Shrotru: Departure Episode 2 (Journey to Rehnor)

by J. Naomi Ay

  “Would you like to join us, Clara?” Reva asked.

  “No.” Clara threw herself into the corner, and drew her single blanket over her head.

  No, she didn’t want to be here at all. She wanted her bed with all of her sisters, and Kurtis curled against her side. She wanted to hear his familiar snuffling noises, which never failed to lull her to sleep. In that tiny flat, in the worst part of the inner city, she felt safer than she did now.

  Chapter 6

  Pori watched the girl scurry back into the common room, as the young Lord sauntered over to the card table. A chair was pulled up for Viscount, cards were dealt in his direction, and a handful of coins were anted up.

  "Join us, Pori?" Lewy asked, an unlit cig hanging off his lip. He had only one pack to last the entire trip, so instead of smoking them, he sucked the paper dry. “But, only if you promise to behave.”

  "No," Pori muttered, studying the dangling joint for a moment. For a whole week, Lewy had been working on this one. It was down to about half its original size, and the paper was crinkled with tiny bits of tobacco curling off the ends.

  "One," Mills bid, tossing a coin into the pile on the table.

  "Two," Lewy replied, the cig bouncing in a corner of his mouth.

  For some reason, this irritated Pori, who wanted to reach over and rip it from the other crewman's teeth.

  "Pass," the Viscount said, as Pori strolled away before he did something he'd regret afterwards.

  Actually, Pori never regretted anything. He wasn't that kind of guy. He made the best of any situation, even if someone got hurt. Then, he moved on, never looking back. That's why he was here, whizzing through space, not even once looking back at the dead planet behind them.

  "Good riddance," he murmured, wandering into the common room and gazing at the girl who was cowering under a blanket. Did she think that thin sheet of Mylar could protect her from harm? Did she think he couldn’t see the shape of her body hiding beneath it?

  "Hello?" The young Lady smiled at Pori with an innocent expression. She had her hand on a toy train and was running it along the track to entertain the little boy.

  She wasn’t bad either, even though she was obviously still a kid, Pori decided. She was young, and very innocent. Probably, too young, although that never stopped him before.

  "Hello," Pori echoed, and was about to kneel down beside her when Captain Hannah walked into the room, her eyes immediately fastening upon him.

  "What are you doing in here?" she demanded, as if Pori had done something wrong. He hadn't done anything. All he did was almost sit down. He didn't touch the girl, didn't speak to her beyond hello. Furthermore, it wasn't like he would do something to her. Not here. Not in this room with her brother and the maid to watch. Give him credit for some brains. Pori was smarter than that.

  "I wasn't doing anything." He rose to his feet, and waved his hand in a mock salute.

  It was clear from Captain's hooded gaze that she didn't believe him, or didn't trust him, or maybe, both. Pori didn't care. He didn't care what the bitch thought about anything. Once they arrived on the new planet, he'd be rid of her for good.

  Maybe, he’d even kill her. He imagined her warm, sticky blood running down his arm. Already, he could taste that metallic spray which would erupt from her jugular vein as he drew his knife across it and down in one swift move. She would collapse onto the floor at his feet, and for a moment, he would stand there appreciating his work. Then, he would fuck her. Why not? She would still be warm, and unable to resist him. She wasn’t bad looking either, for an older bitch with a pretentious ego. He’d enjoy it. Oh yes, Hannah, Captain Hannah, he’d like that very much.

  “See that you don’t do anything,” Captain Hannah hissed, and nodded her head in the direction of the crew quarters. “I suggest you get some sleep before your shift begins in two hours.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Pori replied, a slight mocking inflection to his tone. If she noticed, she didn’t respond.

  Pori watched her walk away, her tight butt swinging ever so slightly although she kept her back ramrod straight, militarily correct. He studied the bulge under her tunic on the left hip, obviously a gun. She was the only one allowed to carry onboard the ship, and most likely, doing so because of him.

  As Pori crawled beneath the blanket on his usual bunk, the one he shared with Lewy on off-hours, he thought about the first time he had killed someone, back in Juvie Hall. He had been in for a bunch of stupid offences, little things like robbing convenience stores, and dealing drugs. His biggest crime, although the cops didn’t know it, was when he set fire to the neighborhood high school. This was after he dropped out, or rather, after he was suspended for threatening a teacher. The bitch had insulted him, called him stupid, told him he was worth nothing.

  He proved her wrong, didn’t he? He was worth the power of a million flames. He was worth fire. It ate up the school as if it was made of paper. Nobody caught him then, as he was careful to cover his tracks, to burn up his footprints all the way to downtown Shrotru.

  For a while, he had lived on the streets, in doorways, and bus shelters, and under bridges. He took up with a gang of other street kids, gradually earning his stripes in the Horkin trade. Pori bought and sold the drug, which became his life. It was during this time that he became a little careless.

  Horkin made him think he was invincible. That’s when he started on the stores, taking whatever he wanted at the point of a knife, and then, racing for the shadows before the cops came.

  Pori was seventeen, and had been out on the street for a year, when finally, his luck had run out. It was his own fault. He was too wasted to manage the chase. The cops nabbed him, and slammed his ass in Juvie Jail.

  In a perverse way, Pori liked it there. He had a room, albeit a cell, with a bunk that was totally his own. Back when he was a foster kid, he was always switching from home to home, and so any bed he had was only temporary.

  He also had a roommate, a young man named Cal, who was on the verge of being released when Pori arrived.

  “I can’t do it,” Cal said, sitting on his bunk, his head in his hands. “I can’t survive out there after being in here for the last five years.”

  Pori shrugged, and smoked a cig, dropping ashes on the floor.

  “So what do you want me to do about it?” he asked. “Kill you?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I want.”

  Pori laughed, and turned his back, figuring the dude was completely nuts. Five years in detention had obviously gone to his brain. However, the next night, Cal begged Pori once again.

  “Kill me, Pori. Just make it look like suicide. If I go back to the streets after all this time, I’ll be chewed up like a piece of meat, or they’ll send me to the front lines where I’ll be hacked into pieces by some Saintist’s sword. I’d rather die here in this room, the only one I can remember. Do it for me, Pori. What do you care?”

  “How would I do it?” Pori wasn’t serious when asked, merely curious how Cal would respond. Given the choice to be executed, which method would he prefer?

  “Cut me.” Cal pointed to his neck, before producing a knife made from a broken fork. "I took this from the kitchen several months ago, but I can’t do it myself, so you'll have to. Put it in my hand when it’s been done. Tell them it was me. Tell them you were only trying to stop me.”

  “Let me think about,” Pori replied, and turned his back to his bunkmate. All night, the image of Cal’s death kept swirling through his mind.

  It would be interesting, Pori decided, to see how death took place, to feel the power as if he was a god. Or, maybe just a king. For a moment, Pori imagined he was King Karukan de Kudisha with the license to command Cal’s demise. With a wave of his hand, it would be decreed, and with a slash of a blade, it would be done.

  “Alright,” Pori agreed. “But, in my own time.”

  He wanted that element of surprise, to kill Cal when the other would least expect it. If he was going through with this, he might as well mak
e it fun.

  “Thank you,” Cal breathed, handing the makeshift knife to Pori. “Don’t tell me, and no matter what I say at the time, just do it. I want it done.”

  Pori waited seven nights, as that seemed an appropriate amount of time, while everyday Cal grew more and more anxious. Each night, he would shiver in his bunk.

  “Will it be this one?” he would whisper in the dark. “No. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Just do it.”

  Every morning when Cal awoke, he was both disappointed and relieved. Pori enjoyed the turmoil of emotions his bunkmate suffered. He relished this control over the destiny of another man, knowing that it was only his decision to alter the other's fate.

  I was meant to be in charge of life and death, Pori decided.

  On the night Pori finally drew the blade across Cal’s neck, the other begged for him to stop, and struggled to regain the knife. This fight was beyond exhilarating for Pori, even more so than the anticipation had been. Wrestling with Cal to spare his life filled Pori with an emotion stronger than anything he had ever felt.

  When Cal was dead, his sightless eyes wide open, his face contorted into an expression of both fear and shock, Pori ran his hands through the other's blood, before doing something he had never done before. He pleasured himself on his bunkmate's corpse.

  "He was trying to rape me," he later announced to the guards. "I had to fight him off. What a pervert. I’m glad he’s dead."

  When Pori turned eighteen, his term in Juvie Hall came to an end.

  "You have a choice," the Judge announced, as he had done for Cal. "You may be released to the streets, or you may join the military service, and try to make something of your life. Men like you are needed for this war effort."

  Pori chose the military, as his heart was now filled with a lust for blood. He would enjoy killing the Saintists, and defiling their corpses as he had done to Cal. In fact, he looked forward to it, wanting it more so than anything he had ever desired. To that end, Pori excelled in basic training, imagining each target as a person he would soon destroy.

  To stave off the feral excitement building inside him, he pushed his body to the absolute limits, rating second in his platoon for fitness. He also aced all exams and knowledge tests. Through his training, he discovered a heretofore unknown natural intelligence.

  Upon graduation, and to Pori's disappointment, he was assigned to the Airforce, instead of the Army. He was locked inside an airplane managing a navigational computer rather than decimating his enemies with bullets to their heads. Occasionally, he served as gunner, dropping bombs on targets miles away, the resulting explosions not nearly as satisfying as being sprayed by a rush of blood.

  During the second year of Pori's tenure in the Airforce, while on leave at base near the sea, he killed a prostitute with a shard from a smashed beer bottle. He hadn't intended to kill anyone that night. In fact, all he wanted was to do what one normally did with that type of girl. After which, he'd give her a few coins, and be on his way.

  However, Pori had imbibed slightly too much prior to this event, leaving him in a condition which left him struggling to perform. The hooker thought this humorous, thus filling Pori's soul with rage. That was her unfortunate mistake, which ultimately, causing her life to end a few moments later. Pori ran from the flat in the dark of the night, before anyone could discover his rash action.

  The cops had DNA samples with which to comb through, and even though Pori was safely ensconced back on his aircraft, he knew it would be only a matter of time until they found him. As luck would have it, a position opened up on an experimental spacecraft, destination unknown. Navigational expert was one of a several skills required.

  On the day the local police arrived at the Airforce base near the sea to arrest the young airman for the murder of the girl, Pori was already in space putting the ship through a series of trials, only to return to the planet months later when it was too late.

  Chapter 7

  Torim decided that the worst thing about being stuck out in space for a year was that he was unable to call his friends. He couldn’t hang out, or play games. They couldn’t jam together, and it was no bloody fun to drum all by himself, without the other guys on their guitars, and horns.

  To keep himself busy, he worked out every day doing push-ups and squats. Sometimes, he would run in place just to keep his muscles strong. Out of desperation, he played chess with his sister, which he considered a chore in itself, but for lack of anything else, he forced himself to enjoy it.

  That was difficult, though, as she always complained when he beat her, and then she complained again when he wouldn’t play because she was complaining. She tried to enlist their father for support, but the Duke was lost in his own dreamland, or asleep down below. Eventually, Reva would give up on Torim, and bury herself in her books, or play chess by herself, while listening to her music. In fact, since her ear buds were always on, coupled with the noise of the spacecraft’s engines, Torim figured by the time they got to the new planet, his sister would be deaf.

  That was if they got there at all. The way the ship groaned and screeched sometimes, or when a particularly large object collided with the hull, Torim wasn’t the only one who had their doubts about a safe landing.

  He tried to be optimistic, though. No sense in spending all day waiting for death. He was looking forward to the new planet, and a whole new life with his same old friends.

  In fact, Torim knew about this trip before anyone, including the Duke, as Kirat had told him that the King was going to do it. If the Saintists looked like they were going to attack first, his dad would push the button, and blow all of Hahr to hell. Of course that prompted Hahr to push their own buttons, and blow all of Karupatani to hell, too.

  The idea that his country, maybe even the whole planet had been destroyed just totally blew Torim’s young mind, so he didn’t bother to think about it. It was too late to go back, in any case. He drummed on the seats by himself using the drumsticks he had packed in his bag, and he played poker with the crew every night until he fell asleep.

  Torim thought a lot about his favorite game, Heroes and Conquerors, and when he couldn’t sleep because of the noise, he pretended to play it in his head. He recited all of the cheat codes Kirat had taught him, figuring next year on the new planet they’d play again. He’d beat all of their asses because he’d remember every move.

  The young viscount had spent practically his entire life hanging out with Kirat at the palace. He was perfectly happy to be the Crown Prince’s best friend, and his shadow. If Torim played his cards right, and ever so subtly made a suggestion, he could usually persuade the Prince to do whatever he advised. Most of the time, Kirat thought it was his own idea, too, never realizing how strong was his friend’s influence.

  Torim’s mom, the Duchess figured this would be a good skill for her son to hone later in life. When Kirat became the King, he’d make Torim his confidant, and chief advisor, which would immensely benefit the Duchy of Shrotru. In addition, Torim’s friendship opened up all sorts of prospects for the other children, which included marrying off Reva to Prince Behrat, the second son. Sheela had been planning a royal wedding practically since the day her daughter was born. The future would have been stellar for the Shrotrus if there hadn’t been a war.

  Maybe, the future wasn’t looking too bad right now at all, Torim considered, as he watched Clara sitting on the floor, playing with his little brother and the kid’s trains. Reva was in a seat, her earbuds fastened to her head, lost in her own zone, a good place for her.

  “And, this one I call Torim after my big brother,” Lot said, holding up a large red engine, and presenting it to Clara. “They’re both big and red.”

  “Really?” the girl chuckled, glancing covertly at the elder, although Torim caught her eyes, and the tiny smile which played upon her lips.

  “This one is called Reva like my sister because she’s a girl-train. Would you like me to name a train after you?”

  “Of cou
rse! I would love that.”

  Lot giggled and made train noises, something Torim found incredibly irritating, but instead of wandering off to go do push-ups, he stood and watched.

  He had seen the girl around the manor house tending to his mother’s frippery and things. He had thought her pretty, but she was only one amongst many. In fact, Torim had his pick of just about anyone, as all the girls vied for the attention of the future duke, but at the time, he hadn’t been particularly interested in them.

  Sure, like any guy, he was willing to take as much as they would give, but there was no way he was going to commit to anything more. A servant girl was just for fun. Torim was the Crown Prince’s right-hand man, and that meant, if and when he married, he’d be matched to a duchess.

  However, right now, Clara was the only girl here, and Torim was bored and looking for an adventure. He stared back at her until she began to blush. She lowered her eyes, pretending she didn’t notice, but the red color remained high in her cheeks, until she stood up, and smoothed her skirt.

  “Excuse me a moment, little sir,” she said to Torim’s brother.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll be back.” She smiled, and patted the child’s head.

  Reva looked up, her brow furrowing as she met Torim’s eyes. Torim winked, and then, casually followed the servant girl toward the back of the spacecraft.

  Clara was coy for a little while, glancing at the lavatory, and running her fingers through her hair. It didn’t last long, though. She knew what her job was, and had become reconciled to doing it, especially with Torim. He was young and fairly good looking, not great, but good enough, and everyone knew his best friend was the Crown Prince, so that meant something.

  Furthermore, she figured, if Torim took her under his wing, the crewmen would have to leave her alone. Pori was ugly with scars all over his face, and a bent nose as if it had been broken several times. Lewy was nice enough, and his looks weren’t half bad, but he wasn’t a future duke and even on the new planet, unlikely to be one. Mills was far too old, and the only other man aboard was the Duke, who spent all of his time down below, mumbling to himself.