by John Walker
***
Maurda lowered himself onto a stump near the fire of the camp. After the beating, the guards returned them to work. Every joint complained as he moved, creaking under the skin. He ached to the soul. Thinking became a struggle. Hunger pangs moved into a queue with all the other miseries vying for his attention.
I am not eating tonight. The gruel provided by the Kahl did little more than nourish them for another day. He figured avoiding the meal might hasten his departure. They can use my body for their propaganda. I won’t care. It’ll be over. Much like it is for the rest of the galaxy, I’m sure.
Fatalism became easy enough to indulge. Maurda didn’t care about anything. Unconsciousness or death became his only goals. And it hadn’t even taken long to break him down in such a way. Which hurt what little remained of his pride.
When he first arrived, he swore to himself he wouldn’t give in. He made a vow to save everyone there. All that had fallen by the wayside. His conversation with his captor had started him down the path. The beatings had hastened his arrival. Then watching the Prytins take the flogging had tossed him into a full-on pit of despair.
No one’s safe. If you come here, you’ve found yourself in limbo.
“Hey.” Mareth leaned down near Maurda’s face, nudging him with his elbow. “What’re you doing? Why are you sitting there like that? The Prytin commander wants to speak with you.”
“Why me?” Maurda asked. He barely recognized his own monotone voice. He couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for the question. He barely croaked out the words.
Mareth smacked his arm. The blow drew him from his stupor. “Because you’re in charge here. And I told him that.”
“Why? That’s ridiculous. There’s nothing any of us can do to improve our situation. Let alone initiate a—”
“I’ve had enough of that out of you.” Mareth grabbed his jaw, staring into his eyes. “I know it’s tough, but you haven’t been here long enough to go down the same way as these others. So it’s time for you to stand up again. Find whatever dignity you’re trying to drown and get yourself into that tent. I won’t ask you a second time.”
Mareth stormed off, leaving him alone. Maurda’s heartbeat faster, making every ache and pain prominent. He’d been able to ignore it all before but as his pulse increased, so too did his nausea. Hunger came on next. Then a sense of duty clawing at the back of his mind, pulling him toward the tent.
There is no point! But even shouting in his head didn’t matter. He knew he’d join the man. Find out what he wanted. I can always ignore it later. But Mareth won’t forgive me if I don’t head in there right now. The fact he cared about that gave him some hope… which he didn’t necessarily want.
I have to cling to something, I suppose. All day he’d worked on not caring only to change his mind at the camp. This is going to go indecently hard for me. He shoved himself to his feet, walking stiff-legged toward the tent. The beaten Prytin rested on the same bed he’d used to recover. His young companion crouched beside him.
These two aren’t regular military. That much was obvious. If they had been, he doubted he’d hear any religious nonsense coming from them. The Prytins were renowned for their modest beliefs. They weren’t missionaries; weren’t the type to drag the religion to other communities.
Rhulins couldn’t necessarily say the same. His people brought their doctrines with them everywhere they went. They wouldn’t necessarily force it on people, but they sure brought it up whenever they could. He’d been forced to deal with some of those types as an officer… the pushier ones, at least.
“Commander,” the Prytin man looked withered from his beating. His skin was tight though wrinkles around his eyes betrayed a man at least in his late forties. He wore his blond hair nearly shaved; his startling blue eyes appeared almost white. “Thank you for coming to join me. I’m… sorry that you find me in such a state.”
“What is it you want?” Maurda asked. “As you can see, we don’t have many options down here. Even asking for better treatment earned me a savage beating. Much like what you experienced, only worse.”
“I come… with a message.” The man smiled. “I’m a representative for the one known as The Prophet. Have you heard of him?”
“I know many religions,” Maurda replied, “and I’m not familiar with someone specific who refers to themselves in that way.”
“Then you have not opened your mind.” He winced, tensing up from pain before settling again. “They… cut deep with that whip, didn’t they?”
“That’s what happens.” Maurda shrugged. The young Prytin rose, fists clenched.
“Have some respect!”
Maurda looked him in the eye. “What exactly are you suggesting you might do about it, son? We’re prisoners here. All of us. No one deserves any more or less respect than they’re given. I commanded a starship. You see where that got me. They don’t segregate us. Officers, enlisted, we’re all in the same place.”
“Are you sure this is in charge?” the young man asked. “He stinks of cowardice.”
“Really?” Maurda’s temper flared. “You think this is what—”
“Stop,” the older Prytin interrupted. “We shouldn’t fight amongst ourselves. This is urgent. The Prophet… wishes to free… you all.”
Maurda chuckled. “Does he now. And how will he do it? Whistle up a herd of animals to spirit us away? Perhaps he might even teleport us? I hear that technology is possible in the dreams of the mad.”
“Have… faith.”
“Yes.” The young man spat. “Something you should find in a place like this. It may be all that sustains you. Or are the Rhulin people without spirituality? Is it all a sham to waste the time of others?”
“We believe,” Maurda said. “And I have faith in many things, but what exactly is your Prophet going to do for us?”
“He has… eyes… everywhere. There are those who are with us in the government. Administrators. They will give us a chance.”
“What chance?” Maurda scoffed. “Specifics! I want more than the promise of eternal life here!”
“First, food.” The young man spoke this time. “The men will need their strength. Then, we will be transferred. A smaller contingency of guards will be used than is customary. When we’re at the transport, we will take it and flee.”
“Where to?” Maurda asked. “How exactly are we going to escape from the planet itself?”
“I told you… we have admin.” The young man shrugged. “You sound like you’d rather stay here to die.”
“I simply want to know the plan.” Maurda spat out the words, creating conviction where it didn’t exist. He’d given up. Only an hour earlier, he had thought about how to die. Then these men show up; a test of his faith. Figuratively and literally. He had to step up. Find the hope he’d let die. “But no, of course I don’t want to die.”
“Then… when I wake in an hour or so…” The older Prytin tensed again before slumping. He didn’t finish his statement before passing out.
“Will he live?” Maurda asked.
“Yes,” Mareth said. “He’s just hurt. He’ll be fine in a while. They gave me additional medical supplies for him.”
“You are rather cavalier about life and death.” The young Prytin got in his face again, jabbing him in the chest with a bony finger. “Perhaps you’d like to explain yourself?”
Maurda grabbed his hand, wrenching it to the side. The boy yelped, dropping to his knees in an effort to alleviate the pain. “Listen up, child and listen well. I’ve been through hell and it’s only been a short time on this planet. The others have seen much worse. Don’t push any of us with your bravado. We’ve seen plenty and it doesn’t help. Understand?”
“Yes! Yes! Let me go, please!”
“Do not push me again. I’ll organize these people. Together, we’ll try your plan.” Maurda looked at Mareth. “Even if we die, at least we tried. It’ll be better than collapsing in that mine.” He let the Prytin go, watching him slump on the
ground to nurse his aching wrist. “Clean up. Find some food. Get a place to sleep.”
“And then?” Mareth asked. “Are we doing anything else tonight?”
“Of course.” Maurda nodded “Tonight we hear their plan. So we might have a reason to wake up tomorrow.” He stepped out of the tent. “Make sure they’re well cared for. It seems they may be our salvation.” He returned to his spot by the fire, staring into the flames. Some of his old self came back.
A year of this and I’d never find him again. Maurda drew a deep breath, closing his eyes to savor the scent of the burning wood… the electric air of the dusty encampment. Finding some positive in the middle of that hellhole helped him focus. I need all my faculties if I’m going to make this work.
“I need some food,” Maurda called. “It’ll be a long night.” One filled with the hopes of the mad and the fevered ramblings of the zealous, no doubt. It beats the alternative. This course at least holds a future. Remaining here, giving in to the dreary routine will do little more than kill us slowly.
A blaze of glory meant a lot more. That was something to look forward to. And embrace.
***
Cirilla shifted at her desk as she stared at the schedule for the day. Dozens of meeting requests came in for Severan over the night. She had to find places for all of them, but it proved particularly difficult. He had plenty to do over the course of the next two weeks. Squeezing in the supposedly important projects might be impossible.
Coupled with the fact she found herself sore after her time with Severan at his house and she fought to remain focused. Painkillers hadn’t kicked in despite taking them hours earlier. She wondered if she pulled a muscle. If so, she felt somewhat ashamed. Her youth should’ve meant she was the vigorous one.
Instead, she fought not to walk stiffly when she moved about the office.
The eyes of her colleagues already hadn’t been kind. None of them looked at her with anything less than disdain. They knew she spent time with Severan. How much were they aware of? She figured some of them must’ve guessed she slept with him. Did they have any clue she also attempted to elevate her status? That she’d partnered with him?
None of them could say much to her. She had been promoted to the highest point in the administrative office. Once Severan felt comfortable making their union public, she’d find herself with additional responsibilities, more people reporting directly to her. That she looked forward to.
I want as much as he’ll give me.
But all her grandiose ideas, all her desires meant nothing if she could barely make it through the day after a hard night of sex. With a dramatically older man. He wasn’t so passionate the first time we did it. The thought made her smirk. I guess the promise of having a confidante filled him with desire.
The first time, he’d been careful. The night before, when they started touching each other, he became rather frantic. He went at her like a starved animal, going for nearly thirty minutes without pause. Half the time she winced through it. When he finished, she hadn’t reached a climax of her own.
The relief of him stopping was good enough for her.
A message from intelligence popped up in her personal box. She tapped on it. An encryption program ran before displaying the information, a quick text message.
“We’d like to talk as soon as possible. When can you be at the cafe you frequent all the time? It’ll be a lunch hour length conversation so do block off the time.” And that was it.
I hate the fact they think they can summon me, Cirilla thought. As if I’m at the end of some leash they can simply yank on to get my attention. That was the truth despite how irritating it sounded. Severan wants me to behave as if I’m their creature. I have to subject myself to another round of humiliation from these fiends.
Cirilla replied, “I’ll be there in two hours.” She didn’t bother with anything else. They’d either show up or not. At least I get my favorite juice. That was a small consolation given what she’d have to go through. Each time I meet with these bastards they’re unkind to say the least. They seem to think I’m some sort of prostitute.
Perhaps they didn’t care one way or another. Regardless, they certainly did push their agenda. If they were simply concerned about the Lord Marshal, they should’ve gone to him directly. Using her to get at him made little sense. She suspected something far more nefarious.
If I can sell them on finding the Prophet, then I succeed. They needed focus, something to do. Perhaps Severan was right about them. She hoped she could sell her confidence without revealing too much. What if they know I told him about their involvement? What if they found out I’ve talked about them?
She shook her head. There’s no way. Severan swore there are no bugs in that place. We’re good. Though no matter how firm she tried to make the statement, she didn’t believe it. Maybe that’ll work out better for me. I’ll be on my game if I’m not overconfident. Acting a little guarded wouldn’t hurt anything.
Providing I don’t seem too cagey. The balancing act scared her. I’ve already done it. Just because I have the backing of the Lord Marshal now doesn’t mean things have changed. I’m still the same person. And I’ll survive this. They can’t do anything to me. I’m untouchable because they need me.
Cirilla drew a deep breath as she finished the pep talk. She felt ready for the meeting. As she headed toward the elevator, she felt the eyes of her peers burning into her. Jealousy. Envy. They don’t matter. They’re little more than two dimensional figurines there to make a larger machine function.
The disdain she felt gave her pause. Some of them had been friends. They used to eat together. Visited after their scheduled work. How quickly things change when one rises above their perceived station. Which begged the question of whether they were ever more than cordial? Which of them might have taken advantage of the situation? Been her if they could?
Or is there something else happening I’m unaware of? Cirilla played a dangerous game. She dove into politics and intrigue well beyond her years. Lack of experience didn’t matter so much as audacity. Taking the risk became the first step toward achieving a goal she had no business pursuing. No one is ready for such things.
They tried regardless. Of course, life experience might’ve helped some. A few more years, additional observation. But she might’ve found herself sitting around long into her forties. Perhaps later. And then what? Try to move in on General Renz? No. He always gave off a bad impression.
He carried himself arrogantly. So much so she wondered if he might lack confidence altogether. Such news would not have surprised her. He lived in a long shadow. His father had been a man of stature and importance. Renz had an uphill battle to prove himself as a worthy heir. The task must’ve felt impossible.
I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to kill Severan before. No one tried it publicly. If anything of the sort took place, someone swept it neatly out from civilian scrutiny. Still, it might be his one best hope to take over our government. If he doesn’t commit the murder himself but rather blames it on some scapegoat group, he might do well.
Cirilla felt as if she might be getting the hang of thinking through intrigue. Yet part of her advised caution. You feel good about it, but chances are you’re a neophyte. The plots and schemes you imagine to be so clever are likely the things real plotters skip over as obvious. Listen more and take less pride in your thoughts.
The midday sun made the city hot. Every building enjoyed environmental technology to keep them comfortable. Occasionally, she enjoyed the heat though as she strolled along without shade, sweat formed on her neck. Nerves made travel uncomfortable until she felt a twinge in her chest, irritability threatening to get the better of her.
I have to remain even and calm. Cirilla drew a deep, dry breath. It did nothing to settle her nerves. The shop loomed ahead. If she arrived a few minutes early, she’d have time to cool off. Have a drink. Relax long enough to make a decent impression. Or at least come off like normal.
“Hello.” H
er contact’s voice startled her as he appeared at her shoulder only a few paces away from the door. “Allow me to get that for you, hmm?” He pulled it open. “After you, ma’am.”
“Thanks,” Cirilla muttered. She hurried in, walking straight for the counter before her companion could catch up. The attendant offered up her usual. She accepted, then turned. Only to find she was alone. The man had gone. What is going on? The change in temperature made her shiver.
Cirilla’s device went off, making her jump again. I have to be less twitchy! She glanced at the screen. Three simple words: Check your pocket. She plunged her hand in, finding a slip of paper. Drawing it out, her heart sank at the message scrawled across in a scraping, unpracticed hand.
Come around to the alley.
“Damn…” Cirilla turned, taking her drink. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She rushed out, heading for the side of the structure. Just once I’d like a proper sit-down. But then her contact couldn’t wear his stupid cloak. Revealing his identity might give her something to go on; allow her to call him out.
A figure stood near garbage collectors. The smell formed a lump in Cirilla’s throat. She took shallow breaths as she strode to meet him, sipping her drink to fend off a dry tongue. He turned, offering her a low bow as she approached.
“My Lady!” He made a big show of obeisance. “How might I serve you?”
“Stop.” Cirilla glared. “What are you doing? What is all this?”
“You’ve done a fantastic job of ingratiating yourself with the Lord Marshal. You must’ve been particularly good under the sheets, hm? Would you like to tell me about any special techniques you employed? Something you learned with other lovers, perhaps?”
“Your disrespect isn’t going to jar me,” Cirilla said. “If you have business you’d like to conduct, we can do so as regular adults.”
“Is that what you are? Sneaking around with the leader of our entire empire? Playing with him? Whoring yourself out for us?”
