by Collin Earl
*****
Dirk Garrett was screwed. Really screwed. He had been screwed before, sometimes even by choice and thoroughly to his liking. But this time, he was totally and utterly screwed. Dirk looked around the cramped cell he had called home for the last eight months. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he had even been remotely this screwed. Well, there was that one night with that cute Jadian woman from the brothel in the first of the Seven Cities, but that really didn't count. He had paid for that.
During Dirk's various incarcerations, he would always try to occupy his mind. When he would run out of rocks to scratch vulgar messages on the dingy cell walls, he would turn to pacing his cell. When that had lost his interest, he would start to sing. After realizing that he didn't know that many songs, he would turn to writing. Upon realizing almost instantly that he had nothing to write with nor to write upon, Dirk would settle into reviewing his life to see where he had gone wrong. And this ritual had only occupied the first two days of this particular incarceration.
Just like other incarcerations Dirk had survived, in his mind this one was just as bogus. He honestly could not believe that someone could get so upset about a bunch of stupid relics. Sure, they just happened to be located on so-called sacred ground. And he guessed he maybe, possibly could see their point about removing old artifacts from said sacred ground. But honestly, there wasn't a sign anywhere that said "Sacred Temple of the Goddess of Fertility". He was just attracted to the naked statues and all the gold. How was he supposed to know that they didn't want men entering the temple? If a restroom could be clearly marked, then so should that shrine.
It was similar to the situation a few years ago when those natives in the Burning Plains had chased after him because he borrowed that ancient scimitar. The thing had just been sitting there in the brass and gold mounts. Again, no signage. He had brought that issue up at his trial, but alas, the judge had failed to see how the posting of a "Do Not Pilfer the Holy Sword" sign would have saved Dirk so much trouble.
The remaining months of his current captivity had been spent solving the world's signage issues. He had completed most of the ancient sites that he had visited in the Jade Empire, and had been working on the Southern half of the UWC. Ever since he had overheard the guard mention that the transport escorting him to the Seven Cities would be there in the morning, Dirk had tried desperately to occupy his thoughts with things other than the impending doom that awaited him.
It seemed ironic that for months Dirk had been able to remain anonymous in the prison. It was one of his survival techniques, especially when he was locked up in the outer region where the technology wasn't that up to date. Then they had figured out who he was. He was sure that he had at least a few Empire warrants in his name. And sure enough, days after they linked his name, he was going to be on a transport heading to a very bad place.
Dirk tried to return his thoughts to his signage project. He thought about the cave he had visited in the Southern region of the Collective, the one with all the platinum in it. Just as he was coming up with an appropriate sign for the massive store of metal his skin started to prickle.
Dirk's skin was an amazing organ. Some people spoke of the ability of ancient sages from the Jade Empire to see things before they happened. While Dirk was not from the Jade Empire, his skin apparently didn't know that. Every time Dirk was about to strike proverbial gold, or if trouble was on its way, his skin would ignite, his hairs standing on end. Dirk had learned to pay attention to this phenomenon, and it had saved him more than a few times.
Dirk sat watching as the hairs on his arm stood at attention. He noticed a sound that he hadn't heard before in his long months of solitude. A small metallic scratching seemed to be coming from his cell door. He stared at the iron door, focusing on the faint scratching sound. He slowly stood and crept towards the rusty old door. Just two paces from it, he heard a faint click. Dirk's skin almost leapt from his body.
With a sound that he had grown accustomed to all these months, his cell door squeaked open to reveal...darkness. No one was there. Dirk started to get antsy. He tried to peer into the darkness down the hall, but it was almost as if the hall was gone, replaced by nothingness. He took a small step forward. Just as he picked up his foot to move closer to the door, a figure separated itself from the darkness. It looked to Dirk as if this person was at one moment part of the blackness just outside of his cell and then he wasn't. Standing before him was a man wrapped head to toe in what looked like black synthetic material. Parts of this man seemed to almost fade in and out of existence as Dirk continued to process what he was seeing.
The man raised one gloved finger to his covered face, right about where his lips should have been. It took Dirk just a moment to recognize the gesture, but Dirk found it absurd. If this man thought Dirk was going to yell out for help while standing so close to someone with that much of a creep factor, this guy would be sadly disappointed.
Dirk cautiously, and a bit nervously, nodded his understanding. The shrouded man made another gesture indicating for Dirk to follow him. Even more cautiously, Dirk reached out, grabbed the doorframe and peered out into the darkness.
As soon as he looked into the black hallway the other man disappeared completely. Dirk started to lean back into the poorly lit cell, but then felt a fierce grip wrap around his arm and propel him forward into the hallway. Dirk could not see a thing. He knew the prison had lights, but none of them were on now.
The iron grip on his arm relaxed to a firm squeeze that led him down the hallway. Calling on his skills as a relic hunter, Dirk imagined in his mind the path they were taking. He had kept good mental notes during the numerous times that he had been hauled back and forth from his cell through the maze of the prison. Foolishly, early on in his stay he had entertained thoughts of escaping and had wanted to memorize the routes to aid his attempt.
The man led Dirk down various hallways, turning at some, pausing at others. If Dirk's mental map was correct, they were approaching a very special room. Dirk had only seen it once through the crack of a slightly open door. It was where they were keeping the artifacts that Dirk had so ineffectively hidden away. Who knew these guys would have searched everywhere? Dirk involuntarily shuddered at the memory. Two more right turns and they would arrive at the room. One right down, one to g-
They turned left. Dirk stopped moving his feet. His rescuer's grip tightened. If he was going to make his move, it would have to be now. Dirk stumbled and fell down to the ground. The invisible man tried to keep him up but released him as he twisted away. Dirk hit the ground for a mere instant, then popped up and sprinted back down the hall. He turned up the previous hallway and made the last right. He could see the faint shimmer along the bottom of the doorframe. He was not going to leave without his stuff. Three meters. Two meters. One met-
Thump!
Dirk hit the ground hard. Something had wrapped around his legs, rendering them immobile, but his upper body was still in motion. The arrested momentum propelled him hard into the dirt floor. He started to moan when a hand clamped down over his mouth. Dirk tried to yell; the hand just clamped down harder. This wasn't working. Dirk tried something else. He played dead. He let his whole body go limp and played dead better than any Fido he'd ever seen. The hand still did not loosen its hold. In the passing seconds, Dirk started to hear muffled sounds. He realized that since he was playing possum, he was not making them. He doubted his masked man was making any of them either. That only left...
He could hear it clearly now. The sound that he had heard so many nights in his cell. The thumping of dirty, ratty old boots coming down the dirt hallway. Dirk was paralyzed with indecision. They had to get out of there. Panic started to course through his veins. Harder than the metallic grip covering his mouth, adrenaline pounded through his system at a blistering pace. Dirk's skin crawled with goose bumps.