by Tripp Ellis
"Have you not heard? Xorgon is dead, and the Tarvaax were defeated on Crylos 9.”
The alien's eyes narrowed at him, trying to discern if he was telling the truth.
"I have no reason to lie to you,” Zack added.
The alien said nothing. The two stared at each other in silence for a moment.
"How long have you been in here?" Zack asked.
"289 days, give or take. It's hard to keep track. But I try to judge time by the meals and changing of the guards."
"I take it you haven't figured a way out of here yet?"
The alien chuckled. "Even if you make it out of the cell, you'll need to take down the force-shield that surrounds the palace. There is only one access portal, and it is heavily guarded. You no doubt passed through it on your way in."
“Why are you here?” Zack asked.
"The Emperor would say that I masterminded a failed coup. I would say that I have not succeeded yet." He smiled.
"Why didn't the Emperor just put you to death if you pose such a threat."
"Death would be too swift. It would deprive the Emperor of the pleasure of seeing me suffer."
"He sounds like a nice guy."
"At first, the beatings and torture were more frequent. But over time, I think he has grown bored with me. I fear my time may soon be coming to an end."
"I think my number is up tomorrow. He plans to kill me in a duel for all to see."
The alien's eyes perked up. "A duel?"
"Supposedly I will be given a plasma sword to defend myself. But I have my doubts."
The alien was green with envy. "I would kill to be in the same room as Vuul with a blade of my own."
“I’d offer to trade places, but…”
“Vuul’s reign has brought nothing but death and destruction to my people. You must kill him."
“I intend to. Then I’m going to kill Aarnok.”
“That ineffectual fool is not worth the effort.”
“He has my girlfriend captive and intends to make her his bride. One of many, I assume."
The alien made a face. “I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.”
“You're not making me feel any better."
“Sorry.” The alien surveyed Zack, sizing him up. He had a skeptical look in his eyes. “Have you ever even held a sword before?"
Zack shook his head. "Give me a plasma rifle and Vuul’s one dead slug." Zack realized his faux pas the minute the slur slipped from his mouth. “Sorry. No offense."
"None taken. I'll be the first to call him a slug."
The tension between them had dissipated, and the alien took a seat.
Zack relaxed and followed suit. The two kept an eye on each other though.
“What's your name?" Zack asked.
“Chuukvanishaka’ar Tovark. But you can call me Charlie."
“Charlie?"
“When I studied in the colonies, that's what everyone called me.”
"You studied in the colonies?"
"Briefly. A year as an exchange student, back when our species were on better terms."
“That's why you don't have an accent," Zack said.
"I never had an accent to begin with. When I learned Federation-speak, I learned it properly." He seemed to get a little offended.
“Well, either way, you speak perfectly."
“Do you speak Tarvaax?”
“Te puva,” Zack said. It meant a little. “We are taught essential phrases and words during basic training."
Charlie shook his head. "You humans think the galaxy revolves around you. There are hundreds of species out there that coexist peacefully, yet your kind is constantly in turmoil.“
Zack rolled his eyes. "You guys invaded us, remember?”
“I had nothing to do with it. I lobbied against it. That's half the reason why I'm here.”
Zack looked surprised. “Did you hold a position in government?”
“I was Admiral of the fleet.”
41
Diesel
Diesel felt a quantum distortion wash through the ship. She guessed they had been in slide-space for roughly 12 hours, but it was hard to gauge. There was no way to tell time in the holding cell.
Cole, Cyclops, and Rex had all dozed off. But the transition had disturbed their slumber. Their eyes snapped open, alert.
Cyclops rubbed his neck, sore from the awkward position that he had been sleeping in. The cell wasn't very accommodating. There was barely enough room for all four of them to fit. There weren't any racks to sleep on. The compartment was just an empty rectangle with a sink and a toilet in the corner.
They had all surveyed the compartment when they were first incarcerated. But the cell was solid, there was no way out. Any fantasies of escape had vanished quickly. The only way they were going to get out of this place was by overtaking one of the guards. Short of that, they had resigned themselves to sit back and enjoy the ride. The destination was uncertain. Aarnok had instructed them to be taken to the prison camp, but it was anyone's guess where that was located.
Diesel heard a loud clamor and felt a shudder ripple through the ship. She was sure the vessel had docked to something in space. She wondered if they were going to be transferred to a larger ship.
A few moments later, several guards positioned themselves outside the hatch. Twitchy rifles took aim as the hatch slid open.
"On your feet," one of the guard’s yelled. "Turn around and place your hands on the bulkheads.”
The prisoners complied.
Several guards rushed into the compartment, while the others maintained their aim on the targets from the hallway. One false move and Diesel and her comrades would be incinerated.
A guard grabbed Diesel’s wrist and wrenched it behind her back. Then he grabbed the other one and tweaked it with the same maneuver. He used such force that it felt like her shoulder was going to dislocate. Within seconds, he hammered cuffs on her wrists. He pulled her by the arm and shoved her into the corridor.
The process was repeated with all the prisoners. The guards marched them single file down the hallway. As they weaved through the passageways, they passed a series of external windows. Diesel could see that the ship was in fact docked with a mega structure floating in the inky blackness of space. It was bigger than any space station she had ever seen. There were several docking ports, and transport ships were moored to the structure. It was a modular with several large geometric pods. The entire station had a diameter of over a mile.
The guards pushed the prisoners toward one of the airlocks. The ship was secured to a space-bridge that connected it with the station. The guards marched the prisoners through the gangway and crossed into the station’s terminal. From there they weaved through a series of corridors and entered the facility’s prisoner processing station.
Several station guards were waiting to take custody of the prisoners. They were dressed in black tactical armor and helmets. Their faces were obscured from view. They looked ominous and imposing—even more so when they jammed their weapons into the prisoners’ faces.
Diesel stared at the menacing barrels. It was like an angry sewer pipe had been shoved in her face.
The guards from the transport ship removed the prisoners’ handcuffs and headed back to their vessel. The hatch to the processing room slammed shut behind them. The prisoners’ fates were now in the hands of their new masters.
Diesel and her comrades were put through a full body scanner. It was high-resolution and left nothing to the imagination. Some of the guards ogled Diesel’s perfect form as they scanned for weapons and contraband.
Afterwards, the prisoners’ images and biometric information was entered into the system. It seemed the Tarvaax were meticulous about keeping track of their captives.
From there, they were scanned for disease, and inoculated against potential infection.
Diesel wasn't too thrilled about having some alien needle jammed into her arm and filled full of a chemical she knew nothing about. But she didn
't have much choice.
Once they had made it through basic processing, they were evaluated by a prison administrator. He was a snooty little alien that looked down his nose at the prisoners. “I am Captain Lytok. Welcome to Balasbar Station. My job is to execute the will of the warden. Comply with his will, and your life will be considerably less uncomfortable."
Diesel and her crew were lined up for the administrator to scrutinize. His bug eyes looked the prisoners up and down. Cyclops and Rex towered over him. Lytok was small by Tarvaax standards. "These two will make excellent workers in the mines. Take them to the workers area."
Two guards advanced with weapons in the firing position, motioning for Rex and Cyclops to start moving.
They complied.
Lytok moved down the row and stood before Diesel. She scowled at the little creature.
“This one will fetch an excellent price on the market. Hold her with the other females."
Two more guards marched her away.
The administrator surveyed Cole. His eyes seemed to linger on the gunnery sergeant’s gray hair. "This one is too old to be of use. Take him for harvesting."
Cole's face twisted up. "Too old? Look you little runt, I’m not too old to kick your ass."
Lytok flinched as Cole lurched at him. But the war hero was kept at bay by the barrels of plasma rifles.
The administrator smiled at him. "Enjoy your last few moments of life. I hear the harvesting process is exceedingly painful."
42
Zack
"I guess you got lucky," the guard said, his voice filtering in through the bars on the cell door. "The Emperor has decided to postpone your duel. It seems you will live for another day."
It wasn't good news at all, Zack thought. It was just delaying his chance to kill the Emperor and rescue Honor. Zack had been pacing back and forth all night, so wired up with adrenaline that he couldn't sleep. Not that the cell was conducive to a good night sleep anyway. It was cold and uncomfortable. There was a spigot to get the water from, and a place to relieve yourself—those were the extent of the amenities.
“Sounds like the Emperor had second thoughts," Charlie said. "I think you better get used to this cell. You'll probably grow old in here like I will."
"I have no intention of growing old in this cell." Zack was furious.
"Neither do I, but some things are beyond our control."
Zack kicked and rattled the door.
"You're wasting your energy,” Charlie said.
Zack ignored him and kept banging until the guard came back.
"Knock it off, or I will come in there and silence you."
"You can't kill me. The Emperor wants the pleasure for himself."
The guard sneered at him. "Perhaps. But I can beat you within an inch of your life. I suggest you keep it down." The guard strolled away.
Zack kept kicking at the door.
"You must like trouble," Charlie said.
"I seem to have a way of finding it."
The guard was back at the door in an instant, and he didn't look too happy. "I told you to knock it off."
"Make me, you ugly slug!"
The guard clenched his jaw and muttered something in Tarvaax.
"What did he say?" Zack asked.
"You don't want to know."
The guard readied his stun wand. It was a 2 foot long rod with prongs on the end of it. Once it contacted with flesh, it would send enough volts through a body to drop even the largest of Tarvaax.
The guard called over a couple of his buddies to assist him. They huddled around him as he fumbled for the keys to the cell. "Move back against the wall," he commanded.
Zack didn't budge.
This only served to further enrage the guard. He unlocked the door and stormed into the room with the two other guards. He charged Zack and stabbed at him with the end of the stun wand.
Zack sidestepped, blocked the wand, and kicked the alien in the nuts. He hoped the beast shared the same anatomy. Apparently he did, because he doubled over and dropped to his knees. Zack stripped the wand from the guard’s hand, spun it around, and was ready to attack the other two goons.
Charlie saw this as his opportunity. He lunged for one of the guards and tackled him to the ground. They scuffled over the stun rod.
Zack squared off against the remaining guard.
The goon charged him, leading with his stun rod. Zack swung his wand, batting the goon’s rod away.
The guard took another swing with the wand. Zack ducked below the wand as it whooshed overhead.
Zack jabbed the prongs of his wand into the goon’s belly and pulled the trigger. A massive charge of energy jolted the alien. He twitched and shook uncontrollably, then slammed to the ground.
Zack kicked the goon’s rod away and gave him another zap to the small of the back. The alien wasn't going to get up anytime soon.
Charlie was still scuffling with the other guard.
Zack dashed across the cell and planted the prongs into the guard’s rib cage. He squeezed the trigger and the guard flopped against the wall then crashed down.
Charlie climbed to his feet and planted his boot in the guard’s ribs for good measure.
The two prisoners surveyed their handiwork, quite pleased with themselves.
“You're pretty handy with that thing," Charlie said.
Zack admired the wand. "I kinda like it." His gaze turned to the bodies on the floor.
"How long will they be out for?" Zack asked.
"Maybe 30 minutes. We need to move quickly.” Charlie knelt down and stripped one of the bigger guards of his uniform and armor. Then he put the gear on. It barely fit, but it was better than nothing.
"What are you doing?"
"You'll never make it up to Aarnok's chamber on your own. That's most likely where your girlfriend is being held. But if I march you up there as my prisoner, we might not draw much attention.”
“What about the force shield?"
“The reactor will have to be destroyed."
43
Diesel
The guards removed Diesel’s handcuffs and shoved her into a holding tank. The force-shield containing the cell flickered orange as she passed through, then returned to red. It apparently allowed for a one-way transfer.
Diesel glanced around at her new surroundings as the guards marched away. The cell was maybe 20 x 30. There were a handful of other women in a compartment. Scared faces stared at Diesel for a moment, then went back to minding their own business. They looked hopeless. Emotionally devastated.
Diesel took a seat, resting her back against the bulkhead. One of the inmates came over and introduced herself. She was a young blonde girl, no more than 22 years old. She had short hair, cut just above her shoulders, and brown eyes. She had soft features and a friendly smile. "Hi. I'm Casey. What's your name?" She asked, extending her hand.
"Dawn Dawson. But my friends call me Diesel."
The two shook hands.
“You're not from Crylos 9, are you? You’re military?"
Diesel nodded.
Casey looked hopeful. "Is the UPDF planning on rescuing us?"
Diesel shrugged. "We were trying, but it didn't turn out so well."
Casey deflated.
"There were hundreds of thousands of people taken from Crylos 9. Where is everyone?"
Casey had a sullen look on her face. "The sick were destroyed immediately. Those who can work are shipped off to the mines or utilized as hard labor. All of the elderly have already been harvested."
“What do you mean harvested?”
Casey shuddered just thinking about it. "The Tarvaax believe human brains can extend longevity. They suck out the gray matter and—“
The hairs on the back of Diesel’s neck stood tall. “Nevermind. I don't need to hear any more about it."
"They put everyone else in cryo-storage, and they keep a handful of women here to trade or sell on the open market."
All of the women in the cell were yo
ung and pretty. Diesel’s face tensed at the thought that she was going to be sold, or bartered, off.
“How many prisoners are left?”
Casey shrugged.
Diesel stood up and moved to the force-field. Casey followed her. Diesel probed the beam with her fingertips. It felt like glass. There was no give in the beam whatsoever. She hammered her fist against the beam a few times, but it was like banging a wall.
“There's no getting out of the cell. We've all tried,” Casey said.
“How often do they feed you here?”
“We typically get two meals a day. But trust me, it's nothing to write home about."
Diesel returned a grim smile. She didn't like being in a confined space one bit. She was worried about Cole. She knew the clock was running out for him—if he hadn’t been harvested already.
Diesel surveyed the holding cell, then took a seat against the bulkhead again. An hour later, the guards returned to the cell.
A look of terror washed over Casey's face. She tousled her hair. “Mess up your hair. When they line us up, slouch and try to look ugly—which is going to be difficult for you."
Diesel wasn't sure what was going on, but she did as Casey suggested.
Several of the guards marched into the compartment with their weapons in the firing position. They made the girls line up against the far bulkhead.
Prince Iloba strolled into the compartment with two body guards in full body armor, carrying plasma rifles. Their helmets and tinted visors obscured their faces. The prison administrator accompanied Iloba.
Iloba’s garments were elegantly adorned, and he carried himself with an air of superiority. He spoke to the administrator in a language that Diesel did not understand. Iloba surveyed the prisoners, strolling up and down the line. His orange eyes carefully scrutinized each of the girls.
Diesel tried to make herself look as dumpy and unattractive as possible, but even with messed up hair and bad posture she was still hot.
After Iloba had studied the girls for a few minutes, his face tensed and he stroked his chin in deep contemplation. His indecision seemed to cause him great discomfort.