by S M Briscoe
Elora took hold of his arm, putting herself in front of him as she took a few cautious steps backwards, the two thugs stalking after them. Taking a few more steps back, they were abruptly stopped short, Ethan bumping into something from behind him. Turning about, he found himself staring up into a recently familiar face.
Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure they weren’t better off with the thugs.
* * *
Jarred stared down at the young boy that had been trying to pick pocket him earlier, the same boy that he assumed had also been watching him a few moments ago in the tavern. He then looked up and caught the eye of the woman, obviously too young to be the boy’s mother, who he had just witnessed kneeing a man, twice her size, in the groin. The look he received back told him any wrong move on his part would earn him the same punishment.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing getting involved in whatever dispute was taking place between them and the two burly looking men that were now standing before him, but it was too late to think about the reasons now. Jarred returned his attention to the two companions of the injured man lying on the ground before him and they stopped for a moment, taking him in.
“What seems to be the trouble, gentlemen?” he asked, eyeing them both.
“Nothin’ that concerns you, mate,” one of the thugs declared, nodding towards the young woman. “Private matter, between us and this one. Stand aside.” The two thugs went to move in, but Jarred took a step forward, placing himself in front of the young woman, causing them to stop their approach again.
“Seems a little unfair, don’t you think?” Jarred stated more than asked, letting his gaze move from one to the other and to the thug still on the ground. “Three men against one woman?”
“Who are you, her mum?” one of the thugs asked, mockingly.
Moving too quickly for the thug to react, Jarred raised the knife he had already drawn from its sheath beneath his cloak, up to just under the man’s chin, grazing the skin and making his eyes grow wide as he suddenly froze in place. The second thug did much the same, watching them with a stunned expression, as did both the boy and young woman, looking very surprised themselves by the sudden action.
“No,” Jarred answered simply, keeping the knife in place. “I’m just a concerned citizen. A mild mannered one.” He looked from one thug to the other, raising the first’s chin with a little more pressure from his blade. “But, when I see things like this . . . it almost makes me want to become uncivilized.” Beads of sweat began forming on the thug’s forehead as Jarred locked his steely gaze with his. “You don’t want me to become uncivilized, do you?”
The thug shook his head very carefully, trying to avoid any more contact with the sharp edged blade grazing his skin.
“Good,” Jarred announced, satisfied, and pulled the knife away, letting his demeanor become nonchalant.
The two thugs relaxed only slightly, the first breathing an unsteady sigh of relief as he rubbed the flesh under his chin.
“I knew you would see it my way,” Jarred continued. “After all, if we can’t be civil to one another, what are we, but . . . well, thick headed savages, really. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The two thugs looked back and forth to one another, nodding their heads in unison, while backing away to leave.
“Gentlemen,” Jarred called out as the men turned to go, causing them to halt and look back. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
The men looked confused and nervous, not responding and Jarred motioned towards the third man still lying on the ground. The thugs looked to their fallen comrade, and moving over to him, lifted him off the ground before carrying him away in a bit of a rush.
“You gentlemen behave yourselves now!” Jarred called out to them as they disappeared into the crowds of people. He turned around, still grinning a bit, and was immediately taken aback by the apprehensive expression on the young woman’s face as she kept herself in front of the boy, who’s eyes were wide and locked on him.
What was that look in his eyes? Curiosity? No, it was something more. Fascination maybe. Whatever it was, it made him uncomfortable. No more so though than the look he was receiving from the woman in front of the boy.
She was attractive, yes. Even in that dirty, worn jumpsuit she was wearing, her dark hair tied back messily with a few loose strands falling into her face, he could easily see that. What struck him most about her though were her eyes, both dark and penetrating, watching him warily. They disarmed him somehow, making him feel vulnerable, a sensation he was not accustomed to.
Suddenly unaware of what to do, Jarred took an awkward step forward, opening his hands to the sides to show no harmful intentions. “I’m sorry about that,” he apologized. “But, if you hang around places like this long enough, you’re bound to run into people like that.”
The woman’s demeanor remained unchanged.
His first attempt at friendly communication failing, he took a different route. “Are you all right?” he asked.
We’re fine,” the young woman answered quickly, and a bit harshly. “We didn’t need your help. We can handle ourselves.”
“Yeah,” Jarred responded, rubbing his chin and grinning. “I noticed.”
“Excuse me?” Mac cut in from behind.
Jarred looked back over his shoulder, having momentarily forgotten about his new prisoner. Five minutes out and he was already becoming annoyed with him.
“Yeah, hello.” Mac nodded a brief and obviously sarcastic greeting towards the young woman and boy before turning back to Jarred. “Listen, we’re both business men, right? We’ve got to be able to work out some kind of deal here.”
Jarred rolled his eyes at Mac, beginning to seriously consider a muzzle for him. Luckily, it wasn’t going to be a long trip.
“What is Taliss offering?” Mac continued. “I’ll double it.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have any money, Mac,” Jarred shot back.
“No,” Mac corrected, “I said I didn’t have Taliss’ money.”
Jarred shook his head. Maybe he could just stun him into unconsciousness for the duration of their time together.
“Think about it,” Mac continued. “Double the bounty to just . . . let me disappear. Twice the credits, half the work. You won’t even have to drag me across the system to get it either.”
“But it wouldn’t look too good on me would it?” Jarred rebuked. “Losing a bounty?”
“It won’t look any way on you. Taliss won’t ever know you found me. You can just walk away.”
Jarred nodded in agreement. “I could . . . if he didn’t already know I have you.” He watched as the color immediately drained from Mac’s face. “Taliss wanted to know the moment you were located,” he continued after a moment. “And apparently, he couldn’t wait for me to bring you all the way across the system either.”
Mac looked as though he was going to be sick. “He’s here . . . on Isyss?”
“Well, not here,” Jarred corrected. “Not yet. It wouldn’t be very prudent of me to tell him exactly where or when to find you. Why would he pay me if he could just grab you himself?” He demagnetized Mac’s bindings and lifted him upright by one arm. “But he is close, and very eager to see you again.”
“Then why don’t you just shoot me, right here,” Mac challenged, pulling away. “I’m as good as dead if you take me to Taliss anyway.”
“That’s not my problem,” Jarred stated coldly. “Did I make you take that money . . . or the girl?”
“All right, I messed up,” Mac admitted. “But a guy deserves a second chance, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Jarred began, pausing for a moment before turning to look back at Mac. “When you see Taliss, remember to ask him that. I’m sure he’ll agree with you. Really.” Taking a new grip on Mac’s arm, he pulled the man forward, starting off for the docking ring.
The young woman, who he’d nearly forgotten was still there, suddenly moved forward, stepping in front of him and
stopping him in his tracks.
“You’re a bounty hunter,” she declared plainly, not asking.
Jarred hesitated briefly, being thrown off by the girl’s new sudden interest in him. The look of apprehension and her overall hostility had vanished, replaced by what he took to be genuine intrigue shadowed by something else that seemed to be almost opportunistic. He wasn’t sure why she would be interested in what he was, or what she could possibly want from him, but his own experience had taught him not to hang around long enough to find out. He had always made an effort to stay under the radar whenever possible. In his opinion, having an interest taken in you was never a good thing and was usually a precursor to trouble.
Wanting to make a quick exit, he simply nodded in affirmation. “Is it that obvious?” He stepped around the woman, but made it only a couple of steps before realizing that it wouldn’t be that easy.
The woman had moved up behind him, not seeming ready to let the issue drop. When she spoke again there was a hint of desperation, or possibly even hope, in her voice.
“Then . . .” she began cautiously, “. . . you have a ship, right?”
Jarred looked back at her, curiously. There was an expectant, hopeful look in her eyes that caught him off guard, considering her earlier reaction to him.
Before he could say anything, a low rumble began to resonate through the air, the ground trembling lightly. As the sound grew louder, he let his vision track around the border of the outpost’s crater wall, searching for the source, while noticing most others in his vicinity doing the same. Dust began to rise from the streets, swirling through the air in blinding clouds. As the thunderous rumble grew louder, Jarred made out the higher pitched sounds of smaller ion drives approaching. He looked up into the sky to see the familiar outlines of a number of Sect patrol ships hovering into positions over the compound, followed by two much larger troop carriers.
What was the Sect doing out here? He silently cursed his bad luck. Of all the backwater outposts in the entire system, they had to come storming into this one.
Blinding lights flared into existence from under the carriers, tracking back and forth inside the outpost.
“This is a routine Sect security raid,” a feminine, computerized voice began, booming out from the amplification system of one or both of the carriers. “Stand down and prepare for search and identification parties. As of now, all vessels are grounded. Your cooperation is mandatory. Noncompliance will result in harsh penalties.”
Around the compound most people simply stood frozen, staring up at the approaching ships. As the transmission continued to repeat itself, Jarred saw the source of the thunderous rumbling, a massive bulk freighter, lumber into view, its huge mass hovering into position over the outpost.
Something was definitely off about this. Jarred didn’t know why a Sect patrol would be bothering with a hole like this, but it seemed far from routine and the presence of the bulk freighter gave him a bad feeling. One thing was for sure, he didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out what they were doing here.
“It’s time to go,” he said, pulling at Mac’s restraints.
“Yeah, good idea,” Mac agreed, his eyes focused up on the ships that were preparing to land.
“You should too,” Jarred suggested to the young woman and boy, who were both staring up at the ships in awe. “If you have the means.”
“Why?” she asked, pulling her attention from the ships to look at him. “Won’t they just do their search and then leave?”
“Well, they might,” he began, “if that was what they were here to do. But, I doubt that’s the case.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, turning her full attention to him.
Jarred pointed towards the largest of the ships that was just now setting down in the docking ring. “That’s not a military class transport with them. It’s a freight hauler. The Sect doesn’t do a lot of supply cartage during their raids and I doubt that it’s just come along for the ride. Whatever it is they’re here for, it doesn’t look like they plan on leaving anyone behind to talk about it.”
The woman looked towards the large freighter and her eyes grew wide as she seemed to reach the same conclusion.
Jarred turned around and began to pull Mac away.
“Wait!” the woman cried, Jarred stopping to look back at her. “Take us with you.”
Chapter 3
The large freight hauler set down heavily on an open area of the docking ring’s platform, numerous troops moving into positions around its entry hatch as the boarding ramp slowly lowered to the ground. A contingent of soldiers emerged from the opening and descended the ramp to stand guard at its base, surveying the area before signaling an all clear to their high profile passengers.
Durak, the large, Gnolith, High Commander of the Sect Dominion’s military, waited at the top of the ramp, looking out over the docking ring. He was taller than the average Gnolith; most standing well over two meters; and massively built, the personal body guards standing to either side of him nearly dwarfed in comparison.
Just behind the group, and even more out of place because of his much smaller stature, Traug stood with his thin arms folded behind his back, his personal mechanical assistant at his side, as it always was, as he observed the commotion in the docking ring.
His Trillian race was, by no means, seen as being even remotely physically intimidating, but their skills in negotiation and deceitful nature, in regards to anything profit related, made them a species most feared doing business with. A fact which Traug took a great deal of pride in. One did not require great size or physical strength to be threatening. Real power came from the ability to outthink, outwit and outmaneuver one’s opponents in any situation, whether it be in business, or on the battlefield.
The High Commander barked an order at the surrounding troops, sending them off down the ramp to pass his command on to the other groups of soldiers.
“I hope you are not wasting my time here, Traug,” he warned, as he began walking slowly down the ramp.
Traug followed, speaking confidently. “I assure you, I am not. The one you seek is here. You need only find her.”
“If she is here, I will indeed find her,” Durak returned, flatly.
Traug looked out at the mass of pilots and refugees being rounded up into groups. “And the rest of these humans?”
“You can have them,” Durak replied, in a dismissive tone. “As was our agreement.”
Traug looked over the groups of what were soon to be his latest slave acquisitions, his fee for delivering the expected whereabouts of one supposed anti-Sect revolutionist and heretic. How one being could be a threat to the Sect’s power, he didn’t know, and what she had done to somehow offend the High Commander’s Gods, he couldn’t care less about. Traug wasn’t vaguely interested in the ridiculous religions of other beings, or the reasoning behind them. What he did care about was making a profit. After all, he was a Trill, and in the world of business, currency was God, whether it be credits, goods, or in this case, information, a most valuable commodity.
Profit aside, it was always good to have the Sect High Commander in one’s favor. His employers’ current building contracts with Durak had kept their military shipyards running quite profitably, and the High Commander’s overlooking of their bending of certain profit-negating laws, including those that prohibited the use of slave labor, more than compensated for the discounts he received.
After all, it was technically illegal to enslave any legitimately registered citizen or refugee in Dominion controlled space, an annoying law for anyone trying to make an honest profit. But, with the influx of convict laborers growing thin these days, not to mention the negative drawbacks of having such a workforce, laws were something his employers literally couldn’t afford to obey. Not if they wanted to maximize their profits. Even prison inmates had rights, and the terms and conditions of their labor were regulated and monitored closely by troublesome bureaucratic observers. Slaves were more reliab
le, less volatile, and most importantly, less expensive. They, of course, couldn’t be trusted with the important roles of machinists, engineers or trade workers, but were more suited for the menial, hard labor tasks others would never freely volunteer for, even with pay.
The Syntax Corporation employed millions in its many installations; from mines and refineries to assembly plants and orbital construction yards; spread over numerous planets, moons and space stations system wide, many of them residing within the large and sometimes remote facilities. To keep such employees motivated and productive it was prudent to ensure that their personal needs were being satisfied. Apart from their direct labor uses, a good influx of diverse slave labor enabled Traug’s employers to see to it that their legitimate workforce was adequately indulged and entertained as well, and at a much lower cost than importing it from the preexisting talent pools. Though the slave trade, and by extension, the use of slave labor, was viewed quite negatively by the public, its industrial applications were almost limitless.
In the end, what the slaves were used for was really none of his concern. They were a commodity, like any other, for which there was market demand. The first rule of Trillian Profit Mechanics stated: If it can be sold, sell it. Traug didn’t trouble himself with the moral implications. This new batch of slaves would be a welcome addition to his employers’ already busy workforce, and at minimal cost to them, but for the time and place that Durak should be if he wished to capture his little insurgent. An odd trade, but one he was easily ready to broker, though he didn’t know all of the reasons behind the Sect’s interest in her. That was something he would have to change. Though he might find the reasons absurd, he was sure that having more insight on the subject could only be advantageous to him.
After all, information was one of his most profitable assets.
* * *
Jarred pulled Mac behind him, pushing his way through the mass of refugees that were crowding around one of the small entry ramps to the docking ring.
