by R. A. Nargi
“Hold it up there, hoss!” Qualt chortled. “That’s an advanced intelligence you’re talking about.”
“An advanced traitor, is more like it. I should have known that you had someone on the inside. There’s no way a bunch of yahoos like you and your crew could have taken out all those wardships.”
“Believe what you want, manito. I’m just here to collect my ship back.”
“What’s going to happen to us?” Chiraine asked.
“Not my call, ladybug. But if you’re nice to me, maybe I’ll put in a good word…” He leered close to her.
Rage welled up inside me and I stepped between him and Chiraine. “You get away—”
Then the base of my skull exploded in a supernova of pain.
“I don’t believe I was talking to you, junior.”
Everything went black.
Falling in and out of consciousness, I had brief flashes of being dragged from the Vostok and tossed in a jumpship. I passed out for a long time, and when I finally awoke I found myself flat on my back and shivering on a hard metal surface that vibrated almost imperceptibly.
It was almost completely dark. Just a few dim status lights in the distance. My eyes could barely focus and my head pounded from what felt like the mother of all hangovers.
I hate getting nailed with a shally stick. This was only my third time. Both other times I was a little asshole of maybe thirteen or fourteen. I had been messing around with Kane and Hoedi and a kid we knew named Pauley. We stole an old shally stick from Hoedi’s older brother Lucias who worked as a security guard. We dared each other to take a hit from it. Pauley got messed up the worst and nearly died. At least that’s what Kane told me.
I actually think my younger self had been able to shrug off the shally’s effects a bit better than thirty-two-year-old Jannigan. Right now I was feeling pretty messed up. Especially when I tried to sit up.
“Jannigan? You awake?” The voice seemed close.
“Chiraine?”
“Yeah. You okay?”
“Not sure yet.”
I heard the rustling of fabric and then felt soft, warm hands cradling my face. “Oh, Jannigan.”
I pulled Chiraine close and she buried her head against my shoulder. I could feel her sobbing quietly.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whispered.
Another voice asked, “Really?” It was Narcissa.
“Narcissa, are you okay?”
“Relatively speaking.”
“Good.”
“I mean, they kicked the shit out of me. Especially Qualt. I think he wanted a little payback for me shooting his hand. But nothing’s broken. I hope.”
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I thought I could make out Narcissa’s figure sitting against something about a meter away. Maybe it was my imagination, though.
“Ana-Zhi?” I called.
“She’s not here,” Chiraine sat up beside me. I could smell her natural scent. It was faintly sweet. Vanilla, maybe.
“Is she okay?” I asked.
“No idea.”
“What about my father?” The Mayir must have found him.
“They didn’t really talk much when they were trying to kick my head in,” Narcissa said.
“I gather we’re on the Mayir Scout Carrier,” I said.
“I heard them mention the Baeder,” Chiraine said.
“Never heard of it.”
“Whatever it’s called, we’re on a big ship,” Narcissa said.
“How do you know?” Chiraine asked.
Narcissa knocked on the metal floor. “The hum. Every size and shape ship has its own hum.”
“You can tell what kind of ship this is from the hum?” Chiraine asked incredulously.
“Of course not. I can just tell that it’s big.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, from what we saw on the scanner when they first appeared in the system, Ana-Zhi guessed this was a Hammerhead-class Scout Carrier with a dozen stingrays in her belly.”
“I’d buy that,” Narcissa said.
Chiraine sighed. “So what do you think will happen to us?”
“No idea.” I didn’t want to mention the fact that the MCP were militaristic zealots who might feel it was perfectly okay to torture us—even though we had nothing to tell them.
Then it hit me.
And the realization was worse than being clobbered with a shally stick.
The Mayir had everything now.
Not only did they have control of the repository on Bandala and the Kryrk, but now they possessed all the artifacts the Sean bot had stowed about the Vostok.
Who knew what kind of power was locked away in those crates?
It was hard to judge time, sitting there on an ice-cold floor, in the pitch darkness. I had dozed off several times, only to wake with cramped muscles and a frozen butt.
At some point, the lights blazed on suddenly and we were all blinded.
“Beck, get on your feet!” The voice was hard.
When I didn’t move quick enough, I got a sharp kick in the side that almost caused me to vomit.
Powerful arms hauled me to my feet and I was dragged from the cell by two commandos.
“Wish me luck, ladies,” I murmured to Chiraine and Narcissa.
“Shut the fuck up,” one of the commandos growled as she shoved me into the corridor. The other slapped a pair of stun-cuffs on me and powered them on.
My eyes adjusted to the light quickly enough and I saw that I was in a narrow corridor lined with cells—maybe eight or ten. That was a lot of detention cells. All were empty save the one I had just come from.
As I was marched forward, I got a look at the two commandos. One male, one female. Both mean-looking. They were clad in crimson flight suits and armed with K-45s and shally sticks. One walked by my side, and the other placed herself directly behind me. It was standard formation for transporting a hostile.
We traveled through a maze of mostly-empty corridors before arriving at a bank of lifts. This ship had a lot of capacity, but I didn’t see a lot of crew. Maybe they were all on Bandala sorting through crates.
I had a lot of questions, but I also didn’t want to get zapped again, so I kept my mouth shut.
The lift took us up to the command deck, which was more populated with uniformed Mayir. No one really gave me a second look, though.
They just marched me through, then down a narrower corridor guarded by four crimson legionnaires, the Mayir’s elite soldiers. We stopped outside of a reinforced door and one of the legionnaires mumbled something unintelligible into his comm.
A moment later the door opened and I was ushered into a richly-appointed office that wouldn’t be out of place in Beck Salvage’s headquarters.
A number of crimson-suited officers stood around a desk where a corpulent man with reddish-orange hair sat. From the officers’ deferential stance, it was clear that the fat man was the one in charge.
“Jannigan Beck, sir, captured on Yueld,” one of the legionnaires announced.
“Beck, huh?” The fat man regarded me with close-set beady eyes that had a feral look about them. “Any relation to Sean Beck?” He spoke in a loud, grating voice.
“I’m his son.”
No sooner did the words escape my lips, when the closest guard elbowed me in the gut. “You will address the Field Marshall with respect, scum!”
I took a deep breath, trying to push through the pain.
“I’m his son, sir.”
“Well, then, my condolences to you.”
“What?”
“I was informed that we attempted to revive your father, but he did not survive the karokinesia procedure.”
“No!” Anguish stabbed through me.
“There was nothing to be done. Believe me, we would have very much liked to have spoken with the great Sean Beck.”
“You’re lying!”
“Why would I bother lying to someone like you?” he asked. “Sean Beck is dead.”
As the words
sank into my brain, I felt all my muscles turn to jelly. I slumped down and would have fallen, if not caught by the soldiers at my elbows.
“Put him in a chair,” the fat man ordered.
As they dumped me in a fine wormcloth upholstered chair, I heard the fat man prattle on, but I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t pick out any individual words.
How could this have happened?
My father…dead.
After all we had been through. I crumbled inside.
“I asked you a question,” the fat man said imperiously.
“What?”
My ignorance earned me another blow from one of the guards. I tasted blood in my mouth, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was my father.
“I said, do you know who I am.”
“No idea…sir.”
“I am Molda Prundt, Field Marshall of the Mayir Crusader Party.”
I wanted to say ‘goody for you,’ but I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to get smashed in the face again.
“I understand it was you who originally found the Shimese weapon.”
“If you are referring to the Kryrk, then yes. Sir.” I had to shield Chiraine, Ana-Zhi, and Narcissa as much as I could.
Prundt nodded. “I am indeed. Impressive.”
“Not really. It was all in the Ambit.” I didn’t even know what I was saying. My mind had gone numb at the thought of my father.
“And where is the Kryrk now?”
“What?” I stammered.
“Don’t bother to obfuscate, Beck. We know you used the Kryrk to try to destroy Bandala, and yet it was not among the artifacts we recovered from the ship you stole from us.”
A million thoughts raced through my head, but one thing was clear. The Mayir didn’t have the Kryrk.
I had to buy some more time.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come now. It is a simple question. We know from the Rhya that you did not unload it in Umbanor. We also know you didn’t have it when you were killing my men in Roan Andessa. So what did you do with it?”
“If I tell you, will you let me and my crew go?”
“Go?” Prundt barked out a laugh. His laugh was inexplicably high and girlish-sounding. “Where is it you want to go?”
“Anywhere I don’t have to smell your Mayir stench.”
Then they hit me again. Everything went black.
I’m not sure if I was dreaming at all or just lying there unconscious for hours. But it felt like I was trapped in some kind of nightmare—a nightmare where my father was dead. I couldn’t accept it. After all this time, all these struggles.
It couldn’t be true.
The Universe could not be that cruel.
I awoke back in the cell. This time the lights were on, which was almost worse because I could see how much they had pounded on me—and on Narcissa.
They hadn’t touched Chiraine yet, but she was freaked out that she would be next.
The thought of my father crept back into my mind like a black fog of despair. I took a deep breath. I had to get past this. Just for now. I had to lock the pain in a box. Keep it separate from what was going on right here, right now.
Otherwise we’d all be dead.
I took another breath and looked around through half-closed eyes. This cell would certainly be monitored, so I played up how injured I was and let out an anguished groan.
“Jannigan!” Chiraine cradled my head.
“Am I glad to see you,” I said weakly.
“What did they do to you?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m just happy I made it back to you.” I gently pulled Chiraine close and kissed her tenderly.
Her eyes widened in surprise, but there was no resistance as our lips locked. She met my kiss, and returned it passionately.
When we finally parted, I looked her in the eyes. Then my lips brushed her ear.
“Trust me,” I whispered so only she could hear.
As I eased back, I saw her nod almost imperceptibly.
“Don’t worry,” I said to both Chiraine and Narcissa. “I didn’t tell them where it was.”
“Where what was?” Narcissa asked.
“The Kryrk,” I said.
“You better not have,” Chiraine said. “We had a deal.”
Confusion played across Narcissa’s face.
“Need-to-know basis, sweetheart,” I said to her.
“Maybe we should use it as a bargaining chip,” Chiraine said.
“That’s my call,” I said. “Since I’m the only one who knows where it is.” I said that last bit in order to protect Chiraine and Narcissa.
“But—”
I cut Narcissa off. “You ladies are just going to have to trust me.”
“I guess we have no choice,” Narcissa said.
From the glint in her eye, I gathered that she finally picked up on my act and was playing along.
I stretched out on my back and let the cold seep into my head. Maybe it would freeze my headache.
Chiraine moved close to me, her soft curves pressing against the side of my body.
“What am I?” Narcissa said. “Chopped liver?”
I grinned and patted my other side, beckoning her over.
“Purely for warmth,” she said, as she came in close.
As I dozed off with a woman on either side of me, I couldn’t help but remember my birthday, and especially the after-after party with Lir and Preity.
Hmmm.
Some time later—I didn’t know how much later—the loud clang of our cell door opening woke me up. Two soldiers pushed a semi-conscious Ana-Zhi into the cell.
“Prisoner exchange,” one of the guards grunted as they hauled me to my feet.
“Ana-Zhi, you okay?”
“Alive,” she mumbled as she tried to keep herself upright.
Narcissa jumped to her feet and helped Ana-Zhi get into a seated position.
As they dragged me from the cell, Chiraine asked the guards for food and water.
“You start cooperating, and maybe we’ll talk about that,” the taller guard said.
“This is inhumane,” Chiraine said.
“Take it up with the Field Marshall,” the other guard said. “You’ll get your chance soon enough.” She leered at Chiraine.
Panic rolled in my stomach. I needed to figure something out, and soon.
The soldiers marched me through the maze of corridors that wound through this level of the ship. The place was just as empty as the last time they had taken me out. As I glanced up and down the hallways, I tried to take a mental measure of the ship.
And when I was shoved into the lift, I twisted my body so I could see the touchscreen as one of the soldiers punched in a destination. It looked like there were ten levels.
A big ship. Definitely could be a Hammerhead-class. They typically ran around 125,000 tons.
The lift headed down three levels until the display read 7. We exited into a hallway that was much narrower than those on the upper levels. The passage was crowded with all sorts of power conduits, data cables, and ventilation ducts. It felt like an engineering level, functional to the extreme, and more geared towards housing equipment than crew.
After so many twists and turns that even my captors seemed lost at points, we finally arrived at a circular bay—either science or medical by the looks of the equipment. The bay was ringed with a series of doors.
The two men at data stations in the center of the bay barely looked at me as we pushed through a door marked 7-17-4-E. It led to an anteroom with a pressure door on the far end of it.
Inside the anteroom waited a short, gaunt, middle-aged man wearing the tailored tunic of a medical officer. He had a severe-looking face with sharp cheekbones that looked to me like someone had been a tad overeager with their cosme procedures and had kind of messed things up way back when.
“The prisoner, Doctor Tarsch.” The closest soldier shoved me forward.
The gaunt doctor surveyed me
like I was a slab of meat, walking around me in a circle. Then he said, “I was expecting someone of average height and mass. I will need to do some recalibrating. Bring him along.”
We passed through the pressure door and then down a short metal staircase that led into a compact laboratory.
“Place him there.” The doctor indicated a small, low platform in the corner of the room.
They shoved me up on the platform while the doctor hunched over a datapad.
“Keep him still,” Doctor Tarsch said. “And stand clear.”
One of the soldiers withdrew his sidearm and aimed it at my head. “Don’t move, asshole.”
“I wasn’t intending to.”
A bunch of concentrated light beams flashed on to my body. I guess I was being scanned.
They winked off, suddenly.
“Okay, take him into room five and put him in the gyr.”
I was ushered out of the lab and into an exam room that was dominated by a machine that looked kind of like a MedBed. It had an upholstered reclining seat, diagnostic and treatment cuffs, a tangle of bio tubes, a scanning array, and a bunch of other equipment I didn’t recognize.
One of the soldiers shoved me into the seat and flipped the chair’s arm and leg cuffs in place, locking me down tight. The other soldier checked his partner’s work and then nodded.
“What is this thing?” I asked.
The soldier who shoved me smiled evilly. “You’re about to find out, asshole.”
The good doctor had called it a ‘gyr,’ but I had never heard of anything like that.
“Not even a hint?” I asked.
“Let’s put it this way, dimbag, whatever you did to piss Molda Prundt off, you’re going to be regretting it until the day you die.”
“Which might not be very long.” The other soldier laughed.
Great.
Doctor Tarsch returned. He stared at a datapad, checking something that was obviously very important to him, while the soldiers stood at attention.
After a few moments he put the datapad down, walked over to where I was locked in the machine, and checked several things. Then he nodded to the soldiers. “You may go.”
“We need to log prisoner receipt.” One of the soldiers hesitantly extended his wrist pad.
