, he’ll just try to escape and find me. Then they might kill him.”

  Faide put a comforting hand on Gamaly’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I’ve been here a long time, and despite lots of neglect and some abuse, I’ve never seen, or even heard rumor of, the guards killing anybody. Even unruly prisoners.”

  Even though the message was directed to Gamaly, it made Saracasi feel better. She had known abuses like this prison occurred on some worlds in the Alliance. That had been part of why she’d gotten herself involved in the protest group on Braz. But it was comforting to know that things had not decayed to such an extent that
helpless prisoners were being slaughtered.

  Or at least it wasn’t to a point where they were killing prisoners and it was common knowledge, her cynical mind thought. Lots of terrible things were done in secret. These prisons were a good example: they were not common knowledge on most worlds in the Alliance. Killing prisoners was not outside the realm of possibility.

  But if anyone would know about it, at least in this prison, it would be someone who had been here as long as Faide.

  “Now eat up,” Faide said, picking up his own spoon. “According to our young Braz friend, the food here is excellent.”

  Saracasi smiled sheepishly as she realized she had already started eating again while she was thinking.

  Maarkean watched as Zeric shifted for what must have been the tenth time in the last few minutes. They had been sitting at this table for the last fifteen minutes, staring across at Jairyd and their former captors. No one had said much since the standoff had ended. Names had been exchanged, and then Maarkean and Zeric had been left alone while the stunned people had recovered. Now Jairyd was glaring at Maarkean and Zeric, and the rest of his group seemed unsure how to proceed.

  The introductions had been brief, but Maarkean learned that the white Kowwok was known as Lahkaba, the Ronid as Lohcja Cargon, and the slim, petite dark-haired Terran female as Meyka. The Terran male, Pasha Nolan, who had shown them inside, had returned to the upper part of the house.

  Looking over the four of them, Maarkean tried to get a sense of them. They appeared to be younger than him, though he wasn’t sure about Lahkaba. It was notoriously hard to determine Kowwok ages without being a Kowwok. Only very old Kowwoks displayed their age in the form of grey fur. And with white fur predominating, Lahkaba could have had many grey hairs among them and Maarkean would never know.

  Occasionally, Jairyd would tap his finger on the hilt of his holstered gun. This behavior appeared to distress Meyka, who sat next to him. She had been doing most of the talking, telling Jairyd that he wasn’t a killer and that murder was against everything they stood for. He seemed to be ignoring her, but Maarkean judged her to be successful, since they were still alive.

  In contrast, Lahkaba and Lohcja seemed more relaxed. They sat beside each other, occasionally making quiet comments that only the other could hear. It was difficult to be sure, but Lohcja occasionally made noises that might have even been laughter.

  The two undoubtedly had more of a reason to take issue with the Alliance than the two Terrans. Despite many worlds in the Kreogh sector having significant populations of non-Alliance species, they would not have any voting rights in Alliance elections. They might in local government elections, but not for Alliance representatives or governors.

  Reading the intents and emotions of others had always been a talent of his, but it was harder the further from Braz a species was. Ronids, with their compound eyes, antennae and exoskeletal carapace were one of the most alien species in the known galaxy. None of the physical signs that you could normally use to gauge someone’s mood existed in a species that did not see, blink, or sweat the same way.

  Despite those limitations, Maarkean got the impression that the pair of them, at least, didn’t want to kill him and Zeric outright, especially since Lahkaba had convinced Jairyd to lower his weapon earlier.

  Shifting again, Zeric spoke out of impatience. “All right, we’ve been staring at each other for a while now. Is someone going to speak?”

  “An excellent idea,” Meyka replied. Her voice was calm, and she appeared relieved that someone had broken the stalemate.

  Silence threatened to retake its hold, as no one was sure who should begin. Zeric beat it back when he continued, “All right, well, I’ll go. We came here looking for some help. We know you have a friend in Olan that you might want to get out. So do we.”

  With a sneer, Jairyd said, “Yes, we’ve been over this. You want us to break people out of a heavily guarded Alliance prison facility. You come to us out of nowhere and try to get us to agree to a major crime that would likely get us all killed.”

  “They didn’t come out of nowhere,” Meyka chided Jairyd. “Ceta brought them.”

  Jairyd snorted. “Even worse. Lei-mey’s prostitute sister brings them here. For all we know, she made a deal with the cops: us for her sister’s release.”

  “Lei-mey would never allow something like that,” Lahkaba said loudly, speaking to the group for the first time.

  Eyeing the Kowwok suspiciously, Jairyd retorted, “Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean Ceta didn’t do it on her own.”

  “Hey!” Zeric said, getting angry. “Ceta did not betray you. We had to convince her to take us here. She only wants to help her sister. What happened to her, anyway?”

  “She’s upstairs, probably giving Pasha a freebie,” Jairyd said, and then leaned forward in his chair. “Of course she wants to help her sister. But what about you? I suppose you just want to do it out of the goodness of your heart.”

  “We told you before; we want to get people out as well,” Zeric countered, leaning forward and his voice rising.

  “My sister,” Maarkean said quietly. “We want to get my sister and some of Zeric’s friends out. We have the same motivation that Ceta does.”

  Everyone turned to look at Maarkean. They had to strain to hear him compared to the others.

  Maarkean took the attention as an opportunity to continue. “I don’t know anything about your group. I don’t know your politics, or why your friend is in prison. But I suspect that if it’s for the same reason my sister is in there, she doesn’t deserve to be. I can understand why you don’t trust us. I don’t trust you, either.”

  Maarkean paused for a moment, but continued before anyone else could speak. “But I do trust Ceta. I don’t know her any better than the rest of you, but I do understand her motivations. She wants to get her sister out, just like I do. She said you all could help me get them both out. So I’m willing to put aside my distrust and work with you. Even after you tied us up and threatened to kill us. The only real question is – are you willing to do the same?”

  Silence filled the air. Their four captors considered his words. Even Jairyd appeared to be taking them at face value. Meyka had a small smile on her delicately-shaped face and a look of sympathy directed toward Maarkean.

  Zeric spoke next. “Two days ago, I tried to steal Maarkean’s ship. We were only moderately successful, and the Alliance captured my friends and Maarkean’s sister. Instead of killing me for that, Maarkean convinced me that we needed to work together. If we can get along, there is no reason we can’t work with the rest of you, despite our rough introduction.”

  Maarkean inwardly groaned, but to his surprise, Zeric’s admission of being a ship thief did not immediately destroy the headway he thought he had made. Lahkaba and Lohcja shared a look where they appeared to consider the news. After a moment, they nodded in the affirmative to each other. Meyka scrunched up her face in disapproval, but dour-faced Jairyd relaxed slightly.

  “All right, let’s talk,” Jairyd said and leaned back in his chair. “We’ll assume for the sake of conversation that we might all be willing to work together. But how?”

  It was progress, Maarkean decided. Jairyd’s statement wasn’t exactly an endorsement of friendship, but it wasn’t a threat, either. Unfortunately, he didn’t have an answer to the question. He and Zeric had been making everything up as they went along. Finding people who might be willing to work with them had been as far as they had gotten.

  Despite being glad that they were not terrorists, Maarkean had held out hope that they already had a plan to break Lei-mey out, and could just be convinced to break Saracasi out at the same time. So far, they’d viewed the idea of a prison break as just a way of framing them for an arrest. That didn’t bode well for them having any such plan.

  “No one has ever been released from Olan, despite many court cases,” Meyka said. “Attempts have been made by the planetary legislature to release people, but they have all been vetoed by
Governor Howell. Lei-mey is a member of the legislature.”

  That news left Maarkean dumbstruck for a second. They had alluded to Lei-mey being more legitimate than the news articles claimed, but that she was an elected official had not occurred to him.

  In the end, it didn’t affect anything. Had he thought that he had even a remote chance of using legal means to save Saracasi, he never would have fled Braz all those years ago.

  He tried not to sound impatient. “As I’m sure will surprise none of you, a court case isn’t going to achieve our results. As we said when we arrived, we want your help to break them out.”

  The group considered him. Meyka was clearly still bothered by this recurring suggestion, though there was less resistance this time from the others.

  Lahkaba leaned forward. “Perhaps you don’t know what you’re suggesting. Olan is a fortress. It’s in the middle of nowhere and under tight AIS control. Most prisons are contracted out, but Olan is staffed by full-time Alliance personnel.”

  “Nothing is impenetrable,” Maarkean said determinedly, “but you’re right, I don’t know anything about Olan, as I have spent almost no time on Sulas. That’s where we need to start. I would like to see the place for myself.”

  Lohcja spread his pincers in what looked like a grin. “If you want to see it, just go up to any AIS officer and tell them what we’ve been talking about. You’ll get to see a whole lot of it.”

  Despite the seriousness of their situation, the Ronid’s joke made Maarkean smile. “I had a different, less permanent, idea than that.”

  “This is crazy,” Zeric said for the thousandth time.

  Sitting in the back of a cab, Zeric watched as the walls of the prison got closer. He had spent much of his adult life trying to avoid going to prison, and now he was expected to sit calmly while he was driven straight toward one. Out of habit, he felt for the gun he knew wouldn’t be there.

  Beside him on the seat, Maarkean ignored him, his violet eyes staring fixedly ahead. He had stopped reacting to Zeric’s antics half an hour ago, when they had left the city proper. He had been sitting quietly with his eyes closed for most of the journey. Zeric doubted the Braz was as calm as he tried to pretend. Zeric did not normally consider himself a nervous person, but he couldn’t control his nerves now.