Apparently deciding there was no more amusement to be gleaned, the pirate officer moved away from the net confining Red and Callina. “Bring the prisoners to the beach,” he said, still in Basic. “We’ll see what exactly we’ve captured and decide what to do with them.”
A moment later, a pirate soldier scooped up the double burden as if the net and its contents weighed nothing, hoisting them a good eight feet off the ground onto its shoulder. Carrying them with ease, the alien took the path toward the lake. Head down over his captor’s spiny mantle, Red couldn’t do much more than endure the next few moments until they were tossed carelessly onto the sand by the lake. Fortunately, the way he was trapped in the coils of the net, he cushioned Callina’s fall. He heard thuds and cries of pain or protest as a few other prisoners were deposited close by. Craning his neck painfully, he found the Primary in the net next to him on one side.
Figures that guy would survive, while Meg…he forced himself to redirect his thoughts. “Hey, how you holding up?” he asked Callina.
“I-I’m okay. What are they going to do with us?” she whispered.
“Hard to say. I’ll protect you as much as I can.” He made the promise, knowing full well there might not be anything he could do. “Our treatment will depend on what brought the Shemdylann here.”
“Silence.” The closest guard kicked sand at them, and Red closed his eyes against the shower of grit.
A few moments later the sticky webbing dissolved, as a Shemdylann soldier passed a light emitter over them, set to the proper frequency to counteract the coils. Before he could make a move to do anything, Red was pinioned from behind by one alien, while another dragged Callina by her hair into a position next to him. He and the other survivors were in a line, seven altogether, facing the insect-like Shemdylann officer, lounging in a complicated seat brought for him by his subordinates. A lower-ranking officer stood behind the chair, waiting to carry out any orders. Shemdylann by the dozens bustled to and fro on the beach, setting up some kind of apparatus, more of the strange chairs, and performing other tasks. One or two of the hulking, dark red-and-black creatures had wandered into the lake to their double-jointed knees and were staring at the Falls. Assessing the odds, Red took note of the three large craft crowding the landing pad. Too many to all be from one ship, unless it was a battlecruiser. The Shemdylann must have a major presence in this planetary system.
“I didn’t expect to gather slaves here, did you?” The commander spoke over his shoulder to the waiting officer.
“A bonus,” the subordinate said, snapping his mandibles in apparent pleasure.
The Shemdylann in charge waved one appendage at the prisoners. “Remove your outer clothing, humans, in order for me to assess your value.”
Glancing at each other as if for courage, most of the group prepared to obey the order. Mr. Finchon stepped forward.
“What are you doing? Don’t provoke them.” His stepdaughter grabbed his elbow.
Shaking off her grip, he adopted his usual arrogant stance and said, “I invoke the rules of the Freemarket Repatriation Pact.” Chest puffed, chin jutting, he waved his right wrist. “I have the terms here, on an embedded chip.”
“What’s he talking about?” Red asked Mr. Bettis, who was standing on the other side of Callina.
“Like an insurance policy, very hush-hush. Some of the wealthiest in the Sectors paid through a broker on Freemarket for the right to be ransomed rather than killed or enslaved in the event of capture by the Shemdylann,” Finchon’s assistant replied.
“Now, this is intriguing,” the commander was saying, clicking his mandibles. “Bring him to me. If you lie, human, your death will be protracted and entertaining for my crew.”
“No lie.” Not waiting for escort, Finchon strutted to a position in front of the chair and stood motionless as his wrist was scanned by a subordinate who rushed forward, instrument in one pincer. “I’m Ahmeril Finchon and I like to know who I’m dealing with. You are?”
Making the guttural cawing sound that was a Shemdylann laugh, the officer said, “Like all of your kind, you believe in your own importance, despite the evidence to the contrary.” Tapping his clawed toes on the sand, he studied the scanner as his soldier held it close. “Hmm, I’ll make a tidy profit on this trip besides the other rewards. Congratulations, human, you do have the prepaid right to transmit a hefty ransom through the Freemarket broker.” Opening a pouch at his belt, the commander withdrew a chain made from intricate silver links, with one cuff at the end. Leaning forward, he snapped the shackle over Finchon’s left wrist, saying as he attached the other end to a loop piercing his carapace, “You’ll stay with me at all times, both for your protection and to ensure I collect my reward. And I, by the way, am Captain Ar-Taan-Crxtahl, since you have such a desire to know who holds your fate in his claws.” The alien yanked on the chain slightly and cackled anew.
Biting his lip, the billionaire regarded the cuff with distaste, turning it on his wrist with one finger, but said nothing.
“Sir,” the soldier with the scanner said, “According to the terms of the agreement, he also paid for the right to ransom anyone else he chooses.”
“A well thought out codicil,” said the commander. “I applaud you. Are there any among this clump of humans you wish to add to the deal? At full price, of course.”
Finchon turned on his heel in the sand and frowned at his fellow prisoners, assessing each one in turn. Red spat, full of contempt, as his eyes met the billionaire’s. Rubbing his chin where he’d been punched the day before, Finchon tightened his thin lips and moved on to Callina. He regarded her for a moment, then turned to his captor. “No one else.”
Mrs. Bettis screamed and the other three surviving male passengers cursed. Harrelly fell to his knees in the sand, begging for mercy.
Red said, “You son of a bitch, how can you abandon your daughter to these monsters? At least pay her ransom.”
“She’s not my daughter, only a kid my late first wife brought along into our marriage. I paid her way for the past fifteen years.” He made a thumbs down sign. “Now I’m done. The price is too high. You have no idea how many credits the ransom is. Let her husband take care of her.”
Red put an arm around Callina. Clinging to his side, sniffling, she said to her stepfather, “I never trusted you. I hate you!”
“I’m sure you do. You’ve outlived your usefulness to me, and we both know it.” Unfazed, Finchon turned to the Shemdylann. “We’re done. I’ll transmit the ransom payment order to New Switzerland as soon as you like.”
“A respectable decision in all aspects. We eat our young at times,” the officer said, eyeing Callina.
A Shemdylann soldier came rushing up, saluting. “Sir, we found a weapon in the brush beside the burnt building.” He passed the small civilian blaster to his superior.
“Ah, so one of you is a warrior of sorts. Who does this toy belong to?”
Red didn’t see any point in denial. He raised his hand. “It was mine, from our shuttle.”
“Wise choice, to answer me promptly. No punishment for this then—I can be merciful.” Crxtahl waved the soldier away and leaned forward in his chair, addressing the prisoners. “We’re wasting daylight. Remove your clothing as instructed.”
The male passengers peeled off their shirts and pants, and stood in their swimming gear. Red had worn swim trunks under his uniform the day before in case any of the guests wanted to go snorkeling.
Callina pulled off her sundress, revealing a frilly yellow one-piece bathing suit.
As if bored, the Shemdylann leader accepted a container from an aide and took a long pull of whatever the fluid refreshment was. As he tossed the now-empty package at the waiting soldier, he said, “Bring the warrior to me.”
A guard pinched his claws none too gently into Red’s upper arm and half dragged him to the officer’s chair, where Crxtahl studied the intricate black tattoos looping around his shoulder and down his spine, making Red turn so he could tr
ace the design with one claw. Red stood at attention as the alien stared at him after the thorough examination. “Explain the markings.”
Easing into parade rest, Red pitched his voice in a casual tone. “I’m a sailor, sailors get tattoos. I liked the design and I was drunk that night. End of story.” He wasn’t going to explain the dragon was the symbol of Team Twelve. If the Shemdylann found out who he was, things would go from bad to worse, and he was determined to stay alive long enough to get revenge for Meg’s death, not to mention trying to protect Callina. He’d do what he could for the others, but the one surviving woman had to be the priority. Good thing he’d kept his mouth shut on the cruise about his military background. People could make guesses, but no one had certain knowledge. Other than Meg, and she was dead. Thinking of Meg pierced his heart with fresh grief. He nearly missed the Shemdylann’s next comment.
“Well, you’ll make a fine slave, well-muscled for a human. The markings add interest. You’ll bring a high price in the markets.” A casual wave of the captain’s mandible brought two soldiers to hustle Red back into line, where Callina took his hand. She looped her arm through her husband’s, as if she needed support from both of them to remain on her feet. Red guessed her stepfather’s refusal to ransom either of them had been a severe blow, no matter how much bad blood there might have been between them up to this moment.
One at a time the others were brought forward, but the examination of them was more cursory and the commander didn’t appear impressed, although Trever rated a closer look, in carefully maintained athletic shape from his playing days. The pirate didn’t bother inspecting Callina at all. “Not the best lot, but then, we didn’t come here expecting to bag any slaves at all. Cage them.”
Guards shoved them all into a shimmering energy cage set off to the western end of the beach. Their clothes were tossed in before the entrance to the cell was closed. Red grabbed his uniform and shrugged into it as fast as he could, confirming as he did so that all the useful items in his pockets had been confiscated. Callina retrieved her sundress and she and her husband moved to the rear of the cage, sitting next to Red.
“I’m sorry about Meg,” she said, patting his hand. “I liked her.”
“Yeah, me too.” It was going to be a long time, if ever, before the ache in his heart over losing Meg went away. “I’m sorry your stepdad is being such a prick about the ransom. Maybe he’ll change his mind.”
She looked down the beach to where Finchon sat at ease, demeanor as cool as if he was still in charge, despite being tethered by seven feet of chain to the alien commander. “No,” she said, shaking her head, “He won’t. When my Mom died, his PR people told him at the funeral I was good for his image, made the public think he was nice. I heard them talking. ‘Humanized’ him was what the head PR lady said. His image is why he always took me on his trips, instead of sending me away to school like he promised Mom when she got sick. He’ll get sympathy for losing his precious daughter and son-in-law to the aliens on their honeymoon.” Sarcasm was apparent in her tone. “No one will ever be able to say any different. We’re not going to survive, are we?”
He assessed the energy field surrounding them, humming and slightly distorting the view. “Too soon to tell.” While on the planet, there was a hope, however faint, he might be able to catch a break, grab her, and make it to the jungle. With his specialized skills, he could hide and protect Callina as well. If he stayed free long enough, the Shemdylann might abandon the chase for both of them, and go on about their business.
“I don’t want to be a slave,” she said softly, drawing circles in the sand with one fingertip. She brushed away a tear with the back of her other hand. “And I don’t want to be eaten.”
He nudged her shoulder with his own. “Hey, Crxtahl was talking about Shemdylann hatchlings, not humans.”
“Oh.” She seemed a bit comforted by the correction.
He didn’t tell her there were definite rumors in the fleet attesting to Shemdylann considering humans a delicacy. They’d both be dead long before anything like that could happen. Red could break her neck with one quick move, and he himself had the checkout code, as the Teams referred to it—a psychic implant he could activate to suicide.
Had permanent orders to use it, in fact, if “irretrievably in the grip of enemy forces.”
Standing Order One.
Harsh to the nonmilitary mind, no doubt, Red was comfortable with it. A man didn’t go downrange without making peace with his own mortality. You couldn’t do the things Special Forces often did if you were worried about your own life or death. And as an operator, he knew too many pieces of useful classified information to let the enemy take him alive.
The situation wasn’t irretrievable yet, however, not by a long shot.
“What are the pirates doing?” Callina asked, breaking into his thoughts.
Stretching, Red stood to see how their captors were passing their leisure time. The beach was literally crawling with Shemdylann now. Some were engaged in mock battles, cheered on by throngs of their comrades. Others were splashing in the lake. A fire pit had been dug and a crew of five aliens was doing some serious cooking, as if catering a banquet. Many of the aliens were basking in the sun, extended neck frills pulsing in the heat. And a few were entwined in clusters of four to six, tentacles and other sinuous organs busily at work.
“I think the pirates are on shore leave,” he said, hardly believing it. There’d never been any record of such activity, but what other conclusion could he draw? “Hey, pal,” he yelled at the guard standing by their cage. “What brings you guys here?”
The guard was watching the cluster of copulating Shemdylann, his neck frill extended and pulsing red. Apparently, no one had told him not to talk to the prisoners because he said, “We’ve been in heavy combat, penetrating this Sector. Our officers said this planet was a fabled human resort and he would bring us here for a day or two of reward, if we defeated the enemy ships. We’ll regain energy for the next assault, on your Sector Hub, to be launched when we receive further orders from the Mawreg.”
Red affected astonishment. “You brought everybody here to party, leaving your ship uncrewed?”
“Fool, of course not.” The coarse spines covering the alien’s carapace bristled and he stood taller. “You ask too many questions.” He sidestepped, pivoting in the sand to watch his fellow pirates cavorting. In Shemdylann, he grumbled to himself. “Five ships and a battle cruiser full of troops, lots drawn across the fleet for who would be lucky enough to enjoy the day on the planet. I pay a hefty bribe to win a spot and now I must stand here, watching over vermin, while my fellow soldiers shi tangor dunac midtahnn.”
Red gave no outward sign of comprehension, although he spoke fluent Shemdylann. Leaving the increasingly agitated guard alone, he retreated to the rear of the cage and pondered the intel he’d gathered. Not that there was any way for him to pass the information to the Sectors’ military authorities.
“Please, isn’t there something you can do to help us?” Eyes wide, Callina pleaded with him. “Isn’t there some way we can escape? Can’t you get us out of here?”
He tried to be polite. “Lady, these are the Shemdylann, in case you haven’t noticed. They only respond to overwhelming force, or heaps of credits. Your stepfather Finchon is the only one here with enough gravity to pay their demands. I’m just a working stiff, out of luck, like you.”
“Friend, yeah, the son of a bitch claimed to be my friend all right,” said Harelly, standing next to her. “He always wanted me to come along on these trips of his, impress the clients with his famous actor friends. Not so much now.” He laughed bitterly. “What’s going to happen to us?”
Basics from past briefings surfaced in Red’s mind. “Cryo sleep once we reach their ship.” He personally had no intention of surviving to leave the planet. Lords of Space bless the checkout code.
“And then?” asked Mr. Bettis, holding his sobbing wife.
“You heard the commander.” Red
had no interest in trying to cheer his fellow prisoners with lies or half-truths. “The Shemdylann are going to sell us for slaves, in the Outlier Empire most likely, or on one of their own worlds. The life of a slave tends to be short and brutal. She might do better, since she can sing. Be sure to tell them about your voice, lady.”
“You’re remarkably calm about it.” Trever studied Red’s face. “What do you know that you aren’t telling us?”
Harelly moved closer, like a dog on a scent. “Yeah, you were ship’s crew, you must have some inside info.”
Belatedly, Red remembered these men were accustomed to reading people and situations. He didn’t trust them not to sell him out in a heartbeat, if either realized doing so would give them an advantage with the Shemdylann. Finchon had already proven how little other human beings meant to men of his ilk. These two had the misfortune of not being in his extreme wealth bracket.
“Saving my strength in case I get a break. Panic doesn’t do any good. A cool head might.” He settled into a more comfortable position, acting casual. “Hey, you’re both wealthy, right? You can try negotiating for ransom yourself.”
“I don’t come close to Finchon’s generational billions of credits,” Harelly answered, lips thinned as if he’d swallowed something bitter. “My trideos make piles of credits, but I have expenses to match. I was never invited to join the Freemarket Pact.”
“Very few were,” said Trever, staring at Finchon lounging down the beach.
The conversation having run its course, the remaining humans sat or laid in their enclosure. Red assessed the Shemdylann and made plans. As the food was served to the alien troops, strangely shaped containers of glowing red liquid were also handed out. Based on the way the Shemdylann were reacting as they guzzled the stuff, he guessed it was a feelgood. He didn’t know whether to hope Crxtahl could maintain control of the increasingly rowdy warriors or not.
At least one mock combat ended in death or injury as the afternoon wore on, and the crowd yelled for more as the corpse was dragged to the side of the beach.
Star Cruise: Marooned: (A Sectors SF Romance) Page 5
