Visibly annoyed by the pompous comment, Zorlog clenched his jaws together, his mouthful of teeth providing an audible grinding sound as they thrust into one another. He fought to maintain his twisted grin.
"This ship and its crew could destroy the remains of that Signite fleet on their own, my Zuvok. It is indeed clear your penchant for spectacle is alive and well. I am amused to see our mighty military at work. To think that pitiful resistance obviously challenges the combined efforts of the Xi-Empire's finest."
The words dug deep under the Zuvok's skin. Lower veins under his neck flushed a deeper green, and his eyes dilated multiple times. “I am tempted to let you assume your stated intention here, Zorlog. Allow you to demonstrate your grit with these Signites,” he replied in a low, dangerous voice. "However, I wish to end this exercise as soon as possible. Do you have the Txtian science group aboard?"
"Yes. And they are still… alive."
"Very good. I would hate to have to kill you over such a trite misconduct. I will send a shuttle for them. Ensure they are dispatched safely. Oh yes, there is word that a prominent Signite was captured by you - a female – close relation to the Signus Governor. I wish to have her transferred as well."
"The female will bring me a healthy profit from the auctioneer’s block," Zorlog rebutted bitterly.
"You will be paid adequate compensation. Bring her to me. To the Empire!"
"May the Purists reign!" returned Zorlog as he promptly closed the channel.
"It is not a good policy to voice against the Empire with such impudence. Some may consider it treason," stated first officer Kitohk.
"I have not abandoned my alliance to the Empire, Charvok, only its composition," Zorlog returned icily.
* * *
Aviore was delivered to the Zuvok's warship.
The Zuvok's message to the Signus Governor did not result in the effect he had wished for. The Signite decided to commit suicide rather than betray his people, or witness his only daughter being slowly tortured to death. In the end, it did not matter much anyway. Signus was conquered.
It was the Zuvok Ezok himself who announced the news to Aviore. He threw open the hatch, walked in, and kicked her savagely as she lay huddled on the floor. She did not feel the blow, as she was no longer part of the physical world. Her mind wandered crazily, with no direction, lost in a sea of pain and guilt.
She had told them so much. Why couldn’t she have been stronger? How could she be so weak?
Another kick followed, deep into her abdomen. She fought for breath as she pulled herself into a tighter ball.
Why can't they leave her alone, leave her to die? She didn't have the strength to endure another questioning. She didn't know anything more.
"Your contribution proved helpful in the decimation of your peoples," a low voice churned at her, as if she was underwater. "However, your father demonstrated true strength of character by taking his own life!"
The Xilozak glared down at her with contempt, watching for an effect from his announcement.
Aviore did not flinch. But the words registered. They formed into sentences, then shaped into meaning.
Her father was dead.
She would have cried, had she any tears left.
The lack of reaction only angered the Zuvok. "His death lies on your shoulders, Signite!" He gave her one last kick before turning and slamming the hatch shut, leaving her again in total darkness.
The pain from the deep cuts, the broken bones, the throbbing from fingernail-less hands did not seem to matter anymore.
Everything was lost. Everybody.
Memories of her father raked through her mind, ripping tearless sobs and spasms from her beaten body.
Only the pain remained, now.
The heat from her broken ribs cut into her anguish like cold steel.
She swore viciously. She had to choose: give up and die, or survive and hope. Hope for a miracle. Hope that someone would come... Hope Ryan would come.
She latched onto the only emotion that could keep her alive. She could feel it well up within her, feel its intensity. She pulled herself upright and coughed up traces of blood, then spit it out into the darkness in defiance. Remnants of strength returned into her tormented body. She was fuelled by hate, composed of sheer will, driven by… something else.
The worst has passed. She will survive. She must.
It was not long before they came to get her from that dark room. A Xilozak doctor looked over her injuries but did little. He did not have the background of a slaver doctor. There was no profit in the progression of knowledge of alien physiology, and he did not like the prospect of handling filthy aliens. If they were sick or dying, it was better to kill them and be done with it.
Another slavership docked alongside the Zuvok's cruiser as the last of the Signite defensive was being decimated. Aviore, along with many other captured Signites, were transferred off the military ship onto the slavership. The citizens of Signus had officially joined the ranks of the enslaved, they were no longer prisoners of war, as they were no longer a viable Xi-Empire threat. They were merely another resource to desecrate.
Signus was ready to pillage.
* * *
Ryan’s trip ended on the jungle planet called Kalmaka. It was a planet rich with uraninite deposits - a mineral valued by the Xi-Empire. The northern hemisphere was dotted with colonies, each busily ripping into the surface, routing out vast networks of mines, yielding the precious unprocessed ore. Miners were in high demand. It was not by mistake that Zorlog had landed here. Profit was to be made.
Kalmaka was once a planet where its natives were free of tyranny, of slavery and death, and its history was rich with strange legends of the ancient Gods - Gods of unparalleled power and wisdom. The latest generations had learned quickly about Gods from the sky. They were not like the legends at all. They were evil, murderous monsters. A Kalmakan could only be free hiding deep within the equatorial rainforests, where the Xi-Empire troops dare not follow.
Zorlog's slavership landed just outside the Xi-Empire’s largest mining colony. The alien captain ordered the full complement of slaves off. Every last one would be sold here - or killed for meat.
Ryan knew they were coming for him well before the hatch cracked open. He knew they had landed. He had grown accustomed to the sounds emanating throughout the ship.
The guards moved with unusual haste. He was literally pulled out of the tube and thrown down the corridor. A few savage kicks in the back provided sufficient motivation for him to maintain a quick pace. His sides throbbed in pain, but unhealed ribs were the least of his worries. Whips cracked on slow movers. He joined a streaming line of victims, eventually exiting the snaking corridors into the slaver’s tremendous cargo bay area. Gigantic doors opened to an unfamiliar skyline.
As the slave lines streamed toward the exits, Ryan stole glances at the sky above showing through the bay door openings, hoping to catch something familiar. The few stars that shone through the thick haze left little hint of recognizable formations.
A breeze cut through the ship’s stale air. It carried with it a thick, rich, bitter odor of sulfur, strong and pungent, but it was breathable and fresh in comparison to the stench inside the ship.
He descended the ramp into a hot, sweltering afternoon. His legs were shaky. The gravity was stronger than Earth's, and he found it an effort to walk. His limbs were tired and heavy, his chest and sides wracked in pain. The atmospheric pressure made breathing a conscious labor. Ryan felt like he was underwater. The sweat poured off his body in torrents, and his mouth was dry with thirst. He followed a long line down a trail knee deep in thick, black and green muck. Ahead, past the hundreds of naked slaves’ backs, the line seemed to wind on forever, disappearing into a slowly thickening fog.
Trudging on, the vegetation grew heavier, eventually surrounding them on both sides, forming a living impervious cave. Some light managed to penetrate through its ceiling, struggling against the darkness, providing just enough f
or one to see where to step.
There was nowhere to run to, nowhere to escape.
Ryan noticed the others dragging themselves through the mud. No one talked, each focused on the act of placing one foot in front of the other, minds withdrawn from reality. On every third step, a man or woman cried out after receiving a vicious lash from the slaver's whip - a warning that they were not moving fast enough. The whips’ sparks flashed brightly in the darkness, like bursts of lightning.
A commotion up ahead came to a quick end when a bolt of orange-yellow light burned into a fleeing human boy. His back turned into a red gaping hole as he crashed into the sidewall of the cut trail. He hung there upright, suspended, like a fish caught in a net. A few sobbed at the sight, but others turned away, refusing to look.
As he passed the scene, he was sickened by the smell of burning flesh, now fully saturated into the heavy air. He glanced at the dead boy, half buried in the vegetation. Insects were already crawling over the corpse, attracted to the gaping wound.
He could not have been more than 16. He looked familiar, somehow.
The Xilozak slaver that had shot the boy was approaching, marching alongside the trail of captives, his blaster slapping loudly on his muscular leg. His boots carried a thick layer of mud, but he was oblivious to it, engrossed in his insidious yelling at the slow-moving line of slaves beside him. Ryan stopped staring and started ahead as quickly as he could.
I don’t want to die here, not like that boy.
He glanced back once more, once he felt he was far enough ahead. The Xilozak was inspecting his kill, yelling out to another guard close by, obviously bragging about his marksmanship. Their conversation burst into growling bouts of laughter, bitter and coarse.
The line passed under an archway, an entrance carved through a massive wall of stone. The wall's height was hidden by vegetation, but the tunnel was at least 15 meters long, revealing its tremendous thickness. The other side opened to a small city, the population of which consisted of Xilozaks, Txtians, and slaves of many races.
As they marched through the town, their captors barked their own versions of profanity toward them and laughed amongst themselves. The slaves collected in a large fenced corral area adjacent to a platform in an open area. It served as a junction of the five roads entering the town.
It was a chance to rest, and like the many others, Ryan collapsed onto the wet, steaming soil. Catching one’s breath was a deliberate act. It took time before strength returned to his legs.
One of the guards pulled over a trough and filled it with muddy water. The others leaned in and lapped up the water, ravenous with thirst. Ryan joined them but remained civilized by cupping his hands. The water was earthy, tasted bitter and smelled slightly of sulfur, but it quenched his thirst, and that’s what mattered.
Satisfied, he leaned back and took the time to survey the scene around him. On the platform, a Txtian auctioneer screeched out Trinarieit to an audience that was still growing in size, although the auction had not yet begun.
Dusk arrived, marking its commencement with spotlights that automatically clicked on with a hum, illuminating the platform in bright, white light. The auctioneer growled and clicked a constant murmur as the captives were paraded under the hot lights and sold to the highest bidder.
Noteeth's words bore into Ryan's mind. Attack the auctioneer he had said. Show some spunk. Yeah, they'd probably just kill him. Just like the boy. But what if he was right?
Darkness had fallen. The show had begun. Ahead guards with blasters directed the slaves up one at a time. The pace was quick.
It was his turn.
He trudged slowly up to the platform, his mud-laden limbs making it difficult to navigate the steps. The lights were bright, and he couldn't make out anything beyond the glare. They tied his hands behind his back with a cord and left him standing there.
The bidding began. Ryan could feel his anger and hate build.
Now is a good time to die.
The thought surprised him, but strangely, he felt elated.
A good time to die.
He stood tall and spit into the crowd. "You bastards!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "You ugly sonofabitches!"
A whip met his back with a vengeance.
Ryan remained standing, although the pain made his legs shake uncontrollably. A laugh twisted from his throat in an involuntary defiance. The second strike was too much. The familiar numb feeling came back as he went down, but he fought with every bit of strength he had left. He fell, but only to his knees. He continued to glare into the crowd, wearing a mask of hate.
A sharp scolding from the Txtian auctioneer stopped the flogging and the bidding continued. A few minutes passed. Sensation crept back into his numbed muscles. Again he pulled himself up, first one leg, then the other, once again to stand shakily upon the platform. Unknown to him, the bidding was fierce. A slave with determination was worth 10. Nods from the crowd came quickly, and the price rose even higher, until a certain miner held up his arm and announced his price.
The bidding ended.
Ryan could no longer tell what was going on around him. He had retracted back into himself, fighting his own war of mind against pain. When the auctioneer yelled the Trinarieit version of “SOLD!” he was ready to collapse. A Xilozak dressed in black grabbed him, carried him off the stage, and threw him to the ground.
He hit face-first into the grimy soil, luckily it was a soft humus deterring a possible break of his nose. He braced himself for the whip but it did not come. The Xilozak stood above him and slowly guzzled the contents of a flask he was carrying. The big alien wavered slightly as it watched the next two proceedings, eyes never bothering to look down. Ryan took advantage of the time, resting his tired, beaten body, regaining his strength.
The alien signaled him it was time to go with a sloppy kick. They both headed down the road toward an area reserved for multi-terrain land rovers, Ryan in a stiff-legged walk, the alien in a wandering saunter. The vehicles were parked in disarray, pointing in all directions. They navigated through the maze and came to a stop at the base of one of the larger vehicles. The alien growled at him, signaling him to climb up the ladder that led to the top deck of the rover. The deck was open to the sky with a bar railing that surrounded its perimeter to contain any cargo or passengers.
Ryan dragged himself up the ladder. When he stepped off the last rung, the alien guard pushed him savagely from behind. He crashed down onto the deck, hard. The Xilozak stepped over him, growling a coarse, cruel laugh.
It took a moment for him to recover, then he crawled over to rest against a nearby crate. He glanced over and noticed other humans - three in all, two men, one woman. The men glanced at him disinterestedly and resumed their study of the floor, or the stars, or whatever they were previously looking at. Only the woman acknowledged his presence, giving a silent nod.
Crates, boxes, and pieces of machinery were strewn messily upon the deck. A few parts were tied down. The Xilozak guard sat near the front of the rover, on a large crate, watching the group of them through the corner of his eye. He methodically downed the contents of his flask, his breath soured with a rich buttery odor. The beverage seemed to be taking effect as the Xilozak’s eyes drifted lazily, his facial features were sluggish, relaxed.
He was drunk. Seems even an alien can get pissed.
Ryan followed the guard’s preoccupied gaze. He was watching the auction down the road. It was just visible from their perch, the lights being the brightest in town. The auctioneer's drawl carried through the heavy air in a weak murmur. Figures of slaves marched up and down the platform in an unrelenting line.
How many more? Hundreds? Thousands? He couldn’t be sure.
He caught the woman staring at him again, but when he returned her gaze, she quickly averted her eyes. She glanced back intermittently, never sustaining contact for more than a moment. There was something about her, something that dug at Ryan's memory. It finally hit him with bittersweet realization.
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Brown eyes reminded him of Aviore.
He looked up at the stars now, unobscured in the dark night sky, and knew he was a long way from home.
* * *
The rover's engine roared to life, its rumbling echoed through the misty, humid air. The driver ground the machine into gear and it jerked forward. It started rolling slowly down the road, heading directly toward an opening in the wall.
Ryan could make out the lines of the ancient stone circling the perimeter of the town. Gauging by his viewpoint, it had to be at least one hundred meters high.
This town had been built within a former fortress.
The exit into the jungle jutted upward to end in an arch many meters above the top deck of the rover. The passageway through the massive stone wall was guarded by dozens of Xilozaks and Txtians. The rover rolled to a stop as its driver conferred with one of the guards.
Ryan glanced over to the drunken Xilozak. The alien had put away his flask and pulled his weapon, one that resembled a high-powered rifle, and held it close to his body.
They rolled through the archway, bathed under the light of a dozen rotating search beams. Most were pointed out, into the jungle. Exiting the tunnel they passed by a large, mobile cannon, its base now overgrown with strangling vegetation. Its muzzle bore the carbon deposits of repeated use.
They continued on past a brief clearing. It was pockmarked with uncountable blackened scars, signs of periodic blasting.
The jungle quickly enclosed around them. Ryan watched as the Xilozak guard shifted nervously, adjusting his rifle, making ready to shoot. His discarded flask now lay empty on the deck.
Ryan was in silent awe at the immensity around him. The rover whined and protested as it pushed its way through the overgrown roadway. The vehicle stood at least eight meters high on its huge tires, but the greenery above them dwarfed it like an insect. Trees with 20 meter wide trunks rose up four and five hundred meters into a dark sky, now laced with an intricate network of suspended foliage. The stars were no longer visible. They left a legacy of soft, white light, which danced over the canopy like a fine frost.
A Bellicose Dance Page 5