by Justin Sloan
"Indeed." He turned to the crowd. "An Earther from the Pan galaxy!"
A mix of cheering and confused murmurs followed.
"She wishes to show her respect for our ways," Moralu chimed in. "So show her your respect."
Now the crowd cheered, though it was clearly half-hearted.
The other two Norruls had already started moving around the circle, getting a feel for Rokal and Valerie, but Rokal didn’t seem impressed. He was still playing to the crowd to work their excitement up, and roared at one of the other Norrul in the circle with him.
In a rush, both the Norruls charged him. He moved fast though, seemingly lighter on his feet than his opponents, and maneuvered to sweep one’s legs and toss him straight at Valerie. When had she ever not been ready? With a backwards roll she tossed him up and over, and then—oh, damn—got her answer. She wasn’t ready for Rokal’s ax-kick. It caught her in the sternum before she had made it up, and sent her right back down.
The blow was like a steel battering ram. For a moment she lay there catching her breath, but the next blow came and she had to get out of the way. As she rolled, the other Norrul caught her by the hair and pulled her up.
This wasn’t going nearly as well as she’d expected it to.
Rokal came in like she was a punching bag, and Valerie was vaguely aware of Robin screaming for her to keep her arms up and defend herself. An old hatred—her hatred of pain—revived itself as those metal-covered limbs came at her, his fists slamming into her like cars.
For a while she’d gotten used to pain. It was nothing but an inconvenience. But she’d hated it, and avoided it at all costs. At that moment she remembered why.
It fucking hurt!
She wasn’t going to take any more of this. When the next blow came, she pulled back and wrapped an arm around the one holding her, sucking up the pain that came from the top of her head as he restrained her by the hair. Her other arm took Rokal’s blow and then wrapped around his arm, and she used her enhanced strength to slam Rokal into the weaker Norrul.
Considering the strength she had put into that blow, she was surprised either still stood. Rokal stumbled back, blood all over his front, but when he looked up she could see it wasn’t his. The other Norrul had taken those horns to the skull, and was on his knees, wailing. Others came in to take him to be cared for. The other Norrul charged at her, shouting, but Valerie was past the point of giving a shit if she hurt them. No more pain…for her.
Pushing off the ground, she kicked out at her new opponent with both legs, then followed up with a one-two punch to his neck. He gagged and fell back into the crowd. Meanwhile, Rokal had clearly recovered. The proof was the strike that caught Valerie in the back, followed by a punch to the kidneys that would’ve had her pissing blood for a month if she didn’t have the ability to heal.
She turned on him with a growl. Her eyes glowed and her fangs were extended, and she grabbed him by the metal horns sticking out of his head. He didn’t seem worried about that…not until she dropped to one knee and took him down with her, slamming his face into the ground. When she pulled the horns in separate directions, metal scraping on bone by the sound of it, he started screaming.
Blood seeped around one of the horns, and she pulled until skin ripped. Then Moralu was there, pulling her back and shouting that it was enough.
Rokal glanced up with anger in his eyes and she prepared to take the fight to the next level, but he collapsed, growling but submitting.
"Winner!" Moralu announced, gesturing to Valerie. A moment of silence followed, during which Valerie thought they’d string her up and tear her to pieces. Cheering ensued instead, and the celebration continued.
"What’s wrong with you all?" Robin asked Moralu, stepping over to check on Valerie.
"Pain, violence…" Moralu licked her lips. "It’s part of our lives and our culture. If we can learn to embrace it, nothing can faze us."
"Which," Rokal said in a trembling voice as he managed to get to his feet behind them, "is why you might think you pissed me off, but actually you’ve just earned my respect and taught me a very valuable lesson."
"Not to get your ass handed to you?" Robin asked. Valerie shot her a “shut up” glance.
"Actually, yes," Rokal admitted, smiling. Blood crept down his forehead in a line, then dripped from the ridge of his brow.
"Now, you were asking about the Silahu Corporation?" He grinned. "Let me get cleaned up, and I’ll show you the way."
"You’d do that?" Valerie asked.
"I’d say it’s a trap," Robin offered. "After the way you just demolished him?"
He looked offended by her remark. "We are Norruls. You showed your strength, and to us that’s all that matters. I wasn’t humiliated out there. I was bested, and shown a vision of greatness."
Valerie laughed. "Keep kissing my ass and we’ll be good friends in no time."
He frowned. "I’m sorry, but… I don’t really find you attractive, nor would I ever—"
"Ah, translation issue," Valerie interrupted, holding up her hands. "Sorry, it means, like… Huh, ‘laying it on thick?’ Complimenting too much when you don’t have to."
"Earthers use a phrase that means putting your lips on someone’s poop hole to convey that?" Moralu asked, her frown as severe as the look of disgust on Rokal’s face.
Garcia had joined them, and now laughed. "You have no idea how nasty some Earthers can get, believe me. I mean, not that I do, but... Trust me."
"Let’s not share those kinds of details," Valerie said, face-palming. "Can we just… Rokal, was it? Get cleaned up, and then yes, please. Show us."
"And there will be no lips on poop holes, we promise," Robin told them with a chuckle, earning her a fist-bump from Garcia.
"You are strange," Moralu stated, watching Rokal stumble off. "Now, about that one…"
"Yes?" Valerie asked.
"I’m not sure how far you can trust him. Just...be wary, yes?"
"Would you be willing to show us the way instead?" Valerie asked.
Moralu’s eyes narrowed. "As I earlier stated, I can point you in the right direction."
"Then we’ll go with the guide we can get."
"What’s so important that you have to deal with them?"
"A weapons deal," Valerie answered.
It was clear Moralu didn’t buy that. "Don’t get your hopes up."
Valerie nodded as Rokal returned in armor and helmet, with a rifle slung over his shoulder.
"You have your own ship?" Valerie asked.
"What sort of guide would I be without one?" he responded, and grinned. His horns were still bent awkwardly but had been wrapped and taped, although blood was already seeping through the bandages.
"Sorry about that," Valerie said, gesturing at his horns.
He grinned. "Makes me look unique. The ladies will love it."
"That true?" Robin asked Moralu.
The two Norruls exchanged a glare, then Rokal headed for the door. "You coming?"
Valerie waved the rest of her group on, since she’d noticed the look of concern Moralu gave her. She wanted to tell the female not to worry, but she herself was curious about what might happen. Maybe there was reason to worry? Either way, the mission had to continue.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Swarthian Extended Detention Environment (SEDE)
Kalan went through the door and followed Wearl’s voice out of the garbage room into a low hallway. He had to crouch so low he was nearly on his knees as he walked.
“Sorry it took me so long,” she whispered. “I considered going after Nostro and forcing him to let you out, but his place is even better protected than Captain Tuttle’s chambers.”
“So how’d you do it?”
“I had a little help. I’m taking you to her now. We’re about to get into a more populated area, so we need to be quiet.”
They exited the low passage a few moments later and came out on an empty walkway. Kalan stayed low, hoping not to be spotted.
/> Wearl made soft clicking noises—with her tongue, Kalan presumed—so that he could follow her. Thankfully it wasn’t a long walk.
They reached a dark doorway toward the end of the walkway and Wearl whispered, “Get inside.”
Kalan did as she asked.
An elderly Pallicon female was seated at a table just inside the room. She wore a scowl, but she looked entirely unsurprised to find a large gray rock of a male entering her home.
“Don’t you smell nice,” she said dryly.
“Yes, sorry about that, ma’am. I was in the—”
“I know, I know—the garbage pit. How do you think your friend got in there? Everything go all right, Wearl?”
“Exactly like you said it would,” the Shimmer replied. “Kalan, meet Hattor.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
The elderly Pallicon looked him up and down. “I thought you said he was cute, Wearl.”
“He is.” Wearl sounded shocked that anyone could possibly think otherwise.
Hattor sighed. “I must be out of my mind, letting in a stranger who pissed off Nostro. Wearl as much as admitted you’re here on a mission from Captain Tuttle to drag Nostro out of here. What do you think he’ll do to me if he learns I helped you?”
Kalan pulled out one of the chairs in front of the table and squeezed himself into it. “Maybe we can help. We’ve seen how everyone is so afraid of him. We’re here to take him down. The One-Eight-Nine doesn’t have to live in fear.”
Hattor chuckled softly. “I think you may have the wrong idea about this place.”
“How so?”
“The guards are afraid of Nostro, yes, but everyone else? Not so much.”
Kalan raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
She thought a moment. “Let me tell you a story. Nostro was born in SEDE, just like you. Though a decade or so before you, if I had to guess. By the time he was fifteen, he had the respect of everyone on the cellblock.”
Kalan grimaced. “I guess some kingpins start early.”
Hattor shook her head. “It wasn’t like that. He wasn’t trying to control his fellow prisoners. He was trying to help them. They would come to him with problems. Whether it was another prisoner stealing from them or harassing them, or it was a guard mistreating them, Nostro was unafraid. He’d do anything to help them.”
“Good way to get his hooks in them,” Wearl observed. “Get everyone to owe you a favor or two, then when everyone owes you something, you take control.”
Hattor shook her head again. “You still don’t understand. He never asked for anything in return. He only wanted to help. To make things fair for those who weren’t strong enough to fight for themselves.”
“Hmm,” Kalan mused. “It almost sounds like you’re describing a hero.”
Hattor shrugged. “Call it what you will. All I know is he helped a lot of people.”
“So what happened?”
“The same thing that happens to every sabie. He turned eighteen. When he aged out of SEDE, we gave him a send-off like the One-Eight-Nine had never seen. Sometimes when young ‘uns leave, you get a feeling they’ll be back here. Other ones, you’re not so sure. It’s tough to make it on the outside when you grew up here. As you well know.”
Kalan acknowledged that with a nod. In truth, it wasn’t that difficult to make a life; what was difficult was making a life on the right side of the law. That was why so many sabies ended up back in SEDE within a year or two.
Hattor continued, “With Nostro, I was certain. I knew I’d never see him again. He’d have a future in the military. Or government. Or maybe command his own ship. That one could do anything he put his mind to, and I knew he’d put his mind to great things. Imagine my disappointment when he showed up back at SEDE three months later.”
“What happened?” Wearl asked.
Hattor shook her head. “He wouldn’t say, but there were rumors. Some said he purposely got caught committing a crime. That he wanted to come back.”
It was a story Kalan had heard before with other sabies. “He couldn’t handle life on the outside?”
“No, it wasn’t that. More like he couldn’t handle thinking of his friends and family living in the One-Eight-Nine without him there to help them. All I know for sure is that things were different when he got back inside. The guards had always dealt with him slightly differently than everyone else—like they respected him. But when he got back, the guards started to fear him. They started doing whatever he wanted. He even made them reprogram our translation chips so we could hear their voices.”
“And you have no idea how he did it?”
“Nope. The only thing I can think of is that something happened on the outside that totally changed his status for them. Most of the Shimmer guards seem to truly love and respect him.”
“He’s like the anti-Kalan then,” Wearl joked.
Hattor paused for a moment. “I think it’s time for you to meet Nostro for real. To have a conversation with him.”
“He didn’t like us much the last time,” Kalan pointed out.
“True, but you had been sent to drag him out of his home, so you can’t really blame him.”
Kalan had to admit she had a point there.
“I believe you two have good hearts. We just have to get Nostro to listen to you long enough for him to see that for himself.”
“And how are you going to get him to do that?” Wearl asked.
Hattor smiled. “He has to listen to me. I’m his mother.”
Kalan’s mouth dropped open. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” She stood up slowly from the table. “Come on, let’s go see my son. I’ll make sure he doesn’t throw you in the garbage this time.”
Kalan stood and followed her to the door. “That would be greatly appreciated.”
The Pallicon led them out of her home and down the walkway, but then she surprised Kalan by taking a left turn into what should have been a dead end—only in One-Eight-Nine, it wasn’t. It led to a tunnel that appeared to run behind the prisoners’ quarters.
“You’ll want to watch your step,” Hattor told them as they entered the tunnel. “Nostro had this place built after he returned. He wanted to be able to come and go without being seen.”
“Why’s that?” Kalan asked.
“He leaves the cellblock sometimes. He won’t tell me where he goes, but I have the feeling he’s investigating something.”
“If he’s going to do that, he should—” Wearl’s words cut off mid-sentence, replaced by a surprised shout. The ground beneath her gave way and she started to fall.
Kalan flung his arm out, grabbing blindly. His fingers closed around her wrist and he pulled her back up.
Hattor laughed and called, “Sorry, my fault. I should have mentioned that he’s got some booby traps in here. Doesn’t want his enemies using it to sneak up on him.”
“Like we’re doing?” Kalan asked.
“Exactly. Just stay to the center of the walkway and you’ll be fine.”
They made their way in silence for a few minutes before Hattor stopped in front of what appeared to be a dead end.
“When I open this door, we’ll be in his quarters. Stay quiet, and let me do the talking. He can be a bit of a hothead at times. Once I’ve explained, you can have a conversation with him.
With that, she touched a spot on the tunnel wall and a panel slid open, revealing a numbered keypad. Hattor entered a ten-digit number and a door opened.
They went through into a dark room. Once Kalan’s eyes adjusted, he nearly gasped. They weren’t just in Nostro’s quarters; they were in his bedroom. The Pallicon leader was sleeping in his bed right in front of them.
For a brief moment it crossed Kalan’s mind how easy it would be to subdue the old Pallicon female, grab Nostro, and head back to the captain.
But no. She had trusted them. He owed her the respect of hearing her out.
Hattor took a step tow
ard her son’s bed, but he spoke before she reached him.
“Kalan Grayhewn.”
All three of the intruders froze in surprise.
“You know, there’s a reason we throw our enemies in the garbage pit,” Nostro continued. “It’s not just to be jerks. We want it to be impossible for you to sneak up on us if and when you get out. You smell like absolute trash…which is the whole point. I would like to know how you got out, though.”
“Um, yeah, interesting story about that,” Kalan said. “I actually had help from—”
Nostro suddenly rolled over, leaping from his bed, a metal bar in his hand. His eyes found Kalan and he lunged at him.
Kalan barely deflected the blow, taking it on the arm instead of in the face. He grunted in pain as his arm went numb.
“Nostro, stop,” Hattor commanded.
The big Pallicon froze, shocked at the unexpected voice. “Mom?”
“Of course it’s Mom. Who else has the code to your secret entrance?”
Nostro shuffled to the wall and clicked a switch. The room filled with warm light, and Nostro looked at them in confusion.
For the first time, Kalan saw Nostro’s face. It was absolutely hideous, covered with weird growths, strange hair-like tentacles, and two flaring holes where the nostrils should have been. He wondered why in the world a Pallicon who could look like anything he wanted would choose to look like that.
“These two were sent by the captain, just as you thought,” Hattor told him.
“Two? Oh, the Shimmer must be here as well.”
“You’re damn right I am,” Wearl said.
Hattor continued, “But they’re out to do the right thing. They thought you were abusing the prisoners of the One-Eight-Nine.”
“Of course that’s what the captain would tell them.” He paused for a moment. “I had my Shimmers fill me in on some of your exploits while you were in the pit. That was why I put you there—to give me time to find the truth.”
“Yeah?” Kalan asked. “What did you find out?”
“Enough to make me trust you, at least temporarily. I don’t think you would be working for Captain Tuttle if you knew the truth. There’s too much information on the people you’ve helped, starting with Sslake.”
