by A. B. Keuser
So thoughtful.
She felt the power fluctuations beneath her as they went into a prolonged jump, and settled in for a long wait. Even in total darkness, she knew there was nothing around her that would facilitate escape.
It was a perfect cell for someone who’s main--possibly only--skill was with tech.
And that was why she was so surprised when the door to the compartment flew open. She had to shield her eyes from the sudden brightness, and he grabbed her wrist to yank her out.
The ship was too big for only one man to operate, so she knew she’d at least have a pilot to contend with if she could get the upper hand on this one.
He still wore his suit. Odd. Overhead lights flashed across his visor as they walked.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Infirmary.” His voice was cold, metallic through the suit’s external vocal processors.
“Aside from bumps and bruises, I’m fine.”
He paused, and for half a moment, she thought he’d let it go, but he didn’t.
She was all but pushed into a sterile cube of a room and what she saw stopped her dead in her tracks.
“Holy shit.”
The tech in front of her was not military issue. This wasn’t something she’d have seen on the Dendratic. No one would pay this much money to fix up mere soldiers.
“Fix yourself up, if you need it.” He nodded toward the ring on the floor, lit by the optic fibers that spanned between it and the ceiling, and then tapped his hand against the keypad. “Call when you’re done.”
“Who do I call for?”
He stiffened and turned away, but before the door shut, he caught it. “I am Nrog.”
And then, he let it shut and she was alone with her thoughts.
Thoughts about being held captive by a man who shared a name--likely assumed--with a crassicau storybook hero.
Though, not many people would know that. Nrog was supposed to have flown a chariot of stars and slain cosmic beasts that threatened all of humanity. If you only read the story, and not the corresponding history texts, you’d never know he’d been rewarded for his valiant deeds with a public beheading.
But that was probably just a story too.
And the Nrog who had brought her here was not someone she would paint as a hero.
She tested the door panel first. Not trying to open it. If it was unlocked, he’d surely be waiting outside.
It proved to be useless. A closed system with no more power than the battery backup buried in the wall beside it.
The diagnostic ring though….
She walked a wide circle around it, pulling off the bulky suit. It wasn’t that she thought it would bite, she just didn’t want to break it before she had a chance to determine its usefulness.
Which was, she discovered, nonexistent.
Sure, it could tell her if she had lung rot, or was carrying around a parasitic fungus between her toes, but the only thing it would help her with for getting a message out was to boost the power of a different device.
Ignoring it, she traced her hand over the wall panels, looking for the one that would yield any conduit connection.
Warm vibrations fluttered under her skin, and she popped the panel out. Easy access was a must in medical facilities. An unattended power surge could do more than kill the lights and equipment.
What she found inside wasn’t going to be useful for getting her off the ship, but she could work out a timed dead drop.
Killing the ship inside a jump would be almost certain death. She’d have to set the timer long, and hope they were out of jump space, but not yet to their destination before it went through.
The laser scalpels in the drawers were better quality than any she’d been able to afford. So she took them all, slipping them into the pocket on the leg of her uniform and hoped that she wouldn’t be subjected to a pat down.
It was a simple task, constructing the fuse, slicing the wires, holding them together to maintain the connection, and then slipping the fuse between quickly enough that the momentary power drop wouldn’t be noticed.
Filled with skin bond, the inert gel inside the fuse would slowly solidify from the oxygen seeping in through the tiny puncture she’d made. Once the gel broke the connection, power would bleed from this section like she’d cut an artery.
She would have to figure out a way to overpower Nrog and whoever his pilot was while they were distracted.
Snapping the panel back in place, she sat on one of the diagnostic beds, closed her eyes, and listened to the thrumming engines.
Her wait wasn’t long. When the door opened again, Nrog’s head tilted as though he was searching the room for her. Still wearing his helmet, she had no idea what to think of him.
“Like I said,” she held out her arms as though she wore a health grade on her chest. “The picture of vitality.”
“He said you were funny,” Nrog gestured out the door. “If this is humor, I do not understand it.”
She didn't have the opportunity to ask who “he” was before the drives stuttered and shifted into normal space.
Keeping her eyes on Nrog, she forced herself to smile. She couldn’t look worried… even if her fuse was going to be too long.
“Come,” Nrog said, “We have a stop to make.”
She brightened, but hid it behind narrowed eyes. If they were making a stop, and her fuse blew while they were docked, they’d be stuck wherever they were for a while.
“What sort of adventure are you taking me on now?”
If Nrog knew how to laugh, he didn’t plan to let her hear it.
She didn’t even see the metal in his hands before he slapped the cuffs around her wrist. And even then, she stared at them a moment too long before her brain processed what he’d done.
They were archaic, no chance of shorting them, or pulling an energy sliver to get herself out. Just metal and a mechanical lock.
“It’s for your protection,” he said. “Wearing that uniform here, walking freely… you’ll be dead before you take ten steps.”
Where in the hells had he taken her?
She was ushered off the ship, and saw the pilot deep in talks with a woman who seemingly ran the dock. She couldn’t see her face or hear what either woman said, and as Nrog pushed her in the opposite direction, she saw money exchange hands.
“The sooner we’re out of the public sections, the better.” He shoved her, and added, “For your sake. There are several here who wouldn’t hesitate to eat you.”
Dragging her through a doorway hung over with flaps of dark plastic sheeting, she flinched at the sudden cacophony. At the smell of unwashed bodies and burning meat.
Too many people crowded into a corridor carved in an uneven rectangle from porous rock, spotted with jagged openings to other spaces. Like the dock they’d left, these too had wisely put a barrier in place to keep out the stench.
“Move.” he said, loudly enough that a trio of men in front of her jerked away, clearing a narrow path.
Their eyes narrowed, sweeping over the black fabric that wore an insignia that was clearly unwelcome here.
She walked, letting Nrog steer her from behind, avoiding glares, spit, and one thrown punch. The man who threw the last wound up with a broken wrist. Nrog didn’t even pause as the man dropped to his knees. He did, loudly inform those still on their feet that anyone who touched his merchandise would pay more than the cost of her replacement.
She bristled, but arguing with him in a crowd like this….
Nrog herded her through the maze of corridors with harsh words and sharp shoves, until he pushed her into a corridor low enough she felt the need to duck. Her escort didn’t have a choice.
The ceiling got lower and Mack swallowed against the encroaching claustrophobia. It was bigger than a maintenance tunnel… but the walls, now painted with a coating that was probably white plaster, were hard, cold, and stagnant. Phosphorescent veins lit their way. Nothing resembling a power conduit ran within twenty feet
of them.
Nrog was all but doubled over by the time they reached a door tucked into a dark slash in the rock.
He slammed his fist into the dull metal, and Mack breathed a little easier when it pulled inward with a whoosh of fresh--odorless--air, and the bright white of electrical lights.
Only a silhouette stood between her and the reassuring thrum of latent charge.
The woman glared at her and then jerked her head towards the inside. “You’re late.”
“Hope I didn’t ruin your tea party.”
Nrog shoved her inside and Mack stretched her neck, wishing her hands were free so she might assault the knot tightening at the crux of her left shoulder.
The room was large, a veritable palace compared to the corridors they’d left. When the door closed behind them, four more occupants moved out of the shadows and away from the walls. They looked at Nrog with a wariness that seemed to speak of something more dangerous than his height.
If he noticed their hesitation, he didn’t bother to mention it. Instead, he crossed the room, leaving her by the door and began shoving crates around, reading their lading receipts.
The woman who’d let them in said something Mack couldn’t hear the man closest to her.
“They want her alive.” He said with a smile. “They didn’t say anything about roughing her up.”
Nrog moved before she had a chance to say a word. “Touch her, and you’ll need three surgeons, a priest, and a mechanic to put you back together again.”
They stepped quickly back. Nrog might not be in charge, but he definitely had weight to throw around.
Mack twisted her hands again, the cold metal slid over her skin, “Let me out of these, and they’ll need more than that.”
Nrog looked down at her, his helmet tilted to the side. The rasping sound--sand on paper--was the most unsettling laugh she’d ever heard.
The others had the decency to look worried, though she certainly wasn’t the greater threat.
“Leave.” Nrog said, pointing to the door.
“We can’t leave her unsupervised.”
When her kidnapper turned bodyguard growled-- actually growled--they stiffened and moved toward the door.
“Vinnita will hear about this.”
“Good, she and I will have to have a conversation about why she hasn’t housebroken you yet.”
They shared a glance and then filed out. Without sparing them a glance, Nrog returned to his piled crates, kicking the pallet lift to life and punching in its coding.
“They shorted us.” He said, and she didn’t know whether it was meant for her, or a comment he’d made to himself. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Leaving the way the others had gone, Nrog’s exit was almost as startling as her first impression of their waystation. But when the door shut, it’s lock light cycling to red, she didn’t hesitate. The desk in the far corner was shadowed, covered in paperwork and dust, and was old enough it might not work anymore. But…
She shuffled a haphazard stack to the side and blew away a heavy layer of dust, tapping the plastiglass top and praying to Goddess it worked.
Flickering dark lights spasmed across the top, it’s full surface screen, coming to life, if slowly.
Dragging her hand along the dusty surface, she sorted through a dozen menus, checked all of the connections and let out a heavy sigh of relief.
She could get out.
Not physically. And probably not as easily as Peezus would have been able, but… she could work with this tech just as easily as she manipulated others.
There was only one problem. She didn’t have Cable’s ships transmit codes. Didn’t plan to risk sending something to Mersen.
“Static it will have to be….”
Tapping in a burst broadcast code, and setting the screen up to record, she looked down into the reflected image of her own face and gave the camera a winced smile.
“I have to be quick, so here’s a quick break down. I’m still alive, obviously. Whoever grabbed me knows more about fleet than they need to. He’s probably working with whoever sent the guy on the hive after me. This one had the forethought to bring mechanical cuffs.” Holding up her still bound hands, she said, “I’m trying to find a point to slip away, but I believe this guy when he says there are people here willing to eat me.”
With a quick glance at the door--still lit with red--she continued. “I’ve programed in a tracer. I have no idea where I am, but you should. Don’t leave me hanging.”
Tapping in the static transmit code and punching in the passcode only he’d know, Mack sent the message out. She could only hope the local signal boost would send it out far enough.
“What are you doing?”
She jerked away from the desk as it flashed green--message sent.
Caught.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying to get out…” She smiled weakly. “Those locks are tougher than you’d think to override.”
He straightened, and though she couldn’t see it, she knew he was glaring at her. Shoving the metal box in his hand into hers, he pushed her roughly aside.
Hands gripped around the case’s handle, she watched him, waiting. Unsure if he realized he’d handed her a weapon.
The still-lit screen flickered in his visor’s reflection, and when he turned back, he growled. “It won’t matter, we won’t be here long enough for anyone to come save you.”
She swung the box and it caught him in the face. His visor cracked, and he reeled backward, but not far enough. He reached out, faster than she imagined possible and seized her.
Caught in his grip, she had to let go of her weapon as he squeezed her wrist, dropping it in favor of clawing at the glove that threatened to break her bones.
When she disarmed herself, he let her go, shoving her away and kicking the case across the room. Cursing even as he did so.
His grip had mangled the cuff on her left wrist and she rubbed at the reddening skin as walked to the case, pulling the helmet off.
She wanted to see his face.
With his back turned, and his head bowed, she couldn’t see him. It didn’t last long.
When he turned, Mack stepped back. The unconscious reaction was not to his face… but to his freedom. She had never met a crassicau who wasn’t bound. If the man wore any leather, his master’s leash was uncommonly wrong. But the pilot had not materialized, and she had a feeling Nrog was his own man.
Crassicau skin was dark, varying shades of red and yellows, scaled, and everything about it looked like they were in constant pain.
He bared his teeth, sharp and black. “Don’t try that again.”
She didn’t say a word as he crouched, opened the case… a case full of glass orbs. Satisfied that the items were intact, he stood and grimaced at the crack in his visor before he put it back on.
If her uniform would draw ire, a crassicau with a human seemingly as his slave, might incite a riot, even with her wearing the fleet insignia.
It was better for all concerned that he wore the dark mask.
The room beyond the door was full of men and women of the same ilk as those who had greeted them before, and all eyes fell on them as soon as the door closed behind her. The glances were not as hostile as she expected.
Within a moment, the novelty had worn off, and there was nothing between them and the doorway into the crowded corridors on the other side.
Pushed from all sides, she barely noticed the sudden change of surroundings when they passed through a pair of automated doors. All that mattered was the copious amount of breathing room.
But when she finally looked up, she saw the lengths of the docs, grimy and with the long lines of warning strips, the noise level hadn’t changed.
Mack paused, almost stumbling to a stop when she caught sight of the only ship visible through the long, narrow viewport.
The craft was smaller, painted white and she could still see the faint outlines where a fleet marker had been removed. Definitely stolen. They didn’t se
ll off ships, even when decommissioned.
“We don’t have time for you to admire it.” Nrog pointed her down the gangway and she walked, hesitantly, toward the docking hatch.
She passed through a scan field and saw the subtle flash. Whatever was “wrong” with her would be sent to the pilot’s console. No station cared what contaminants you left with.
And the pilot didn’t care enough to meet her at the hatch and turn her right back around.
No one met her.
Stepping over the hatch and into the familiar gray compartment, she listened for any sign of life. It was faint, barely audible over the sound of a ship in preflight, but the distinct burble of distant chatter drew her toward a ladder leading up into an unseen level.
She could hear the pilot in the cockpit, though she couldn’t see him. There was something familiar in the tone of his voice--not that she could hear his words.
“It’s not nice to eavesdrop,” Nrog said, grabbing her by the arm and ushering her back into the ship.
He stopped her in a passenger compartment, one that looked like it might once have held lesser members of a fleet political envoy.
“This isn’t our ship.”
“This isn’t anyone’s ship.” He unlocked one cuff and grabbed a small torch to cut off the mangled one--she didn’t mention that the laser scalpels in her pocket would work better.
When he was done, he pushed her backward, and she fell onto a thickly padded seat.
“Buckle in,” he said finally removing his helmet again. “ And say goodbye to Bad Alley. You likely won’t ever see it again.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. “Where are you taking me.”
With a rasping sigh, he leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.
“You owe me some sort of explanation.”
Nrog remained the picture of a slumbering giant.
“If you want my cooperation, you need to give a little of your own in return.”
Finally he stirred.
“There’s another ship… one that needs your particular expertise.” He looked over at her when she started to argue. “Yes, it needs yours specifically.”
He glanced at her fleet insignia with a scowl, and she knew where they were headed. He was taking her to the Curran. And if Cable was right… to the woman who claimed to be a queen. But if Maeltar wanted her specifically, she’d guess that Cable was the one she really wanted to hurt.
