Captive

by Cheryl Brooks

  And to think, some people only do this in the dark.

  How little they see. How much they miss. How quickly it fades.

  And they don’t even realize it.

  After all of the horrors I’ve seen in my lifetime, now this.

  Whatever it was. Love, perhaps. Perhaps even more than that—a type of connection that went beyond love, encompassing the physical and spiritual realms as well as the emotional. Klara had wondered before whether the mating process required love or whether it created love. She had begun to doubt either explanation. Perhaps the love was incidental or wholly separate. And yet, even before he’d said it, she’d seen it in his eyes, felt it in his touch, recognized it in his actions.

  Lying within the shelter of his arms certainly made her feel better than she had ever felt before. Energized, courageous, as though nothing could possibly deter her from their goal.

  Freedom. What would it mean to these people? To live without fear of hunger, reprisals, or violent death. They’d lived so long, haunted by these terrible threats. Could they cope with peace? Or would they become like the Nedwuts and other species: restless, needing war or other conflicts to feel alive? Would the plodding day-to-day experience prove too tame for them? Would it be too tame for her?

  Perhaps. Although she doubted such discontent would come very soon. Years would pass before they fully grasped their new situation, if indeed they ever grasped it at all. Those who lived in fear didn’t forget it overnight. The work of rebuilding their culture and planet would keep them busy for a very long time. And when it was finished? What then? People needed to have something to occupy their minds and hands, lest in their idleness they fall into evil ways.

  Whether I’m their leader or not, I can’t fix everything. No one can.

  The Haedusians would soon, she hoped, be united against a common enemy. Once that enemy was defeated… Well, only time would tell that story.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  Somewhat bewildered, she blinked, then gazed up at Moe. “Penny?”

  “Old Earth expression,” he replied. “A penny is a very small unit of currency—practically worthless, although at the time of that saying’s origin, it was probably worth a fair amount. I’d update it, but offering a fraction of a credit doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

  She shook her head, more bewildered than ever. “Did I ever tell you how strange you are?”

  “I believe you have. Probably more than once. If I had to guess, I’d say that strangeness will fade eventually, but where’s the fun in that?”

  “Fun.” The word echoed through her mind, a concept as foreign to her at it must be to the natives. Perhaps the old ones knew. Velkma spoke of the time when their world was much different. Would she remember? Thinking back over the things Velkma had told them, their world hadn’t been exploited into oblivion when she was young, but had there been freedom even then? “What would Haedusians consider fun?”

  He rolled off her to lie propped up on one elbow, resting his head on his palm. “The gods only know. They certainly don’t have much to do it with. You weren’t there when Velkma gave us her pencil. She said her grandmother had given it to her, and she’s kept it hidden for years. Without something as simple as a pencil, there can’t be much in the way of art. No poetry. No literature…unless it’s all verbal. And from what I’ve seen of them, they aren’t what you’d call chatty. Too serious by half.” With his free hand, he tapped the tip of her nose. “You coming out of hiding is probably the first positive event around here in years.”

  “I can trace it back even further than that. Your arrival was what started it.”

  He shook his head. “I dunno about that. If I hadn’t been so ticked off when I got here, you never would’ve noticed me.”

  “Oh, I noticed you, all right. Someone like you can’t walk into a bar without drawing a little attention.”

  A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. “How so?”

  “Well, for starters, you’re a good bit taller than the locals—and most of the offworlders. Then there was the hair.” Twisting a lock of his long curls in her fingers, she pulled him down for a deep, sensuous kiss. When at last they parted, his unique flavor lingered on her tongue. If she’d gotten a taste of him during that first encounter, hurting him would’ve been the last thing on her mind. Capturing him would still have been a high priority, albeit for an entirely different reason. “Nobody around here has hair like that.”

  “Except you.”

  She nodded. “Except me.”

  “If that’s all it took, I’m glad I’m the one who landed here instead of one of my brothers.”

  Her voice fell to a whisper. “There’s that fate thing again.”

  Drawing her into his embrace, he lowered his head until their lips almost touched. “I’m all for fate.”

  “Which means we need to get up and get going.” With a sigh, she planted a quick kiss on his cheek and then slid to the edge of the bed. After swinging her legs over the side, she sat up slowly. She’d already experienced the laetralant aftermath of their lovemaking and knew better than to leap out of bed without testing the waters first. Pleased to find her head reasonably clear, she planted her feet firmly and stood.

  “My dear Klara. If you really want us to get going, you ought to rethink the style of your departure.”

  She tossed a grin over her shoulder, catching his rueful smile as he pulled on his trousers. “There was a time when I wore clothes to bed. Should I start doing that again?”

  “Um, no. That was an observation, not a recommendation.”

  “I see.” Crossing the room, she gathered up her clothes, donning them as she went. “We’d better get dressed before Temfilk starts hammering on the door.” She studied the aging wood. “Not sure it would take much to knock it down.”

  On the word, the door splintered into fragments, and Nexbit came crashing through the wreckage. “Sorry, boss, but they’re on to us. We’ve got to run!”

  Klara snatched up her weapons and sprinted into the main room. “Of all the times not to have a back door.” She recalled the last time they’d been trapped and didn’t think Velkma would appreciate having holes blasted in the walls of her home. “Are we surrounded?”

  “Not yet. That Yirland lady just got here and said the Nedwut gangs were headed this way.” He shook his head slowly. “Dunno how we’re going to get out without being seen.”

  “Then we need a diversion.” She would have given a lot for a sonic grenade or two to lob at them, but her supply of munitions was limited. “Could you morph into something to distract them?”

  Moe stepped up beside her, checking the charge on his pistol. “Or maybe just scare the shit out of them?”

  An expression of doubt contorted the Sympaticon’s troll-like face. “I would if I had any idea what would scare a Nedwut.”

  “Don’t scare them then,” Klara said. “Morph into Pelarus. That should at least slow them down.”

  “In these clothes?” Nexbit indicated his roughly woven tunic. “They’d never believe it.”

  She glanced around the room, ensuring that she’d collected all of her belongings. If they could at least get out of the house unseen, she hoped the Nedwuts wouldn’t realize that Velkma had ever harbored them. “They don’t have to believe it. They just have to think twice about shooting you. Think you could mimic his voice?”

  “I can try.” Nexbit slowly changed into a form that made Klara shudder.

  “What about those posters?” Moe started toward the table, which was bare of any artwork. Even the pencil had been put away.

  Velkma placed a hand on his arm and spoke urgently. “There is no need. Yirland took them to be distributed. Listen closely. There is another safe house—the third beyond the crossroad to the east. Zebkra lives there. Some of our number have gone forth to stall the Nedwuts. You should be able to reach safety in time.”

  “And what then?” Moe’s voice was grim. “We’re endangering you and everyo
ne we have contact with.”

  “We take that risk willingly.” Velkma gave him a push. “Go now, and may the gods be with you.”

  Moe didn’t budge. “Yirland only said Nedwuts were headed this way. Why is that so suspicious?”

  “Nedwuts rarely come into these residential areas. They prefer to swagger about the city streets and harass the passersby rather than raid private homes.” The old woman snorted. “Not that there is anything private about our homes. They would not hesitate to break in if it suited them.”

  “We came in through your front door with a crowd of autograph hounds on our tail,” Moe said. “Anyone could’ve seen the disturbance and reported back to Pelarus. The question is why would they take this long to do anything about it.”

  Klara knew what he was thinking. Someone had sold them out. Someone who had to think about it for a while, hating to betray them, but desperate enough to do it anyway. One of Yirland’s envoy, perhaps? Perhaps not. As Moe said, they had walked openly into Velkma’s house. Such news would’ve spread quickly, ultimately reaching one of Pelarus’s spies.

  Temfilk opened the outer door a tiny crack and peered out. “I don’t see anyone.”

  Nexbit slipped in behind him, then nodded in agreement. “I’ll go first. They may not think I’m Pelarus, but they’ll probably know you don’t have any Vessonian pals.”

  Moe grimaced. “If I didn’t have a Vessonian ‘pal,’ we wouldn’t be in this fix to begin with.”

  Klara had all but forgotten about Moe’s pilot. Clearly, he hadn’t.

  Once outside, Nexbit motioned for the others to follow, standing guard until they had all exited the dwelling. Klara glanced back at the Haedusian woman. Would they ever see her again? Alive?

  Silently mouthing her thanks, she sped off in Temfilk’s wake, leaving Moe to bring up the rear, which had been her standard position in previous getaways. For once, she conceded that honor to Moe.

  After all, she had unborn children to protect.

  And so did he.

  Surprisingly, the street was completely deserted, which was odd considering the din coming from the streets to the north. Nevertheless, they darted behind the house next door to Velkma’s to crouch beside a low shed.

  Nexbit nodded in the direction of the shouts. “Must be some party going on over there.”

  Temfilk shook his head. “Sounds more like a riot to me.”

  “I’m guessing that’s Yirland’s way of slowing down the pursuit,” Moe suggested.

  Klara agreed. “I just hope it keeps them busy for a while. Let’s move on.”

  They skirted the next house and the next without being challenged. The crossroad ran on the other side of the third house. Nexbit hesitated before crossing the dusty road. “Third house beyond the crossroad, right?”

  “Right.” Klara gazed on ahead and saw that the rear door of the third house was slightly ajar. “I see it. Follow me!”

  They’d just passed the second house when Branethan Pelarus stepped out of the open doorway of the third building, flanked by eight Nedwuts bristling with pulse weapons.

  “Welcome, my dear Klara,” Pelarus said in a pleasant yet menacing tone. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Chapter 19

  When Moe came to his senses, he found himself lying on a rough stone floor. His neck and shoulders were a bit stiff, but he was otherwise unhurt, unless he’d been out long enough for his Zetithian healing powers to have kicked in to repair whatever damage his body had incurred. The current assault, however, was on his acute olfactory sense. The stench of unwashed bodies, sickness, and stale urine nearly caused him to add his own vomit to the cacophony of odors. A few shallow breaths enabled him to control his reaction as he sifted through his most recent memories.

  He’d managed to get off at least one shot that took down three of the Nedwuts. The others must’ve fired a second later, although it was possible he’d been stunned from behind. Either way, he had been correct in suspecting that someone had betrayed them.

  You can’t trust anyone on this damned planet.

  A quick visual sweep of the dim cell revealed none of the other members of their gang—or anyone else for that matter. He’d been imprisoned alone, the reason for which was perfectly clear: his plan to convince the other prisoners to play dead when they met in the arena had also been revealed by someone… Unless Velkma’s house had been bugged.

  He hadn’t checked for that. Surveillance would have been a simple precaution for a man like Pelarus, especially if he’d known of Velkma’s revolutionary tendencies. Unfortunately, if that were true, he would also know that Klara was pregnant.

  And with her as his prisoner, the first thing he would do would be to terminate the pregnancy, probably before Klara even regained consciousness. A chill stabbed his heart as he realized that their worst fears had likely already come to pass.

  Our poor babies…

  They would never know the joy of living. He would never see their faces or hold them in his arms.

  I can’t think about that. I have to believe they’re still alive.

  If Velkma’s house wasn’t bugged and someone else had betrayed them, they wouldn’t know the truth. Only Velkma knew.

  A medical scan would’ve shown that Klara had conceived. That is, if anyone had bothered to check. Perhaps they were still safe. Klara had undoubtedly been stunned just as he had been, but Pelarus wouldn’t have caused her any further harm. Even the wanted posters had specified that she was wanted alive and unharmed.

  Then again, while scans might not lie, the person reporting the results might. If the women were organized to that degree, there was still some hope there, too.

  One thing for sure, even if the worst happened and Klara was forced to be Pelarus’s wife or concubine, she would never conceive his child. Only a Zetithian man could impregnate a Zetithian woman, which was why there had never been a bounty placed on any surviving females after their planet was obliterated. They might live out their lives, but because they would never reproduce there was no incentive for bounty hunters to seek them out.

  Okay, then. On to Plan B—with a few modifications.

  Their plans had always included a fight in the arena, but without contact with other prisoners, there could be no cooperation. He would therefore be forced to kill—or at least severely incapacitate—his opponents.

  His mother had killed countless Nedwuts before Rutger Grekkor’s death put an end to the bounty on Zetithians. She was good at it, but she’d only done it to protect her husband, her children, and their Zetithian friends. Moe, on the other hand, had never killed anyone, and having to kill prisoners who were probably no more deserving of death than he was himself was abhorrent to him. Any powers of persuasion he possessed would count for nothing in the heat of battle. He wasn’t even sure that pretending to die would keep them from further harm. For all he knew, the bodies of the slain might be fed to the lions or whatever foul beasts this cursed planet might harbor. Or worse, processed into food for an unsuspecting public. Whatever their fate, he suspected it would be far better going into it dead than alive.

  He gave a moment’s thought to escape, but soon realized that escape was unlikely. His cell didn’t even have a door or a slot for food. At least, none that were readily apparent. There was only a small hole in the floor, which was presumably the toilet. Even if he’d been inclined to use that route to escape, he wouldn’t have fit through the opening. His hands were unbound, which meant that using them would serve no purpose.

  Still, there had to be a door. How else could they have gotten him in there? Plus, it wasn’t completely dark. Even though he could see quite well without it, light was getting in somehow. He started in one corner, carefully feeling the wall as he moved around the small space. His fingers eventually found a tiny crevice in the stone, barely wide enough to admit a fingernail, and another about a meter to the left. It had to be a door, but whoever had cut that rock to fit had been one damn fine craftsman. He leaned against the d
oor, pushing with all his might. However, after two tries, he stopped, saving his strength for less futile endeavors.

  A closer inspection of his “toilet” revealed the light source: some sort of bioluminescent algae grew there.

  I’m all alone with a bunch of microbes.

  What would happen if he shouted?

  The answer wasn’t nearly as helpful as he’d hoped. Nothing beyond the echoes of his own voice came back to him.

  At last, he decided there was nothing for him to do except sleep.

  And plan.

  Escaping from these guys wouldn’t be nearly as easy as freeing himself from Klara’s makeshift holding cell. This one had been designed by a master, effectively nullifying his inherent resourcefulness and speed. Unless, of course, someone ever actually opened the door. His speed had served him well enough in similar situations before. Unfortunately, he had a feeling he might have been left there to rot.

  But why mess up a perfectly good cell with a dead body? Why not kill him and dump his body in the Barrens? Clearly, someone had plans for him.

  Had Yirland put up the posters they’d made? If so, had anyone actually seen them before they could be ripped down by Pelarus’s henchmen? And if Pelarus had seen them, would he take the bait?

  Of course he won’t. If he captured me, he also got Klara. With the “prize” already in his possession, there would be no need to fight for her.

  Shit.

  Pelarus would probably make Klara watch while Moe was tortured to death. On that cheery thought, he pounded on the door again. And shouted. And cursed.

  Nobody answered.

  Nobody came.

  Trembling with rage, Klara glared at the smug countenance of her nemesis. “What have you done with my friends?”